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‘Nope. He’s just a person.’
‘It doesn’t work like that. Lycander isn’t “just a place”. It’s the place where you were born, part of your royal heritage, and so it’s part of you. Frederick is your brother. You grew up with him.’
Wistfulness touched her. If only she had had a brother her whole life would have been different. Her whole family’s life would have been different. Perhaps her parents’ marriage would have blossomed instead of withering; perhaps her mother would have loved her...bonded with her.
‘That has to mean something.’
‘Not necessarily anything good.’
His tone was flat, dismissive, and yet she sensed an underlying hurt. ‘I don’t buy the whole flesh-and-blood bond.’
‘It’s not about that. You spent time together—you shared a family life. That bonds you...gives you something to build on.’
Or it should. Sadness touched her that it hadn’t worked that way for her—that her mother had been unable to find it in her to love her. Had been able to walk away and leave her behind without a backward glance in the quest for a life of her own.
Perhaps Stefan would agree that her mother had done the right thing? One life. One chance. Every man or woman for themselves. But at least he had specified that the mantra only worked as long as no one got hurt. Holly had been hurt, with a searing pain that had banded her chest daily in the immediate aftermath, with the realisation that she would never win her mother’s love. Even now sometimes she would catch herself studying her reflection, wondering what it was about her that was so damn unlovable.
Stop, Holly. This wasn’t about her.
‘I just think that you should give Frederick a chance.’
‘That is exactly what I am doing,’ he said evenly. ‘Marcus has arranged various visits and meetings with government officials. I’ll be doing some of my own spot-visits as well. If Frederick is on the level I will uphold my end of the deal.’
In theory he was right. But she could sense his resistance to the idea that this could be more than a deal—sensed too that it was time to leave the subject.
‘Right. I’m going to go and change.’
‘You look fine to me.’
Holly glanced down at her outfit. ‘I’m in jeans and a T-shirt,’ she pointed out. ‘I don’t want Lycander’s first impression of me as their exiled Prince’s fiancée to be that I couldn’t be bothered to dress up a bit.’ She eyed him. ‘And neither do you.’
It was his turn to look down. ‘What’s wrong with it? I’m still channelling the lumberjack look.’ His smile was still drop-dead gorgeous, but his chin jutted with stubbornness. ‘I am not going to play the part of a prince. I am one—whether the people like it or not.’
‘So you’re going for the accept-me-as-you-see-me approach?’
‘Yes. I asked you to sell my brand—this is it. Jeans, T-shirt and shirt.’
Holly studied his expression, knew there was some undercurrent there that she didn’t understand. ‘Actually you asked me to create our brand.’
‘Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to.’ He waved a hand in dismissal.
Royal dismissal, no doubt, that brooked no argument. Well, tough.
‘You are asking me to help you win the support of the Lycandrian people. You must know that feelings are mixed about you in Lycander?’
‘The people who hate me will hate me whatever I do or say.’
Why was he being so stubborn about this? He wasn’t an idiot. What was his problem with playing the part of a prince? After all he had chosen to make this return from exile.
‘What you wear is your choice. I can’t strip you down and dress you in—’
Oh, hell. Had she really just said that?
‘You could try,’ he offered, and his voice was like molten chocolate.
‘I’ll pass, thank you.’ Her attempt to keep her voice ice-cold was marred by a slight tremble she couldn’t mask. ‘The point is...’
What was the point? Oh, yes...
