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education around in Lycander. Teachers will be better paid, the curriculum will be overhauled in a good way, and there will be more money injected into schools everywhere.’

      As if embarrassed by his own enthusiasm, he leant back with a rueful smile that flipped her heart again. A sure case of topsy-turvy heart syndrome. And it was messing with her head, making the idea of marriage more palatable. Ridiculous. Marriage equalled tying herself down, committing herself to a shared life, to a fairy tale ending. The idea hurt her teeth, sent her whole being into revolt.

      Only that wasn’t true, was it? Horror surfaced at the identification of a tiny glimmer of sparkle inside her that desperately wanted a fairy tale ending... Frederick, Sunita and Amil, living happily ever after in a palace. Princess Sunita.

      ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ His voice interrupted her reverie.

      ‘They aren’t worth it.’

      They weren’t worth even a fraction of a penny—she had lost the plot and it was time to get it back. This marriage deal wasn’t off the table, but there wouldn’t be any glimmer of fairy sparkle sprinkled on it.

      She looked up as Deepali approached from across the courtyard. ‘Your meal is ready. The chef has prepared a selection of traditional Goan food—I trust you will enjoy it.’

      Sunita managed a smile even as her brain scrambled around in panic, chasing down that stupid, sparkly bit of her that advocated the ringing out of wedding bells. How had this happened? In a little over twenty-four hours he had somehow persuaded her that marriage was not only a possibility but a sparkly one.

      Enough. She had to halt this before this fairy tale place wove some sort of magic spell around her—before that stupid sparkly bit inside her grew.

      * * *

      Frederick studied Sunita’s expression as she looked round the dining room. Her eyes skittered over the colourful prints on the white walls, along the simple wooden table, and he could almost hear her brain whirring.

      Deepali entered and put their plates in front of them. ‘Prawn rissoles,’ she said, and Sunita inhaled appreciatively.

      ‘They smell marvellous—and I’m sure they’ll taste just as good.’

      The middle-aged woman smiled. ‘I’ll pass on your kind comments to the chef.’

      Once she’d gone, Frederick watched as Sunita studied the rissole with more attention than any food warranted, however appetising.

      ‘This looks great.’ She popped a forkful into her mouth and closed her eyes. ‘Fabulous! The reason why melt-in-the-mouth is a cliché. Cumin, with perhaps a hint of coriander, and...’

      But even as she spoke he knew that her thoughts were elsewhere. There was an almost manic quality to her culinary listing, and he interrupted without compunction.

      ‘So,’ he said, ‘you avoided my earlier question about what you were thinking.’

      Her brown eyes watched him with almost a hint of defiance. ‘I was thinking how surreal this situation is—the idea that two people who don’t know each other at all could contemplate marriage. It’s...mad.’

      ‘That’s why we’re here—to get to know each other.’

      ‘We can’t pack that into two days—most people take years.’

      ‘And there is still a fifty per cent divorce rate.’

      ‘In which case we are definitely doomed.’

      ‘Not at all. All those people who take years...they try to fall in love, decide they’ve fallen in love, expect love to last. Every action is dictated by love. They heap pressure on the whole institution of marriage and on themselves. Our approach is based on common sense and on us both getting a deal we think is fair. Two days is more than enough time.’

      He leant over and poured wine into her glass.

      ‘In days gone by it would have been the norm. Throughout Lycander history, rulers made alliances—not love matches.’

      ‘Does posterity say whether they worked?’

      ‘Some were more successful than others, but every marriage lasted.’

      Until Alphonse had arrived and turned statistics and traditions on their heads.

      ‘For better or worse?’ Sunita sounded sceptical.

      ‘I see no reason why we couldn’t be one of the better ones—we’d go in without any ridiculous, unrealistic expectations, with an understanding of what each other is looking for.’

      ‘I don’t even know what your favourite colour is.’

      ‘Does it matter?’

      ‘I feel it’s the sort of thing one should know before they marry someone.’

      ‘OK. Blue.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Now will you marry me?’

      This pulled a reluctant smile from her, but it came with an attendant shake of her head. ‘What sort of blue? Royal blue, because it’s on the Lycander flag?’

      ‘Nope. Aquamarine blue.’

      ‘Because...?’

      ‘Does there have to be a reason?’

      Sunita tipped her head to one side. ‘There usually is.’

      ‘So what’s your favourite colour?’

      ‘Red.’

      ‘Because...?’

      ‘Because it was my mother’s favourite colour—I like to think it was her way of sticking two fingers up at the world that had branded her a scarlet woman. She always wore something red—her sari would maybe have a red weave, or she’d wear a red flower, or paint her toenails red. And as for her lipstick collection...’

      ‘You must miss her.’

      ‘I do. A lot.’ She looked down at her plate and scooped up the last of her rissole. ‘Anyway, why aquamarine blue?’

      Reluctance laced his vocal cords—along with a sense of injustice that a question that had seemed so simple on the surface had suddenly become more complex. Get a grip. If this was a hoop Sunita had constructed as a prelude to marriage then he’d jump through it—he’d do the damn hula if necessary.

      ‘It’s the colour of the Lycander Sea. When life in the palace became too much I’d escape to the beach, watch the sea. It put things into perspective. Sometimes it was so still, so calm, so serene it gave me peace. Occasionally it would be turbulent, and then I guess I’d identify with it. As a child I was pretty sure Neptune lived off the coast of Lycander...’

      OK, Frederick, that’s enough. More than he’d intended in fact. But there was something about the way Sunita listened—really listened—that seemed to have affected him.

      She watched him now, lips slightly parted, tawny eyes serious, but as if sensing his discomfort she leant back before she spoke.

      ‘OK, next question. Star sign?’

      ‘Leo.’

      ‘Me too.’

      ‘Is that good or bad?’

      ‘I really don’t know. We’d need to ask Nanni—she is an avid believer in horoscopes. Though I’m not sure why. I think her parents had her and my grandfather’s horoscopes read to see if they’d be a good match, and the astrologer was confident they were compatible.’

      ‘Were they?’

      ‘I don’t think they can have been. From what my mother told me my grandfather was a tyrant and a control freak, whereas Nanni is a kind, gentle woman. But Nanni herself never speaks of her marriage—and never criticises my grandfather. And she still believes in horoscopes.’

      ‘What about you? Do you

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