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Panic punched him in the gut. ‘Luce?’ He took a tentative step closer, relieved when she breathed deeply, pulling herself up to sit tall and straight, with a gorgeous watery smile just for him.
‘My sister,’ she said, with an airy wave that belied that quivering hand, ‘who is somewhere around here, tells me it’s bad luck to see the groom before the wedding—but you know what I think?’
While Thane knew nothing about these things, the fact that she resembled a bride and spoke of weddings and grooms wasn’t lost on him—but hope was a fragile beast he tethered. Because despite the agony of losing her he would not take her down the aisle without happiness in her heart.
Brushing his wet hair back from his face, he eased down onto the edge of the bed, never taking his eyes off her in case she disappeared. ‘What do you think, Luce?’
‘I think we make our own luck. I think fate offers us opportunity but we are the masters of our own destiny. I think I’ve allowed people to control me for too long, and now I’m going to take my life and my happiness into my own hands. Are you ready, Thane?’
Happiness.
He was ready for anything as long as she didn’t leave.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SHE WAS GOING to propose. Any minute now.
It wasn’t every little girl’s dream. But, when you’d been governed since the day you were born, being the commander of tomorrow was a unique dream all its own.
So here she was. Sitting opposite a handsome man—the most beautiful she’d ever seen. The dark, dangerous divinity that was Prince Thane of Galancia. And maybe she hadn’t set the stage so superbly—no dimly lit chandeliers or intimate tables for two, but it was their scene, their intimate paradise—the place where she’d been reunited with the other half of her soul—and to her it was perfection. Beyond price.
So all that was left were the words.
And Princess Luciana Valentia Thyssen Verbault had to press her palm to her stomach, desperately trying to calm the swoop and swirl of anxious butterflies, their dance wild with exhilaration and anticipation, before she stood tall. Because she had the horrible feeling she might pass out. She’d felt less nervous renouncing her throne yesterday, before hordes of press. The news would be broadcast at twelve noon and by then—hopefully—she’d be this man’s wife.
Sucking in a shaky breath, she rose to her feet and walked over to where he perched on the edge of the bed, his honed body glistening, those black sapphire eyes holding hers captive. And, despite the fact he looked like hell, the mere sight of him, in all his myriad beauties and unguarded mercies, still made her weak at the knees.
Down she went onto the floor before him. Never leaving his gaze, loving the way he opened his legs to let her in. The way he reached up hesitantly, fingers trembling, as he brushed a wayward curl from her temple.
‘Luciana…’ he murmured. ‘I…’ A faint crease lined his brow. ‘What are you doing down there?’
‘I’m doing this right. On one knee.’
‘Doing what right?’
When light dawned, he shook his head vehemently.
‘Like hell you are.’
He grasped her waist and lifted her up, plonking her astride his knee with a rustle of her skirts.
‘You will not kneel before me. And isn’t that my job?’
‘Not when we’re living in this splendid era called the twenty-first century, Thane.’
Not when she heard that hint of panic in his voice—the one that reminded her of the day on the beach with Nate. That fear of rejection. She could kick herself for not considering it before. That by taking away her choice he gave her no option to say no. To reject him. Lord, it was amazing what a mess two people could make in a few days.
Wriggling back, she tried to clamber off his lap. Thanks to Thane, she somehow ended up on the bed, where she hoisted up her skirts—slipping and sliding as tulle and chiffon met satin sheets. By the time she was on her knees again she felt like a triathlete after a three-day event. Likely resembled one too, with her tiara askew. But one look at the man of her dreams, wearing a towel that left nothing to the imagination, getting on his knees too, as if he needed them equal, and her every thought zeroed in on him. Only him.
‘And why shouldn’t I kneel before you?’ she said. ‘I respect you. I’m proud of you. For breaking free of your father’s hold, for fighting for your people.’
