Annie West - Royals Untamed!

He held his hand out towards her. She hesitated. Since the dress incident and the day at the fountain something had changed between them. It was happening slowly. Almost without her even noticing. But the way Alex looked at her was different.

Sometimes she caught him staring with the blue eyes of a man ten years younger, without the responsibilities of today on his shoulders. Those were her favourite moments.

Ten years of thinking about ‘what ifs’... It was easy to pretend that she hadn’t. That she’d been busy with work and life and relationships. But underneath all that there had always been something simmering beneath the surface.

Her first sight of him in her hospital department had knocked the breath from her lungs—not that she’d ever admit that. She had a hard time even admitting it to herself.

In her mind, Ruby Wetherspoon had never been that kind of girl. Dreaming of princes and happy-ever-afters. But her brain kept trying to interfere with her rational thoughts. It kept giving her secret flashes of holding hands, or more kisses. It kept making her imagine what might have happened on the rest of that night on New Year’s Eve.

But there was no point dreaming of the past. Today was about looking to the future.

She was beginning to feel a glimmer of hope that there could be a future. Her confidence around Alex was starting to grow.

She stood up. The only ‘what ifs’ were for the here and now.

She reached out and took his hand, his warm skin enveloping hers. ‘Where do you plan on taking me?’ She looked down, ‘And am I suitably dressed?’

He grinned. ‘You might need alternative clothes.’

‘Really? Why?’

He winked. ‘You’ll see.’

* * *

If the crew were surprised to see him accompanied by a lady they did their best to hide it. It had been a few months since he’d been out on the yacht, and in the past he’d always gone alone.

He hadn’t even mentioned the yacht to Ruby, and her face had been a picture as they’d walked onto the dock.

She’d blinked at the gleaming white yacht. It was made of steel and over three hundred feet long.

He waved his arm, ‘Ruby, I’d like you to meet the other woman in my life—the Augusta .’

‘She’s huge.’ She could see all the staff on board. This wasn’t a one-man sailing boat.

He nodded and headed over to the gangway. ‘Five bedrooms and an owner’s stateroom with living room, bedroom, bathroom and veranda. She’s pretty much a guy’s dream come true.’

Her foot hesitated at the gangway. His heart gave a little twist. He hadn’t even asked her if she was afraid of water. Please don’t let this be a disaster . He’d already arranged for some swimming and snorkelling gear to be dropped off at the yacht.

But her hesitation was momentary and she steadied her balance on the swaying gangway by holding on to the rail.

‘Shouldn’t a boat have sails?’ she whispered as they walked over the gangway.

‘It’s a yacht. And it doesn’t need sails—it’s got four diesel engines. It can probably go faster than some cars.’

She grinned and stopped mid-step, ‘Well, aren’t we a bit snippy about our boat?’ She was clearly amused by his automatic response.

He wrinkled his nose. ‘Snippy? What does that mean?’

She stepped a little closer. She’d changed into a pale blue dress and flat sandals. He could see the tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose and feel her scent invade his senses. It didn’t matter that the smell of the Mediterranean Sea was all around them. The only thing he could concentrate on right now was the smell of some kind of flowers, winding its way around him.

‘It means you don’t like anyone calling your yacht a boat.’ She waved her hand. ‘Boat, ship, yacht—it’s all the same to me.’

He laughed and shook his head. ‘What’s that word you use in the UK? Landlubber?’

She nodded as he guided her up on to the deck. ‘I’ll wear that badge with pride. I know absolutely nothing about sailing. The only boats I’ve ever sailed were the ones in my bath tub.’

There it was—that little twinkle in her eye. It happened whenever they joked together, whenever Ruby was relaxed and there was no one else around but them. He didn’t see it often enough.

She settled into one of the white chairs as the yacht moved smoothly out from the port. The sea could be choppy around Euronia, but today it was calm.

His steward appeared. ‘What would you like for lunch, Ms. Wetherspoon? The chef will make whatever you desire.’

He saw her visibly blanch. There were so many things he took for granted. At any time in the palace he could ask for whatever he wanted to eat. There was always staff available to cater to his tastes. Ruby looked almost embarrassed by the question.

‘I guess since I’m on the sea it should be some kind of fish.’ She shot the steward a beaming smile. ‘What would you suggest?’

If the steward was surprised by her question he didn’t show it. ‘We have crayfish, mussels, clams and oysters. Or, if you prefer we have sardines—or bouillabaisse. It’s a fish stew, practically our national dish.’

‘That sounds lovely. I’ll have that, thank you.’

The yacht was working its way along the coastline. Within a few minutes the pink palace came into view.

Ruby stood up. ‘Wow! It looks so different, seeing it from the sea. It really does look like something from a little girl’s toybox. It’s gorgeous.’

Alex rolled his eyes. ‘You can imagine how I felt as a teenager, living in a pink palace.’

She smiled. Her eyes were still sparkling. ‘I can imagine. But look at it. It’s impressive enough when you see it on land—but from here...? It’s like something from a fairytale.’

‘What’s your favourite room?’

‘In the palace?’

He nodded.

The steward had brought some champagne and an ice bucket and Alex popped the cork and started pouring the champagne into glasses.

She took a sip from the glass he handed her. ‘It has to be the library. It’s the smell. I love it. I could sit in there all day.’

‘That was my mother’s favourite room too. She was always in the library.’

Ruby turned to face him. ‘You don’t really talk about your mother. What was she like? I’ve seen some photographs. She was beautiful.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, she was. Most people talk about the clothes she wore and her sense of style. Marguerite de Castellane was known the world over for her beautiful wardrobe. But I remember my mother as having a really wicked sense of humour. And she was clever. She spoke four languages and brought me up speaking both English and French. She died from a clot in her lung—a pulmonary embolism. She’d had the flu and been off her feet for a few weeks. Her legs were swollen and sore—but she didn’t tell anyone until it was too late.’

He couldn’t help but feel a wave of sadness as he spoke about his mother. To everyone else she had been the Queen. But to an only child with an almost absent father his mother had been his whole world.

She’d kept him grounded. She’d made sure he attended the local school and the local nursery. She’d sent him shopping for bread at the bakers and meat at the delicatessen. Everything he’d learned about being a ‘normal’ person he’d learned from his mother.

His father had aged twenty years after she’d died. Still working, still ruling his country, but his heart hadn’t been in it.

The relationship between father and son had always been strained. And it hadn’t improved with age or with his father’s ill health.

Ruby had little lines across her forehead now. Even when she frowned she still looked good. He felt a surge of emotion towards her.