To Marry A Prince

She gave a slight nod. “That’s when we know they are arriving and when we’ve invited them. Malayka hired this woman without consulting any of us. I say let her conduct the tour,” Sam rebutted. “It would give her practice since it will soon be one of her duties as princess.”

That title, above Sam’s other words, echoed throughout the room.

“She’s not the princess yet,” Kris remarked, in a tone that was much stronger than he’d anticipated.

Sam tapped her fingers on her notepad. “Fine. I will take the stylist with me. It’ll give me the chance to find out more about Malayka and why she really wants to marry our father.”

“I don’t know if you’ll get much by way of gossip from this Landry Norris. She strikes me as a professional.”

“Oh really?” Sam asked, this time leaning forward tossing him a knowing grin. “What else about her strikes you, big brother?”

Kris looked away. He concentrated on the notes he was jotting down, instead of his sister’s question, which made him uncomfortable.

“I performed a cursory interview of her. I have a copy of her contract with Malayka and I checked the references she provided. This is how I came to the conclusion that she is a professional.”

“Right, because you’re very thorough when it comes to investigating who enters these walls. I get that. But what I’m really asking is, what was going on between you and the stylist when I came in? You know, when you two were standing close enough to have kissed.”

Kris looked up quickly then, staring at his sister in shock. Composure came immediately afterward because even with his siblings, Kris had to remain in control. A leader always set an example.

“As Malayka’s stylist she’s now palace staff. Personal dalliances with the staff are inappropriate.”

“Hmm.” Sam made a sound and stood with her notepad tucked under one arm. “Tell that to your brother. He’s had more dalliances with staff, visitors and whoever else he could find, than the both of us.”

Kris made a similar sound as he stood, undoubtedly agreeing with his sister. Roland was another matter entirely.

Sam was almost out the door when she looked back at him and said, “Still, I have to admit the two of you looked awfully cozy and mighty cute together.”

She was gone before he could think of another statement of denial where he and Landry Norris were concerned. When he sat back in his chair, he struggled to dismiss any thoughts he’d had when Landry had stood so close to him. When he’d definitely wanted to—against all his training and upbringing—kiss her.

Chapter 2

Classy and elegant, that’s the look Landry was going for tonight. After all, it would be the first time Malayka was presented to the entire royal family. Butterflies danced in Landry’s stomach as she pushed wayward strands of hair from her face and zipped the back of Malayka’s dress.

“There,” Landry said, looking over Malayka’s shoulder into the floor-length mirror.

It was one of four mirrors which had been sealed together in an arch shape situated at the back of the walk-in closet. Who was she kidding? This was not a closet. The room was at least the size of two bedrooms outfitted with racks for hanging clothes, shelves for shoes, medium-sized drawers for purses and smaller ones for scarves and jewelry. Even with all the items that Landry had brought with her and the ones she’d shipped a week before, there was still a good deal of space before Malayka would come close to filling this room. The dresses tried on tonight were specially ordered designs, four of which Landry would have to ship back to the designers first thing tomorrow morning.

“You look stunning,” Landry continued.

Malayka turned to the side. She looked at her plump bottom and rubbed a hand over her flat stomach. Turning again so that she could see herself from another angle, Malayka smoothed her hands over the bodice of the dress. The neckline was cut higher than Malayka was used to but she still seemed pleased. The woman loved to display the cleavage from her size D breasts, something Landry figured Prince Rafferty also appreciated.

“This will be the first time since we’ve announced our engagement that I’ve been in a room with all of Rafe’s children,” Malayka said in that smoky voice that reminded Landry of the time she’d met Grace Jones.

“They’ll certainly have to agree that you are more than ready to dress the part of being princess of this beautiful island,” Landry told her as she moved away from the mirror and began packing up the other gowns that Malayka had tried on.

She’d been in there for the last two hours trying to figure out which dress Malayka would wear. Luckily, the hair stylist and makeup artist had already been there by the time Landry arrived, so that part of getting ready for tonight’s dinner was complete.

From behind her she could hear Malayka making a sound and mumbling something. Landry kept moving. Whatever Malayka had said was apparently not meant for her to hear.

One of the first things Landry learned about working in an industry with wealthy and famous people was to mind her own business. This lesson had come just months after she’d graduated with honors, receiving a bachelor’s degree in Apparel Merchandising and Management from California State Polytechnic University in Ponoma. She’d been ecstatic the day she found out she’d landed one of the coveted internships with Harper’s Bazaar in New York. There, she had assisted with sample trafficking, creating shoot boards and supporting market editors with office duties. It was just a few weeks after she’d been in New York that Landry met Peta Romanti, the A-list actress who was, at that time, launching her own fashion line. Bazaar was doing a full spread and in-depth interview with Peta in the weeks leading up to her launch.

Landry had recognized the woman immediately and used every method of control she could think of to resist acting like a complete groupie. Throughout the day Peta barked orders, sending interns and even editors scrambling to do her bidding. Landry had been busy with other assignments all that morning, but in the afternoon she’d offered to help out during a photo shoot. Happy to have someone else go into the lion’s den, Landry’s supervisor had given her an armful of dresses and instructions to take into the dressing room and see which one Peta wanted to wear. The actress-turned-designer had decided to capitalize on this interview by modeling clothes from her own line for the spread in the magazine. As she’d walked up to the dressing room door Landry could hear the argument. Something about Peta’s boyfriend being arrested for public nudity as he’d stood on a sidewalk arguing with the hooker he’d hired, who he was then accusing of stealing his wallet. Landry stood at the door, not sure whether she should knock and go in, or come back later—even though there wasn’t really a “later” since they had already been behind with the shoot.

The decision was made for her as the door abruptly swung open and Peta yelled in her face, “What are you doing there? Are you listening to my conversation? You’d better not speak one word of it!”

All Landry could manage to say was, “I have your dresses if you’re ready to try them on.”

The afternoon had proceeded with Peta—once she’d asked Landry her name—calling her every five seconds to do any-and everything for her. That day led to Landry being invited to Peta’s Paris fashion show three weeks after that and later to receiving personal invitations and previewings to Peta’s collection from the moment Landry opened her doors for business. Keeping her mouth shut had been an invaluable lesson and Landry reminded herself of that constantly.

Now well versed in the ins and outs of the personal stylist business, Landry admitted, there wasn’t much to be said about Malayka Sampson. She’d been in LA for just about a year when Landry had first met her. When she’d queried her services, Landry had discreetly asked around about the woman, who was neither an actor nor singer, or notable figure. All that could be said was that Malayka had been at all the right parties and premiers. She had dinner with the governor and lunch with a senator. There were pictures of her with record producers and none other than Peta Romanti, which had been the deciding factor in Landry choosing to work with her.

Landry figured that was enough of a platform to style Malayka for the months leading up to her wedding. Add that to the gorgeous scenery that Landry was already aching to see more of, and this was a good opportunity for her career. Her family, however, would say otherwise.

“The men are never a problem,” Malayka was saying, loudly this time. “It’s the females who are always jealous.”

Landry had been closing the box filled with jewelry she’d brought into the room with her. The sound echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room. She cleared her throat.

“I’ll see you in the dining room in a bit,” she said as she quickly clasped the lock on the box and picked it up.

The dresses to be returned were all bagged and hung on a rolling rack she’d pushed down the long marble-floored hallway to get to Malayka’s private rooms. In her estimate, the palace was roughly the size of at least two Beverly Hills hotels, and that was only a hunch. Earlier that day Landry had been met outside of Prince Kristian’s door by a pinch-faced older woman with a heavy accent who escorted her to a room that seemed a couple city blocks away. She figured her approximation was almost accurate.

“You’re going to dinner?”

Apparently that surprised Malayka, whose dramatically arched brows were raised as she touched the diamonds glittering at her neck. The woman was just a shade or so lighter in complexion than Landry. They probably maxed out at the same height when neither were wearing heels—five feet six inches tall. She was older than Landry who had just turned twenty-six last week. A marvelous plastic surgeon and a good regimen of weight loss supplements were most likely responsible for Malayka’s slim, but stacked, size six frame. Her hair, or rather the expensive wigs she wore, were of the highest quality and were always on point. As was her makeup, courtesy of the other two stylists she’d brought to the island with her. She was perfect to look at, but not the friendliest person in the world.

“Yes. I was told to be ready at six,” Landry said as she lifted her arm and looked down to her watch. “I’ve got twenty minutes to make it or the stern warden lady that gave me the directive might pop a button in that crisp uniform she wears.” Landry made sure to chuckle after her words. She wouldn’t have the future princess thinking she had no respect for the staff.

Malayka only blinked, the long fake eyelashes fanning dramatically over her smooth skin. “I thought it would be a private dinner tonight. Family only.”

Landry nodded and headed out of the closet. “See you in a little bit,” she yelled over her shoulder without turning back.

She moved through the sitting area of Malayka’s room. It was the size of the entire front end of Landry’s studio in LA, plush cream-colored carpet and gorgeous antique furnishings, complete with stunning oil paintings of what she suspected might be the landscape of the island draping the walls. The knobs on the double doors were crystal and reminded Landry of the old doorknobs in her grandparents’ house. She was certain these were real, as opposed to the ones Nana used to joke about selling and becoming rich.

When the rack and the other two bags she’d left on the couch in the sitting room were through the doors, Landry turned back and closed them with a quiet click. Then she sighed. The last couple of hours had been taxing but worth it, she supposed. Malayka did look good and that was her sole purpose for being there, so she whispered a job well done to herself and headed back in the direction she’d remembered traveling to get there.

These were the glossiest and prettiest floors she’d ever seen and Landry had been to a lot of sophisticated venues. Nothing compared to this palace. The word palace alone meant this place was classier than anything she could ever imagine. It was certainly living up to its hype, and she was only in the hallway.

Columns jutted from the floor to the ceiling, some wide, some slim, all giving an air of royalty as she moved through. What seemed like secret alcoves encased sculptures of pirates and ships. Closer to her rooms there were busts of people she was sure she had never heard of, but who nevertheless looked extremely important. The color scheme here was the barest hint of peach flanked in beige-and-gold textured wallpaper, highlighted again by the swirling marble floors. There were large floral arrangements on small round tables; the tropical plants added bursts of colors and scents as she moved through the area. Every few feet or so, the walls would break to an opening that displayed a gorgeous mermaid sculpture and fountain in its center. This one showcased a courtyard that had access to the outside so sun and sea-salted air filled the atmosphere.

It was just around the corner from that courtyard that Landry’s rooms were located. Yes, she had a sitting room, also a private bathroom, bedroom and balcony. The space was elegantly decorated. She probably could have comfortably stayed here during the times she was not taking care of Malayka. The stern-faced lady had told her that she could simply pick up the phone on her nightstand and dial zero for assistance, which included having meals brought to her room. Free room service in a royal palace; for a second, Landry thought she could get used to living like royalty.

That thought had her chuckling as she entered her suite, pushing the clothes rack to the much smaller walk-in closet she was using for some of the items she’d preselected for Malayka. There was a coat closet and another enclosure, which she figured was supposed to be a linen closet. But Landry had decided to store her own clothes here.

She rushed into the bathroom to shower and slip into the dress she’d already chosen for herself. Being a college student and working two jobs, added to the two years she’d spent in New York when her internship had been extended, had taught Landry how to dress in a hurry. She lined her eyes, stroked on mascara and added a bit of color on her eyelids. The quick makeup routine stalled momentarily when she discovered she was getting low on her favorite lip gloss. It only took another second or so for her to browse through her makeup case and settle on a nude gloss instead. Swiping that on quickly, she found her earrings—silver buttons that matched the bangle she pulled onto her arm. Slipping into five-inch-heel sandals was next before standing again and grabbing a random bottle of perfume and spritzing herself generously. Her hair was already up in a messy bun and once she looked into the mirror, Landry decided it was the perfect accent to the otherwise neat and almost demure dress she wore.

It was navy blue, with a layer of lace over the tight bodice and full asymmetrical skirt. There was also a slip to the dress, crinoline, the most despised fabric in Landry’s opinion. Still this dress needed that extra poof to the skirt. As she stood looking in the mirror, moving from side to side the way she’d seen Malayka doing, Landry thought she looked like the twenty-first-century Audrey Hepburn. She smiled because she liked it.

Moments later she was leaving her room, only to come face-to-face with a man who looked nothing like the dour staff worker who had promised to escort her to the dining room. No, this was no older person. He was young and built and wore the white dinner jacket and black pants like a seasoned model. His face was breathtakingly handsome and when he smiled, Landry almost swooned.

“Ms. Norris. I would be honored to escort you down to dinner,” he said with an extravagant bow.

When he was once again upright, Landry touched the sides of her dress and curtsied—because something told her this guy was royal. He had to be. He was too beautiful to be just a mere human.

He was reaching for her hand when she straightened.

“I am Prince Roland DeSaunters, and it is my immense pleasure to meet you.”

No, Landry thought as she let him take her hand in his and they began to walk down the hallway, the pleasure was definitely hers.

* * *

The table could easily seat somewhere around fifty or so people. It was huge and a glossed cherrywood. A pristine white runner stretched its entire length; gold candelabras held tall white candles with golden flames at their tips. Ornate brass chandeliers hung from the high ceilings while several matching sideboards filled the great space. Beneath the table was a plush rug decorated in deep reds, greens and of course gold. But the definite eye-catcher to this room was the enormous arched window situated perfectly behind the head seat of the table. The window had automatic shades that Landry suspected were room darkening as well as provided privacy when needed. The shades were raised tonight so that the last intense colors of sunset over the glistening water were visible.

As if this room and its awe-inspiring view weren’t enough, the rest of the royal family was seated at the table and now staring expectantly at her.

Landry already felt a bit lightheaded by the gorgeous man walking beside her and the scent of his intoxicating cologne. Prince Roland had talked the entire time they walked, commenting on the very statues she’d perused not long before. He laughed a lot which made her smile. He walked with a seasoned swagger that said he knew he was not only good-looking, but rich and powerful and none of that meant a thing. She liked him instantly.

As for how she felt about the rest of the family, well, nervous or not, she was about to find out.

“Heads up,” Roland said as he continued to guide her down the length of that table to where the others were seated. “Gang’s all here!”

As they approached, Prince Kristian stood and so did his father. Seated next to Kristian was Malayka who looked at Landry with her brow raised in question once more. She was most likely wondering why Landry was arriving with Prince Roland. Landry was wondering that herself. The princess sat opposite of Malayka, her expression more amused than questioning.

“Ms. Norris,” Prince Rafferty said as he stepped away from the table to stand in front of her as she approached. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Kristian has told me all about you.”

Landry did another curtsy—she was getting really good at them now. The prince took her hand, kissing the back of it in a gallant and romantic gesture that stole her breath and made her smile.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Highness. Thank you for having me in your home. It is a beautiful palace,” she said then snapped her lips shut for fear of babbling.

“You are welcome here for as long as Malayka requires your assistance.”

His response was more formal than the slight lifting of his mouth as if he were contemplating a smile.

“And this is my sister, the Princess Samantha DeSaunters,” Roland announced after turning her once again toward the table.

His hand was lightly touching her shoulder. Landry looked at the princess. In Landry’s line of work, she was used to seeing beautiful people—whether it be natural or assisted via surgery, hair extensions, makeup, designer clothes, whatever it took. This woman was actually very pretty, the light makeup and lovely ivory-colored gown she wore only adding to her allure.

Her complexion was a little lighter than her father’s, her dark hair curling to her shoulders. Her eyes were intelligent and assessing and the smile she gave Landry was, thankfully, genuine. So Landry mirrored it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”

“Very nice to meet you, Landry. Kris also told me a lot about you.”

Well, Landry thought with a tight smile as she gazed across the table to “Kris.” He had been talking about her a lot, hadn’t he.

“And you’ve already met my older brother, Kris, next in line to rule this magnificent island,” Roland said as he began guiding Landry to the seat between the princess and another empty chair.

Prince Rafferty had already taken his seat and Kristian was now watching her with an obvious frown as she sat in the high-backed cushioned chair Roland had offered.

“There will be a bridal party meeting on Friday. Everyone that I’ve selected will be flying in on Thursday. I’m thinking that a lovely breakfast on the north terrace would be nice because there’s not much sun on that side of the palace that early in the day,” Malayka began speaking, once everyone was seated and servers had arrived with plates of a colorful salad.

“The Children’s Hospital brunch is Friday at eleven,” Samantha announced, her tone just shy of being frosty.

“Oh,” Malayka said, her fork poised over the salad she was just about to dig into. “Well, the palace is enormous, I’m sure we can entertain two groups at the same time. Isn’t that right, Rafe?”

“The royal family is expected to attend the brunch. The Children’s Hospital performs in a professional manner throughout the year and is the top medical facility for children in the Caribbean. This is our way of thanking them for a job well done.”

Kristian spoke with an air of finality. There was no mistaking his authority, not in his tone, nor in the way his shoulders squared. He wore black. His suit jacket had satin lapels, and his shirt had a white silk tie at the neck. It was a decidedly Mafia look to Landry’s eye, but it worked exceptionally well with his buttery complexion. His hair was jet-black, just like the rest of the royal family, but cropped closer than Prince Rafferty’s and Roland’s. Where Roland’s low-cut beard gave him a rugged, handsome quality, Kristian’s clean-shaven face suited his dour expressions perfectly.

“Well, I’ve already made the plans. Everyone is preparing to travel. It’s not possible to cancel at this late date,” Malayka implored.

The look she was giving Prince Rafferty was almost comical, but Landry knew not to laugh. This was, after all, serious business for the soon-to-be princess. Malayka undoubtedly expected her husband-to-be to stand up to his children in front of her, to let them know that she was getting ready to be the one wielding all the control. Landry should have felt uncomfortable being privy to this private duel of sorts, especially considering she was only the staff. Malayka’s makeup lady and hair stylist weren’t at this dinner, which would explain why Malayka had been surprised that Landry had been invited. Landry wondered about that too, but the salad was delicious, so she really didn’t want to wonder too much.

“We will work something out,” Prince Rafferty stated in his deep, booming tone. He also gave Kristian a look that said they would definitely work it out, later.

Kristian showed no emotion at all. He proceeded to cut through his salad, lifting measured forkfuls to his mouth to be chewed.

Roland picked that moment to chuckle. “Just let me know which event I’m required to attend. I’ll be flying out Friday evening.”

“Really? I did not see that on the calendar,” Prince Rafferty said to his younger son. “When will you return?”

Roland shrugged and forked a bright red tomato into his mouth. “Don’t know.”

Prince Rafferty wiped his fingers on a napkin then placed the white cotton square down on the table slowly. “The engagement will be officially announced tomorrow. There will no doubt be press arriving on the island within hours of the news circulating around the world. We all need to be on hand for official photos and interviews.”

Landry thought about that statement as she chewed the last bite of her salad. She did not recall seeing any interviews of Prince Rafferty in any of the American papers. Of course she hadn’t actually searched for any either.

“You’re giving interviews?” Samantha asked. “You never give interviews.”

Malayka reached a hand out to rub along Prince Rafferty’s arm. “This is the age of social media. We—the royal family—should be as transparent as possible at all times,” she told them.