The Prince's Fake Fiancée. Leah Ashton
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.’
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