The Prince's Fake Fiancée

This opportunity—possible only because of the lack of suitably qualified Vela Adian protection personnel, and the expediency that protection services were required—was as rare as it got.

So biting off the head of said actual royal was probably not advisable.

Although obviously she was always going to say something. She would never let a client ignore her like that—and then stare at her like that—without comment. It wasn’t acceptable behaviour. Personal protection didn’t work without respect—of her, of her team, of her directions. It was non-negotiable.

But still—had she had to draw attention to the fact she was a woman? It was something she—as she’d told the Prince—considered irrelevant. And hence, it was not a topic she ever engaged in.

Despite contrary advice, she’d always been very visible as the head of her company. There were no surprises to anyone who hired Gallagher Personal Protection Services that the person in charge was a woman. It was a self-selecting strategy—if someone was too closed minded to realise that Gallagher was awesome at what it did, just because she didn’t have broad shoulders and a... Well, then that was definitely their issue. Not hers.

She wasn’t about to defend or justify or do anything else to explain herself, because of course to tell anyone that being female wasn’t an issue because of x, y and z implied that she entertained their concerns. And she did not.

Actions spoke louder than words. She’d learnt that the hard way after—

Jas dug her fingernails into her palms. No. It had been months since she’d thought about what had happened, and she wasn’t about to start now. What mattered now was she hated that she’d brought up her gender to the Prince. Why would she do that?

Because he’d made her feel so female...

Ugh.

What was it about Prince Marko? Despite what she’d told Felicity, she had noticed how unbelievably gorgeous he was the few brief times they’d met. Because he was gorgeous in person in a way that was surprising, and almost overwhelming, despite her being familiar with his looks because...well, if you’d ever picked up a women’s magazine, anywhere in the world, you’d heard of the Playboy Prince.

In person, his looks were just more intense: he was taller, broader, and his blue eyes more piercing than she ever could’ve imagined.

And despite looking like a man who’d received upsetting news about his brother—with the olive skin of his jaw dusted with stubble, his eyes tinged red, and the occasional grey hair in his army buzz-cut dark hair—such dishevelment just made him even more appealing to her: raw, and real.

And for some reason that real prince—after barely glancing at her for almost the entirety of their business arrangement—had decided to stare at her today.

And if she’d thought his looks intense before—being on the receiving end of his concentrated attention was something else entirely.

The instant he’d really looked at her, her blood had run hot and her belly had heated. She’d sat perfectly still as his eyes had travelled across her face—and she was certain she’d briefly stopped breathing as he’d caught her gaze. As she’d begun to feel herself get lost within it...

But then he’d moved on: his gaze like a touch along her nose, her bare lips, and her skin that seemed so pale amongst Mediterranean complexions.

How long had he stared at her?

It had felt like an age—but maybe it was no time at all?

Maybe—and, God, she cringed at her choice of words now—it hadn’t been an ogle at all?

It would make more sense if it hadn’t been, really. She knew she wasn’t unattractive, but she was no Felicity. Her nose was a little too big, her hair nondescript and her figure was more athletic than voluptuous.

But she didn’t really believe that. He might not have planned to do it—but she knew when a man was checking her out.

Jas’s eyes snapped open, and she studied the way the setting sun reflected off the crystal beads of the chandelier above her.

Not that it mattered if Marko had checked her out.

What mattered was that she’d spoken without thinking first. She could’ve made her point in a myriad other ways without drawing attention to the two things she wanted Prince Marko to forget about completely: that she was a woman, and that he’d been appreciating that fact.

A sharp knock on her door snapped Jas out of her self-recrimination.

She sat up, and straightened her shoulders.

She was being ridiculous. What was done was done.

From now on, she would simply revert to being as impeccably professional as she always—usually—was.

Besides, she seriously doubted that the Prince was likely to check her out again—today was surely a blip?—which would make things easier.

Another insistent knock on her door, and Jas was on her feet. A moment later, she opened the door. It was Simon, and Jas blinked, surprised. It was several hours before they would be accompanying Marko and Felicity to the ball.

Simon spoke in a low, urgent tone. ‘We have a problem.’

* * *

Felicity sat curled up in a brocade wingback chair beside her room’s windows—but she’d closed the heavy curtains and blocked the setting sun. The room was lit only by a single bedside lamp, its glow revealing Felicity’s evening gown, laid across the bed in a cascade of emerald silk.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Felicity said brokenly, and Jas ran to her side, dropping to her knees beside the chair.

‘Don’t be,’ she said, gripping the other woman’s hand. ‘Of course you need to go home.’

Felicity had just received news that her mother and father had been hospitalised with serious injuries following a terrible car accident. Fortunately neither parent was in a critical condition, but there was no question that Felicity needed to be back in Australia to support her family right now—and not in Vela Ada.

‘What is Marko going to do, though? He needs a fiancée. I feel terrible, I—’

‘Don’t stress about it. You just worry about getting home. Can I help pack your things for you?’

Felicity nodded as Jas got back to her feet.

‘I’m sure the Prince will sort something out—’ Jas began.

‘I certainly will,’ a deep voice said from behind her. Jas turned to see Ivan and Marko framed in the doorway.

‘Your car is ready to take you to the airport,’ he said as he approached Felicity. He also dropped to his haunches so he was at Felicity’s level. ‘I’m sincerely sorry to hear about your parents’ accident. I’ll make sure you get home as quickly as possible.’

He stood, and offered his hand to help Felicity up. The blonde woman took it gratefully, and then headed for the door.

‘My things—’ she began.

‘I’ve got it under control,’ Jas reassured her. ‘I’ll get it all sorted and send it down to the car.’

And then Felicity—and Ivan—were gone.

Somehow, Jas had ended up alone in a room with Prince Marko.

She sent him a tight smile, assuming he’d leave in a moment, and busied herself with locating Felicity’s suitcase.

She jumped when he spoke just as she opened one of the built-in cupboards. It seemed he hadn’t, in fact, gone anywhere.

‘This is not ideal.’

Jas couldn’t help but grin at that understatement. She knew exactly how much planning had gone into tonight.

‘I assumed you would just announce that your fiancée had a family emergency,’ Jas said. It was, after all, the only option he had.

Suitcase found, Jas grabbed it and turned—to find the Prince sitting on the edge of Felicity’s expansive bed.

The image of Prince Marko in—well, on—a bed had her momentarily transfixed.

It was the most innocent of poses—he literally just sat on it, fully clothed in suit trousers, and a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck.

He wasn’t even looking at Jas, his attention, instead, on the dress that lay beside him. The fingers of one hand were absently twisting a fold of the delicate fabric.

And yet being alone in a room with the only man she could remember ever having...unsettled her—distracted her—the way he had just by looking at her was disconcerting.

Despite her personal pep talk only minutes ago, Jas certainly felt less than purely professional right now. She was spending far too long admiring how the breadth of his shoulders was emphasised by the cut of his shirt, and how its slim fit and the musculature it skimmed reminded Jas of his military day job. Again, she had the sense of something raw and hard in Prince Marko, a world away from the perfect Playboy Prince that she had imagined.

‘That won’t work,’ the Prince said, now looking at Jasmine.

The intensity of his gaze—or maybe that was just how he looked at everybody—once again knocked Jas off balance. She looked down, reminding herself of the empty suitcase in her hands, which she was gripping so hard her knuckles had turned white.

‘Oh?’ Jasmine said, not really following—instead refocusing her attention on her task. She needed to get this bag packed for Felicity, not worry about princes and beds.

‘No,’ said Marko, ‘I need a tangible princess-to-be, someone for the people of Vela Ada to fall in love with. Unfortunately I don’t have what my brother has, that innate—’

‘Kingliness?’ Jas prompted as she skirted the end of the bed to lay the suitcase beside the evening gown, and as far from Marko as she could manage. She had considered laying it on one of the couches, or on the floor, instead—before she’d told herself she was again being ridiculous.

Marko laughed out loud, the sound deep and rich and filling the room.

Jas’s head jerked upwards as she only belatedly realised what she’d actually said. What was it about this man that made her speak before she thought? ‘Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing for me to say—’

But he shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s perfect. It’s exactly why I’m doing this. Vela Ada needs a king right now—but as Lukas isn’t available, it’s on me. But I’m not—how did you put it?—kingly enough and I know it. Put me in a war zone and I know what I’m doing. Put me in front of the population of Vela Ada...and I hate it. I hate the scrutiny of my personal life. I hate how carefully every word and sentence needs to be constructed. I hate balls and cutting ribbons at the opening of things and having to always be gracious and polite and shake everybody’s hand...and everyone knows it.’ Marko rubbed his temples, his gaze again on the fabric of the dress. ‘No one’s going to believe I suddenly have all this kingliness in me, unless they believe I’ve actually changed. That I’m no longer the Playboy Prince.’

And that was why he needed an actual, real-life, in-person fiancée.

She got that now. But...

‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asked, confused. Her hands had stilled on the zip of the suitcase, packing once again forgotten.

He didn’t know her. Why would he reveal so much personal stuff to the head of his security detail? She and her team had only known enough of Marko’s plan to allow them to protect the Prince and Felicity effectively. Nothing more.

She watched as Marko pushed himself to his feet and then carefully lifted the emerald dress so that it hung from his fingertips before him. It was a stunning dress, with delicate cap sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, and a slim gold belt at the waist. Beneath that, it fell in a full skirt to the floor, in waves of heavy, shimmering fabric.

A crazy possibility—the craziest possibility—tickled at the edge of Jas’s subconscious.

‘Do you think this would fit you?’ Prince Marko asked.

* * *

‘Pardon me?’

Jasmine’s eyes were wide in the shadowy lamplight.

But there was no need for Marko to spell it out—he knew Jasmine understood what he’d meant.

‘It’s the obvious solution,’ he said. It had been obvious to him the moment he’d walked into Felicity’s room and seen Jasmine there. ‘I need a fiancée tonight and no offence to Ivan, but you’re the only one who knows about any of this who will look good in this dress.’

He gave the dress a little shake for emphasis.

‘I’m not an actress, Your Highness,’ Jasmine said carefully, her shocked expression now completely erased. Instead she looked very calm, as if she intended to talk him out of this using common sense.

Of course, this whole idea was nonsensical right from the beginning—Marko knew that. But his impulsiveness was only equalled by his stubbornness—and his commitment to supporting his brother through his illness.

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Marko said patiently. ‘You’ll be expected to be a little nervous at your first public event—it will be endearing. And, please, call me Marko.’

Jasmine shook her head, ignoring him. ‘Haven’t you shown a photo of Felicity to your brother? Told people she’s blonde? And even today—we arrived in daylight and I’m sure a few palace staff would’ve seen her?’

Marko shrugged. ‘She was my guest. Or your guest, even—easily explained. And fortunately I’ve told my brother very little. I don’t like lying to him.’

Jasmine raised her eyebrows at that contradiction, but Marko wasn’t about to explain. It was true though, he had told Lukas very little—partly for the reason he’d told Jasmine, but also because the week had been such a blur. Ivan had become responsible for the details.

‘This is ridiculous. I’m a bodyguard, not a princess. No one’s going to believe it.’

‘Of course they will,’ Marko said firmly. ‘If I introduce you as my fiancée, then you’re my fiancée.’

Jasmine was looking down again, fiddling restlessly with the zip of the suitcase. ‘But,’ she said. And now she met his gaze, back to the no-nonsense Jasmine he was already familiar with. ‘Let’s face it, I don’t look anything like one of your girlfriends.’

‘I’m not having a discussion about the appearance of the women you, or anyone else, thinks I date, Jasmine.’ He knew there was an edge to his tone, but it was unavoidable. ‘All I will say is that I enjoy the company of many types of women. I can see nothing unbelievable about me dating you.’

He was surprised to see Jasmine’s lips quirk upwards. ‘Many types...’ she repeated.

Marko narrowed his eyes. ‘Yes, many,’ he agreed. ‘I like the company of women. I’m not going to apologise for it.’

Not nearly as many women as Jasmine, or everyone else, seemed to think. But he wasn’t about to explain himself to her.

He could see Jasmine thinking. ‘Why not make up a reason why your fiancée is absent tonight, and then find a new actress? You found Felicity quickly. I’m sure you can do it again.’

Marko shook his head. ‘No. Tonight is important. Vela Ada just found out their King is seriously ill. Tonight is the night they need to meet my new fiancée.’

Jasmine chewed her lip, and he knew she was scrambling for a reason to get out of this. ‘And this fiancée would be me. Jasmine Gallagher, right? No fake name?’

Marko nodded. The press would be onto this—as with Felicity, it would’ve been too high risk to create a false identity, with the consequences of being found out catastrophic. So, it was the relationship that was fake, nothing more.

‘So—assuming everyone does believe that I am princess material, it’ll mean that my friends and family will think I’ve been hiding this from them for six months.’

‘You can say it was at my request,’ he said. ‘They’ll understand.’

‘But that would be a lie,’ Jasmine said. ‘I would be lying, not only to everyone in Vela Ada, but to everyone I know.’

‘Yes,’ Marko agreed. ‘Unfortunately that would be the case.’

Jasmine gave a little huff of frustration. ‘That’s not a small thing.’

‘It’s not,’ he acknowledged. ‘But for me, for the King, and for Vela Ada, the benefits far outweigh a small untruth.’

Jasmine raised an eyebrow. ‘And for me?’

‘You get to be a princess for a while?’ he said, a little hopefully.

‘Try again,’ she said, crossing her arms.

‘I’ll triple the fee I’m paying you for protection services.’

He watched as her mouth dropped open.

But quick as a flash her lips were arranged in a straight line again. ‘I’d argue that doing this could be detrimental to my business.’

‘Yet you’ve been seeing me for six months with no impact on the quality of services you provide.’

Again, Jasmine raised an eyebrow. ‘Ha-ha,’ she said, as flat as a pancake.

‘I have contacts,’ Marko said—more seriously now. ‘Through the military, and through diplomatic relationships. I promise you that your company will have more work at the end of this, not less.’

She nodded. ‘But what about me, personally? I love what I do, not just managing my company. Who will want a princess as their bodyguard?’

‘Well,’ he said practically, ‘in three months’ time, you won’t be a princess. And three months after that, everyone would’ve forgotten who you are.’

‘Ouch,’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘It’s true. And to help that along, I’ll make sure to date someone famous on the rebound. Draw the attention away from you.’

Her expression was sceptical. ‘So you’ll enter into another fake relationship after this one?’

Marko grinned. ‘No. I’ll just ask a good friend of mine who I date occasionally if she’d mind being photographed with me. She has a film out later this year, so I’m sure she won’t mind. It’s never been her that’s been concerned about discretion.’

‘You casually date a movie star?’ But she held up her hand before he could respond. ‘No, wait. Of course you do. You’re a prince. Royalty. Celebrities. They go together. Can’t you see that I don’t fit into your world?’

‘Right now, all that I really care about is if you’ll fit into this dress.’

Jasmine’s gaze dropped to the dress he still held.

Long moments passed as he watched Jasmine make her decision—and for the first time he seriously considered what he’d do if she said no.

And honestly, why wouldn’t she say no? All of her concerns were valid, except, of course, her belief that a relationship between them was unbelievable.

He’d thought her pretty before, during the briefing. He found her even more attractive now—in the soft, warm lamplight. She was right—she probably wasn’t exactly his type, in that she was more quietly pretty. Not like Felicity, who everyone noticed the moment she stepped into a room. But Jasmine...he liked how she looked at him so directly, and he really liked how she’d challenged him during the briefing, and how she’d questioned him now. She treated him like an equal—exactly as she should, but how so very few people did. It was, again, one of the many things about his royal title that sat so uncomfortably on his shoulders. He wasn’t special simply due to the fortune of his birth. He didn’t ask, or expect, to be treated differently from anybody else.

‘Yes,’ Jasmine said, suddenly. ‘I’ll do it.’

Marko’s gaze caught hers as he exhaled in relief. ‘Hvala...thank you,’ he said. ‘You have no idea how much this means to me.’

She smiled, and he saw understanding in those lovely hazel eyes. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I think I do.’

Chapter Three

THE DRESS DIDN’T FIT.

Well, more accurately, it didn’t fit yet.

Jas sat on the closed lid of the toilet within her—literally—palatial bathroom, having quickly moved her belongings from her previous smaller room into Felicity’s suite.

On her lap was the dress, and in her hands—her nail scissors.

It was sacrilege, really, to be hacking away at the lining of a clearly obscenely expensive dress, but she had no other option. Two stylists—for her hair and make-up—were arriving any minute, so she needed to make this dress fit now.

It did occur to her that palaces probably had things like royal tailors, or assistants who could dash into the town to buy her more event-appropriate underwear (she wore a well-worn nude strapless bra that was usually beneath nothing more glamorous than a vest top and a pair of cotton knickers printed with purple violets) but she hadn’t thought to ask the Prince—no, Marko—about them before he’d left the suite looking all relieved and gorgeous.

And so she carefully cut through the figure-hugging dark emerald lining that had been designed to fit a figure with far slimmer hips than hers.

Lining removed, she tried the dress on again.

This time—it made it over her hips. The waist, thank God, fitted perfectly, and the bodice...well...nothing that a few tissues shoved inside her bra wouldn’t fix.

Jas straightened her shoulders as she twisted and turned in front of the mirror. It was, honestly, the most beautiful thing she’d ever worn. Its skirt—thankfully made up of enough layers that the lack of lining seemed to make no difference—made lovely swishing sounds as she moved, the silk unbelievably luxurious against her skin. And the gold—and she was pretty sure it was actually gold—belt glittered underneath the bathroom lights.

She nodded at herself in the mirror. Done. Now, shoes.

She gathered up the heavy fabric of the skirt and headed into the bedroom. On the bureau near the door was a white box labelled with a high-end shoe brand, and inside was a stunning pair of gold heels—that she immediately realised were a size too small.

Why hadn’t she checked earlier?

Maybe because she didn’t know what the hell she was doing?

Jas met her own gaze in the mirror above the spindly table.

What have I got myself into?

There was a sharp rap on the door, followed by Simon’s voice—as he was now, ridiculously, her bodyguard. ‘Hair and make-up are here,’ he said.

‘Just a minute!’ she said.

Then she scanned the room, wondering if maybe palaces were like hotels—and there would be a phone line directly through to a concierge who could go find her some shoes.

Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t.

Again, she met her gaze in the mirror, and again, she straightened her shoulders.

She took a deep breath.

She’d agreed to do this. She’d agreed to do this because she was about to earn her company’s entire income from last year in three months—and...because her myriad concerns with saying yes hadn’t seemed so compelling when contrasted with the desperation in Prince Marko’s gaze.

It hadn’t been overt, but she’d seen it. Flashing in and out so briefly before he’d gathered himself again.

Desperation...and also...vulnerability. A vulnerability she’d somehow known he’d hated to reveal. But then—he didn’t want to be doing any of this, did he? He didn’t want to be desperately asking a total stranger to help him, because he’d much rather his brother was healthy and he didn’t have to worry about royal balls and acting kingly. Prince Marko wasn’t doing this for himself.

He was asking her to do this crazy, ridiculous thing for his brother, and for Vela Ada.

That was why he’d needed her to say yes.

And in the end that was what it had come down to.

Because he’d needed her, she’d said yes. A man she barely knew.

It was nuts. Completely out of character for her to be so impulsive.

And yet she’d done it.

For the next three months, she was Prince Marko of Vela Ada’s fiancée.

It might not entirely make sense to her—but she was committed now.

And as such—she was committed to sorting out a pair of sparkly shoes.

She opened the door. Outside stood two very stylish-looking women, and Simon.

‘Simon, can you please notify Ivan that I require a pair of gold heels in size nine, with a three-inch heel?’

To Simon’s credit, he nodded as if this were a perfectly normal request from his boss.

Then she turned to the stylists. ‘Ladies, I’ll just change into a robe and be right with you.’

‘No problem,’ said the older lady, with an American accent, ‘Your High—’ She paused, then blushed. ‘Oh! That probably isn’t right yet, is it? What should we call you?’

‘Just Jas, is fine,’ said Jasmine. ‘I’m certainly not royalty.’

‘Not yet,’ said the woman with a grin.