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‘A liaison aide, sir,’ his companion murmured.
Beatrice stood, as she’d been instructed to do, but when he entered the room every assumption she’d had was wiped out.
Prince Julius brimmed not just with authority but with health and energy. It was as if some force field had entered the room.
She dealt with alphas both male and female at the top of their game—or rather, when they were about to come crashing down from it.
Not he.
He was, quite literally, stunning.
He stunned.
So much so that although the main language here was Italian, followed by Greek, Beatrice spoke in English, the language she’d last been working in from the country she had flown in from.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ she said, and then added, because she’d been told to do so, ‘sir.’
‘Likewise,’ he said, though his eyes said otherwise.
In truth, he’d discarded her on sight. Certainly he had not registered her features.
No doubt, like so many, he had just briefly surmised that the petite blonde in her smart grey shift dress did not have what was required to deal with the intricate details of his complex life.
God, he’s tall, Beatrice thought, almost relieved when he gestured for her to take a seat.
It was more than his height—he was the most immaculate man she had ever seen. His hair was black and glossy and cut to perfection. His silver-grey tie was knotted and perfectly so. From his citrussy scent and manicured nails to his porcelain-capped teeth and black eyes, he looked as if he’d just stepped off a magazine cover, or a director had shoutedCut!while shooting a film about—
Beatrice swallowed. She did not want to pursue that line of thought. The issue was that at most interviews she found so-called alphas to be much less in the flesh.
He was so much more.
Just too good-looking.
The unrufflable Beatrice put the flutter in her chest down to nerves.
He was royal; it must be that.
Staff were standing to either side of him, and he’d frowned as he read the bullet points of her résumé. ‘Sicilian?’
‘Si, tuttavia—’Beatrice responded in Italian but he halted her.
‘Let’s stay in English,’ he suggested. ‘I need the practice; mine is a little rusty.’
He glanced again at her résumé, presumably at her list of rather impressive clients, and then looked up at his PA, Jordan, whom, like the others, Beatrice had met at the interviews.
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I really don’t want my name attached to any of these people...’ His top lip curled a little.
‘Sir...’ Jordan nodded in understanding. ‘Ms Taylor is here more to assist with the press interest and your image in the lead-up to bridal selection.’
‘I agreed to a reset.’ The Prince turned his head and glared up to a man Beatrice knew to be one of the King’s aides. ‘Not to being policed.’
‘I certainly won’t police anyone,’ Beatrice interjected. ‘Sir.’
Everyone stiffened when she spoke uninvited. Well, all apart from the Prince. He glanced up, and those black eyes met hers for the first time. She put the flutter in her chest down to butterflies.
With the wings of bats.
‘You studied Classical and Modern Languages...’ He frowned at the details of her career path and mentioned one of the embassies she had worked in. ‘You worked as a translator there?’
