Page 6 of The Princess and the SEAL

What a jerk. I bit my lip. “I’m taking a solo trip before I have to get married. And for your information, I do full-time charity work. I help ill children, refugees, and the elderly. It’s immensely gratifying. I’m truly blessed.”

He licked his bottom lip. “You’re a regular Princess Di. That’s cool. Where’s your fiancé? How would he feel if he knew you were on a romantic date with a dangerous man like me?”

Romantic date? Excitement swirled with fear low in my belly. What were his intentions toward me? How was tonight going to end?

I hadn’t missed how he’d paused over the word “dangerous.” But I didn’t fear being with him because he’d beaten up my mugger. Maybe my blind trust was foolish, but I hated to admit that I was more scared of being alone tonight than of being with this handsome stranger.

“He would be displeased. Not because he cares about me, but because it would make him look bad. Honestly, I don’t know him very well. We’ve only met a few times. We’ve never even kissed.” I quickly covered my mouth and winced. Why had I just admitted that?

Ryan shook his head as if in disbelief. “Wow. Some love story.”

Explaining my engagement out loud made me realize just how truly ridiculous my predicament was. Why couldn’t I just stand up to my father and say no?

“It’s embarrassing. I don’t even know where he is at the moment, though I’ve heard he is out—how do you Americans say it—sowing his royal oats . . . before the wedding.” And that was true. The tabloids had picture after picture of my betrothed partying with every society girl in town.

Meanwhile, I was portrayed as a pathetic, lovelorn princess. At first, I’d hoped we would someday grow to love each other as my parents had before my mom’s tragic death. But my royal wedding would be nothing like their love story—mine would be more like a funeral. A funeral for my psyche.

Ryan’s eyes traveled over me from head to toe. “What a douche. Why would he want to be with anyone else when he has you? If you were my woman, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

Warmth spread through me like wildfire. His compliments came off as sincere like they weren’t just lines. What would it be like to be this self-proclaimed dangerous man’s woman?

Sadly, I would never find out.

I attempted to change the subject.

“What about you? Tell me about your family.”

He gazed over my head. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“There is always something to tell. What state are you from? Do you have any brothers or sisters? What do your parents do?”

I detected a hint of sadness in his eyes but was probably overanalyzing the situation.

Before he answered me, the waiter came to take our order. Ryan chose the beef daube, and I requested the salmon with lentils.

I looked at him expectantly, but he ignored my earlier questions about his family and took a sip of wine. “Why are you marrying him? This isn’t the fourteen hundreds. Prince Arthur married his college sweetheart Elizabeth by choice.”

Why did everyone always bring up Art? As young royals, Arthur and I had practically grown up together, though these days, I spent more time with his younger brother, Prince Douglas. “Arthur is the future King of England. He can do what he wants. I’m the princess of a very tiny principality. Our income is mostly from tourism. We don’t even have our own military. We rely on other countries for support, defense, and trade.”

He let out a loud laugh.

I scowled at him. “Something funny, Ryan?”

“No wonder you travel without security. That’s sad that you don’t even have your own military, but not shocking.”

Breathe, Giselle, breathe. Calm, cool, collected.

“Is that so? As I said, we are very small. What would you suggest, Mr. Navy SEAL?”

He licked his lips. “Hire me. I could fix the military problem.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “You could, could you? You could fund thousands of people to form an army, go to war with France to emancipate us, and provide aid to a town that is virtually landlocked by the entirety of Europe?” Who did he think he was? God? “The truth is, we love our neighboring countries. But that doesn’t mean we can stop being strategic.”

“And the strategy is to marry some random guy?”

“Hardly random. Our parents arranged us as children. My fiancé’s name is Miguel. He’s from Quintana, a small country near Spain. He’s been pleasant enough the handful of times we have interacted, but I don’t know him well.”

Ryan’s eyes widened. “You’re actually going to marry some guy you barely know? I love my country—hell, I’d die for her—but I wouldn’t commit myself to a loveless marriage. What if he’s horrible in bed?”