The Crown Prince's Bride Read online

  Begin Reading

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  Thank you for buying this Swerve ebook.

  To receive special offers, bonus content, and info on new releases and other great reads, sign up for our newsletters.

  Or visit us online at us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

  For email updates on the author, click here.

  The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author's copyright, please notify the publisher at: http://us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Late August

  Stephani surveyed the ballroom, ensuring everything was running smoothly and to her satisfaction. As the executive assistant to the Crown Prince of Marazur, it was her job to make sure that Raoul Navarro’s birthday party went off without a hitch.

  So far the dinner had been delicious, the traditional almond cake devoured, and the music and dancing had begun. She started to breathe a bit easier now.

  “Señorita Savalas? Champagne?”

  She turned to the footman who carried several full glasses on his silver tray. “Sí, gracias.” She smiled and took a flute from the tray, then sipped gratefully. The dry, fizzy liquid delighted her tongue. By royal standards, the party was small, but no expense had been spared. Including this particularly fine vintage.

  Raoul deserved a wonderful party after the year he’d had. Considering this was the first real event at the palace since his wife, Princess Cecilia, had tragically died, Stephani had pulled out all the stops.

  It was her job. And it was more than just a job, too. Because for the last seven years, she’d been in love with her boss.

  Her boss, who had been married to her cousin.

  Her boss, who was now a widower with two small children.

  Right now Raoul was mingling with a group that included the finance minister and the gentleman’s twenty-something daughter. The girl looked up at Raoul with something like hero worship, and Stephani smiled to herself. He was at least ten years too old for her, but he was extraordinarily handsome with his black hair and dark, soulful eyes. New lines had appeared at either side of his lips, but Stephani thought they only added to his allure.

  She joined the group and smiled at everyone, then spoke briefly before turning her attention to the Italian attaché. There was also a representative from the French tourism ministry and she switched languages effortlessly.

  “You’re exceptionally good at that.”

  Raoul’s deep voice vibrated at her ear and she suppressed a delighted shiver. She pasted a platonic smile on her face and turned around. “Oh, hello. Having a good time?”

  “More than I expected. And what about you? Are you enjoying yourself? Or just working the room?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  “Just making everyone feel welcome.”

  “And showing off the fact you can speak . . .” He counted silently on his fingers. “Five languages? Six?”

  “Five,” she confirmed. “My Russian and German are more of a danger than an asset. I could ruin diplomatic relations in two sentences.”

  He chuckled, and she let herself enjoy the sound. Raoul didn’t laugh much at all recently, but the wine pairings at dinner and the open bar had loosened him up considerably.

  She hadn’t seen him this relaxed since . . .

  A confusing wave of grief swept over her. Maybe she’d had a secret thing for Raoul for ages, but she’d also loved her cousin deeply. Everyone had loved Ceci. And Stephani missed her. Ceci would have loved a party like this. She would have sparkled like the diamond she was. Stephani was far better behind the scenes. It had always been that way, even when they were kids.

  “It’s good to hear you laugh, Raoul.”

  His eyes met hers. “It’s good to laugh again. It’s been a while.”

  “Of course.” She didn’t want to dampen the mood of the evening, so she smiled instead and nodded toward a woman skirting the dance floor. “Look. Rose has come back. The children were lovely at dinner, don’t you think?”

  His gaze followed the new nanny. “You helped with her dress for the evening?”

  “I did.”

  “My brother can’t take his eyes off of her.”

  “I think Diego has finally met his match. Do you approve?”

  “Yes and no?” He shrugged. “My first priority is the children, and they seem to adore her.”

  “Of course.”

  “But she is also a lovely person.” He sent her a sideways smile. “Better than Diego deserves.”

  She laughed a little. “You don’t really believe that.”

  “No, I don’t. He’s been . . . different. Especially the last few months. Since . . .”

  His voice trailed off, but she knew what he’d meant. Since Ceci died.

  Everything was different since Ceci had died.

  He nudged her elbow. “I don’t want to drag down the party. Do you want to dance, Steph?”

  Did she? She’d only imagined it a million times. Particularly at every palace function when she’d stood on the sidelines with her clipboard while Ceci held Raoul in her arms. The perfect couple, a prince and princess, utterly in love.

  She hesitated long enough that he stepped back. “Lo siento. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “You didn’t,” she hurried to assure him. “I’d love to dance.” It might be her one and only chance. She put her champagne down on a nearby table and smiled up at him. “Shall we?”

  The band had switched to a slower song, and he led her to the polished parquet and took her in his arms. She swallowed tightly . . . oh my. He was smooth, effortless, and his hand was warm against the hollow of her back. His fingers tightened over hers and she bit down on her lip. Raoul, she thought, wondering why on earth she insisted on torturing herself day in and day out. Why couldn’t she manage to shake this silly attraction? Besides, he only ever saw her as his assistant. If he had any idea of her feelings . . . Ugh. Work would be unbearably awkward.

  “You look lovely tonight,” he said, his lips only inches from her ear. “The little black dress was a good choice.”

  “It’s Versace.” She strangled out the words.

  Their feet kept moving, and their bodies seemed to drift closer, until the lapels of his jacket brushed against her breasts. She could feel his heat, smell his cologne.

  She should resign. Find another position somewhere, away from the longing for what she could never have. Except this was the perfect job. Wonderful pay, wonderful perks, and . . . well, the family relied on her. She knew that. It was more than a job, and more than just Raoul. She cared about them all. King Alexander, Diego, the children . . . they were her family now that Ceci was gone. She had no immediate family of her own. What remained of the Savalas family was spread out over Greece and Spain. She didn’t even know half of them. Ceci had been her anchor, and in her absence, the Navarros had become her surrogate family.

  The song ended and Raoul stood back, but his face had lost the relaxed easiness of before, and a small furrow had appeared between his brows. “Is everything okay?” she asked, suddenly panicked that maybe she’d been the one to drift closer and inadvertently created an awkward moment between them.

  “Diego danced with Rose, and she’s just left him standing in the middle of the floor,” he said quietly. “Maybe there’s trouble in paradise.”

  “You should talk to him.”

  “I know. It’s never been easy, though. We’re so different. We always seem to cross swords.”<
br />
  “That’s because you’re more alike than you think. You have to start giving him a chance. He’s more reliable than you give him credit for.”

  Back to business. She felt on solid ground when she could focus on business.

  She patted his arm. “I’m going to check on the kitchen staff. Señora Ortiz is planning a smaller buffet close to midnight.”

  She went to leave and he reached for her hand. “Stephani?”

  She focused on his face, because the fact that he was holding her hand was doing funny things to her insides. “Yes?”

  “Thank you, for all this. I know I’ve been difficult the last few months. Tonight, having people and music in the house again . . .”

  The butterflies in her belly grew heavy. “It must be difficult.”

  “Yes. No. I mean, it’s been good. I can’t live my life being gloomy and unhappy all the time. This wouldn’t have happened without you.”

  She smiled. “The people need to see that you’re still okay.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “I need to know I’m okay. This helped. Thank you.”

  And he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

  His breath was warm against her skin, and she might be mistaken but she would swear his mouth lingered there just a moment longer than necessary. Heat rushed to her face and she muttered a hasty “you’re welcome” before darting away. She didn’t want him to see her blush. Or the fact that his casual touch had the power to make her normal unflappable reserve desert her completely.

  * * *

  Raoul downed his fourth—or was it fifth?—Scotch and put the cut crystal glass down on a table. The midnight buffet had been set out, a light meal for those partygoers working up an appetite on the dance floor. Diego had disappeared ages ago, chasing after Rose.

  His brother was in love. The real thing. And Raoul had congratulated him and wished him well, when all he could think of was how horrible it felt to have his heart ripped out of his chest in the actions of a moment. That perhaps love wasn’t worth it. He might actually believe that if it weren’t for Emilia and Max. The children were all he had left of Ceci, and he wouldn’t trade his marriage with her for anything.

  Not even the pain of losing her.

  They hadn’t let him go to the scene of the accident, but he didn’t have to. The news had shown the mangled wreck in full detail. A leaked phone video had shown the paramedics taking Emilia and Max from the car, and their driver, Marco, sitting with a white bandage on his uncommonly pale face. And there’d been a glimpse of the body bags, too—Ceci’s, and Mariana’s, the royal family’s nanny.

  He went to the bar and got another Scotch. He was a year older, and life did go on. He even had moments of happiness. Tonight had been fun, but now that the evening was winding down, he was missing Ceci more than ever.

  Would it be very bad form for him to leave the party before his guests? He suspected it would.

  As he took a drink of his Scotch, he spotted Stephani across the room. She didn’t look tired at all, even though he knew she’d been here since about seven this morning and hadn’t stopped all day. He wasn’t sure where she got her stamina, but she was the best assistant he’d ever had. She’d been working for him long enough that she anticipated his needs. Hiring Ceci’s cousin had started out as a favor to his wife. Stephani had graduated from university but was working as an event server at a resort in Barcelona to make ends meet. She hadn’t had the resources Ceci did—she’d been the poor cousin who’d had to work her way through. Ceci had known Stephani wouldn’t take a handout, and Raoul had reluctantly agreed to give her a chance. It turned out to be a brilliant business decision.

  He sipped again. Didn’t hurt that she was gorgeous, either. Her silky hair was the same inky color as her black dress and she wore heels that showed off her very fine legs. Stephani worked the room like the greatest of ambassadors and hostesses rolled into one. She was so like Ceci in that regard, warm and generous. But different, too. Focused, sharp. Ceci’s biggest quality had been her capacity for love and kindness. Stephani’s was to take that warmth and use it to its best advantage—while staying out of the spotlight.

  She laughed and he swore he heard it across the room, above the music and the chatter. His body tightened in response, an uncomfortable and yet somehow welcome experience. He was thirty-seven, for God’s sake, and heir to the throne. Unlike his brother, he didn’t have the luxury—or the inclination—to play the field. But he was still a man. A young man, really. What was he going to do, stay a widower for the rest of his life? Stay celibate? It was utterly unrealistic.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have had so much Scotch. He should go. No one would miss him now, would they? Particularly not Steph. He’d thanked her and kissed her cheek, and she’d literally run off. What had he been thinking?

  He left the ballroom and headed for the stairs, then reconsidered. He’d rather get some fresh air and clear his head after all the alcohol.

  The hall to the back entrance of the castle was narrow and once he descended the steps, he reached a stone-encased alcove. Fresh air filtered in, moist and balmy in the summer heat, and he shrugged off his jacket and dropped it in a corner. It would be dusty but he didn’t care. Instead he leaned back against the cool stone and closed his eyes. His head swam instantly and he opened them again, seeking equilibrium.

  And there she was.

  “I brought you a bottle of water,” Stephani said softly. She uncapped it and held it out. “You need to rehydrate.”

  He took it and drank deeply. “How did you know I was here?”

  She met his gaze evenly. “Your Highness, it’s my job to know where you are at all times. Even more than your security.”

  “Thass right. You’re my right hand.” He heard the slur and was mortified. He never got drunk. Never. But he had tonight. It was definitely a good thing he’d left the party.

  She smiled at him. “Oh my. You did hit the Scotch rather hard, didn’t you?”

  He didn’t answer. Didn’t know how to answer.

  “Slurring in front of the finance minister wouldn’t be a smart move.”

  He looked over at her. “Really? I doubt he’d notice.”

  “Oh, he’d notice. Rumor has it he addressed his own alcohol issues a few months ago and has been dry ever since. I watched. He didn’t take any wine at dinner.”

  And this was one of the reasons Steph was so valuable. She always had her ear to the ground. Always seemed to know what was going on and with whom.

  Which made him look at her a little more closely. “So, Miss Observant, how long did you know about Diego and Rose?”

  She laughed. “Almost from day one.”

  “I like it when you laugh.”

  Her smile faded. “Sir?”

  “Don’t ‘sir’ me, Steph. We’ve been past that for years. You’re family.”

  A strange look passed over her face and he wondered what it meant, but then she was smiling again and he thought he might have imagined it. “I’m Ceci’s cousin, that’s all. We’re not blood relatives.”

  “No,” he said quietly. “We’re not.”

  And the strange feeling he’d had while dancing with her returned. Like his skin was somehow shrinking, taut with . . . damn, he couldn’t be feeling attraction. That would just be wrong.

  And yet . . . he dropped his gaze to her lips. They were plump and red, fuller than Ceci’s had been, and right now they opened just a little as Stephani inhaled sharply.

  “Raoul,” she cautioned.

  He dragged his gaze back up to her eyes, expecting to see disapproval, but instead they were wide with what he could only figure was equal awareness. He stepped closer, testing her, and watched as her pupils dilated.

  “Raoul,” she repeated, an edge of desperation in her voice. But not fear. He was clear-headed enough to recognize that wistful sound of longing, and when he lifted his hand and placed it along her cheek, her breath came out in a rush against the pad of his thumb.

 
And then he kissed her.

  She tasted like dry champagne and a trace of almonds and citrus from the cake earlier, plus a darker flavor that was sultry, sexy woman. The little dress she wore was utterly appropriate, even conservative, but the woman inside it was so very alive and responsive. Her tongue met his as he deepened the kiss, and with a sigh of surrender she curled her arms around his shoulders and melted into him.

  His body responded, and he was just man enough—just drunk enough—to be grateful. For the first time since Ceci’s death, he was happy he hadn’t died with her.

  Ceci.

  He stepped back from Stephani, breaking the kiss and putting a few feet between them. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips were slightly swollen and parted. It would be so easy to step forward and take her in his arms. Press her against the stone wall, feel her body beneath his.

  But she was Ceci’s cousin.

  And she was too valuable . . . no, too important for him to treat her in such a cavalier, self-indulgent way. She was Stephani. The person he counted on most.

  “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Steph, I . . . I have no excuse. That was so wrong of me.”

  Her lips closed and she lifted her chin, though he thought, for just a fleeting second, that her lower lip quivered a bit. “Think nothing of it, sir,” she said firmly. “It was the Scotch talking, that’s all.”

  “Yes, the Scotch . . .” His voice trailed off for a moment. “Forgive me, Steph.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” Her voice sounded oddly thick, but he thought maybe it was because they were still ensconced within the stone walls of the alcove.

  “You put together this wonderful party. You always have my back. You must know how I appreciate all you do.”

  She met his gaze and smiled a little. Was she sad? Why wasn’t she angry? He took a breath, then remembered the little sound of acquiescence she’d made as she wrapped her arms around his neck and the words he had been going to say stuck in his throat.

  She had welcomed the contact. Wholeheartedly. What the hell did this mean?