Книга - To Marry A Prince

To Marry A Prince
A.C. Arthur


A royal seductionCrown Prince Kristian DeSaunters has been groomed since birth to take his place as leader of his tropical kingdom—with the proper princess by his side. Never one to lose his control, he’s stunned by his attraction to the free-spirited American stylist who arrives at the palace with the entourage of his father’s fiancée. Soon Kris and Landry Norris are sharing an instant sultry attraction that is showing no signs of slowing down.Landry couldn’t turn down the opportunity of a lifetime to dress the princess-to-be on a private Caribbean island. Falling for Kris is definitely not part of her plan, but the independent LA beauty soon finds herself yearning for a fairy-tale ending of her own. Until someone sets out to sabotage the upcoming nuptials—and Landry becomes the prime suspect. Will Kris and Landry be able to stop a hidden enemy bent on destroying the DeSaunters reign—and save the possibility of a future together?







A royal seduction

Crown prince Kristian DeSaunters has been groomed since birth to take his place as leader of his tropical kingdom—with the proper princess by his side. Never one to lose his control, he’s stunned by his attraction to the free-spirited American stylist who arrives at the palace in his father’s fiancée’s entourage. Soon Kris and Landry Norris are sharing an instant sultry attraction that shows no signs of slowing down.

Landry couldn’t turn down the opportunity of a lifetime to dress the princess-to-be on a private Caribbean island. Falling for Kris is definitely not part of her plan, but the independent LA beauty soon finds herself yearning for a fairy-tale ending of her own. Until someone sets out to sabotage the upcoming nuptials—and Landry becomes the prime suspect. Will Kris and Landry be able to stop a hidden enemy bent on destroying the DeSaunters reign—and save the possibility of a future together?


“What do you need?”

The question was quick and impulsive. Her response was even quicker. And bold. Yes, Kris thought as he sucked in a quick breath when she’d taken that step closing the distance between them, it was bold.

“Why?” she asked. “What do you need, Prince Kristian?”

He stared at her for much longer than he figured a smooth and charismatic man should. Then again,

those had never been traits Kris possessed. He was the mature prince, the serious one who was all business, all the time. But he’d never done business with a woman who looked and smiled like Landry Norris. None of his dealings were filled with the scent she wore, or the sound of Landry Norris’s voice. And nobody, not even the women he’d dated over the years, whether for convenience or for political reasons, had ever made him lose track of what he should be doing.

Yet his response to her was simple and came as naturally as his next breath. Kris touched a finger to her chin, tilting her head up farther. Her lips parted slightly as her hazel eyes stared back at him. He leaned in closer, wanting desperately to see those eyes filled with lust. Wanting, even more hungrily, to touch his lips to hers, to taste the sweetness of her.


Dear Reader (#u99271997-fab8-5b08-b538-b6cfd4e96d0f),

I am so excited to introduce the glamorous life of the royal DeSaunters family! One of my favorite moments while writing this series was actually cruising to the Caribbean islands and receiving so much inspiration for scenes in this trilogy.

I hope you have as much fun reading about this fabulous family as I did writing about them.

Happy reading,

ac


To Marry a Prince

A.C. Arthur






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


A.C. ARTHUR is an award-winning author who lives in Baltimore, Maryland, with her husband and three children. An active imagination and a love for reading encouraged her to begin writing in high school and she hasn’t stopped since.


To everyone who found their Prince Charming and to those who may still be looking. Dreams do come true!


Contents

Cover (#u84bc0ccf-8793-51b0-82ce-12644a6a4631)

Back Cover Text (#u50f5abad-547b-5355-871b-aa1f8078103a)

Introduction (#u5f40800e-4578-581e-bda2-50274c946758)

Dear Reader (#u43d0c4a7-5181-588f-94cd-eafd92f0edd7)

Title Page (#uaa221a3b-9254-52de-8d89-548751945b2d)

About the Author (#uba8ab3eb-dc63-5735-a240-d106555ad72c)

Dedication (#uee173fca-fbe2-55b3-96fc-2e8d9f11cb76)

Chapter 1 (#ue90bdb82-d334-54ca-a801-9e6c7d187e14)

Chapter 2 (#ue15737a8-5dc5-59b6-b278-58c302e7ad40)

Chapter 3 (#ucd4e451e-3f13-5a39-9cc6-e91db6f873d9)

Chapter 4 (#ud10d59d7-05e9-56ba-83c2-f12a81de5fe2)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter 1 (#u99271997-fab8-5b08-b538-b6cfd4e96d0f)

He took her breath away, and for Landry Norris, stylist to Hollywood’s most glamorous women and debonair men, that was no small feat.

That thought caused the very smooth and elegant curtsy that she’d practiced just before boarding the plane to come off with a bit of hesitation. Still, she smiled brightly as she lifted her head and came to a standing position. He—the Crown Prince Kristian Rafferty DeSaunters—stood before her in all his regal and hot-as-hell glory.

There had been a flurry of activity in the last couple of days, all of which had culminated in this moment. Landry clasped her hands in front of her cream-colored peplum top and gray pencil skirt, hoping she had made the correct outfit selection. That was her thing, after all—finding the right outfit for the right occasion and pairing it perfectly with the person who would wear it. Very rarely was she that person. But Malayka Sampson, one of Landry’s newer clients, had changed that.

In her briefcase, which she had left downstairs in the massive marble-and-gold-decorated foyer, was a signed contract between Landry Norris LLC and Malayka Sampson, the woman soon to be princess of Grand Serenity Island. That title and all that went with it had both surprised and impressed Landry when Malayka breezed into her Los Angeles office to share the news. On Malayka’s finger was a huge emerald, while the woman’s face sported a triumphant smile. Landry figured she’d be smiling too if she were wearing that rock.

Before that, Landry had only dressed Malayka for three functions—the Oscars, which Malayka attended with renowned producer Siegmond Elrey, the Met Gala and New York Fashion Week. Malayka was a cold call client, something Landry rarely accepted. One—she wanted to keep her personal stylist company small and intimate so that she could specially cater to her clients. And two—because most of the cold calls meant she had no idea who the potential client was or what type of funds they were working with.

She’d taken a gamble on Malayka Sampson and it seemed to have paid off, in spades.

“Have a seat, Ms. Norris,” the prince said in a low, deep voice that made Landry think of hot baths and back rubs.

She moved carefully to one of the cherrywood upholstered armchairs and gingerly took a seat. Considering Landry was used to being around wealthy people, handling gowns worth more than her childhood home, visiting mansions and attending movie premiers, being a guest in the royal palace on a Caribbean island felt unfamiliar to her. It was new and exciting and just a little bit nerve-racking.

From what she’d seen so far of the palace—it was lavishly decorated and spoke of the wealth and prestige of the people who lived there. Take this office for example, she thought with a quick glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows and grand stately furniture, it was one hell of a space. Roughly the size of the top level of her condo back in LA, the room was meticulously decorated with gold-leaf-framed portraits, Aubusson rugs and a large glossed wood desk where the gorgeous crown prince sat.

“It is Miss? You’re not married, are you?”

She could see his lips moving but had been too wrapped in the wonder of her surroundings to pay attention to what was being said.

“Excuse me?” she replied with a shake of her head, a silent admonishment to herself in hopes she would get it together.

He sat back in that dark leather chair, his honey-brown complexion combined with the pale gray color of his Italian-cut suit jacket providing a stark contrast. Behind him the white plantation shutters that covered each window were opened so that slices of sunlight slipped into the room.

“I asked if you were married.”

He sounded annoyed but his facial expression remained the same.

Dark eyebrows draped dramatically over velvet brown eyes. His jaw, not exactly strong but precise, just like his nose and ears. It was almost as if he’d had his pick of physical attributes and he’d done an excellent job putting them together.

“No. I’m not married,” she managed to finally reply.

A curt nod was the only telling sign that he’d even heard her answer as he immediately reached for a folder on his desk and opened it. He stared down at the papers that she presumed had something to do with her. The amount of paperwork she’d completed before coming there reminded her of when she’d purchased her condo. Grand Serenity Island had a tough security system. She presumed it was that way only for persons who would be staying in the palace, and not for every tourist who wanted to visit this Caribbean haven.

“You’ve been in business for two years. Landry Norris LLC is the name of your company. You’re a personal stylist. So you select clothes for adults to wear?”

He was speaking as if he were reading from cue cards and didn’t quite understand what the words meant. It irritated her. She’d grabbed the arms of the chair and squeezed as she restrained the urgency to speak her mind.

When he looked up, his thick, perfect brows raised in question.

Landry cleared her throat, realizing he was expecting an answer.

“I assist my clients with choices that will enhance the way they look and feel. I help them select clothing that will suit their natural features and lifestyle. When a person is looking their best it can be a confidence booster. My job is to not only dress clients, but to assist them in their personal growth.”

She spoke succinctly and from the heart. Her job was her passion and while she knew others might not see it as an “important” career, it was hers and she was proud of it. By the time she’d finished speaking her hands were calmly in her lap, her head tilted just slightly as she waited for the prince’s next comment.

“Malayka Sampson,” he continued, as if her statement had been as interesting as reciting the alphabet. “How long have you known her?”

“Our first contact was via email in late November. She needed a dress for the Oscars—that’s an American award show,” she informed him.

“I know what the Oscars are,” he countered quickly.

He would know, she thought. The royal family of Grand Serenity had been the guests of the president of the United States on numerous occasions in the last eight years. When Landry was inclined to pay attention to the political arena, for reasons other than keeping up with the fashions worn by the First Family and the many dignitaries they entertained, she’d seen Prince Rafferty DeSaunters, the widower who ruled this island, and Princess Samantha DeSaunters a few times. She also remembered another royal sibling, a brother, one who was pictured in magazines and newspapers more often than she’d seen any of the others. But as for this one, the crown prince, the one who would rule the island following Prince Rafferty, she had not seen as much.

The prince continued, “How did she learn about you and what did she ask of you?”

“Another one of my clients had a party and Malayka was there. As I’ve heard from both of them, my name was brought up in their discussion, and Malayka sent me an email a few days later.”

“Why didn’t she call you? Did your other client not give her your number?”

“At that time of year I am extremely busy going over resketched gown proposals and backup wardrobe pieces. There are fittings and accessory meetings, as well as lunches with reps of designers I may consider for next year’s awards season. My cell phone is always on and always with me, but there are times when I may not be able to answer. My clients know this and have been known to send a text or an email. Sometimes it’s easier to give a quick response that way, when I’m unable to speak to them personally at the time.”

If this were an interview, Landry might be failing. She was very aware of that fact.

Smile more. Be friendlier. Stop being so defensive.

Those were her mother’s words as she warned Landry for the millionth time about finding the right guy.

First impressions are everything.

“How many clients do you have?” was his next question.

Landry resisted the urge to sigh. “Ten.”

“So few. Do you plan on expanding?”

“I plan to run a small and personal business, one where I can really get to know my clients and thus provide them with the best service possible.”

He looked somber. The expression had not changed since the moment she’d sat down. “And you like catering to people?” He paused. “Why?”

“There are only some people I like catering to, Your Highness. Malayka Sampson is my client and she’s hired me to dress her for the events leading up to the wedding. That’s the only reason I’m here on your island. And if we’re finished, I really must meet with Malayka—we have a great deal to get done before the engagement party.”

She’d stood then because sitting was no longer an option. Her hands were now shaking, her heart beating a tense rhythm as she fought to remain calm. When in actuality, she was extremely annoyed. She did not like being questioned as if she were considered disingenuous, or that her business was not up to his standards. Yes, he was the prince of a gorgeous island, but he was still a man and Landry wasn’t used to cowtailing to any men, or women for that matter.

He’d surprised her by standing as well. It was a quick motion, one he either hadn’t expected to make, or didn’t appreciate having to make. As he came around that large desk, Landry remembered the book she’d read on the plane about royal protocol. Most men in America did not stand when a woman did. An attestation to the whole chivalry is dead mantra. Here, the men—correction, the royal men—were different. At least that’s what the book said.

“Welcome to Grand Serenity Island,” he stated and extended his hand to her.

Landry hesitated momentarily, but then accepted his hand and looked him in the eye.

Did the earth shake? Was that thunder she heard? Who turned up the heat in here?

A wave of heat flowed steadily from her fingers to her wrist, up her arm and rested embarrassingly in her cheeks. He looked down at their hands about a second or so before she did. He was a few shades lighter than her mocha hue.

When she looked back, it was to see him staring at her. She could swear her thoughts were mirrored in his expression. Prince Kristian DeSaunters was not blushing as she feared she probably was, but he did appear shaken. It was a faint change from the stern and serious look that had been in his eyes just moments before. His lips pressed together tightly until he almost seemed to grimace.

“Thank you,” Landry replied but made no attempt to remove her hand from his grasp.

His fingers moved over hers as their gazes held.

“No rings,” he spoke quietly.

“I’m not married,” she answered. “I thought we already established that fact.”

Neither was he, Landry thought. He was single and dashing and still holding her hand. It felt natural and odd at the same time. Welcome, yet a bit too familiar for their first meeting. And still, she did not pull away.

“I look forward to seeing more of you,” the prince continued. “More of your work, that is.”

Right, she reminded herself. She was here to work, not to ogle this man.

“Thank you, Your Highness. I plan to do my very best,” she said in her most professional tone, just as there was a knock at the door.

He was still holding her hand when someone entered, already speaking.

“Hey Kris, we need to talk about tomorrow’s meeting with the board of directors and then—” her voice trailed off as the stunningly beautiful Princess Samantha Raine DeSaunters came to a stop right beside them.

The prince dropped Landry’s hand as if she’d had a palm full of hot coals.

Landry then finished with the roller coaster of emotions brought on by the introduction to Grand Serenity’s royalty, bid a quick farewell before making a hasty retreat.

* * *

“Who was that and what did you do to run her away like that?”

Kristian stared at the door Landry had just passed through. He was asking himself an array of questions at the moment, none of which he wanted to share with his younger sister.

“That was Landry Norris. She’s Malayka’s stylist,” he replied then moved to stand behind his desk once again.

He closed the file his assistant had compiled on Ms. Norris and her business venture. The picture that was included—the one that had captured him the moment he’d first seen it earlier this week—was tucked securely in the back. That’s where he’d finally put it yesterday, when he couldn’t rationalize why he kept staring at it.

“You’re kidding, right?” Sam shook her head as she continued to walk into the office, taking a seat in the chair that Landry had vacated. “Why does she need a personal stylist? She already has her hairdresser and makeup artist here.”

Kris took his seat. “I was going to ask you that same question... Do you have someone who selects your clothes for you?”

It seemed like a silly question to ask, especially when posed to his sister, who lived in the same house with him. In his defense their house was unlike usual homes. It was a palace, after all. Wonderland, that’s what Vivienne DeSaunters, their mother, used to call the family home. Located high on the cliffs of Grand Serenity, a Caribbean island just north of Colombia and Venezuela, the royal palace was a sprawling white structure with jutting towers capped in gold domes. It was roughly the size of twenty-five of the homes in the town below, and housed the rulers who had governed the island for the last sixty-five years.

His family resided in a large wing toward the center of the house with the majority of the rooms overlooking the cliffs that fell off into the glorious turquoise sea. Before Vivienne had come to live in the palace windows had been barred and locked, as one of the former rulers, Marco Vansig, had not been a particularly kind man, thus soliciting more enemies than he could eventually ward off. Under Vivienne’s progressive and feminine hand the barred windows were removed and replaced with practical weather-resistant glass ones that sparkled and brought in every ounce of sunlight and the island’s magnificent view.

Kris’s father, Rafe, had the largest group of rooms in that wing of the house as the reigning prince of the island. Kris and each of his younger siblings, Sam and Roland, had their own rooms situated among the areas of the massive dwelling in a way that provided them all with the privacy they seemed to desire. It wasn’t easy living under the titles they held, finding solace within the walls of their private rooms was sometimes all they could manage. At least it was that way for Kris.

As the crown prince, the one who would ultimately succeed his father in ruling their country, Kris carried a tremendous weight on his shoulders. One which was now causing a great deal of stress for him.

“I am not your average woman, I suspect,” Sam replied to his question with a quirk of her lips. “I love beautiful clothes and accessories, but I like to have the final say in what I wear or purchase for that matter.”

She always looked good, Kris thought, as he stared across his desk at his sister—younger than him by six years—looking vaguely amused by their conversation. Samantha Raine DeSaunters was a beautiful woman with her smooth milk-chocolate complexion, and thick coal-black hair. Her skin tone and assessing eyes came from their father, while her outgoing personality and the innate need to take care of everyone around her were undoubtedly traits obtained from their mother.

“I think it’s safe to say that you are nothing like Malayka Sampson,” was Kris’s dry response.

Sam agreed with the nod of her head. “I don’t know that there is anyone like her. Did you know that she has already begun planning the wedding?”

Kris sat back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap, a position in which he could easily be mistaken for his father. “The date is set for December first. The date has significance to her and she wants a grand celebration. Those were Dad’s exact words.”

“And he plans to give it to her?” Sam asked.

“He does.”

She cursed.

It was soft and way too dainty to carry much weight, still Kris realized the severity of the situation at hand especially because it made his normally pleasant sister vent in such a way.

Malayka Sampson was engaged to their father. She was a thirty-seven-year-old American who would, in just seven months, become the princess of Grand Serenity Island. As such she would manage Wonderland...no, that was his mother’s. It belonged only to her. It always would. Malayka would manage the palace and she would take over much of the community and public relations duties that Sam now held. She would become the new face and voice of the island, while his father continued to rule via business and policy the way his father had before him.

“I don’t like her and neither does Roland,” Sam told him.

Her words came as no surprise to Kris. Sam and Roland tended to agree on a number of things. Kris was the one who was usually treading on the outside of the sibling bond. That was part of his birthright as his father had taught him from the time he’d been old enough to speak. He was the future ruler, thus he had to lead, always.

“She makes Dad happy,” Kris replied. “That is all that matters.” For now, he thought, wisely keeping that last part to himself.

“She makes me want to do bodily harm and you know that is not my character,” Sam added with a slight chuckle.

“I know. But there are more pressing matters at hand. The Children’s Hospital brunch is coming up later this week and the Ambassador’s Ball is later this month. Is everything in order?”

Sam nodded, looking down at the notepad she’d brought with her into his office. “Just a few final details for each event and they’re all set. As I mentioned when I came in, I have meetings with the board of directors at the hospital tomorrow and after that, I’ll be spending the rest of the afternoon at the Bella Club.”

Kris nodded as he reached for a pen to make note of his sister’s whereabouts the following day. He also had access to her business calendar on the private network the monarch shared. Roland’s and Rafe’s business calendars were also available to him. However, Sam had a number of personal ventures that meant a lot to her. Kris respected that and envied his sister’s passion in helping wherever she could. The Bella Club was an organization Sam had started to offer refuge, counseling and rehabilitation to troubled young adults between the ages of thirteen and eighteen.

“That sounds good,” he said as a thought entered his mind. “Would you mind taking Landry Norris with you tomorrow?”

“Who? Oh, the personal stylist?” she asked with a lift of her precisely arched brows. “Why would I do that? She’s Malayka’s employee, not mine.”

“She is a guest in the palace and a tourist. You are on the board of tourism.”

“So are you,” she countered.

Kris didn’t bother to frown, even though he completely recognized the never-ending sibling game that often had each of the royal children pointing out the other’s duties to see who had the most on their plate. Kris always won, hands down. Which was why, this time, he was delegating the responsibility.

“I’m meeting with the finance board at nine. That will take up at least three hours of my day. Dad and I then have a late lunch scheduled with Quirio Denton, the real estate mogul who wants to build his next resort here on the island. I won’t be available again until dinner,” he stated matter-of-factly. “And as you know, because you’ve been doing this since you were sixteen, it is our practice to provide a detailed tour of the island to visitors of the palace within twenty-four hours of their arrival.”

She gave a slight nod. “That’s when we know they are arriving and when we’ve invited them. Malayka hired this woman without consulting any of us. I say let her conduct the tour,” Sam rebutted. “It would give her practice since it will soon be one of her duties as princess.”

That title, above Sam’s other words, echoed throughout the room.

“She’s not the princess yet,” Kris remarked, in a tone that was much stronger than he’d anticipated.

Sam tapped her fingers on her notepad. “Fine. I will take the stylist with me. It’ll give me the chance to find out more about Malayka and why she really wants to marry our father.”

“I don’t know if you’ll get much by way of gossip from this Landry Norris. She strikes me as a professional.”

“Oh really?” Sam asked, this time leaning forward tossing him a knowing grin. “What else about her strikes you, big brother?”

Kris looked away. He concentrated on the notes he was jotting down, instead of his sister’s question, which made him uncomfortable.

“I performed a cursory interview of her. I have a copy of her contract with Malayka and I checked the references she provided. This is how I came to the conclusion that she is a professional.”

“Right, because you’re very thorough when it comes to investigating who enters these walls. I get that. But what I’m really asking is, what was going on between you and the stylist when I came in? You know, when you two were standing close enough to have kissed.”

Kris looked up quickly then, staring at his sister in shock. Composure came immediately afterward because even with his siblings, Kris had to remain in control. A leader always set an example.

“As Malayka’s stylist she’s now palace staff. Personal dalliances with the staff are inappropriate.”

“Hmm.” Sam made a sound and stood with her notepad tucked under one arm. “Tell that to your brother. He’s had more dalliances with staff, visitors and whoever else he could find, than the both of us.”

Kris made a similar sound as he stood, undoubtedly agreeing with his sister. Roland was another matter entirely.

Sam was almost out the door when she looked back at him and said, “Still, I have to admit the two of you looked awfully cozy and mighty cute together.”

She was gone before he could think of another statement of denial where he and Landry Norris were concerned. When he sat back in his chair, he struggled to dismiss any thoughts he’d had when Landry had stood so close to him. When he’d definitely wanted to—against all his training and upbringing—kiss her.


Chapter 2 (#u99271997-fab8-5b08-b538-b6cfd4e96d0f)

Classy and elegant, that’s the look Landry was going for tonight. After all, it would be the first time Malayka was presented to the entire royal family. Butterflies danced in Landry’s stomach as she pushed wayward strands of hair from her face and zipped the back of Malayka’s dress.

“There,” Landry said, looking over Malayka’s shoulder into the floor-length mirror.

It was one of four mirrors which had been sealed together in an arch shape situated at the back of the walk-in closet. Who was she kidding? This was not a closet. The room was at least the size of two bedrooms outfitted with racks for hanging clothes, shelves for shoes, medium-sized drawers for purses and smaller ones for scarves and jewelry. Even with all the items that Landry had brought with her and the ones she’d shipped a week before, there was still a good deal of space before Malayka would come close to filling this room. The dresses tried on tonight were specially ordered designs, four of which Landry would have to ship back to the designers first thing tomorrow morning.

“You look stunning,” Landry continued.

Malayka turned to the side. She looked at her plump bottom and rubbed a hand over her flat stomach. Turning again so that she could see herself from another angle, Malayka smoothed her hands over the bodice of the dress. The neckline was cut higher than Malayka was used to but she still seemed pleased. The woman loved to display the cleavage from her size D breasts, something Landry figured Prince Rafferty also appreciated.

“This will be the first time since we’ve announced our engagement that I’ve been in a room with all of Rafe’s children,” Malayka said in that smoky voice that reminded Landry of the time she’d met Grace Jones.

“They’ll certainly have to agree that you are more than ready to dress the part of being princess of this beautiful island,” Landry told her as she moved away from the mirror and began packing up the other gowns that Malayka had tried on.

She’d been in there for the last two hours trying to figure out which dress Malayka would wear. Luckily, the hair stylist and makeup artist had already been there by the time Landry arrived, so that part of getting ready for tonight’s dinner was complete.

From behind her she could hear Malayka making a sound and mumbling something. Landry kept moving. Whatever Malayka had said was apparently not meant for her to hear.

One of the first things Landry learned about working in an industry with wealthy and famous people was to mind her own business. This lesson had come just months after she’d graduated with honors, receiving a bachelor’s degree in Apparel Merchandising and Management from California State Polytechnic University in Ponoma. She’d been ecstatic the day she found out she’d landed one of the coveted internships with Harper’s Bazaar in New York. There, she had assisted with sample trafficking, creating shoot boards and supporting market editors with office duties. It was just a few weeks after she’d been in New York that Landry met Peta Romanti, the A-list actress who was, at that time, launching her own fashion line. Bazaar was doing a full spread and in-depth interview with Peta in the weeks leading up to her launch.

Landry had recognized the woman immediately and used every method of control she could think of to resist acting like a complete groupie. Throughout the day Peta barked orders, sending interns and even editors scrambling to do her bidding. Landry had been busy with other assignments all that morning, but in the afternoon she’d offered to help out during a photo shoot. Happy to have someone else go into the lion’s den, Landry’s supervisor had given her an armful of dresses and instructions to take into the dressing room and see which one Peta wanted to wear. The actress-turned-designer had decided to capitalize on this interview by modeling clothes from her own line for the spread in the magazine. As she’d walked up to the dressing room door Landry could hear the argument. Something about Peta’s boyfriend being arrested for public nudity as he’d stood on a sidewalk arguing with the hooker he’d hired, who he was then accusing of stealing his wallet. Landry stood at the door, not sure whether she should knock and go in, or come back later—even though there wasn’t really a “later” since they had already been behind with the shoot.

The decision was made for her as the door abruptly swung open and Peta yelled in her face, “What are you doing there? Are you listening to my conversation? You’d better not speak one word of it!”

All Landry could manage to say was, “I have your dresses if you’re ready to try them on.”

The afternoon had proceeded with Peta—once she’d asked Landry her name—calling her every five seconds to do any-and everything for her. That day led to Landry being invited to Peta’s Paris fashion show three weeks after that and later to receiving personal invitations and previewings to Peta’s collection from the moment Landry opened her doors for business. Keeping her mouth shut had been an invaluable lesson and Landry reminded herself of that constantly.

Now well versed in the ins and outs of the personal stylist business, Landry admitted, there wasn’t much to be said about Malayka Sampson. She’d been in LA for just about a year when Landry had first met her. When she’d queried her services, Landry had discreetly asked around about the woman, who was neither an actor nor singer, or notable figure. All that could be said was that Malayka had been at all the right parties and premiers. She had dinner with the governor and lunch with a senator. There were pictures of her with record producers and none other than Peta Romanti, which had been the deciding factor in Landry choosing to work with her.

Landry figured that was enough of a platform to style Malayka for the months leading up to her wedding. Add that to the gorgeous scenery that Landry was already aching to see more of, and this was a good opportunity for her career. Her family, however, would say otherwise.

“The men are never a problem,” Malayka was saying, loudly this time. “It’s the females who are always jealous.”

Landry had been closing the box filled with jewelry she’d brought into the room with her. The sound echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room. She cleared her throat.

“I’ll see you in the dining room in a bit,” she said as she quickly clasped the lock on the box and picked it up.

The dresses to be returned were all bagged and hung on a rolling rack she’d pushed down the long marble-floored hallway to get to Malayka’s private rooms. In her estimate, the palace was roughly the size of at least two Beverly Hills hotels, and that was only a hunch. Earlier that day Landry had been met outside of Prince Kristian’s door by a pinch-faced older woman with a heavy accent who escorted her to a room that seemed a couple city blocks away. She figured her approximation was almost accurate.

“You’re going to dinner?”

Apparently that surprised Malayka, whose dramatically arched brows were raised as she touched the diamonds glittering at her neck. The woman was just a shade or so lighter in complexion than Landry. They probably maxed out at the same height when neither were wearing heels—five feet six inches tall. She was older than Landry who had just turned twenty-six last week. A marvelous plastic surgeon and a good regimen of weight loss supplements were most likely responsible for Malayka’s slim, but stacked, size six frame. Her hair, or rather the expensive wigs she wore, were of the highest quality and were always on point. As was her makeup, courtesy of the other two stylists she’d brought to the island with her. She was perfect to look at, but not the friendliest person in the world.

“Yes. I was told to be ready at six,” Landry said as she lifted her arm and looked down to her watch. “I’ve got twenty minutes to make it or the stern warden lady that gave me the directive might pop a button in that crisp uniform she wears.” Landry made sure to chuckle after her words. She wouldn’t have the future princess thinking she had no respect for the staff.

Malayka only blinked, the long fake eyelashes fanning dramatically over her smooth skin. “I thought it would be a private dinner tonight. Family only.”

Landry nodded and headed out of the closet. “See you in a little bit,” she yelled over her shoulder without turning back.

She moved through the sitting area of Malayka’s room. It was the size of the entire front end of Landry’s studio in LA, plush cream-colored carpet and gorgeous antique furnishings, complete with stunning oil paintings of what she suspected might be the landscape of the island draping the walls. The knobs on the double doors were crystal and reminded Landry of the old doorknobs in her grandparents’ house. She was certain these were real, as opposed to the ones Nana used to joke about selling and becoming rich.

When the rack and the other two bags she’d left on the couch in the sitting room were through the doors, Landry turned back and closed them with a quiet click. Then she sighed. The last couple of hours had been taxing but worth it, she supposed. Malayka did look good and that was her sole purpose for being there, so she whispered a job well done to herself and headed back in the direction she’d remembered traveling to get there.

These were the glossiest and prettiest floors she’d ever seen and Landry had been to a lot of sophisticated venues. Nothing compared to this palace. The word palace alone meant this place was classier than anything she could ever imagine. It was certainly living up to its hype, and she was only in the hallway.

Columns jutted from the floor to the ceiling, some wide, some slim, all giving an air of royalty as she moved through. What seemed like secret alcoves encased sculptures of pirates and ships. Closer to her rooms there were busts of people she was sure she had never heard of, but who nevertheless looked extremely important. The color scheme here was the barest hint of peach flanked in beige-and-gold textured wallpaper, highlighted again by the swirling marble floors. There were large floral arrangements on small round tables; the tropical plants added bursts of colors and scents as she moved through the area. Every few feet or so, the walls would break to an opening that displayed a gorgeous mermaid sculpture and fountain in its center. This one showcased a courtyard that had access to the outside so sun and sea-salted air filled the atmosphere.

It was just around the corner from that courtyard that Landry’s rooms were located. Yes, she had a sitting room, also a private bathroom, bedroom and balcony. The space was elegantly decorated. She probably could have comfortably stayed here during the times she was not taking care of Malayka. The stern-faced lady had told her that she could simply pick up the phone on her nightstand and dial zero for assistance, which included having meals brought to her room. Free room service in a royal palace; for a second, Landry thought she could get used to living like royalty.

That thought had her chuckling as she entered her suite, pushing the clothes rack to the much smaller walk-in closet she was using for some of the items she’d preselected for Malayka. There was a coat closet and another enclosure, which she figured was supposed to be a linen closet. But Landry had decided to store her own clothes here.

She rushed into the bathroom to shower and slip into the dress she’d already chosen for herself. Being a college student and working two jobs, added to the two years she’d spent in New York when her internship had been extended, had taught Landry how to dress in a hurry. She lined her eyes, stroked on mascara and added a bit of color on her eyelids. The quick makeup routine stalled momentarily when she discovered she was getting low on her favorite lip gloss. It only took another second or so for her to browse through her makeup case and settle on a nude gloss instead. Swiping that on quickly, she found her earrings—silver buttons that matched the bangle she pulled onto her arm. Slipping into five-inch-heel sandals was next before standing again and grabbing a random bottle of perfume and spritzing herself generously. Her hair was already up in a messy bun and once she looked into the mirror, Landry decided it was the perfect accent to the otherwise neat and almost demure dress she wore.

It was navy blue, with a layer of lace over the tight bodice and full asymmetrical skirt. There was also a slip to the dress, crinoline, the most despised fabric in Landry’s opinion. Still this dress needed that extra poof to the skirt. As she stood looking in the mirror, moving from side to side the way she’d seen Malayka doing, Landry thought she looked like the twenty-first-century Audrey Hepburn. She smiled because she liked it.

Moments later she was leaving her room, only to come face-to-face with a man who looked nothing like the dour staff worker who had promised to escort her to the dining room. No, this was no older person. He was young and built and wore the white dinner jacket and black pants like a seasoned model. His face was breathtakingly handsome and when he smiled, Landry almost swooned.

“Ms. Norris. I would be honored to escort you down to dinner,” he said with an extravagant bow.

When he was once again upright, Landry touched the sides of her dress and curtsied—because something told her this guy was royal. He had to be. He was too beautiful to be just a mere human.

He was reaching for her hand when she straightened.

“I am Prince Roland DeSaunters, and it is my immense pleasure to meet you.”

No, Landry thought as she let him take her hand in his and they began to walk down the hallway, the pleasure was definitely hers.

* * *

The table could easily seat somewhere around fifty or so people. It was huge and a glossed cherrywood. A pristine white runner stretched its entire length; gold candelabras held tall white candles with golden flames at their tips. Ornate brass chandeliers hung from the high ceilings while several matching sideboards filled the great space. Beneath the table was a plush rug decorated in deep reds, greens and of course gold. But the definite eye-catcher to this room was the enormous arched window situated perfectly behind the head seat of the table. The window had automatic shades that Landry suspected were room darkening as well as provided privacy when needed. The shades were raised tonight so that the last intense colors of sunset over the glistening water were visible.

As if this room and its awe-inspiring view weren’t enough, the rest of the royal family was seated at the table and now staring expectantly at her.

Landry already felt a bit lightheaded by the gorgeous man walking beside her and the scent of his intoxicating cologne. Prince Roland had talked the entire time they walked, commenting on the very statues she’d perused not long before. He laughed a lot which made her smile. He walked with a seasoned swagger that said he knew he was not only good-looking, but rich and powerful and none of that meant a thing. She liked him instantly.

As for how she felt about the rest of the family, well, nervous or not, she was about to find out.

“Heads up,” Roland said as he continued to guide her down the length of that table to where the others were seated. “Gang’s all here!”

As they approached, Prince Kristian stood and so did his father. Seated next to Kristian was Malayka who looked at Landry with her brow raised in question once more. She was most likely wondering why Landry was arriving with Prince Roland. Landry was wondering that herself. The princess sat opposite of Malayka, her expression more amused than questioning.

“Ms. Norris,” Prince Rafferty said as he stepped away from the table to stand in front of her as she approached. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Kristian has told me all about you.”

Landry did another curtsy—she was getting really good at them now. The prince took her hand, kissing the back of it in a gallant and romantic gesture that stole her breath and made her smile.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Highness. Thank you for having me in your home. It is a beautiful palace,” she said then snapped her lips shut for fear of babbling.

“You are welcome here for as long as Malayka requires your assistance.”

His response was more formal than the slight lifting of his mouth as if he were contemplating a smile.

“And this is my sister, the Princess Samantha DeSaunters,” Roland announced after turning her once again toward the table.

His hand was lightly touching her shoulder. Landry looked at the princess. In Landry’s line of work, she was used to seeing beautiful people—whether it be natural or assisted via surgery, hair extensions, makeup, designer clothes, whatever it took. This woman was actually very pretty, the light makeup and lovely ivory-colored gown she wore only adding to her allure.

Her complexion was a little lighter than her father’s, her dark hair curling to her shoulders. Her eyes were intelligent and assessing and the smile she gave Landry was, thankfully, genuine. So Landry mirrored it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”

“Very nice to meet you, Landry. Kris also told me a lot about you.”

Well, Landry thought with a tight smile as she gazed across the table to “Kris.” He had been talking about her a lot, hadn’t he.

“And you’ve already met my older brother, Kris, next in line to rule this magnificent island,” Roland said as he began guiding Landry to the seat between the princess and another empty chair.

Prince Rafferty had already taken his seat and Kristian was now watching her with an obvious frown as she sat in the high-backed cushioned chair Roland had offered.

“There will be a bridal party meeting on Friday. Everyone that I’ve selected will be flying in on Thursday. I’m thinking that a lovely breakfast on the north terrace would be nice because there’s not much sun on that side of the palace that early in the day,” Malayka began speaking, once everyone was seated and servers had arrived with plates of a colorful salad.

“The Children’s Hospital brunch is Friday at eleven,” Samantha announced, her tone just shy of being frosty.

“Oh,” Malayka said, her fork poised over the salad she was just about to dig into. “Well, the palace is enormous, I’m sure we can entertain two groups at the same time. Isn’t that right, Rafe?”

“The royal family is expected to attend the brunch. The Children’s Hospital performs in a professional manner throughout the year and is the top medical facility for children in the Caribbean. This is our way of thanking them for a job well done.”

Kristian spoke with an air of finality. There was no mistaking his authority, not in his tone, nor in the way his shoulders squared. He wore black. His suit jacket had satin lapels, and his shirt had a white silk tie at the neck. It was a decidedly Mafia look to Landry’s eye, but it worked exceptionally well with his buttery complexion. His hair was jet-black, just like the rest of the royal family, but cropped closer than Prince Rafferty’s and Roland’s. Where Roland’s low-cut beard gave him a rugged, handsome quality, Kristian’s clean-shaven face suited his dour expressions perfectly.

“Well, I’ve already made the plans. Everyone is preparing to travel. It’s not possible to cancel at this late date,” Malayka implored.

The look she was giving Prince Rafferty was almost comical, but Landry knew not to laugh. This was, after all, serious business for the soon-to-be princess. Malayka undoubtedly expected her husband-to-be to stand up to his children in front of her, to let them know that she was getting ready to be the one wielding all the control. Landry should have felt uncomfortable being privy to this private duel of sorts, especially considering she was only the staff. Malayka’s makeup lady and hair stylist weren’t at this dinner, which would explain why Malayka had been surprised that Landry had been invited. Landry wondered about that too, but the salad was delicious, so she really didn’t want to wonder too much.

“We will work something out,” Prince Rafferty stated in his deep, booming tone. He also gave Kristian a look that said they would definitely work it out, later.

Kristian showed no emotion at all. He proceeded to cut through his salad, lifting measured forkfuls to his mouth to be chewed.

Roland picked that moment to chuckle. “Just let me know which event I’m required to attend. I’ll be flying out Friday evening.”

“Really? I did not see that on the calendar,” Prince Rafferty said to his younger son. “When will you return?”

Roland shrugged and forked a bright red tomato into his mouth. “Don’t know.”

Prince Rafferty wiped his fingers on a napkin then placed the white cotton square down on the table slowly. “The engagement will be officially announced tomorrow. There will no doubt be press arriving on the island within hours of the news circulating around the world. We all need to be on hand for official photos and interviews.”

Landry thought about that statement as she chewed the last bite of her salad. She did not recall seeing any interviews of Prince Rafferty in any of the American papers. Of course she hadn’t actually searched for any either.

“You’re giving interviews?” Samantha asked. “You never give interviews.”

Malayka reached a hand out to rub along Prince Rafferty’s arm. “This is the age of social media. We—the royal family—should be as transparent as possible at all times,” she told them.

Kristian set his fork down slowly and looked directly at his father.

“The exposure the wedding will elicit for the upcoming months will no doubt improve tourism on Grand Serenity. The more tourists that visit the island, the more money the shop owners in the village will earn. The more money they earn, the more jobs they can provide. It is a win-win situation for all of us,” Prince Rafferty stated.

He’d looked around to each of his children, an effort to gain their support, Landry supposed. However, she wasn’t certain it was going to work. None of them seemed thrilled about this idea.

“Sounds like you two have this all planned out,” Samantha replied.

“Not all,” Prince Rafferty continued. “The press conference needs to be arranged for tomorrow morning at ten.”

“We have a meeting at the bank tomorrow,” Kristian interjected. “It’s on the calendar.”

Rafe nodded as the next course of their meal arrived. It looked like chicken and vegetables in a dark sauce and it smelled fabulous. Landry immediately picked up her knife and fork and began to cut into the boneless breast.

“You handle the bank meeting and I will stand by my bride-to-be at the press conference. Roland, I want you there, dressed in full regalia and a smile on your face. Put that on your calendar and do not be late,” Rafferty said sternly.

“Yes, sir,” Roland replied with a salute to his father and a nod to Malayka.

“And you, my Sammy,” their father continued giving a much softer look and tone to his only daughter. “I don’t want you to feel as though you were left out of the loop on this. Malayka and I just talked about this last night. Furthermore, I would think that you, above everyone else, would be happy to see that Malayka is perfectly able to plan with our island’s best interests in mind. She’s going to make an excellent princess and I have no doubt she will continue to have this palace running like a well-oiled machine, just as you have.”

Samantha did not look impressed. However, she did smile and nod to her father and then, to Landry’s surprise, to Malayka as well.

“I look forward to the day when I can hand off a good portion of my duties to you, Malayka. I just hope you know what you’re getting into,” Samantha said as she lifted her glass of wine and did a solo toast toward the couple.

Landry couldn’t help herself, she grinned at the sarcasm in that moment. Sure, it was cleverly masked, but there was no doubt in her mind that the princess was anything but happy about having soon-to-be Princess Malayka taking over anything in the palace.

“We are amusing our guest,” Prince Rafferty said.

Landry coughed immediately, embarrassment almost choking her.

“Well, we aim to please here at Grand Serenity Island,” Roland added and lifted his glass, mirroring what Samantha had just done to Malayka.

As for Kristian, the scowl that had graced his face from the moment Landry had walked into this room was still perfectly in place as his gaze settled on her.

“I apologize,” she said when she was certain her words wouldn’t come out in a jumble. “I meant no disrespect. It’s just that this scene reminds me of my family. I thought I was going to miss them terribly but it was nice to have this little reminder.”

It wasn’t a total lie, Landry told herself. She did come from a large family. Her parents had lived in the same house for the entire thirty years they’d been together. And as of ten years ago, her paternal grandparents had also lived in that house, along with Landry’s four brothers, sister and her two kids. So yes, she was used to hostile family dinners, just not on a royal scale.

“Well, glad we can entertain you. But I suspect your stay here will also be educational as you watch a new leadership take the reins.”

The prince was talking about Malayka, which, for reasons Landry could not actually put her finger on, she thought was hilarious. Malayka Sampson was going to be a princess. Just five short months ago when Landry had first met her, she was introduced simply as an entrepreneur. Seems like Malayka had found her next business venture. Or perhaps she’d actually fallen in love with a real-life prince. How coincidentally wonderful for her.

“Yes, sir. I believe my time here will be interesting,” Landry found herself saying instead of what she was really thinking.

“Interesting indeed. I mean, wouldn’t you be anxious to get the ball rolling if you were going to run a Caribbean island?” he asked her.

Landry shook her head. “I’m not sure that would be something I’d be interested in doing, Your Highness.”

“Really?” he asked as he sat back in his chair, wineglass in hand. “Are you saying you would turn down an invitation to become princess of this island?”

In a heartbeat, Landry thought.

“Yes, sir, I would. I’m not princess material.”


Chapter 3 (#u99271997-fab8-5b08-b538-b6cfd4e96d0f)

What is she doing here?

Kris asked himself this several times throughout the dinner. She’d walked in with Roland, arm-in-arm, both of them smiling, looking picture-perfect. He’d frowned.

He had felt his forehead wrinkling, his teeth clenching. Beneath the table where his hands had been resting calmly on his thighs, his fingers had slowly curled into fists. Why did they look like they belonged together when they’d only just met? Or had they?

Roland was his younger brother. He wasn’t the immediate heir and so he did not have the duties and responsibilities that Kris had, nor did he express any interest in them. Instead, Roland’s goal in life was to see just how much fun he could have before he dropped dead—at least that’s what he’d always told Kris. Lately, with all the traveling Roland had been doing, combined with all the gambling and sleeping around with the woman of the month, Kris had begun to believe his brother was more than serious about achieving his life’s goal.

That only made seeing him with Landry more annoying.

But it shouldn’t have. He didn’t know this woman, not well enough. Everything he’d read on paper about her schooling, where she lived in America, what she did for a living, had all been superficial. Kris had no idea who she really was on the inside and thus could not accurately pinpoint her motives in coming here. But there was a motive, he was sure. Everyone had a motive or a master plan.

Especially Malayka Sampson.

When the meal was thankfully over and second rounds of Chef Murray’s crêpes Suzette had been devoured, Kris stood, eager to excuse himself. His plan was to retreat to his rooms, to the solitary space he craved so much after a long day of doing his job.

The job that hung around his neck like a heavy chain.

“Well, I’m off for the night,” Roland announced as he, too, stood after dropping his napkin to the table. “It has, as always, been a pleasure. But duty calls.”

Kris didn’t bother to hide his displeasure. “Duty?” he asked and looked down at his watch. “It’s almost seven thirty. What business do you have at this hour?”

“Don’t you mean what date does he have at this hour?” Sam asked with a smirk.

Roland had already moved from his spot and was now leaning over to kiss his sister’s offered cheek.

“Ha ha. And they say I’m the funny one,” Roland joked.

Sam took the hand that Roland had rested on her shoulder, squeezing it gently before saying, “Be careful.”

“Yes,” Rafe began after loudly clearing his throat. “As I mentioned there will be members of the press lingering about once our engagement is announced.”

Roland and Kris shared a look. Kris stood slowly and Roland gave a stiff bow to his father, his smile still in place.

“I hear you loud and clear, Dad. But the announcement isn’t until tomorrow. That gives me plenty of time to get into as much trouble as I possibly can before then.” Roland wiggled his brows as he finished and Kris felt compelled to step in before his father lost his patience.

“I’ll walk out with you,” Kris announced and then looked to Rafe. “You and I can figure out a time to meet tomorrow after your press conference and my meeting at the bank, but before the meeting with Denton. Good night, everyone.”

It was easier to be formal, Kris thought to himself as he recalled Roland and Sam’s warm exchange. This relieved the tension of knowing that he would never kiss Malayka’s cheek or smile warmly at her. Roland didn’t care about how that could be construed to the one person at the table who was an outsider. His brother simply acted, consequences would come later, those that Roland would likely ignore. Kris, on the other hand, did not ignore consequences or repercussions. He was duty bound to consider them with everything he did, from the clothes he wore to the way he pronounced a person’s name. He was always under the microscope. Always expected to do and say the right thing.

“Let’s go,” Roland said after smiling and giving another bow to Landry.

Kris nodded curtly in her direction and found her staring at him after she smiled up at Roland. He chose to walk away then because he did not like how looking at her made him feel.

“She’s a looker, I know,” Roland said the moment they were out of the dining room.

Their dress shoes clicked somberly on the floors as they walked toward the foyer. Roland was already unfastening the top button of his shirt. It was as close to being dressed for dinner as his brother had ever deigned to become. While Kris and their father wore a suit and tie, as was most usually their attire, and Sam dressed elegantly as always, getting Roland in slacks, a dress shirt and jacket was as good as they could manage.

“She’s working for Malayka,” Kris reminded his brother. He did not want to think of how she looked.

“Yeah, that’s kind of strange, but then I guess not. That woman acts like an American superstar. She’s had an entourage with her since the first time she set foot on this island. And Dad lets her have whatever she wants,” Roland stated. “What do you think about that?”

Kris shook his head. “I’m trying not to think about it,” he lied. “We’re about to conduct the yearly audit on the banks. A few of the board members are nervous about one of the accounts. I’ve been looking into it, but I want to play it close.”

Roland chuckled. “Don’t want to step on any toes, huh, big brother? You’ll tread lightly with the bankers, just like you will proceed with extreme caution where this royal wedding is concerned.” He clapped Kris on the back. “I’m so glad you were born first.”

Kris stopped walking just as they approached the double staircase in the family wing of the palace.

“You’re still a member of this family, Roland. You still have duties and responsibilities to the monarch. The people of our country still depend on you,” Kris told him in a serious tone.

“They depend on me to entertain them,” Roland said. “I give them relief from our stuffy family filled with traditions and pomp and circumstance. I breathe a breath of fresh air into this stately fortress and stern but compassionate rule of the DeSaunters family. Don’t be dismayed, Kris—I know my role in this family and I play it very well.”

He did, Kris thought. Roland played his part perfectly and sometimes, for just a few hours out of a month or possibly year, Kris wished he could be as laid-back and carefree as his brother.

“We do not need any bad press right now,” Kris said, shifting gears slightly. “Whatever you’re up to tonight, keep it discreet.”

Roland pulled off his jacket, holding it by a finger as he tossed it over his shoulder. “Don’t I always?”

They both shared a knowing look then, before Roland laughed and Kris reluctantly cracked a smile. He loved his brother and his family, he truly did. That’s why his job was so important. Everything he did was for them, for their country.

Once Roland was gone, Kris stood looking around at all the gray-streaked white marble, the shining columns and sprawling staircase. He looked up to the domed top of the room that was painted with puffy white clouds and a soft blue background. He had no idea whose concept that was but suspected it was meant to make a person standing there feel better. Though, for him, it didn’t. Every day couldn’t be a beautiful and picture-perfect day.

“It’s beautiful,” he heard her say and slowly tore his gaze away from the ceiling.

“The murals and sculptures I’ve seen in the palace so far are simply stunning. I’m not usually an art buff, but I know what looks good.”

She continued to talk as she walked, her high-heeled shoes clicking over the gleaming floors. Her dress was drastically different from the formfitting outfit Malayka wore and was certainly more intriguing. Kris found himself staring at—of all things—her shoulders. They were pretty, her skin tone the perfect shade of brown, and appeared smooth to the touch. To the taste, he thought as he wondered about kissing her there. He would drag his tongue slowly from one shoulder to the next. Would she tremble beneath him? Would his mouth water? It already was.

“I’ve never seen a place like this before,” she said, reaching her arms behind her back and clasping her fingers together.

Her hair was dark and pulled up so that her slender neck was visible. She walked slowly from one part of the room to the other, looking at things that Kris had seen so many times he could describe them each while blindfolded.

“I should probably head back to my rooms, but every time I come out I see something different. Something more beautiful,” she said.

“There is nothing...” Kris said impulsively. Nothing more beautiful than her, he thought, but wisely, did not finish his comment.

She turned then, facing him with her head tilted slightly. “Excuse me?”

No, Kris’s mind screamed. No, he would not excuse her and as he was already walking toward her, he apparently would not stay away from her either.

“There is nothing here that you cannot look at as long as you like,” he told her. “As a matter of fact, I’ve asked my sister to give you a full tour of the island tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she said, seemingly surprised. “I’m only here to work. I don’t mean to take up any of the royal family’s official time. Besides, I’ll be with Malayka early tomorrow morning until after the press conference.”

He stopped only a few feet away from her. He was so close he could smell the soft scent of whatever fragrance she wore. It wasn’t the powerful come-get-me scent that he’d smelled on so many women he’d met. No, this was lighter, with a sweet, musky aroma instead of a heavy floral one. He liked it. A lot. He also liked how she was looking up at his six-foot-two-inch frame now.

“Sam will be attending the press conference as well. The two of you can leave afterward,” he stated.

Then Kris did something he rarely ever did while in someone’s company. He slipped both hands into his front pant pockets. It was a casual stance, one that did not equate to the role of a leader.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” she said.

Her voice had changed. It was subtle and he doubted even she realized it, but Kris did. There was a smoky tinge to her words and just as he made that realization, she licked her lips. His body tensed.

“She’s the president of the tourism board—it’s her duty to welcome all tourists to the island,” Kris told her and instinctively took another step closer.

“Why?” she asked and he paused. “Why did you ask her to show me around? You know I’m not technically a tourist. I’m here to work for Malayka.”

“I know why you’re here.”

“Then why did you insist I come to dinner? You did that, didn’t you? The housekeeper—”

“Ingrid,” he interrupted.

She nodded. “Ingrid said I was supposed to be ready at six, that I was expected at dinner. She was in the hall waiting when I left your office earlier today, as if she knew I would be coming out. Why didn’t you invite Malayka’s hair stylist and makeup artist? Why only me?”

Kris did not have the answers to any of her questions. Another first for him. He had instructed Ingrid to tell her about dinner. All he’d known at that time was that he’d wanted to see her again. Just as he hadn’t been able to stop looking at her pictures all week, Kris now couldn’t keep his eyes off her. While his more official thought had been that he wanted to know everything there was to know about Malayka’s staff, it was Landry, in particular, who had awakened something in him.

“You don’t care for dinner? Is that why you’re questioning me?” he asked.

She smiled then, a slow and deliberate action.

“You don’t want to answer my question,” she said. “That’s fine. Still, I don’t want to impose on anyone. I’ll do some sightseeing whenever I’m not working, but I don’t think I need a guide.”

“What do you need?”

The question was quick and impulsive. Her response was even quicker and bold. Yes, Kris thought as he sucked in a quick breath when she’d taken that step closing the distance between them, it was damn bold.

“Why?” she asked. “What do you need, Prince Kristian?”

He stared at her for much longer than he figured a smooth and charismatic man should. Then again, those had never been traits Kris possessed. He was the mature prince, the serious one who was all business, all the time. But he’d never done business with a woman who looked and smiled like Landry Norris. None of his dealings were filled with the scent she wore, or the sound of Landry Norris’s voice. And nobody, not even the women he’d dated over the years, whether for convenience or for political reasons, had ever made him lose track of what he should be doing.

Yet, his response to her was simple and came as naturally as his next breath. Kris touched a finger to her chin, tilting her head up farther. Her lips parted slightly as her hazel eyes stared back at him. He leaned in closer, wanting desperately to see those eyes filled with lust. Wanting, even more hungrily, to touch his lips to hers, to taste the sweetness of her.

He shouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

He was a breath away. She leaned into him, her arms remaining straight by her side. Her lips were still parted, her tongue beyond them, teasing and tempting him.

He was the crown prince. She worked for the woman who planned to marry his father.

He couldn’t.

Kris closed his eyes and leaned in just another inch or so, until her warm breath smelling of the sweet crêpes they’d just had for dessert fanned over his face. He inhaled the aroma, feeling the heat of desire swelling in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

What was she doing? Was she completely out of her mind?

Why on earth had she thought the crown prince of this beautiful island would want to kiss her? They’d only met hours earlier. It was ridiculous. Presumptuous and possibly career ending if she were to be kicked off the island. Malayka was exactly the type to spread vicious rumors. And since this one would have a great amount of truth to it, Malayka would happily report back to everyone she knew in the United States.

Landry sighed, letting her head lull back against the door to her room, which she’d slammed closed and locked a few minutes after she’d left Prince Kristian and run all the way to her temporary sanctuary.

She was such a screwup.

Impulsive. Headstrong. Opinionated. Mouthy.

All words Landry had heard before in reference to her personality.

“Men don’t want women who push too hard, Landry. They want someone agreeable and calm spirited.”

Those were Astelle Norris’s famous words to her daughter. They were famous because she’d spoken them more times than Landry could count.

“Wives are submissive to their husbands,” Astelle would continue as she sat at the kitchen table doing some chore she thought wifely. Like snapping green beans for dinner or sewing socks so that her husband Heinz Norris’s toes wouldn’t poke through as he stood in the pulpit of the Baptist church where he pastored.

Landry could feel her eyes rolling back in her head as she recalled one of the more popular disagreements she’d had over the years with her mother.

“I’m not doing any man’s bidding. He can cook just like I can and he can go out and buy himself a new pair of socks if his have holes in them. I don’t have to be subservient to get and keep a man,” was Landry’s typical response.

Astelle, with her thinning, but still long silver-gray hair, only shook her head. “It doesn’t make you less of a woman, Landry. It makes you a good woman.”

“To who?” Landry had asked. “If I give a man that much control over me, who am I any good to? My future daughters will only see that their mother is so fragile and clueless that she can’t do anything without permission from a man? My future sons will grow up believing they rule the world, not for their brains or intuition, but because they have a penis so it should be so?”

In a rare display of anger, Astelle had stood quickly, dropping the beans she’d held into a large yellow bowl as she glared at her daughter through tired gray eyes. “I’ve never been clueless, Landry Diane Norris. I graduated at the top of my class at Brighton Business School and I worked in a law office for the first five years of my marriage until my husband finished school and received his PhD. I came home and started a family where I took care of my children and the head of my household. Six productive and intelligent people were brought into this world because of me and all the lessons I’ve taught them. My husband is a pillar of this community. He’s a teacher and a confidant and a good provider. I’m just as proud of him as I am of our children. So don’t you stand there after another failed relationship and pretend to know what my life has been like or what may have been better for me. I won’t stand for your disrespect.”

By the time her mother had finished speaking her hands were shaking with rage and Landry felt like crap. Astelle had left her in that kitchen alone, where Landry spent a few more moments wallowing in guilt and wondering how long she should wait before apologizing to her mother. Her father had come in during that time, rubbing his hand over Landry’s head as he used to do when she was a child.

“Put your foot in your mouth again, huh, pumpkin?” Heinz had asked with the booming melodic voice of a southern-born minister.

“Yes, sir,” had been her quiet response.

“She’s only telling you what she’s learned. That’s a mother’s job,” he said as he went into the refrigerator and grabbed a bottled water.

Landry watched her father’s strong hands—the same ones that, when she was ten years old, had fixed the chain on her bike—twist the cap off the water before lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a gulp. She saw the man who had carried her mother to the car the night she’d awakened in pain and stayed at the hospital every second Astelle was there having her emergency hysterectomy. Landry had only been sixteen then. He was the same man who had placed money in Landry’s hand and told her to go to the grocery store and get some things to have cooked before Astelle came home. The man who had written check after check for Landry to attend college when the scholarships she’d received had run out.

“I’m not the type of woman she is,” Landry had admitted. “I could never be like her.”

Heinz shook his head, his short-cropped black hair having long ago made the transition to snowy white. “She doesn’t want you to be like her. She just wants you to be good and true.”

“To bow to some man and say what he wants to make him happy. Kevin Blake cheated on me with a freshman that had big boobs and a fake butt. What could I have done to make him happy if that’s the kind of trash he wanted to chase in the first place?”

“Nothing. Because he was a jerk. But not all men are and your mother is simply trying to prepare you for a mature and fulfilling relationship.”

“She’s trying to make me a Leave It to Beaver wife in the age of The Real Housewives.”

Heinz chuckled then. “Now, those women, you should definitely take note of.”

Landry had been surprised by what her father had said in reference to the reality TV series. But more so because as she’d been talking to him, she’d moved to the seat that her mother had vacated and started snapping the green beans and dropping them in that same yellow bowl.

“You’re saying I should take advice from the housewives?” she asked because that made more sense than trying to figure out what she was doing with the beans.

“No,” Heinz replied with a hearty chuckle. “Not at all. What your mother and I have built over the course of our marriage is something special and sacred. It’s also been very rewarding for us. Of course your mother would want you to find the same type of commitment for your life. The thing is, what I think you’re missing about the type of marriage that your mother and I have, is that it’s rooted in love. Your mother could not do and say the things she did with regard to our marriage if she didn’t love me with every fiber of her being. For that I am forever grateful as there is no greater love on this earth. As for me, I can only thank the Lord daily for the blessing of my wife. I love her phenomenally and I cherish her. That’s what she wants for you, Landry. That’s what we both want for you.”

Well, that was never going to happen, Landry thought as she pushed away from the door and stepped out of her heels, kicking them across the Aubusson rug.

She reached behind and unzipped her dress as she walked toward the rack where she’d left the hanger. Landry stood in the middle of the fanciest room she’d ever had the pleasure of staying in and stripped the expensive dress off her body. She hung it on the rack once more, traipsed over to the bed and plopped down onto the shiny cream-colored comforter.

She’d thought for sure Kristian wanted to kiss her. Everything about him said so. The way he’d stepped to her and touched her chin. His eyes had grown darker, his lips parted. Well, hers parted first because not only had she assumed he wanted the kiss, she’d been anxious for it as well.

With a heavy sigh she fell back on the bed, one arm going over her eyes, her hand to her stomach as if she could possibly calm the butterflies that still danced happily there. She wanted to kiss the prince. Not the sexy flirtatious one that probably would have easily taken her into his arms and kissed her senseless. No, she had to want the other one. The one who looked at her like she was no better than the rug he stepped on. She hadn’t been here a full twenty-four hours and already she was messing up.

But tomorrow was another day and she needed to get an early start. Malayka was going to be anxious and irritable. Everything would need to be perfect for her first official appearance as Prince Rafferty’s fiancée. So with a resignation to keep her mind on things that it should be on, Landry moved over the bed until she could push down the comforter and slip beneath it and the sheets. Lying on a soft pillow she stared up at the ceiling and attempted to think of the dresses she would pull for Malayka tomorrow. The shoes, earrings, necklace, rings. How her hair would be styled. Makeup soft, or bold?

Those thoughts were quickly replaced by the sights of the windows across the room. Large windows, no curtains, giving a clear view out to the night sky. Dark, but with tiny pricks of light. Stars, Landry thought. There were stars out tonight. What would happen if she wished upon a star?

Not a damn thing, she thought with a chuckle. This wasn’t a storybook and wishes did not come true. Sure, she was lying in a king-size bed, in a room in a palace. Tomorrow morning she would watch a prince announce that he was about to make a woman a princess. A woman, who for all intents and purposes, came from the same place that Landry had. And yes, tonight she’d dined with said prince, plus two more and a princess who smiled easily but managed to run their household and island in grand style.

There was still reality. The one where Landry was a business owner and Malayka was a client. She would do this job and then she would return to LA, to her family and her condo. To her world. The princes and princesses would all remain here in the land that looked to be fresh out of a childhood storybook, but had no place in Landry’s dreams.

Now that was a buzzkill if ever she’d experienced one. Landry turned on her side, closed her eyes and forced them to remain that way. She thought of dresses again, of colors and materials. She did not think about Kristian, or his lips, or how a kiss from him would have tasted. She refused, and that took way more energy than planning a wardrobe for any client ever had.


Chapter 4 (#u99271997-fab8-5b08-b538-b6cfd4e96d0f)

Kris watched the taped version of the press conference for the third time. There was a throbbing between his eyes as he hit the stop button on the remote, ending the recording seconds before turning the television off.

He was in his rooms now, two hours after his meeting at the bank had ended. His second meeting of the day had been cancelled and his father had never contacted him about when they would meet today. Kris sat back in the leather chair in the sitting area that he’d turned into an additional office and stared down at his desk. He did not have time for this.

Press conferences about wedding plans, announcements about parties, and yes, the blatant disrespect Malayka had just shown to the local dressmakers, were all among the things Kris did not want to deal with. There were too many more important things for him to occupy his thoughts with. The meeting at the bank and the concern that had been gnawing at him for weeks, for instance.

Grand Serenity Island was an independent territory that had been acquired by the Netherlands in the 1600s. The island did not flourish as the early settlers would have liked because of its dry climate and thus the lack of agricultural prospects. That began to change in the late 1800s when the son of a British sailor named Montgomery Chapman decided there had to be more to this place than gorgeous waters and warm air. Montgomery and his group of slaves discovered the Rustatian Gold Mill, which eventually went on to produce three million pounds of gold. In the immediate years following, the island saw more growth in the building of its first oil refinery, which was also owned by the Chapman family.

By the time Kris’s grandfather, Josef Marquise DeSaunters, gained control of the island via his leadership role in the rebellion against the then ruling tyrant, Governor Marco Vansig, the gold mills and oil refineries were the island’s main sources of income. However, Vansig’s greed and vicious rule had burned many bridges in the trade industry, leaving Josef with no other option than to look for additional opportunities for the citizens of the island to continue to thrive. On the advice of his wife, Josef formed the island’s first tourism board and by the early 1980s, when the oil industry began to wane, tourism became Grand Serenity’s financial savior.

It was Kris’s father, Rafe, who came into rule after Josef’s death from throat cancer. Rafe vowed to continue his father’s vision for the island. Rafe knew the value of forging strong partnerships on and off the island. This led him to venture to the United States where he met with potential developers and owners of the burgeoning cruise lines. This was also where Rafe met his wife, Kris’s mother, Vivienne Patterson, whose father was a Texas oilman.

Kris dragged a hand down his face at the thought. His chest clenched and he spent the next few seconds tamping down the well of emotion that always swelled when he thought of his mother, who had died when Kris was ten years old. When Kris was certain he could concentrate on the pressing matter at hand once more, he opened a large file filled with papers he’d brought back with him from the bank and began sorting them into three piles.

As a young man during his father’s rule, Rafe had begun to amass more fortune for the DeSaunters family by constructing financial institutions. He’d been successful with soliciting wealthy international clients, as well as celebrities, to invest and bank with Grand Serenity as a way of remaining ungoverned by their country’s financial restrictions. This had been the first aspect of governing the island that Rafe had taught Kris. From the time Kris was a young boy, his father had talked of the banks and how they, along with the tourism, would sustain the island’s growth, even as the natural resources continued to dwindle.

Thus came his degree in international finance. Kris spent numerous hours a day poring over financial reports and statements from each of the three banks on the island.

Three months ago, Kris had received reports of two new accounts that had been opened with multimillion-dollar deposits. The accounts had continued to see hefty deposits in the following weeks. This alone did not raise any red flags, however it was the signature cards on the account that did.

A. M. Belle Vansig.

The name had immediately struck a chord in Kris’s mind, yet when he’d searched deeper into the account, he hadn’t found any further identifying information for this person.

“You’re not concerned?” he’d asked his father during one of their morning meetings.

“It’s just a name, Kris,” Rafe had responded as he’d scooped spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his coffee.

The strong and stern ruler of the great Grand Serenity Island had a vicious sweet tooth.

“A name that has meaning in our family’s past and the history of this island,” was Kris’s counter.

Rafe shook his head. “Marco Vansig and his army were conquered by my father and his soldiers. Their bodies were burned at sea. Vansig had no wife, no children, nothing but his precious gold, which was turned over to the island treasury department upon his death. He was a dark spot in this island’s history and then he was gone. Now, decades later, you see the name and what? You think Vansig is reaching up from the grave to cause more mayhem?”

Kris had to admit that the idea seemed far-fetched. There were numerous people throughout the world with the same name that had no connection to each other whatsoever. Still, he’d decided to keep an eye on the accounts anyway.

“Nonetheless, I’ve been thinking we should implement a more thorough background check for new account holders. With the rise in criminal activity connecting to offshore accounts, we want to be sure that we’re working on a higher level.”

“Our institutions are not founded on the rules and regulations of other financial facilities. This is why we are able to hold such lucrative accounts. We do not overly tax our customers with paperwork and supervision of their own funds,” Rafe had immediately rebutted.

“I know that we are not regulated by such organizations as the United States Federal Reserve or the European Commission and other such places throughout the world. Our customers run from Russia to South America and we retain their autonomy and confidence by not working in any fashion with these other regulating entities. But that does not mean we do not have our own regulatory process. We should still know who we are doing business with.”

“We do,” Rafe insisted. “There is no need to change the protocols we have in place. It has been working for years.”

“Things change, Dad,” Kris told his father. “You know that as well as I do. I’m just trying to look out for our future. It’s my job.”

Rafe hadn’t disputed that fact. His father had been the one constantly drilling into Kris’s head the importance of his job and his duty. Kris would rule this island and continue what his grandfather and father had built before him. He would not fail. He could not fail.

Just as he could not bring himself to kiss the sexy American last night.

There had been no other reason but his duty. She was a very attractive woman, with a personality unlike the many women who had crossed his path. With Landry Norris there were no pretenses. She had not come into his office batting her eyes, or crossing her bare legs for his perusal. Her reason for being here had been perfectly explained by all the paperwork she’d completed and the way she’d sat across from him answering his questions, even though she thought they were over-the-top. Of course, she hadn’t said that—which showed that no matter how honest she seemed, she did have respect for his position. Kris could tell by the way she’d watched him carefully after providing each answer. She’d wondered if the answer was good enough for him, while inwardly not caring because she told herself she had no intention of answering any other way. Her subtle boldness and their conversation had been intriguing to Kris.

So much so, that at last night’s dinner he’d found himself watching her, listening to her talk and laugh, more focused on her than all the business issues that he still had to deal with. Kris had no idea when something else had taken over his mind before business.

Last night, she hadn’t shied away from him. He hadn’t really expected her to; he was the crown prince, after all. Not that he was conceited in any way. To the contrary, Kris wished on more days than he could count that he were just a regular guy. If he were, then he could have kissed her last night and maybe there could have been more, like a long evening in bed, a slow start to the morning after waking with her in his arms.

He sighed heavily and then shook his head. Thoughts like that were for other people, in other places. Not him and definitely not here.

“Nice to see you made it back from the bank in one piece.”





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