Royal Holiday Bride

When he arrived at Elena’s estate, Dante was prepared for the Princess Royal to do or say almost anything to convince him that he should marry her daughter, and he was willing to let himself be convinced. As his father had pointed out to him, there weren’t a lot of single women of appropriate genealogy—and even fewer still with whom he didn’t already have some kind of history.

“Your Majesty.” The Princess Royal curtsied. “I’m so pleased you were able to take this time to meet with me while you’re visiting Tesoro del Mar.”

He bowed to her in turn. “The pleasure is mine, Your Highness.”

“I trust you had a good time at the ball last evening,” she said when they were seated in the parlor.

“I did,” he agreed, though the remark caused his mind to flash back not to the charity event but to the pleasures he’d enjoyed after leaving the ballroom.

“Marissa will be pleased to hear it.” Elena passed him a delicate gold-rimmed cup. “Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to be there last night, but she tries to ensure that the annual ball isn’t just successful but also enjoyable.”

“I’ve heard that she’s very committed to her work at the hospital.” He sipped his coffee.

“She has experience with numerous charitable endeavors—an essential attribute for the wife of a king.”

Dante had always found it easier to negotiate with people who were forthright about their demands rather than those who tiptoed around them. It was clear that the Princess Royal didn’t believe in tiptoeing.

“I don’t disagree,” he told her. “But there are many other factors to consider.”

“You won’t find another candidate more suitable than Princess Marissa,” Elena promised. “She has lived her whole life with the demands and duties of royal life, she is educated, well mannered, kindhearted and still innocent.”

Definitely no tiptoeing going on here.

Dante set down his cup and cleared his throat. “I do think that the criteria for suitability have changed somewhat with the times.”

“But your country’s Marriage Act still enumerates some very specific criteria,” Elena pointed out. “Including that the bride of a king must be of noble birth and pure virtue.”

Technically, she was correct. But since a king was entitled to privacy on his wedding night, he wasn’t concerned about the latter stipulation. “I’m not sure that’s a realistic expectation in this day and age,” he acknowledged, refusing to think about his mysterious virgin lover of the previous evening. “I’m more concerned that my future bride is untouched by scandal.”

“I assure you that my daughter is untouched in every way that matters.”

He forced a smile, though the calculation in her eyes made him uneasy. It was obvious that the Princess Royal wanted a union between their families and would do everything in her power to make it happen, and he couldn’t help but feel a tug of sympathy for the princess whose mother so clearly viewed her as a commodity to be bartered.

“You don’t think she would be reluctant to leave her friends and family here to live in another country?”

“Ardena is not so far,” Elena said dismissively. “And a marriage between its king and a Tesorian princess would only strengthen the historically close ties between our two countries. It might even help our people forget the unnecessary stir created by your father on his last visit.”

“Whether the stir was or was not necessary is a matter of perspective,” Dante retorted, not even attempting to disguise the edge in his tone. “And he had reason to be concerned about your son’s relationship with my sister.”

“Well, that’s past history, anyway,” she said, conveniently forgetting that she’d been the one to bring up the subject. “What matters now is the future.”

“Agreed,” he said, only because he knew that the relationship between Prince Cameron and Princess Leticia alleged in the newspaper headlines had been predicated on nothing more than one dance in a nightclub.

Of course, the relationship Elena was advocating for her daughter would be based on even less, and Dante couldn’t help wondering if the princess in question might not want more than a marriage founded solely on politics. And he was both baffled and infuriated that her mother didn’t seem to want more for her.

Or maybe he was angry that he wasn’t allowed to want more for himself. His parents’ marriage had been “suggested” rather than arranged, and they’d been lucky enough to fall in love so that they wanted to honor the wishes of their respective families. When Dante had protested that he should be given the opportunity to find love, too, his parents had bluntly pointed out that he’d managed to find enough lovers without worrying about emotional attachments, and now it was time for him to accept that he had a responsibility to his country and its people. And that responsibility took precedence over all else.

“How does Princess Marissa feel about a potential wedding to the king of Ardena?”

“You don’t need to worry about her feelings,” she assured him. “She understands very well that duty must come before desire.”

“You seem certain of that,” he noted.

“Marissa understands the demands and responsibilities of your position. She will stand by your side when you need her there and remain in the background when you don’t.”

He wasn’t sure he wanted a wife who would be so docile and unassuming. He’d always admired women who had their own thoughts and ambitions, who challenged him to consider different ideas and perspectives, who were intelligent and strong and passionate. He wanted passion.

He wanted Juno.

He pushed the haunting memories of the previous night from his mind. He’d acted impulsively and recklessly, and he knew it couldn’t ever happen again. He was the king of Ardena now, and he needed to find a wife.

He, too, knew that duty must come before desire, and he accepted that there could be no more stolen moments with sexy strangers. So he directed his attention back to his hostess.

“When can I meet your daughter?” he asked.

The Princess Royal’s smile was smug. “She will join us for brunch.”

Chapter Four

When her mother scheduled brunch for one o’clock, Marissa knew that the meal would be on the table at one o’clock—the Princess Royal was absolutely unyielding when it came to maintaining her schedule. Marissa also knew that Elena would not be pleased by her daughter’s arrival at 1:08.

It wouldn’t matter that she had called as she was leaving the hospital to advise that she was running late. The Princess Royal was as intolerant of excuses as she was of tardiness.

Marissa realized her lateness wouldn’t score any points with the duke, either, but she was less concerned about him. Or maybe she was hoping that Anthony Volpini would be so annoyed by her delay that he would abandon all thoughts of marrying her. Buoyed by this thought, she practically skipped up the steps to her mother’s front door.

Edmond, her mother’s butler, had obviously been watching for her, because he opened the door before Marissa even had a chance to ring the bell.

“The Princess Royal and the king are in the dining room.”

She started to nod, accepting that her mother wouldn’t wait even eight minutes for an expected guest, then froze when the import of his words registered. “The king?”

“His Majesty, Dante Romero, King of Ardena,” Edmond announced formally.

“But I thought …”

It didn’t matter what she’d thought. Certainly her mother’s butler wasn’t interested in hearing about her mistaken assumptions. Marissa drew in a deep breath as she tried to consider the implications of this revelation, but she could only think, I’m going to meet the king of Ardena—a thought that made her heart beat hard and fast.

With excitement? Or apprehension? She honestly didn’t know because she didn’t know a lot about him. Although Dante Romero had been a favorite subject of many tabloids for a lot of years, Marissa had never paid much attention to those reports. But when he’d assumed the throne in February—after health issues forced his father to step down—it had become all but impossible to open up a newspaper or turn on a television and not see a photo or a video clip. And she had to admit, it was never a hardship to look at his picture.

But while the tabloids had loved him because the escapades of a playboy prince always generated good headlines, the legitimate press had been much more critical. Especially since he’d transitioned from “the Crown Prince of Ardena” to “His Majesty the King.” They criticized his experience, challenged his knowledge of laws and customs, and questioned his ability to relate to his subjects. But he’d apparently put in a lot of long hours and made a concerted effort to alleviate the concerns of his detractors, and if he’d made a few mistakes along the way, Marissa thought those mistakes only proved that even a king was human.

That thought helped steady her erratically beating heart.

Still, she wished her mother had given her some warning. But the Princess Royal always liked to have the upper hand, and she obviously had it now since she’d somehow convinced the king to come to Tesoro del Mar to meet her daughter.

Elena had commented often enough that a princess’s options for a good marriage were limited, and Marissa didn’t doubt that she would have happily given her consent to any noble who requested her daughter’s hand. But if Marissa somehow managed to snag the interest of a king …

Unfortunately, she knew that the king wasn’t really interested in her. How could he be when he’d never even met her? Besides, she wasn’t a cover model or a famous opera singer or a Hollywood starlet—and yes, the king had dated each of those and a lot more famous and beautiful women—but she was of noble birth. No, the reason for the king’s presence in Tesoro del Mar had nothing to do with her personally and everything to do with politics.