Prince of Midtown / Marriage, Manhattan Style: Prince of Midtown

Tessa hated saying where she was from. Wealthy and privileged people immediately assumed she was one of them. It was embarrassing for everyone when they eventually found out she wasn’t.

That’s when she learned who her real friends were.

She had to give Sebastian credit. He hadn’t blinked when she told him she was a scholarship student.

But why would he care? She was just his employee.

“And what does your father do, dear?” The queen lifted an elegantly arched brow.

Jeez. Was she back in high school? Rich people could be very predictable. “He’s retired now.”

She sipped her juice. Partly to prevent her tongue from saying, He’s a retired school custodian. Yes, you heard right, he cleaned the school. Not quite what you were expecting, was it?

The queen’s tight smile did nothing to soothe her churning stomach. Suddenly she wished she was back home, under the covers in her familiar apartment.

Still, she attempted to act normal and make polite conversation during the meal, instead of gazing around the room and gawking at her companions.

It wasn’t easy.

When the king and queen left the room together, it was all she could do not to sag in her chair in relief.

“More yogurt?” Sebastian lifted the ornate golden urn that looked as though it had been passed down at least ten generations.

“No, thanks. I really should get to work. Would you please show me where the files are? I want to dig out what we’ll need for the meeting.”

“Absolutely not.” He rose in a swift motion. “We have far more important things to do.”

“Like what?”

“You must see our country. More coffee?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine. I might blast off if I drink more of that stuff.”

“Good, right?”

She couldn’t resist smiling in response to his enthusiastic grin. “Fantastic.” Her toes tingled at the idea of exploring the world she’d glimpsed from her window. “Could we go see the harbor?”

“Of course.” Sebastian rose from his chair and held out his hand for her to take it.

He never did that at the office.

Tessa slid her fingers into his strong hand, and let him pull her from her chair. He didn’t move out of the way as she stood, so she found herself dangerously close to his muscled chest. His warm, male scent of sunshine and spice.

Her skin prickled at his nearness.

Why didn’t he move?

His dark eyes drifted over her pale green dress. “You look lovely today, Tessa.”

“Thanks.” She swallowed.

He never usually noticed what she was wearing.

He hadn’t let go of her hand, either. Her palm heated against his.

What was he up to?

Four

“Your hair is wavy.” Sebastian’s gaze followed the undulating mass of hair that she’d tied back with a clasp before breakfast.

Tessa’s hand sprang self-consciously to her head. At least it was nearly dry. “My dryer didn’t fit the outlet.”

Sebastian reached behind her head, his arm almost brushing her cheek in a swift movement that made her gasp. With thumb and finger he unsnapped her hair clip and removed it. Her hair tumbled down her back.

His eyes shone with appreciation. “You should always wear it like this.” He pocketed her clip. “Why do women scorch the natural beauty out of their hair?”

“It looks neater blow-dried straight.”

“I disagree.” He reached into her hair.

Tessa fought the urge to protest. This was totally unprofessional! He stroked her hair. Heat rippled in her belly and she swallowed the desire to purr like a contented cat.

She gulped for air. Had he forgotten she had a boyfriend? “Where are we heading?”

“The harbor. I’ll phone ahead and have my boat prepared.”

He withdrew his hand from her hair and reached into his pocket for his cell.

Oh, how the other half lived.

Tessa expected a chauffeured limousine—especially since that’s how Sebastian generally moved around New York.

But no. They left the palace on foot, through an arched doorway that took them out onto one of the winding cobbled streets flanked with whitewashed buildings.

She was even more astonished when Sebastian stopped to greet ordinary citizens. He seemed to know everyone on a first-name basis, and inquired after their families and their businesses like an old friend.

Weirder still, Tessa found she could understand snatches of conversation, although she’d never had the need to learn the Caspian language.

After a few introductions, she made a halting attempt to greet an elderly man in Caspian.

Sebastian rewarded her efforts with a broad grin. “You speak like a native.”

“No, I don’t! But I’m having fun trying. How come so many of the words sound familiar?”

“Did you study Latin in school?”

“I went to St. Peter’s.” She chuckled. “You know the snootiest prep school on the East Coast made everyone take Latin.”