The Prince's Fake Fiancée. Leah Ashton
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