Melissa McClone: Expecting Royal Twins! / To Dance with a Prince: Expecting Royal Twins! / To Dance with a Prince

“Excellent.” The king eyed the racks of dresses. “The queen does like the color purple. As do I.”

“I’ll remember that, sir. Thank you.”

He focused on each person in the room until his gaze came to rest on the stunning blonde who had been talking with Niko. The king pressed his lips together for a moment. “I see you are in good hands. I will leave you to your shopping.”

With that, the king departed.

As soon as the doors closed, the women went back to carrying accessories to the mannequins. The blonde, who had been speaking with Niko, supervised them.

Izzy blew out a puff of air. “I can’t believe that was your father.”

Niko stood next to her with an irritated look in his eyes. “Who did you think he was?”

“The castle manager.”

The irritation vanished. Niko laughed. “I suppose that is one of his job responsibilities.”

“You’re not helping.”

Niko raised a brow. “I didn’t think you needed anyone’s help.”

Izzy made a face at him.

“You may have trouble finding an outfit to go with that expression,” he teased.

“I’m sure I can find an outfit to match every expression as well as one to wear each hour of the day. I thought I was going shopping at a store or a mall.” She motioned to all the clothing. “It’s a bit … much, don’t you think?”

“Not for a princess,” Niko said. “There will be dinners, outings, appearances at the High Court.”

“I won’t be here that long.”

“Long enough.”

Izzy tried to take it all in. Tried and failed. “I think I’m beginning to understand what Cinderella might have gone through.”

“Except in your case the shoe already fits.”

“But we want to get it off as soon as possible.”

“That is the plan.”

He sounded excited. Izzy set her chin. “You know, dude, I want the annulment just as badly as you do.”

Before he could reply, the supermodel hurried over, walking on high heels as if she were wearing tennis shoes. She probably taught Pilates, cooked like a gourmet chef and rescued orphans from third-world countries in her spare time. The woman smiled, showing off two rows of perfectly spaced white teeth. The boys at the garage would be comatose in her presence. “You must be Princess Isabel.”

“Isabel,” Niko said. “This is Her Royal Highness Princess Julianna Von Schneckel of Aliestle.”

Julianna. Niko’s girlfriend and future wife. She was also a princess. No wonder he couldn’t wait to annul the marriage and marry a woman who exuded so much confidence and beauty even a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model would be intimidated.

Izzy was out of her element in every possible way. She forced her foot to stop tapping.

Julianna extended her arm. Everything about the princess was perfect right down to her manicured and polished fingernails. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Isabel.”

She shook her hand. Julianna’s grip was firm and her hands rougher than Izzy expected them to be. “And you.”

Niko watched them with interest. No doubt comparing his current wife to his future one.

A chilling thought inched its way down Izzy’s spine. She hoped he wasn’t planning to stay while she tried on clothing. This was going to be difficult enough without him here watching or, worse, providing commentary.

“Thanks for arranging all this, Niko.” Izzy tried to sound as cheerful as she could. “But I’m sure you have better things to do with your time so don’t feel you have to stick around. As your father said, I’m in good hands.”

“You’re in excellent hands,” Niko said. “But I have a few minutes before my meeting.”

Bummer, Izzy thought.

“You keep Isabel company, Niko,” Julianna said. “I want to get everyone in their places.”

People had places? Izzy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“It won’t be that bad,” Niko said, as soon as Julianna was out of earshot.

“Want to trade places?” Izzy asked.

“My legs weren’t meant for dresses.”

“Mine, either. I mean, I haven’t worn a dress since …” Uncle Frank’s funeral, she realized. “It’s been a long time.”

“You’ll look fine.”

She shrugged. “New clothing isn’t going to turn me into a princess.”

“Whether you wear a pair of coveralls or a dress by Chanel, you are already a princess,” he said. “But new clothing might help you feel more comfortable here.”

She stared at the large crystal chandeliers hanging from the ballroom ceiling. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“You only just arrived.”

“I’m not like her.”

“Her?”

“Your girlfriend. Princess Julianna.”

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