Rebecca Winters - The Royal Marriage Arrangement

One dark brow quirked. “But not to the tune of twelve million dollars. That will be my wedding present to you. In return, you’ll play the loving wife in front of other people, be it my family or the public.”

“I will not!”

“I’ve spent time with your great-uncle,” he continued talking, unfazed by her outburst. “Do you know you have the same regal bearing? I noticed it immediately. The perfect plum from the royal Grigory tree.”

She let out a strangled cry that was probably heard by everyone inside the House of Savoy.

“I meant that as a compliment, Alexandra.”

The way he said her name just now with his slight Italian accent made her body tremble. That angered her further.

“However tarnished the sordid legacy from my mother, I’m not a piece of fruit to be plucked!”

His expression grew solemn. “No. Like a gift from the gods you’ve fallen into my hands at the providential moment to save us both from a hideous fate.”

Hideous was the word, all right. The thought of going back to Los Angeles to face her mother’s creditors, to face poor Manny, let alone live with the smear tactics the media would always use against her caused bile to rise in her throat.

“I’m not asking that this arrangement last forever,” he added in a velvety tone.

“Of course not. Just a lifetime,” she blurted on a note of sarcasm.

One dark eyebrow dipped. “Who knows? Neither of us can see that far ahead into the future.”

She bit her lip. “How inconvenient for you.”

“You have no idea,” his voice grated, conveying some deep-seated emotion that caught her on the raw.

“When is your wedding supposed to take place?”

“Preferably yesterday.”

“Obviously.” She tried to hide her smile but lost the struggle.

“To answer your question, my parents have planned it for a month from today. The wedding ceremony will follow my coronation in the cathedral.”

Only four weeks? “I’m sure a royal wedding takes a great deal more time than that to organize.”

“You don’t know my parents. Everything’s been arranged. It’s only a matter of adding one detail… the name of the woman I’ve chosen. They’ve been living for this day.”

“That’s nice. I can’t say the same thing about mine. Now I’m afraid I have to go. My job is waiting for me back in Los Angeles and I have a plane to catch.” She started for the outer door once more.

“Is it your chosen career?”

When she reached it, she looked over her shoulder at him. “What? Putting makeup on movie stars? No. The job chose me and has kept me alive.”

He moved closer. Her heart did a funny kick. “What job would you choose if you could?”

That gave her pause. “You mean, in my wildest dreams?”

It was his turn to chuckle. “Is it that out of the ordinary?”

“For me, yes.”

“You want to be an astronaut?”

“No.” Her mouth curved upward once more. “This is something very down-to-earth.”

“What would that be?”

“It’s as improbable as my meeting a real prince today.”

“Why?”

“In the first place, I have to find a job where I can earn a lot of money in order to pay off mother’s debts before I do anything else.”

“And in the second place?” he queried.

“I don’t know if I could make the grade.”

“Doing what? Humor me,” he prodded.

“Plastic surgery.”

His intelligent gaze grew thoughtful. “Why that particular profession?”

“My mother was labeled the most beautiful woman in the world. Her love affair with herself was obscene. There are people out there born with facial problems who’d give everything they possessed to be able to look in the mirror and not cringe or grieve at the sight.

“If I could change one person’s looks enough to make life more bearable for them, I’d give anything to do it.”

A marked stillness pervaded the atmosphere before he spread his hands in a typical Italian gesture. “A noble aspiration. If that’s your raison d’être, then make it a reality once we’re married.”

Maybe she was hallucinating.

“Why not?” He read her mind. “Castelmare University in Capriccio has a medical school linked with the University of Genoa.”

The man was starting to get to her and that was frightening.

“Look—I was talking about my wildest dreams. The point is, not even I would want to be married to me. And lest you forget, one has to speak Italian to go to your university. For your information, I can only say one word in your language. It’s ciao .”

She opened the door to leave, but it was blocked by the same person as before. Another bodybuilder type was standing behind him. In the next breath she shut it again and turned on the man whose charisma was positively lethal. “Will you please tell Salvatore and his brother out there to let me pass?”

He let out a hearty laugh at her reference to the famous Italian bodyguard Salvatore Bartolotta, who lost his life trying to protect an antimafia prosecutor during the 1930s. While admiring his quick mind, Alex tried hard not to react to his full-bodied response. It made him appear younger and even more appealing. She hadn’t thought it was possible.

“Carlo will be flattered when I tell him. You’re obsessed by the mafia. Why is that, Alexandra? More than likely it was the mob that targeted your father because of his title and financial affluence. When he wouldn’t cooperate, they rubbed him out. I believe that’s the American term.”

The prince knew it was. He was too intelligent by far.

“Wherever the truth lies, anyone linked to the mafia eventually dies like the father I never knew.” She looked down. “I don’t know why we’re having this conversation. You’ve picked the wrong woman to help you out of your nightmare. I need to go home and face mine.”

“I’m not prepared to let you go yet,” he whispered silkily. “A little while ago you accused me of being hard up. That’s putting it mildly. My back’s up against the proverbial wall and my time has run out. I can’t fly home and face my parents without producing the name of my intended bride. As I’ve told you, I’ve been overdue in that department for the past ten years.”

She couldn’t believe she was still standing here listening to him instead of banging on the door to demand her freedom.

“And you honestly believe they’ll be overjoyed you’ve chosen the most unsuitable female on the planet to parade before your kingdom? Marriage to Kathryn Carlisle’s daughter will make you the laughingstock of the civilized world.”

“Let me worry about it.”

“I’ll do better than that. You won’t have to be concerned about anything because my answer is no! Can you imagine what the media would make of it?

“In a shocking palace exclusive today, the bachelor crown prince of Castelmare has bypassed many a royal swan to choose the ugly duckling of the deceased, washed-up American film goddess Kathryn Carlisle for his bride.

“Rumors at court say the prince hasn’t been himself since a golf ball hit him in the temple in Pebble Beach, California, where he was on hand for the U.S. Open with international super-model Germaine.”

His grin disarmed her. “You, of all people, should know better than to believe the tabloids. That ball hit one of my bodyguards in the knee. Any photo of a model was superimposed for effect.”

Her jaw hardened. “Where my mother was concerned, I do believe them. Don’t forget they wrote the truth about her. Marrying you will give them enough fodder to start a whole new feeding frenzy.

“The headlines will read, ‘With the promise of a twelve-million-dollar wedding present, it appears the daughter is following in the footsteps of the mother. Time will tell if this is the first of her many marriages destined to fail. Bets in the Las Vegas underworld are already running high that the marriage will fall apart within months.’”