The Prince's Fake Fiancée. Leah Ashton
like it. I do try my best to be suitably kingly at all times.’
Jasmine silently waited for the floor to open up and swallow her.
Petra saved her. ‘Ignore them,’ she said. ‘Walk with me to the ballroom and tell me all about yourself—I need to know all about the woman who has captured my brother-in-law’s heart.’
Petra headed out of the room, obviously expecting Jas to follow. Jas looked to Marko—but he nodded that she should go.
His smile had fallen away, Jas noticed—as had Lukas’s.
For the first time, Jas remembered how sick the King was.
‘Jasmine?’ Petra prompted, and Jas hurried to catch up.
‘Can you tell me when I’m supposed to curtsey and stuff tonight?’ she asked as they traversed the hallway, skirts rustling in tandem. ‘Marko said it didn’t matter, but it does to me.’
A white lie, but this level of detail hadn’t occurred to her when she’d agreed to this charade.
‘Of course,’ Petra said. ‘I had to learn all this too. It does get easier, I promise. One day it’ll be second nature for you.’
‘I can’t imagine it,’ Jas replied, honestly.
Petra paused when they reached the end of the corridor, standing in the palace’s huge entry foyer. Behind her twin staircases swept upwards to meet at the first-floor landing and the biggest chandelier Jas had ever seen glittered above them, making the marble floor shimmer and sparkle. Around them palace staff bustled busily, with guests due to arrive any moment.
‘Really,’ Petra said. ‘One day I woke up and the palace felt like home.’
Home?
Jas smiled, relieved she could finally be completely honest. ‘I’m sure this place will never feel like home to me.’
After all, in three months’ time she’d be back in her real home, and this palace—and this night—would feel like no more than a dream.
IT WAS GOING WELL, Marko thought.
For a prince pretending to be engaged and a bodyguard pretending to be in love with him.
His lips curved upwards as he settled back into his chair and absently swirled his champagne.
Actually—that was unfair. Jasmine was doing remarkably well, considering there had been no time to really tell her anything.
He observed her as she spoke to one of the ministers of the Vela Ada parliament, her head tilted as she listened intently to whatever the other woman was saying. The pair stood only a short distance away, between the as yet empty dance floor and one of the many round tables that seated a mix of the most prominent and influential citizens of Vela Ada—from politicians, to philanthropists to entrepreneurs.
Although he’d stood beside Jasmine as they’d greeted the guests with his brother and Petra, and also sat beside her at dinner—they’d barely spoken.
Petra seemed thrilled to have someone else to discuss the realities of adjusting from civilian to royal life with, and had happily taken Jasmine under her wing. And, of course, pretty much everyone wanted to know about his mysterious fiancée, and so there had been a constant stream of interested guests wishing to introduce themselves. At first, Marko had stood nearby, ready to answer or deflect any tricky questions—but there was no need. Jasmine improvised like the actress she said she wasn’t—smoothly redirecting conversation to topics other than the details of their supposed relationship, or answering with laughter and ambiguity, allowing guests to fill in the blanks however they saw fit.
With Jasmine doing so well, it had left Marko free to have his own conversations. Which he had: with a retired army general, a prominent business owner, a former Olympian. They were all nice people, and the conversations were pleasant enough—but it didn’t take long for him to be over it. In fact, he’d been over it from the moment he’d stood in that reception line, greeting hundreds of people in a blur of handshakes and a cheek-aching smile.
He’d excused himself and headed for his table—then downed his champagne in one gulp.
A waiter immediately refilled his drink—but he resisted downing that one too. Someone was always watching at these events, and the last thing he needed was another Playboy Prince non-scandal to disappoint his brother and pretty much everyone else who knew him.
He didn’t want to be here.
He really didn’t want to be here.
What he’d much rather be doing was hanging out with Lukas. To do anything with him—maybe play pool at the table his brother had in his library. Or watch a movie and drink beer. Or just have something nice to eat. Stuff they hadn’t done together in longer than he could remember.
And something he wanted to do, with the person he wanted to spend time with—and not in public, and not with the weight of expectation and obligation weighing heavily upon him.
But instead he was here, at a ball, to make other people feel better about Lukas’s illness, when he certainly wasn’t feeling any better about it. Talking to Lukas, or to the royal doctor, had done nothing to ease the spiky ball of worry, concern and fear that had lodged itself in Marko’s belly.
If he lost him...
Marko clenched his jaw.
No. He wouldn’t even consider it. He couldn’t.
His gaze travelled back to Jasmine—searching for a distraction. Maybe she sensed his gaze, as she turned towards him.
She began to smile—but then stopped. Her brow furrowed.
In concern?
He swore under his breath.
He looked away—focusing his attention on his fingers as they gripped the stem of his glass, absently spinning the glass from side to side.
He tensed as Jasmine slid into the chair beside him. He did not want to have a conversation about whatever Jasmine had thought she’d seen in his face. Not with a woman he barely knew. Not with anyone.
‘Only a few minutes before the speeches,’ she said quietly.
He turned in his seat to look at her.
She looked—totally normal. No more furrowed brow. No questions in her gaze.
He felt his shoulders relax. What was wrong with him?
He was jumping at shadows.
‘You don’t need to worry about that,’ he said, happy to talk about anything. ‘Palace staff will let us know where we need to be.’
‘It’s still my job,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘I can’t switch it off. I’m keeping an eye on my team, too, although it’s weird to not be able to talk to them. I feel naked without my earpiece at a formal event.’
Naked was probably not the best word Jasmine could’ve chosen. Or possibly it was the best, as Marko was now extremely effectively distracted from his unwanted thoughts of Lukas, and royal duty and...
Tako lijepo.
God, she was hot in that dress—all pale skin and soft curves.
He caught Jasmine’s gaze again as his crept back up to her face. She narrowed her eyes.
Marko cleared his throat.
This is a business arrangement, he reminded himself.
‘Is that why you’re so good at talking to everyone?’ Marko asked, focusing on not—once again—ogling Jasmine, as she’d so accurately accused him of earlier that day. Could it really have only been today? ‘You’ve attended lots of events like this one?’