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Before Akil left the Palais d’Ortiz he cancelled his morning meetings, and instead of heading back to the city drove further out into the countryside towards the huge Artega estate. He’d hesitated over whether he should ask his assistant to forewarn Arrosa that he was on his way; after all, even a rising politician working closely with the Princess shouldn’t just rock up uninvited at a royal residence. But if he and Arrosa were to discuss something as important as marriage then surely they should be able to discuss it without formality and pomp—and a possible fiancé shouldn’t need to make an appointment to see his intended.
Akil had visited Arrosa at home enough times to be waved through by the guards at the gate and he drove up the long, tree-lined drive, past the imposing chateau with its fairy-tale turrets and intricate stonework and headed towards the villa half a kilometre away where Arrosa resided. As he pulled up in front of the pretty white one-storey building he felt a momentary pang of unaccustomed doubt. Whatever they discussed here would set the tone for the rest of his life and he still didn’t know what the outcome would be—or what he wanted it to be.
The nineteenth-century villa had an idyllic setting with its lakeside location and flower-filled gardens, a small orchard to one side. But despite the peaceful pastoral feeling, Akil knew that at least one secret service agent would be concealed somewhere close by, and that CCTV cameras meant that his every move would be fed back to the soldiers at the gate. It was a sobering thought; he was used to living with a certain degree of high security, thanks to his father’s position and now his own, and he had spent time himself in the special forces during his national service, but he had never been watched twenty-four-seven.
Unexpected pity for the Princess flooded through him; never alone, never private and now asking a man she surely didn’t love to be her husband.
Akil strode down the paved garden path to the front door and knocked on it. The last couple of times he been here either Arrosa herself had opened it or her maid, Marie, would usher him in. Arrosa had no live-in staff at the villa. In fact she lived a surprisingly self-sufficient life; apart from the staff who ran her office from the court in the capital city her only permanent staff were Marie and her bodyguard.
He waited but nobody answered the door, although he could see several open windows and hear the sound of music from within the house. He rapped on the door once again and when there was still no answer headed around to the back of the villa. The long, terraced garden led down to the lake, where he could see a small boathouse and changing hut positioned by a short wooden jetty. Arrosa sat on the jetty, her back to him, her hair cascading down, wilder than he’d ever seen it before.
She didn’t turn as he made his way down the garden towards her and Akil hesitated before he called out, not wanting to startle her.
‘Arrosa,’ he said softly and saw her whole body stiffen. ‘I did knock but nobody answered. I’m sorry to show up without notice.’ Every sense told him that something wasn’t quite right; he felt wrong-footed with no idea why. ‘But what I have to say is too important to wait, and under the circumstances I felt some informality was warranted. I hope it goes without saying that I very much enjoy working with you, and I hope whatever happens that we will continue to work together over the years ahead. I have also come to value your companionship, friendship almost.’
Arrosa didn’t speak, nor did she turn to face him. He couldn’t read her body language at all. She was still rigid, like a deer scenting a predator, unsure whether to run or try to fade into the background.
‘But marriage is a big commitment and not something either of us should enter into lightly,’ he continued. ‘If you didn’t mean what you said the other day, if I misread your intention, or if you changed your mind, then I’ll leave right now with no hard feelings and a promise never to mention it again. But if you did mean it then I think we need to spend some time together without titles between us, without work as a commonality, to see how compatible we are when all that is stripped away.’
Something about her stillness made it hard for him to let the silence fall but he made himself stop, wait for her to respond as the silence lengthened, the tension thickening with every long second until finally she spoke.
‘Thank you.’
Akil frowned, that sense of wrongness intensifying. Just two words but they sounded off, her voice lower, her accent subtly different.
‘But now isn’t a good time...’ she continued slowly. ‘Could we do this later?’ She hesitated. It was as if she was measuring every word. ‘I know this is important.’
Was she ill? Upset? Hurt? Akil couldn’t just walk away without knowing Arrosa was all right. Princess or no princess, possible fiancée or not, she was a human being without many people to confide in. Whatever the future held, he could at least be her friend. Akil stepped onto the narrow wooden jetty and in a few decisive strides reached the still seated figure.
‘Arrosa? What’s wrong?’ He squatted next to her and touched her shoulder, turning her gently towards him. But her face was at once familiar and yet strange. There was the same dark waving hair, the same hazel eyes, although these were subtly lighter, more gold than brown, the same olive skin, even that same tilt to the nose adding personality to a face that otherwise could have been blandly beautiful, and the same full mouth.
But this was not the Princess. This was not Arrosa.
His hand dropped and he straightened, taking an instinctive step back. ‘Where’s the Princess—and who on earth are you?’
CHAPTER THREE
CLEMSTAYEDCOMPLETELYstill for another long moment, unsure how to play this. She had no script, no director’s notes. It was a good thing she had done so many improvisations but unfortunately this time she had no idea what her part should be.
After all, less than twenty-four hours ago she had been readying herself to play Juliet with no plans beyond the play and the party. But in the end she’d barely had time to remind Arrosa to water the plants and feed the cat, before finding herself hustled into the car that had brought Arrosa to Cornwall and whisked off to the private jet her sister had commandeered. It had been long past midnight when she’d arrived at the Palais d’Artega and Henri had shown her to the pretty lakeside villa Arrosa had moved into on her twenty-first birthday where, despite all her excitement and trepidation, she had fallen asleep straight away. No opportunity to have second thoughts or wonder how this madcap scheme might work in practice.
No opportunity until now. Unfortunately she had still been trying to get her thoughts in order when Akil Ortiz had inconsiderately shown up and complicated an already difficult situation. Who just showed up without calling first? Especially when calling on a princess?
However, she did know one thing. She wasn’t having this conversation sitting down. Slowly she clambered to her feet and brushed the dust off her skirt before tilting her chin and turning to face Akil, meeting his suspicious gaze squarely, only to falter as she took him in.
If her first thought was,Wow, that photo really didn’t do him justice, then her second wasLucky, lucky Arrosa.
Clem had been to one of the UK’s most prestigious drama schools and as a result some of her classmates were now global heart-throbs. But not one of the attractive charismatic men she’d studied with, acted with, and sometimes dated had anything near the sheer magnetism of the Asturian Vicomte.
He was tall and broad, with his almost black hair ruthlessly swept back, but Clem could see hints of a rebellious wave in the strands that fell over his brow, strong brows framing keen dark brown eyes, a straight Roman nose turning his good looks characterful. His powerful body was showcased by a navy suit that had clearly been made to fit him, his olive skin set off by the crisp white of his linen open-collared shirt.
To her horror Clem felt a jolt of attraction pulsing low in her stomach, tingling through her whole body.
No, down, bad girl, she told herself fiercely as she summoned up her most regal smile, the one she’d used when playing Olivia inTwelfth Nightduring their third-year showcase.
‘You must be the Vicomte d’Ortiz. I’m sorry, but Arrosa isn’t here right now.’
‘I see.’ Suspicion lurked in his dark eyes as he surveyed her. ‘When will she be back?’
