The Crown Prince's Bride Page 2

  He wasn’t sure how to ask, and after too long of a hesitation, she put her hand on his arm and gave a little squeeze. “It’s my job,” she said softly. “Try to sober up. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

  Then she slipped away, her footsteps echoing on the stone steps.

  Raoul had no desire to go back to the party. Instead he picked up his dusty jacket, made his way into the garden—Ceci’s garden—and found a vacant bench.

  Then he took the little silver flask from his jacket pocket, unscrewed the cap, and took a big swig.

  Stephani was off-limits. Tomorrow he’d reset the boundaries and they’d go back to normal. And if he ever did decide to . . . have a romance again, it wouldn’t be with his assistant.

  No matter how alluring she’d turned out to be.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Six months later

  Stephani had planned many events at the palace over the years, but none of this magnitude. A royal wedding was not your run-of-the-mill state dinner or ball, and the last one had been a small, intimate affair with only family present. Of course, some of the chores were the same no matter what the function: fretting over guest lists, menus, decorations, staffing. But there was also security at the church, press access, transportation to and from the cathedral, and honeymoon arrangements for the happy couple—Diego and Rose.

  It was a long way from the small coastal town in Greece where she’d grown up. A royal wedding, put into her hands. She wondered if her parents would be proud of her if they were still alive.

  She’d grown up a fisherman’s daughter, and it was the sea that had taken both her parents when she’d been away at school.

  Stephani printed out the final guest list and tucked it into her folder. Diego’s new assistant, Sofia, was wonderful and a hard worker, but she was still learning. And the bride, though easily pleased, had no experience with planning such a large event. She communicated her preferences, but Steph and Sofia were left to work out the logistics.

  As a result, it was now three days before the wedding and Stephani wasn’t sure she was going to make it without either falling asleep at her desk, or getting an ulcer. She reached into a drawer and grabbed an antacid, popped it into her mouth, and let out a huge sigh.

  “Stephani, can you find an extra hour in my schedule today for the tourism minister? The latest incident in Germany could have a ripple effect on travel and I want to be proactive.”

  She looked up and cracked down on the antacid. “Let me check,” she replied, taking a deep, slow breath to keep the feeling of being overwhelmed at bay. “I’ll see what I can do to set something up with her office for this afternoon.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled. “You’re a gem.”

  He went back into his office and she crushed the tablet to smithereens, wondering if it would still work if she didn’t do the slow dissolve thing.

  This was how it had been between them for six months. Like nothing ever happened. The morning after his birthday party, Raoul had acted utterly professional and . . . platonic. Not a hint of awkwardness or . . . well, attraction. It had stung that she was actually that forgettable, but despite the disappointment, she figured it was for the best. Particularly when the tabloids had become involved in Raoul’s personal life, and the first priority was dealing with a scandal.

  The problem was, she was tired of being his assistant. She worked twelve, fourteen hour days quite often. And she was thirty-two, for heaven’s sake. The proverbial clock had started ticking and she couldn’t get it to shut up. When the hell did she have time to actually date? And she might like to plan her own kid’s birthday party instead of Max’s or Emilia’s, though she loved them dearly. She mentally ticked off a timeline in her head. Dating, a suitable time for the relationship to develop, then planning a wedding, then getting pregnant—assuming she got pregnant right away, of course, and nine months later . . . Thirty-five at least. And that was if she met the right person like . . . now.

  Like that was going to happen.

  And this hadn’t even truly been on her radar until last summer, when Raoul had kissed her. All her feelings that had been riding beneath the surface came bubbling up, and she’d had to shove them back down again. Added to that the engagement and wedding planning for Diego and Rose, and romance seemed to be everywhere.

  Except for her. And a few weeks ago she’d discreetly started putting out feelers for other jobs. Maybe it was time to move on. She certainly had the experience to be incredibly versatile.

  She scheduled the tourism minister for four o’clock and put the order to the kitchen to prepare a proper tea for the meeting in the blue salon. She finalized the seating plan for the reception meal after the wedding, got the church seating plan from Sofia and made a few adjustments, and touched base with the new nanny, Imogene, on Emilia and Max’s schedule for the wedding day. A headache started behind her eyes and she chased it with a couple of painkillers and a strong coffee. When the staff delivered the tea service at four fifteen, she realized she hadn’t eaten since eight that morning.

  No wonder she had a headache and her stomach lining felt as if it had a hole burning through it.

  Raoul came out of his office, took one look at her, and came to her desk, kneeling beside her. “Steph, are you all right? You’re awfully pale.”

  She smiled weakly, touched by his concern, feeling vulnerable because of it. “I’m fine. I just . . . it’s silly, really. I forgot to eat today, and the coffee I had a while ago isn’t sitting well.”

  He immediately got to his feet, went to the tea cart, and put some things on a plate. “Here. You need to eat.”

  “Oh, no. That’s for you and Señora Munoz.”

  “She’s not here yet, and we won’t miss a few sandwiches and tarts. You need to look after yourself.”

  Concern shadowed his eyes and she felt the stupid glimmer of hope that he actually cared flicker in her breast.

  Then he smiled gently. “I mean, we can’t have you run-down. We can’t manage this office without you.”

  And poof. Flicker extinguished. Replaced by a huge weight of guilt that she was thinking of doing just that—leaving the office and palace business to someone else. God, she was going to have an ulcer if she kept this up.

  She dutifully took a triangle of sandwich from the plate and nibbled on it. “I’ll be fine, really.”

  “Maybe you should take tomorrow off.”

  She was in the middle of chewing and started to laugh, and lifted her fingers to her mouth to both cover the awkward moment and to avoid spitting out any sandwich. How mortifying. “Two days before the wedding? Not likely.”

  “After the wedding, then. Some rest and relaxation. You haven’t taken a vacation in months.”

  Of course not. Because Ceci had died and everything had been in an uproar. Raoul had needed everyone to be behind him. And then there was the whole Diego and Rose fiasco, and firing Diego’s assistant, and training someone new. It had been nearly a year and the only time she’d taken off was three days over the Christmas holidays.

  A vacation sounded heavenly. And also impossible. It also distracted her from the fact that she was currently actively looking for other employment.

  “We’ll see, shall we?” She sat back and took a bite of lemon tart. She was just brushing the crumbs off her blouse when a footman appeared with the tourism minister just behind him.

  And she had crumbs on her fingers and a mouth full of pastry.

  Raoul stepped into the gap and greeted Señora Munoz personally. “Julia. How lovely to see you again. I’ve ordered tea. Please come in.” He actually took the cart and wheeled it himself. But then, the Navarro men weren’t always sticklers for protocol. In fact, other than the very proper and appropriate Cecilia, the Navarro men had a habit of loving in surprising places. Except Raoul. He was the rule follower. The “what’s best for Marazur” member of the family. It had been good—for Marazur. Not so good for Raoul’s personal life.

  When they were gone, she
leaned back in her chair and finished the lemon tart. No one did pastry like Señora Ortiz. Between that and the sandwich, she was starting to feel remotely human again. Which was good because she still had several hours of work left before she could go home for the night.

  The tourism minister left at six. Raoul went back into his office and then came back out again, frowning at her. “You should go home,” he advised, his eyes dark with concern.

  “I will. I don’t have much more,” she lied. “See? I have everything on a schedule. Just a few more items to cross off.” She turned her computer monitor toward him, then back again. What she had showed him was only one page of her task list.

  “I’m off to have dinner with the family. Why don’t you join us?”

  Her horrified reaction must have shown on her face because Raoul’s frown eased and he laughed a little. “We don’t bite, you know.”

  A staff member—no matter how “friendly”—simply did not have dinner with the family.

  “No, thank you, sir,” she said quietly, turning back to her screen. “I’m fine.” She was tired and yes, a little cranky. The idea of sitting in the massive dining room with Raoul and the king and Diego and Rose and Raoul’s children . . . it was too much.

  “Lucy arrives tomorrow. Maybe she’ll be able to convince you to take it easy.”

  Stephani looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. She loved Raoul’s half sister, but Lucy’s energy wasn’t always of the relaxing variety. “I doubt it.”

  Raoul laughed then, and put a hand in his pocket. “Suit yourself. Please leave at a reasonable time, though. Burnout is a real thing, Steph.”

  She nodded quickly, wishing he’d leave already. She didn’t want him to see that little tears had pricked the corners of her eyes at his concern.

  And it was time she admitted that she’d never stay this late or go the extra mile quite this much for anyone other than Raoul. He needed her, and so she stayed. At great cost to herself.

  * * *

  Raoul carefully carried the tray that Señora Ortiz had prepared for him. He’d known Stephani for many, many years. And he knew when she was lying. Tonight, when she’d said she was almost ready to go home, she’d been lying. The look on her face when he’d asked her to join them for dinner had been as honest as it could get. She’d been startled and intimidated by the very idea.

  Since she was perfectly comfortable with the family, he figured there was only one reason for her reaction. She was stressed and tired, and rightfully so. If she wouldn’t come to dinner, he’d take dinner to her.

  Sure enough, she was still sitting at her desk, squinting at the computer screen, the soft click of her mouse absurdly loud in the silent office.

  “Steph,” he said, and she jumped, her mouse flying onto the floor as she gasped in alarm.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.” What he’d said about burnout earlier seemed more and more likely, from the look on her face. “I brought you dinner.”

  “But I said I was leaving soon.”

  He laughed. “An hour and a half ago. And I knew you were lying.” He put down the tray and took the cover off the plate. “Señora Ortiz made stuffed salmon this evening.”

  “It smells amazing.” He was gratified when she sat back in her chair and sighed. “I’m sorry, Raoul. I know I’ve been snippy.”

  “Don’t apologize. If you needed more help, why didn’t you say something? We could have brought in someone temporary. Or you can have your own assistant. You have a lot to handle here.”

  “I can manage,” she said, and looked away from his gaze again. Hmm. What wasn’t she saying?

  “Come. Let’s move this to the seating area and table. There’s no need for you to eat at your desk.” He moved the tray to a small, round table and pulled up a proper chair. Thankfully she didn’t fight him. She sat, took the napkin from his hand, and placed it on her lap. He watched as she took her knife and fork and sampled the first bite, then he pulled up a chair himself. “Steph, what’s going on? Are you truly all right?”

  She nodded as she put another piece in her mouth and chewed. “I’m fine. I really am just tired, Raoul. The wedding is a big deal. Even bigger than Lucy’s was. Diego’s more visible. More popular. And there are different security needs now than there were when Lucy and Brody got married here at the castle.”

  It was true. For a long time, no one had even known Lucy existed—his half sister was a product from a May-September romance shortly after Raoul and Diego’s mother had passed. And she married a Canadian rancher and now lived in Alberta. All in all, that royal wedding had been more low-key than the production taking place in a few days.

  She dabbed at her lips. “Don’t you want to say good night to Max and Emilia?”

  He smiled. “I will. They are upstairs with Imogene for now. I told them I had to make sure Tía Stephani had some dinner first.”

  “I’m not their aunt, Raoul.”

  “You’re their cousin, and they’ve always called you Tía Stephani. They love you. You’re family. I wish you’d join us sometimes.”

  He watched as Stephani played with her rice. “The thing is, Raoul, I’m Ceci’s family, but first and foremost I’m an employee. And blurring the line between the two is not a good idea.”

  He met her gaze, and felt the little jolt he often felt when they looked at each other. For a long time he’d been able to ignore the feeling, that little flicker of recognition, of awareness. But he hadn’t been so successful since his last birthday and the kiss they’d shared. Now that flicker had context. Now he knew what she tasted like, felt like in his arms. He’d spent the last six months trying to ignore it, knowing it would only complicate things.

  The line was already a bit blurred.

  He got up and got her a glass of water, then sat again and waited for her to finish her dinner. When she was done, he handed over another smaller covered plate. When she looked up at him with a questioning expression, he grinned. “Coconut flan.”

  “Oh, that’s my favorite,” she said, longing in her voice. “But I shouldn’t.”

  “Yes, you should.”

  “But my dress for the wedding . . .”

  “You haven’t eaten properly in two weeks.” He knew, because he’d noticed and worried far earlier than today. “If you don’t eat the flan, the dress will fall off you and create a spectacle. I’m certain that’s not what you want.”

  A smile teased her lips. “You’re making fun of me.”

  “I’m trying to say that the last thing you need to worry about is your figure. Eat the flan. There should always be room for flan.”

  If being a widower had taught him one thing, it was to enjoy the small moments. While responsibilities weighed heavy on his shoulders, he did try to make time for what was important. Bedtime stories with the children. Morning coffee with his father.

  Watching Stephani eat flan. She put the spoon between her lips and that flicker came to life again.

  “You’re better now?” he asked, then cleared his throat.

  “Much.” She smiled at him. “Thank you, Raoul. For making me take the time to eat. A little hydration and food is exactly what I needed.”

  She needed more than that. She needed to get out of the palace for more than sleeping hours. He was going to see about hiring her an assistant, even if it was only part time. He’d see to it, right after the wedding was over and Diego and Rose were off on their honeymoon. He rather envied their trip, though he knew Diego was blending it with business, as well. They were off on a Tanzanian safari and then spending a few weeks at one of Diego’s charity projects in the area.

  Once upon a time he would have liked a trip like that with Ceci. Just the two of them, and it wouldn’t have mattered where they were, as long as they were together. He’d hold her in his arms through the night and they’d hold hands during the day and share secret smiles. He looked over at Stephani, who was finishing her dessert. Intimacy. That was what he missed the most. He missed having that certain so
meone at the end of the day. He envied his brother more than anyone could guess.

  “I’m going to head up and say good night to the children,” he said, and pushed back his chair. “Just send word to the kitchen when you’re done. Someone will collect your tray.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She smiled at him. “I’ll take it down myself. And I promise I’ll leave the rest of my work for tomorrow, Raoul. Now that I’ve stopped working there’s nothing I want more than a glass of wine and a hot bath.”

  Oh Dios mío. He did not need that image burned into his brain right now. He stood rather abruptly. “Then I’ll say good night and see you in the morning.”

  He was nearly to the door of the office when her voice stopped him. “Raoul?”

  He turned half around.

  “Thank you for dinner. It was very sweet.”

  “You’re welcome,” he answered.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two days before the wedding and Steph had a hesitantly optimistic feeling it was all going to come together. After last night’s meal she’d gone home and had that wine and bath and a solid nine hours sleep. Today she’d come into work feeling more rested and energized than she had in several weeks. The checklist was well in hand and she’d made the brave, yet smart decision to do a little extra delegating. At some point she had to trust people to run their sections and do their jobs.

  Lucy arrived at noon, coming into the office with a boundless energy that Stephani envied, as well as a splendid waterfall of red, curly hair. She looked nothing like the Navarros, but she had the same stubborn mind and ineffable charm.

  “Stephani!” Lucy cried out, and came around her desk to pull her into a hug. “You look exhausted. Where’s Rose? Isn’t she planning all this stuff?”

  Steph laughed. “Rose is being bridal. Today is spa day. Body wrap, mani, pedi, facial, massage . . . the whole works. Then she has her final fitting and dinner with the bridesmaids.”

  Lucy shuddered. “I’m glad Brody and I kept things really simple.”

  Steph laughed, really happy Lucy was here. The youngest of the Navarros, she seemed to spread sunbeams everywhere she went, and not just because of the color of her hair. “Brody and the kids? They’re settled?”