LITMIR.BIZ

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know yours.”

      “I am Prince Nikola of Vernonia.”

      “A prince?”

      “Yes.”

      She supposed a prince would have a police escort as well as an aide, but this was just the kind of prank Boyd would pull and kid Izzy about for the rest of her life. She glanced around looking for a camera. “Am I being punk’d?”

      Jovan grinned.

      Nikola pressed his lips together. “No.”

      Yeah, on second thought, she couldn’t imagine the police participating in a joke. But she still had a hard time believing royalty would come to Rowdy’s. This wasn’t the worst part of town, but it wasn’t the best, either. “Am I supposed to call you Your Highness or something?”

      “Niko is fine,” he said.

      Better than fine, but he probably already knew that. Men as attractive as him usually did. “So Niko, why are you here?”

      Jovan started to speak, but Niko held up his hand and silenced his aide.

      Nice trick. Maybe he really was a prince. Or maybe he liked being the one to talk.

      “You posted on the internet looking to find a key to a box,” Niko said. “The box is mine.”

      She stared down her nose. “I don’t think so, dude.”

      He winced.

      “The box belonged to my mother,” Izzy added. “I’m just looking for the key.”

      “I know you want the key, but the box in the picture never belonged to your mother.”

      Oh, boy. Rowdy and Boyd had told Izzy if she posted on the internet she would get some strange replies. But she’d received only one email from a person who described the box so perfectly she’d sent him a picture of it. “You’re HRMKDK?”

      “That’s my father,” Niko explained. “His Royal Majesty King Dmitar Kresimir.”

      Like a king would ever email a total stranger about a wooden box. Sure it was pretty, but it was old. Izzy had thought the only value was sentimental. Maybe she was wrong about its worth. “I did correspond with your, um, dad, but I already told you, the box belongs to me.”

      “The box is technically yours, but only because I gave it to you.”

      What a ridiculous statement. The box was Izzy’s only connection to her mother who had died when Izzy was a baby. That was why she was desperate to find the missing key and open the bottom portion to see if anything was inside. With Uncle Frank gone, she had no family, no connection to her past. She wanted to know something … anything.

      Fighting her disappointment over not finding the key, Izzy squared her shoulders. “I’ve heard of Vernonia, but I’ve never been there. I’m certain we’ve never met. I’ve had the box for as long as I remember.”

      “You have had the box for twenty-three years,” Niko said. “I gave it to you when you were a baby.”

      “A baby,” she repeated, as if hearing it a second time would make more sense than the first time. It didn’t. The guy wasn’t that much older than her—that would mean he’d been just a kid. Ludicrous.

      “Yes,” Niko admitted ruefully. “I must sound crazy.”

      If he wasn’t, then she was. “You do.”

      “I can assure you I’m not crazy,” Niko stated matter-of-factly. He glanced at his aide standing next to him. “Isn’t that true, Jovan?”

      “Not crazy,” Jovan agreed, though he continued to look amused by what was going on.

      “I’m guessing you’re paid to agree with him, Jovan,” Izzy said, irritated.

      “Yes, but I’m also a lawyer if that adds to my credibility.”

      “It doesn’t.” Maybe this was how good-looking, eccentric royals wasted their time and money. She wished they would go bother someone else. “I think you both must be certifiable.”

      The two men looked at her with puzzled expressions.

      “Insane.” Izzy glanced at the police officers. She couldn’t imagine them wasting their time and tax dollars protecting some mental case claiming to be a prince. Surely they would have checked him out and asked to see his diplomatic papers or passport or something. “Let’s pretend what you say is true—”

      “It is true,” Niko said.

      She took a deep breath to control her growing temper. “Why would you give a baby the box? Is there some significance to the gesture?”

      “It’s customary.”

      It was her turn to be confused. “Huh?”

      “Tradition,” Niko clarified. “When a Vernonian prince gets married, he presents his wife with a bride box on their wedding day.”

      “That still doesn’t explain why you would give the box to me.”

      “Because I am your husband.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      “MY HUSBAND?” Isabel’s voice cracked. Her expression would have been comical if this were not such a serious matter.

      “Yes.” Niko understood her shock. He even sympathized. Discovering he had a wife had sent his world spinning off its axis. But her feelings—his feelings—would only delay the annulment needed to remedy this “complication” so he could marry Julianna and help his country. “It is a lot to take in.”

      “Take in?” Sharp, brown eyes bore into him. “Okay, Niko or whoever you are, cut the bull and tell me what’s really going on here.”

      He stared at Isabel with the dirty, baggy coveralls, lopsided ponytail and grease on her hands and cheek. She might be halfway attractive with her oval face, high cheekbones and expressive eyes, if she weren’t dressed like a man and covered in motor oil.

      “Come on, Niko.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Spill.”

      He expected her lack of protocol and manners, but the strength in her voice surprised him, as did her take-no-prisoner tone. Most people kowtowed to him. Few ever challenged him. He was … intrigued. “I am speaking the truth. I am your husband.”

      She pursued her full, unglossed lips and gave him a long, hard look. He was used to such a frank appraisal, but unlike most women, Isabel did not seem impressed by what she saw. He didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed by this woman who worked at a dilapidated garage fixing other people’s broken-down vehicles.

      “I told you. I’ve never seen you before,” she said. “We can’t be married.”

      “Indeed we can. You simply do not remember.”

      Isabel’s gaze remained steady. “I think I’d remember getting married.”

      “Not if you were only a few months old at the time.”

      Her mouth formed a perfect O. “What?”

      “I was only six years old when we married, and my memories are very vague.”

      Almost nonexistent, but he needed to convince Isabel of what had occurred twenty-three years ago, not add to the doubts shining in her pretty hazel eyes.

      “Children marrying?” Isabel’s nostrils flared. “There are laws against that kind of thing.”

      “Yes, and today it is illegal in Vernonia, but not twenty-three years ago.”

      “This is crazy.” Her voice jumped an octave. “I’m an American.”

      “Your mother was American, but your father was Vernonian.”

      “My father.”

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