A.C. Arthur - To Marry A Prince

“Really? I did not see that on the calendar,” Prince Rafferty said to his younger son. “When will you return?”

Roland shrugged and forked a bright red tomato into his mouth. “Don’t know.”

Prince Rafferty wiped his fingers on a napkin then placed the white cotton square down on the table slowly. “The engagement will be officially announced tomorrow. There will no doubt be press arriving on the island within hours of the news circulating around the world. We all need to be on hand for official photos and interviews.”

Landry thought about that statement as she chewed the last bite of her salad. She did not recall seeing any interviews of Prince Rafferty in any of the American papers. Of course she hadn’t actually searched for any either.

“You’re giving interviews?” Samantha asked. “You never give interviews.”

Malayka reached a hand out to rub along Prince Rafferty’s arm. “This is the age of social media. We—the royal family—should be as transparent as possible at all times,” she told them.

Kristian set his fork down slowly and looked directly at his father.

“The exposure the wedding will elicit for the upcoming months will no doubt improve tourism on Grand Serenity. The more tourists that visit the island, the more money the shop owners in the village will earn. The more money they earn, the more jobs they can provide. It is a win-win situation for all of us,” Prince Rafferty stated.

He’d looked around to each of his children, an effort to gain their support, Landry supposed. However, she wasn’t certain it was going to work. None of them seemed thrilled about this idea.

“Sounds like you two have this all planned out,” Samantha replied.

“Not all,” Prince Rafferty continued. “The press conference needs to be arranged for tomorrow morning at ten.”

“We have a meeting at the bank tomorrow,” Kristian interjected. “It’s on the calendar.”

Rafe nodded as the next course of their meal arrived. It looked like chicken and vegetables in a dark sauce and it smelled fabulous. Landry immediately picked up her knife and fork and began to cut into the boneless breast.

“You handle the bank meeting and I will stand by my bride-to-be at the press conference. Roland, I want you there, dressed in full regalia and a smile on your face. Put that on your calendar and do not be late,” Rafferty said sternly.

“Yes, sir,” Roland replied with a salute to his father and a nod to Malayka.

“And you, my Sammy,” their father continued giving a much softer look and tone to his only daughter. “I don’t want you to feel as though you were left out of the loop on this. Malayka and I just talked about this last night. Furthermore, I would think that you, above everyone else, would be happy to see that Malayka is perfectly able to plan with our island’s best interests in mind. She’s going to make an excellent princess and I have no doubt she will continue to have this palace running like a well-oiled machine, just as you have.”

Samantha did not look impressed. However, she did smile and nod to her father and then, to Landry’s surprise, to Malayka as well.

“I look forward to the day when I can hand off a good portion of my duties to you, Malayka. I just hope you know what you’re getting into,” Samantha said as she lifted her glass of wine and did a solo toast toward the couple.

Landry couldn’t help herself, she grinned at the sarcasm in that moment. Sure, it was cleverly masked, but there was no doubt in her mind that the princess was anything but happy about having soon-to-be Princess Malayka taking over anything in the palace.

“We are amusing our guest,” Prince Rafferty said.

Landry coughed immediately, embarrassment almost choking her.

“Well, we aim to please here at Grand Serenity Island,” Roland added and lifted his glass, mirroring what Samantha had just done to Malayka.

As for Kristian, the scowl that had graced his face from the moment Landry had walked into this room was still perfectly in place as his gaze settled on her.

“I apologize,” she said when she was certain her words wouldn’t come out in a jumble. “I meant no disrespect. It’s just that this scene reminds me of my family. I thought I was going to miss them terribly but it was nice to have this little reminder.”

It wasn’t a total lie, Landry told herself. She did come from a large family. Her parents had lived in the same house for the entire thirty years they’d been together. And as of ten years ago, her paternal grandparents had also lived in that house, along with Landry’s four brothers, sister and her two kids. So yes, she was used to hostile family dinners, just not on a royal scale.

“Well, glad we can entertain you. But I suspect your stay here will also be educational as you watch a new leadership take the reins.”

The prince was talking about Malayka, which, for reasons Landry could not actually put her finger on, she thought was hilarious. Malayka Sampson was going to be a princess. Just five short months ago when Landry had first met her, she was introduced simply as an entrepreneur. Seems like Malayka had found her next business venture. Or perhaps she’d actually fallen in love with a real-life prince. How coincidentally wonderful for her.

“Yes, sir. I believe my time here will be interesting,” Landry found herself saying instead of what she was really thinking.

“Interesting indeed. I mean, wouldn’t you be anxious to get the ball rolling if you were going to run a Caribbean island?” he asked her.

Landry shook her head. “I’m not sure that would be something I’d be interested in doing, Your Highness.”

“Really?” he asked as he sat back in his chair, wineglass in hand. “Are you saying you would turn down an invitation to become princess of this island?”

In a heartbeat, Landry thought.

“Yes, sir, I would. I’m not princess material.”

Chapter 3

What is she doing here?

Kris asked himself this several times throughout the dinner. She’d walked in with Roland, arm-in-arm, both of them smiling, looking picture-perfect. He’d frowned.

He had felt his forehead wrinkling, his teeth clenching. Beneath the table where his hands had been resting calmly on his thighs, his fingers had slowly curled into fists. Why did they look like they belonged together when they’d only just met? Or had they?

Roland was his younger brother. He wasn’t the immediate heir and so he did not have the duties and responsibilities that Kris had, nor did he express any interest in them. Instead, Roland’s goal in life was to see just how much fun he could have before he dropped dead—at least that’s what he’d always told Kris. Lately, with all the traveling Roland had been doing, combined with all the gambling and sleeping around with the woman of the month, Kris had begun to believe his brother was more than serious about achieving his life’s goal.

That only made seeing him with Landry more annoying.

But it shouldn’t have. He didn’t know this woman, not well enough. Everything he’d read on paper about her schooling, where she lived in America, what she did for a living, had all been superficial. Kris had no idea who she really was on the inside and thus could not accurately pinpoint her motives in coming here. But there was a motive, he was sure. Everyone had a motive or a master plan.

Especially Malayka Sampson.

When the meal was thankfully over and second rounds of Chef Murray’s crêpes Suzette had been devoured, Kris stood, eager to excuse himself. His plan was to retreat to his rooms, to the solitary space he craved so much after a long day of doing his job.

The job that hung around his neck like a heavy chain.

“Well, I’m off for the night,” Roland announced as he, too, stood after dropping his napkin to the table. “It has, as always, been a pleasure. But duty calls.”