To Marry A Prince. A.C. Arthur
asked himself this several times throughout the dinner. She’d walked in with Roland, arm-in-arm, both of them smiling, looking picture-perfect. He’d frowned.
He had felt his forehead wrinkling, his teeth clenching. Beneath the table where his hands had been resting calmly on his thighs, his fingers had slowly curled into fists. Why did they look like they belonged together when they’d only just met? Or had they?
Roland was his younger brother. He wasn’t the immediate heir and so he did not have the duties and responsibilities that Kris had, nor did he express any interest in them. Instead, Roland’s goal in life was to see just how much fun he could have before he dropped dead—at least that’s what he’d always told Kris. Lately, with all the traveling Roland had been doing, combined with all the gambling and sleeping around with the woman of the month, Kris had begun to believe his brother was more than serious about achieving his life’s goal.
That only made seeing him with Landry more annoying.
But it shouldn’t have. He didn’t know this woman, not well enough. Everything he’d read on paper about her schooling, where she lived in America, what she did for a living, had all been superficial. Kris had no idea who she really was on the inside and thus could not accurately pinpoint her motives in coming here. But there was a motive, he was sure. Everyone had a motive or a master plan.
Especially Malayka Sampson.
When the meal was thankfully over and second rounds of Chef Murray’s crêpes Suzette had been devoured, Kris stood, eager to excuse himself. His plan was to retreat to his rooms, to the solitary space he craved so much after a long day of doing his job.
The job that hung around his neck like a heavy chain.
“Well, I’m off for the night,” Roland announced as he, too, stood after dropping his napkin to the table. “It has, as always, been a pleasure. But duty calls.”
Kris didn’t bother to hide his displeasure. “Duty?” he asked and looked down at his watch. “It’s almost seven thirty. What business do you have at this hour?”
“Don’t you mean what date does he have at this hour?” Sam asked with a smirk.
Roland had already moved from his spot and was now leaning over to kiss his sister’s offered cheek.
“Ha ha. And they say I’m the funny one,” Roland joked.
Sam took the hand that Roland had rested on her shoulder, squeezing it gently before saying, “Be careful.”
“Yes,” Rafe began after loudly clearing his throat. “As I mentioned there will be members of the press lingering about once our engagement is announced.”
Roland and Kris shared a look. Kris stood slowly and Roland gave a stiff bow to his father, his smile still in place.
“I hear you loud and clear, Dad. But the announcement isn’t until tomorrow. That gives me plenty of time to get into as much trouble as I possibly can before then.” Roland wiggled his brows as he finished and Kris felt compelled to step in before his father lost his patience.
“I’ll walk out with you,” Kris announced and then looked to Rafe. “You and I can figure out a time to meet tomorrow after your press conference and my meeting at the bank, but before the meeting with Denton. Good night, everyone.”
It was easier to be formal, Kris thought to himself as he recalled Roland and Sam’s warm exchange. This relieved the tension of knowing that he would never kiss Malayka’s cheek or smile warmly at her. Roland didn’t care about how that could be construed to the one person at the table who was an outsider. His brother simply acted, consequences would come later, those that Roland would likely ignore. Kris, on the other hand, did not ignore consequences or repercussions. He was duty bound to consider them with everything he did, from the clothes he wore to the way he pronounced a person’s name. He was always under the microscope. Always expected to do and say the right thing.
“Let’s go,” Roland said after smiling and giving another bow to Landry.
Kris nodded curtly in her direction and found her staring at him after she smiled up at Roland. He chose to walk away then because he did not like how looking at her made him feel.
“She’s a looker, I know,” Roland said the moment they were out of the dining room.
Their dress shoes clicked somberly on the floors as they walked toward the foyer. Roland was already unfastening the top button of his shirt. It was as close to being dressed for dinner as his brother had ever deigned to become. While Kris and their father wore a suit and tie, as was most usually their attire, and Sam dressed elegantly as always, getting Roland in slacks, a dress shirt and jacket was as good as they could manage.
“She’s working for Malayka,” Kris reminded his brother. He did not want to think of how she looked.
“Yeah, that’s kind of strange, but then I guess not. That woman acts like an American superstar. She’s had an entourage with her since the first time she set foot on this island. And Dad lets her have whatever she wants,” Roland stated. “What do you think about that?”
Kris shook his head. “I’m trying not to think about it,” he lied. “We’re about to conduct the yearly audit on the banks. A few of the board members are nervous about one of the accounts. I’ve been looking into it, but I want to play it close.”
Roland chuckled. “Don’t want to step on any toes, huh, big brother? You’ll tread lightly with the bankers, just like you will proceed with extreme caution where this royal wedding is concerned.” He clapped Kris on the back. “I’m so glad you were born first.”
Kris stopped walking just as they approached the double staircase in the family wing of the palace.
“You’re still a member of this family, Roland. You still have duties and responsibilities to the monarch. The people of our country still depend on you,” Kris told him in a serious tone.
“They depend on me to entertain them,” Roland said. “I give them relief from our stuffy family filled with traditions and pomp and circumstance. I breathe a breath of fresh air into this stately fortress and stern but compassionate rule of the DeSaunters family. Don’t be dismayed, Kris—I know my role in this family and I play it very well.”
He did, Kris thought. Roland played his part perfectly and sometimes, for just a few hours out of a month or possibly year, Kris wished he could be as laid-back and carefree as his brother.
“We do not need any bad press right now,” Kris said, shifting gears slightly. “Whatever you’re up to tonight, keep it discreet.”
Roland pulled off his jacket, holding it by a finger as he tossed it over his shoulder. “Don’t I always?”
They both shared a knowing look then, before Roland laughed and Kris reluctantly cracked a smile. He loved his brother and his family, he truly did. That’s why his job was so important. Everything he did was for them, for their country.
Once Roland was gone, Kris stood looking around at all the gray-streaked white marble, the shining columns and sprawling staircase. He looked up to the domed top of the room that was painted with puffy white clouds and a soft blue background. He had no idea whose concept that was but suspected it was meant to make a person standing there feel better. Though, for him, it didn’t. Every day couldn’t be a beautiful and picture-perfect day.
“It’s beautiful,” he heard her say and slowly tore his gaze away from the ceiling.
“The murals and sculptures I’ve seen in the palace so far are simply stunning. I’m not usually an art buff, but I know what looks good.”
She continued to talk as she walked, her high-heeled shoes clicking over the gleaming floors. Her dress was drastically different from the formfitting outfit Malayka wore and was certainly more intriguing. Kris found himself staring at—of all things—her shoulders. They were pretty, her skin tone the perfect shade of brown, and appeared smooth to the touch. To the taste,