Royal Holiday Bride. Brenda Harlen
Marissa realized her lateness wouldn’t score any points with the duke, either, but she was less concerned about him. Or maybe she was hoping that Anthony Volpini would be so annoyed by her delay that he would abandon all thoughts of marrying her. Buoyed by this thought, she practically skipped up the steps to her mother’s front door.
Edmond, her mother’s butler, had obviously been watching for her, because he opened the door before Marissa even had a chance to ring the bell.
“The Princess Royal and the king are in the dining room.”
She started to nod, accepting that her mother wouldn’t wait even eight minutes for an expected guest, then froze when the import of his words registered. “The king?”
“His Majesty, Dante Romero, King of Ardena,” Edmond announced formally.
“But I thought …”
It didn’t matter what she’d thought. Certainly her mother’s butler wasn’t interested in hearing about her mistaken assumptions. Marissa drew in a deep breath as she tried to consider the implications of this revelation, but she could only think, I’m going to meet the king of Ardena—a thought that made her heart beat hard and fast.
With excitement? Or apprehension? She honestly didn’t know because she didn’t know a lot about him. Although Dante Romero had been a favorite subject of many tabloids for a lot of years, Marissa had never paid much attention to those reports. But when he’d assumed the throne in February—after health issues forced his father to step down—it had become all but impossible to open up a newspaper or turn on a television and not see a photo or a video clip. And she had to admit, it was never a hardship to look at his picture.
But while the tabloids had loved him because the escapades of a playboy prince always generated good headlines, the legitimate press had been much more critical. Especially since he’d transitioned from “the Crown Prince of Ardena” to “His Majesty the King.” They criticized his experience, challenged his knowledge of laws and customs, and questioned his ability to relate to his subjects. But he’d apparently put in a lot of long hours and made a concerted effort to alleviate the concerns of his detractors, and if he’d made a few mistakes along the way, Marissa thought those mistakes only proved that even a king was human.
That thought helped steady her erratically beating heart.
Still, she wished her mother had given her some warning. But the Princess Royal always liked to have the upper hand, and she obviously had it now since she’d somehow convinced the king to come to Tesoro del Mar to meet her daughter.
Elena had commented often enough that a princess’s options for a good marriage were limited, and Marissa didn’t doubt that she would have happily given her consent to any noble who requested her daughter’s hand. But if Marissa somehow managed to snag the interest of a king …
Unfortunately, she knew that the king wasn’t really interested in her. How could he be when he’d never even met her? Besides, she wasn’t a cover model or a famous opera singer or a Hollywood starlet—and yes, the king had dated each of those and a lot more famous and beautiful women—but she was of noble birth. No, the reason for the king’s presence in Tesoro del Mar had nothing to do with her personally and everything to do with politics.
“Are you all right, Your Highness?”
“Actually, I’m famished,” she responded to the butler’s question.
He smiled. “Cook has kept your plate warm. I’ll make sure it’s brought in right away.”
“Thank you, Edmond.” Marissa smiled back, then hurried to the dining room, now twelve minutes late.
Dante recognized her the moment she walked through the door.
Although they’d never met, she looked just like she did in the photos he’d uncovered—and very much a princess.
She wasn’t the type of woman who would ordinarily attract his attention, even in a crowd of one, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t just looking for a wife for himself but a queen for his country. And there was no doubt that Princess Marissa had all the grace and poise required of a woman in that position. She also had excellent bone structure, flawless skin and long, dark hair that he thought might be more flattering if it was left loose to frame her face rather than scraped back into a tight knot at the base of her neck.
And though he would never claim to be an expert on fashion, he felt her wardrobe could use some work, too. In every picture he’d seen of her, she was wearing some shade of beige. The dress she was wearing today was no different. It was stylish enough, he imagined, but the boxy cut gave no hint of any feminine curves and the beige-and-white combination was beyond bland, making him wonder if she had some kind of moral objection to color.
He tucked away the thought and pushed back his chair when she stepped into the room. The movement caught her attention, and her gaze shifted in his direction.
Their eyes locked, and Dante was surprised to realize that her eyes weren’t brown, as he’d believed, but the color of amber, fringed by long, dark lashes.
The second surprise was the tightening in his gut, raw and purely sexual, and an inexplicable sense of recognition.
“Your Majesty,” she said, dipping into an elegant curtsy. “I apologize if I’ve kept you waiting.”
He bowed. “No apology is necessary,” he assured her, though the disapproval in Elena’s gaze warned that she did not agree. “I’m just pleased that you are able to join us.”
The princess lowered herself into the chair that the butler held for her. As soon as she was seated, a server appeared with her plate.
“The king was telling me about the sights he’d like to see while he’s in Tesoro del Mar,” Elena said to her daughter.
Her intention might have been to simply make the princess aware of the topic of conversation, but the subtle edge in her voice gave Dante the impression that Elena was making a point about her daughter’s tardiness rather than the current discussion.
Marissa’s only response was to ask him, “Are you here on vacation, Your Majesty?”
“This trip is a combination of business and pleasure,” he told her. “Although I’m hoping it will be less of the former and more of the latter.”
“And are you enjoying yourself so far?” She picked up her knife and fork and sliced off the end of a crepe.
“Always,” he assured her. “It is a beautiful country—in many ways so much like my own, and in many ways different.”
“I’ve never been to Ardena,” the princess admitted.
“Then you should definitely visit,” he said. “And when you do, I’d be honored to have you stay at the palace as my guest.”
“That sounds like a marvelous idea,” the Princess Royal declared.
Marissa’s smile was much more tentative than her mother’s response.
“In the meantime,” Dante continued, “I was hoping you might have some time tomorrow afternoon to attend the hot-air-balloon festival at Falcon Ridge with me.”
“I appreciate the invitation,” the princess said graciously, “but I have plans with my niece tomorrow.”
Elena’s eyes were frigid when she looked across the table at her daughter. “King Dante has invited you to spend the day with him,” she admonished.
Marissa met her mother’s gaze evenly, suggesting to Dante that she might not be as docile and dutiful as the Princess Royal had implied—a possibility that intrigued him.
He’d never felt the need to surround himself with people who would agree with his every word and deed, and he’d never enjoyed being with a woman who couldn’t express her own thoughts and feelings. He was pleased by this evidence that the Princess Royal’s daughter