The Park's Empire: Handsome Strangers...: The Prince's Bride

“At first,” he conceded. Lazhar never talked about his grandfather to anyone outside the family circle, but something about the genuine interest in Emily’s green eyes made him want to confide in her. “My mother lost her temper when she found out but after my grandfather told her that I’d learned to do math far beyond my schoolmates, she calmed down.”

Emily laughed. “Did you win often?”

“Not at first. But after a while, yes.”

“What did you do with all the money?”

“Put it in the poorbox at St. Catherine’s.”

Her eyes widened and Lazhar could have kicked himself. He’d never told anyone else what he and his grandfather had done with their earnings. The truth had slipped out, seduced from him by the warm interest in Emily’s green eyes.

“That’s wonderful,” she said softly. “You weren’t tempted to spend it on candy and toys when you were six?”

“I was,” he said ruefully. “But my grandfather wisely discussed all the possible things we could do with the money, then took me to visit the nursery school at St. Catherine’s. Afterward, he told me that I could decide whether I wanted to keep the money or share it with the children at the church. Of course, I chose the church.”

“That must have been a difficult choice for a six-year-old to make.”

Lazhar remembered very well how he’d felt when his grandfather first asked him if he really wanted to spend his winnings on candy. A reminiscent smile curved his mouth. “At first, yes. But my grandfather was a very wise man. He didn’t tell me I had to give the money to St. Catherine’s. He talked about how fortunate I was to live in a palace and to be able to play cards in the casino; then we walked through Daniz, in and out of the shops, through the residential districts, both affluent and poor areas. By the time we finished, I’d learned an important lesson about the responsibilities that came with the benefits of being born into the royal family.”

“And the responsibility of being royal is what made you decide to give the money to St. Catherine’s?”

“Partly. But mostly I did it because I loved my grandfather. If he thought I should give the money to St. Catherine’s, that was a good enough reason for me.”

“He sounds like a wonderful man.”

“He was.” A flashbulb went off below them and Lazhar realized that they’d been standing in full view of the throng on the floor below for too long. The paparazzi had clearly found them. He turned his back to the railing and held out his arm, elbow bent. “Are you ready to move on to the next stop on our tour of Daniz nightlife? Or do you want to chance your luck at another table here in the casino?”

“I’m ready to continue the tour.” She took his arm and they moved down the sweeping staircase.

They said good-night to Esteban and left the casino. Lazhar’s car waited on the paved forecourt, the driver holding the door open. A small crowd of photographers began snapping photos the moment they left the building.

“Just smile and wave,” Lazhar advised Emily, keeping her moving forward at a smooth pace. Moments later, they were in the car, doors closed, and the limo was purring smoothly away from the brightly lit building.

“Goodness, is it always like that?” Emily asked.

“Not always. The local media has a longstanding arrangement with my family—they respect our privacy and in exchange, we have a publicist that arranges photo ops and information releases on a regular schedule.”

“So photographers don’t usually follow you when you’re out for the evening?”

“No, but ever since the tabloids publicized my father’s wish to see Jenna and I married, the international media has flooded Daniz with reporters and photographers. They’re not so willing to stick to the schedule set up by the palace office.” He shifted, his wrist grazing against the bulk of the roll of bills forgotten in his jacket pocket. “I nearly forgot about this.” He shoved his hand in his pocket and took out the bundle of money, holding it out to her. “What do you plan to do with your winnings?” he asked, setting the thick roll on her lap.

“I have no idea. It’s a lot of money.” She glanced at him, the streetlights flickering light and shadow over her features. “I know.” Her dimples flashed as she laughed. “Let’s drop it into St. Catherine’s poorbox.”

Arrested, he stared at her for a moment before his mouth quirked. “You’re sure you want to do that?” His voice held amusement. “You could buy a lot of candy with that much money.”

“I’m sure.”

“Whatever you say.” He leaned forward. “Nico, stop at St. Catherine’s.”

Moments later, the limo eased to the curb and Lazhar handed Emily out. He caught her hand and led her up the flight of stone steps and into the dim church. Not five minutes later, they hurried back down the steps and reentered the car.

“I wonder what the Sisters will think when they empty the box this week.”

“They’ll probably think an angel visited them in answer to prayer.” Lazhar raised their linked hands to his lips and brushed a lazy kiss against her knuckles. “And they’d be right.”

Emily couldn’t catch her breath to respond. His warm mouth barely grazed her fingers, but she felt the impact down to her toes. And the heat simmering in his eyes made her heart stutter in reaction.

The car slowed and braked to a stop. She tugged her fingers from his, glancing out the side window to see a small sign swinging over an arched doorway, the soft rose-colored neon spelling out Pilar’s.

“Where are we?”

“At a friend’s club.” The bodyguard pulled open the door and Lazhar exited, turning to hand out Emily.

Emily stepped out beside Lazhar and waited while he spoke in Spanish with the bodyguard. They were joined by three men from the black sedan that pulled up and parked behind the Mercedes limousine. Emily hid an amused smile. She hoped they weren’t planning to fade into the background, because the four tall, burly men would never be mistaken for anything other than what they were—men whose duty it was to guard the prince of Daniz.

The liquid, musical Spanish conversation flowed around her but she didn’t understand a word of the discussion. While she waited for them to finish, she glanced with curiosity first up, then down, the cobbled avenue. The city street they stood on was narrow and winding, lined on each side with stone buildings five-stories high, each festooned with wrought-iron balconies dripping with trailing flowers and greenery. The sweet scent of climbing roses mingled with lavender and spicy carnation to drench the night air with perfume.

Lazhar might claim this evening was strictly business, she thought, but for her, it was a dream come true. Daniz seemed very exotic and foreign to her and the sights and smells of the principality were seducing her senses.

And then there was Lazhar himself. The handsome prince was proving to be much more than a charming face with royal connections. If she wasn’t careful, she thought, she’d find herself falling in love with the man beneath the royal trappings.

And that would be a disaster. He would soon be marrying someone else, a woman with a pedigree to match his lineage and the training to become the queen of Daniz. Loving him would guarantee her a broken heart.

The car door slammed, the sound drawing her attention back to Lazhar just as he finished speaking with the burly bodyguards.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he murmured. He took her arm, his fingers warm, the calluses faintly rough against her skin.

“Is everything all right?” She glanced over his shoulder at the two men following close behind them.

“Everything’s fine.” His hand left her arm to rest on her waist and he moved her ahead of him through the door held open by one of the bodyguards. “They wanted to leave two men outside to watch the entrance in case the photographers followed us. I convinced them to come inside and enjoy the music and food.”

A wave of sound greeted them. The unmistakable strum of twelve-string guitars accompanied the staccato rap of boot heels against bare wood floors, nearly drowning out the murmur of voices, muted laughter and click of glassware.

“Lazhar! Welcome, my friend.”

Emily stepped back as a big bear of a man wrapped Lazhar in a hug and planted a kiss on each cheek.

“Joaquin,” Lazhar laughed and returned the hard hug.

“I haven’t seen you for at least two weeks. Where have you been?” the man demanded.

“Out of town. I’ve just returned, and I brought someone to meet you and to see Pilar dance.” Lazhar caught Emily’s hand and drew her forward. “Emily, I’d like you to meet Joaquin. He owns the club.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said politely. Joaquin had black eyes and a strong nose above a curved black bandido mustache that drooped over his upper lip, giving him a ferocious look. Given his size and the rest of his demeanor, she would have found him intimidating if not for Lazhar’s warm endorsement.

“It’s a pleasure to meet any friend of Lazhar’s, especially a friend as pretty as you are.” He winked at her.

“I hoped we’d be able to see Pilar dance,” Lazhar said. “Is she here?”