LITMIR.BIZ

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three hours away, and Hannah was getting a Swedish massage on a special table in her dressing room. The lights were dimmed, candles burned and soft instrumental music played. It was supposed to be a treat, something Zale had arranged for her, but Hannah was too keyed-up to enjoy it.

      “Take a nice slow, deep breath,” the masseuse said soothingly, rubbing fragrant lavender oil into Hannah’s tense shoulders. “Now exhale. Slowly, slowly, Your Royal Highness. Good. Now again.”

      Hannah tried to do as she was told, she did, but it was hard to relax when everything inside her was tied up in knots.

      She hated Emmeline right now. Hated Emmeline for what she’d done. Hannah should have never come here. She shouldn’t have ever agreed to play acting for an afternoon much less a week.

      If only she hadn’t gotten on the plane. If only she’d refused to continue the charade at that point.

      But she hadn’t. She’d been too worried, afraid that the princess was facing a crisis all alone.

      “Your Highness,” the masseuse said gently, but firmly, kneading Hannah’s shoulders. “Let go of everything. Just focus on your breathing. Focus on feeling good for the next half hour.”

      And somehow, beneath the magic hands of the masseuse, Hannah did relax, shutting everything from her mind for the next thirty minutes, but once she was in her bathroom, showering off the oil and shampooing her hair, the anxiety returned.

      So how did she fix this with Zale? There had to be something she could do … some magical fix, but standing in the shower, hot water pounding down, Hannah could think of nothing.

      Hannah had always prided herself on being able to handle whatever her difficult, demanding boss, Sheikh Koury, sent her way. The Sheikh had been through a dozen secretaries before he found Hannah who could speak four languages fluently and handle the endless and challenging work he tossed her way.

      No matter what he dropped in her lap, she handled it with aplomb. Arrange an environmental awareness meeting with the world’s leading oil executives? No problem.

      Plan activities for the oil executives’ wives, many of whom had to be segregated from men? Hannah didn’t even blink.

      Organize an international polo tournament in Dubai? Then move it to Buenos Aires? And provide transportation for all players and horses? Consider it done.

      Hannah loved puzzles and thrived on good challenges, but the one thing she couldn’t do, and the one thing she was desperate to do, was protect Zale from what was to come.

      The truth.

      Eva, the Raguvian designer, had reworked the ball gown for Hannah, changing the design from a simple off-white column dress, to a shimmering chiffon gown with jeweled embroidered flowers unfurling across the bodice and to bloom down one hip in a profusion of purple and amethyst jewel petals that reached her feet.

      She wore pale gold sling-back heels with more jewels at the toe, and her blond hair was piled high on her head and held in place with glittering citrine and amethyst hairpins. Rectangular rose-gold, diamond and amethyst earrings hung from her ears, a cuff circled her wrist, and on Zale’s arm she felt like a princess.

      “You’re a goddess tonight,” Zale said as they paused inside the ballroom doors and took in the glittering winter wonderland anchored by a dozen massive ice columns. “More beautiful than any woman has a right to be.”

      She flushed with pleasure, heat radiating out from the tight coil of desire in her belly to the tingle in her fingers and toes. “I don’t know what to say.”

      Zale was dressed in black coat and tails, white shirt, white vest and tie and looked devastatingly attractive, especially when he smiled, and he was smiling now. “Just say thank you.”

      And then they were being announced and swept into the immense white and gold palace ballroom that glittered with floor-to-ceiling ice sculptures and potted trees brought in just for the occasion. The trees’ white, frosted limbs were covered by strands of miniature white lights and the only spot of color in the glittering white room was the ladies’ elegant gowns in shades of purple, violet and lavender.

      Zale and Hannah circled the room on their way to the head table, Zale’s hand resting lightly on her back. She could feel the heat from Zale’s hand and she shivered as exquisite sensation raced through her. There was something about his touch … something in the way her body responded to him that made her feel so alive.

      “What do you think?” he asked as they took their places on the platform, several feet higher than the rest of the room.

      “It’s absolutely magical. I feel like a princess from a fairy tale.”

      He grinned. “Which one?”

      “Cinderella.” She reached down to lightly touch one of the jeweled blossoms on her waist. “Eva waved her magic wand and voilà! I’m a princess at your ball.”

      Uniformed footmen filled their tall, slender flutes with champagne. Zale lifted his flute. “To my princess,” he said, a half smile playing at his lips.

      “To my king,” she replied, clinking the rim of her glass to his.

      They drank and the champagne’s tiny bubbles fizzed in her mouth and the cold liquid warmed as it went down.

      “Have all Raguvian kings married royalty?” Hannah asked, setting her flute back on the table. “Has no one married a … commoner?”

      “Only once in the past two hundred years and he gave up his throne to marry her.”

      “Why is a blue-blood bride essential?”

      “Our monarchy grew out of a tribal kingship that spanned nearly a thousand years, and the Raguvian people have fought hard to preserve the monarchy, although today we are—like Brabant—a constitutional monarchy.”

      Hannah knew the differences between monarchies from working for Sheikh Koury.

      There were absolute monarchies like those in the Middle East—Brunei, Saudi Arabia, Qatar—and then there were constitutional monarchies like those in Belgium, Sweden, Monaco and the United Kingdom. A constitutional monarchy gave a king power as defined by each country’s constitution.

      Her brow furrowed. “Does it actually say in your constitution that you must marry a royal?”

      “Yes.”

      “You couldn’t marry a commoner?” “Not without relinquishing the throne.” “And you wouldn’t do that?” “I could not.”

      She noticed his word choice. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. “Why couldn’t you?”

      “I could never be selfish enough to put my needs before that of my country.”

      She ran a fingertip around the base of the flute stem, watching the tiny gold bubbles of champagne rise to the surface and pop.

      Even if Zale wanted Hannah Smith, he wouldn’t choose her. Even if Zale should love her, he wouldn’t keep her. “Have you ever dated a commoner?” she asked, voice breaking.

      “All my girlfriends were commoners.” His lips curled, slightly mocking. “You are my first princess.”

      And she wasn’t even a real princess, either.

      Her heart grew even heavier during dinner. It didn’t help that when Zale looked at her, she lost track of time. In his eyes there was just now, only now, and right now she was happy. Lucky. Good.

      Suddenly Zale was standing and extending his hand to her. “Your Highness,” he said, his smile warming his eyes, warming her, making her feel so very alive. But then, he was so very alive. “May I have this dance?”

      She looked up into his lean face with the strong brow, firm mouth and uncompromising chin and a frisson of feeling raced through her. “Yes.”

      She rose, putting her hand into his, inhaled as sensation

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