A Wish and a Wedding (13 page)

S
ANDER
wasn't sure he liked that speculative, wistful gleam in Mari's milk-chocolate eyes. He felt like the genie must have when telling Aladdin he had three wishes…and, judging by the way she kept looking at him, brimming and overflowing with innocent fascination, he couldn't help but know what one wish would be.

He hadn't seen a woman look at him with such honest admiration and shy appraisal since he'd become Duke. Yes, women had found him attractive since he'd shot up past the six-foot mark when he was fifteen, but the way Mari blushed when she looked and smiled at him, and when she looked away, and the light in those sweet, dreaming eyes…

But the only kind of women he'd bothered with over the past ten years played the game, and it was glaringly obvious Mari was a straight-shooter, a nice girl to take home to Mother…if only Mother didn't expect her to have a heralded pedigree.

He forced himself to remain expressionless as he handed her out of the limo. “Would you come up on deck for a few moments while I give orders to the Captain, miss? Then I'll see you to the Stateroom.”

The dreaming fantasy in her eyes vanished as if he'd smacked her. “The…? Isn't that the room reserved for royalty?”

Amused by her wide-eyed near-shock, he nodded. “That's right, miss.”

Expecting her to breathe a few words of ecstatic agreement,
he was taken aback when she said, “But that belongs to Charlie and Jazmine.”

Touched by her anxiety to do the right thing, when most of the women he knew would probably have shoved him to the ground in their race to sleep in the King's bed, he showed her Jazmine's note. He hoped she didn't notice that he was carefully covering the
“Dear Sander”
at the start of the royal instructions with his thumb. “The Queen's instructions are clear, miss. You're family to royalty now. Whenever you stay with them, you'll live as they do.”

Mari read the note, eyes still wide, but then she shook her head. “It's so nice of Jazmine to offer, but I'll be more than happy in one of the guestrooms. Just so long as we push off soon,” she added with an endearing nervous nibble at her lip and a glance around the darkened cargo hold, as if expecting Mikhail to pop out of a shadowy corner any second.

Knowing that tone well—his mother spoke just like that when she was determined to have her way—Sander didn't bother arguing as he lifted her bags out of the trunk. He'd just put her bags in the Stateroom, and let her awe and pride do the rest. “Ready?” He was surprised to find he was enjoying the novel experience of playing employee to a commoner.

She nodded. “Definitely. The sooner the better.” She headed for the lit door marked Exit in a form of Koi Greek rare outside of Hellenia, but close enough to read.

He only realised then that Mari had been speaking Hellenican Greek the whole time—and so had he. It had been that easy with her, so natural he hadn't noticed.

Alarm bells went off in his head. What was it about Mari that drew princes and dukes to her like compasses to the north, when she wasn't even trying?

 

An hour later, Mari stood on the deck of the yacht, watching the harbour recede from view. Her sigh was heartfelt when she saw no yacht or chopper racing to catch them.

A soft tingling at her neck told her Lysander was nearby, watching her.

How she knew, she had no idea. He had that effect on her; all the denial in the world wouldn't change it. She found him—well, gorgeous. It didn't mean anything would happen.

She turned with a smile that felt forced on her lips. “Beautiful, isn't it?” She waved around at the harbour, at the beaches and cliffs of the coast, and the yachts and little fishing vessels bobbing in the water.

He watched her with the same forced politeness he'd had on his face for hours. His gaze remained on her face, not sweeping over her changed attire: cargo shorts and a pretty just-on-the-shoulder rose-pink jersey shirt, tied in at the waist, flip-flops on her feet. “I've always thought this part of the world fairly stunning,” he agreed, adding with belated subservience, “miss.”

Absurdly disappointed that her best casual summer outfit hadn't brought the boy out of Pinocchio, she turned back. “Have you travelled much?”

“A little, miss.”

“Have you been to Sydney?” she went on doggedly, determined to find some common ground with her only companion for the next few days—and she'd only been to Sydney and Greece until now.

“Once. I've been to Sydney, to Canberra, and on a day-trip to the Blue Mountains. Its beauty is very different to here.”

A tiny smile curved her mouth. “It's wilder,” she agreed, “especially in the national parks and the beaches. Here, everything feels—civilised.”

“Tamed, you mean?”

Her head tilted as she thought about it. “It seems that way, I suppose. But it feels like a sham. Like the calm before a storm. You feel the sense of all the things that have happened here, all the history and wars, and you know it's just a breath away from happening again.”

“That's very perceptive of you,” he added, with a half-sur
prised inflection. “Life has been like that here for a long time.” Which was why Charlie and Jazmine's more relaxed rule was like summer wine on an overheated day, and why almost everyone loved them already.

She shrugged. “My cousins have to have people to talk to sometimes. Being what they are now is pretty overwhelming. In a year they've had to learn so much, change completely, and understand their new world while making life-altering decisions. It helps to speak to people who love them, who'll keep their confidence—and who know them from the time when they used to be just like us.”

Lysander joined her at the rail at last; but the tingling didn't abate, and she had to control the urge to move away. It wasn't his fault that she couldn't—that she wanted—

“Do they miss their old lives?” he asked, in such an ordinary voice that she felt another spurt of guilt. Lost in the confusion his nearness engendered, she hesitated a moment too long, and he went on quietly, “I understand, miss. You don't know me.”

“The Queen trusts you,” she said, wishing
she
had reason to trust him. Just because she was attracted to him it didn't mean she could spill royal secrets. “How would you feel if you suddenly found out your whole life had been a lie, that the person you loved best in the world wasn't what you thought he was? Great-Uncle Kyri gave them a safe rug all their lives, and then pulled it out from under them after he died.”

He turned his head and looked at her with those
alive
eyes of his, and again she had the feeling she'd surprised him—like with her decision not to sleep in the Stateroom. “Most people would probably toss their old lives without thought to become a king and a princess, and inherit all they have.”

Her mouth pursed into a half-smile. “I don't agree with that. Most people put family first—at least all the people I know. Our family's always worked hard for what we have, but how does money or position replace the bonds of love and family?”

“Is that how you feel?”

The question had a curious feel to it, as if beneath the stolid demeanour he wanted to know the answer—to know something about her.

What was it about this man that caught her off guard?

“Yes,” she said eventually, thinking of Prince Mikhail, of Charlie and Lia's struggle to get everything right. “I don't think life in the public eye is for me—and I'm definitely not made for it, either,” she added with a glimmering smile.

“And the power? Is the thought of rising in the world—the glamour, the titles—appealing to you?” he asked, and she had the curious belief he was pressing her, really wanting to know how she felt about it.

She tried to think of something clever and subtle to say, but she just didn't have that in her nature. “I can't answer for Charlie and Lia, but I don't think any amount of power or wealth could make up for living under a microscope.” Indeed, that sense of always being watched was the thing that had convinced her that the reality of Charlie and Lia's new life was far from the dream she'd imagined when she'd first heard the news through the international media. The fact that their courtships, their royal training had all been conducted under such intense scrutiny—well, all she knew was
she
couldn't have taken it. “I like my privacy—the right to fail at something without the whole world knowing about it.”

Lysander was very still. His hands gripped the rail. “You don't think you would—?” Whatever he'd been about to ask, he obviously thought better of it, for then he said, in a lighter tone, “I guess for those of us who haven't lived with it, it would be rather a culture shock.”

“You could say that,” she agreed fervently, remembering the first time the cameras had flashed in her face and a clamour of voices had yelled, “How does it feel to be cousin to royalty?”

“I suppose the reality of joining the Beautiful People isn't what most dream it would be,” he said, with a thoughtful lilt at the end, like a question.

She shrugged. “Probably being born to it might make a difference. I wouldn't know.” She turned her face again, smiling at him to lighten the intensity she felt in him.

He didn't smile back, barely even glanced at her. After a moment, he said, “Neither of us will ever know, miss.” The words held that same hidden sense of thoughts held back.

There it was again—that “miss”, like an intrusion into what was a semi-intimate conversation for such new acquaintances. And his word-choice and his accent—were all royal chauffeurs so well-educated?

“Do you think you could call me Mari, since we're going to be shipmates for the next few days?” she asked, with a wistful note that made her squirm with embarrassment.

“It's best to keep things as they are, miss,” he replied, without missing a beat.

Mari felt herself freeze. “All right.” She spoke from a cool distance. If he wanted to remain the chilly chauffeur, let him have his way. “Feel free to do whatever it is chauffeurs do on board yachts. I'll take a walk on deck before dinner.” She waved him off, needing distance from him. If these were the rules, she'd play by them. The faster she could dismiss his smiling face from her ledger of unattainable fantasies, the better.

He ducked his head in a small bow that smacked as much of irony as it did respect. “Enjoy your walk, miss.”

And then he was gone.

During the next half-hour, before she needed to change for dinner, Mari discovered the meaning of the grand term
solitary splendour
—and she also discovered she didn't like it a bit.

And it was all Lysander's fault.

 

He'd hurt her feelings.

From his table in the secondary dining room, where he'd elected to dine, Sander watched her eating alone in state in the royal dining room. Pretty and fresh in a floral print dress, with her curls falling from a loose clip at her nape, she looked small
and lonely. She was barely eating, even though the food was superb. She kept her face averted from where he sat, trying to catch her eye, to make her smile as she had this afternoon, and he knew her eyes shimmered with tears she was trying to control.

Guilt ate at him. Gregarious and impulsive by nature, Mari was a sweet extrovert who needed company and friendship to make her shine. Protocol dictated that he was the only one she could talk to here. The King's cousins couldn't make friends with the staff on the yacht in case it embarrassed the royal family. He'd known that all along. Yet when she'd offered her friendship he'd played the wooden chauffeur, blocking her off. He'd put distance between them because he knew she was attracted to him…because she was dangerous to his peace of mind.

She'd offered friendship without reservation, and he'd left her humiliated and alone because he wanted her even more than Mikhail did—had done since he'd first seen her. Her birth held him back—more because she was Charlie's cousin than because she wasn't good enough. She had the power to destroy him without even trying—and he could only ruin her.

But none of this absurd situation was her fault. She couldn't help being…well, lovable…and it was no fault of hers that she was totally ill-equipped for his life.

He had to make this right. He'd lower himself to a position where she could retaliate…or, if he was really lucky, forgive him. Eventually.

Taking his plate, he walked through the sliding glass doors to where she sat, and took the place opposite her. She whirled around to look at him, her eyes wide, startled—and, yes, shimmering with tears unshed.

Though she didn't exactly seem welcoming, she was so
pretty
he gritted his teeth before he forced a smile.
It's not her fault she could break my career and cause international rifts between nations, with potential repercussions for one small, unimportant duchy on the edge of Hellenia.

“I'm sorry I said what I did this afternoon,” he said, in true
sincerity. “Can we start over? I'm Lysander—but my friends call me Sander.” He put out a hand.

After a visible hesitation, she nodded and took his hand in hers. “Hello. I'm Mari.”

She withdrew her hand the moment he slackened his hold. Looking down, she applied herself to food that by now had to be even colder and less appetising than his.

“Pleased to meet you, Mari,” he said warmly, angling for her smile.

A brief, beautiful blaze of light hit Sander in the solar plexus as she smiled at him, but then it vanished. She sat opposite him at the table, only inches away, yet she appeared distant, like a shooting star flown out of reach.

“You too.”

He noticed she didn't use his name. Disappointment streaked through him, but he knew she was only playing the game by the rules he'd set for them.