Marrying Her Royal Enemy. Дженнифер Хейворд
to Kostas as “one sexy hunk of a man,” to the celebrity press, who’d dubbed their pairing “the most exciting thing to happen to royalty in decades. Camelot has come to Carnelia.”
The traditional media, on the other hand, Kostas’s harshest critics, were taking a wait-and-see approach. Not all of them were convinced King Idas’s son, the thirty-two-year-old Oxford-educated proponent of democracy, could turn his legacy around. Rumblings of military discontent were rippling across the country, approval ratings for the monarchy were down and all bets were off as to whether Kostas could win the hearts and minds of Carnelians.
But there was also hope. The Carnelian people seemed guardedly optimistic, as spontaneous parties broke out in the streets as the first elections in the country’s history were announced for the fall. Those celebrations continued with the news of the king’s forthcoming match to the elder princess of Akathinia. For the great majority, she appeared the bright, promising light Kostas had painted, but for others she was an unknown quantity in a culture historically closed to outsiders. Not a Carnelian.
That would have to be overcome, she thought grimly as she flew to London for an official appearance the week before her engagement party. The future of a country, the self-determination of its people, depended on it, though they were so wounded at the moment, they weren’t sure what they wanted.
The oppressive media coverage dogged her as she attended a charity luncheon in support of one of the major hospital’s cancer units. What started out as a peaceful affair was hijacked by the news of her upcoming nuptials. Irritation chasing a beat up her spine, she apologized to her hostess. It was only a taste of the wedding madness, she knew, and it left her in an exceedingly cranky mood as she returned to Akathinia for a dress fitting with her sister-in-law, Sofía, and sister, Alex. A designer who was making her name on the world stage, Sofía was creating both her engagement party and wedding dresses.
“What do you think about this?” Sofía held up a sensational sapphire-hued backless satin gown in the bright light of her palace workshop at the front of the white Maltese stone Akathinian palace.
“Too obvious.”
Sofía returned the dress to the rack and pulled out a white chiffon gown for her inspection.
“Too virginal.”
Her sister-in-law flicked through the row of dresses and held up an elegant, midnight blue lace number.
She shook her head. “Just...not right.”
Alex eyed her. “What are you, Goldilocks?”
At least there was a happy ending to that story. She ran a hand through her hair. “Sorry, I know I’m being a pain. It’s been a bad week.”
Sofía folded the dress over her arm. “You don’t have to do this, you know. Nothing has been done that can’t be undone.”
Her sister-in-law should know. She’d been an ambitious, career-driven dress-shop owner in Manhattan before she’d fallen in love with Stella’s brother, been swept up in romance and taken the unlikely path of becoming queen. But the road to happiness hadn’t been an easy one for her and Nik.
“I’m doing the right thing.” She said the words more vehemently than she felt them at the moment.
“For you or for your country?”
“For both.”
Alex stayed quiet and she knew why. Her sister was blissfully happy with Aristos, who’d mellowed out from his jungle-cat personality to something approaching civility of late. Stella was happy for her, she really was, but it was like being slapped in the face with her own romantic futility every time she saw them together.
A knock on the door brought their heads up. Her brother strolled in, jacket over his arm, tie loose. He gave his wife a kiss, then glanced at the dress rack. “How’s it going?”
Alex made a face. “How’s it not going, you mean.”
Nik took in Stella’s dark look. “Can you give us a second?”
His wife and Alex left, clearly happy for a breather. Her brother turned his ever-perceptive gaze on her. “Everything okay?”
“Never better.”
“This was your decision, Stella.”
“It’s not that.” She waved a hand at him. “I needed a challenge like this. I was dying inside going through the motions. It’s this media circus that’s getting to me. You’d think I’d solved world hunger instead of getting engaged.”
“Think of it as good for Carnelia. People are excited.”
“I know.” She raked a hand through her hair. Strode to the window to look out at the glittering, sun-dappled Ionian Sea, across which her fiancé was attempting to manage the media firestorm he’d created. She wondered how he was doing. She’d talked to him on the phone a few times, but she’d mostly been working with Takis, his personal aide, on logistics, while Kostas attempted to hold a faltering country together.
“Kostas is a good man. Survivor’s guilt is a hell of a thing to deal with. Give him some leeway.”
She turned around. “You absolve him of any responsibility?”
“I have chosen to let go. You should, too.”
She wasn’t sure she was as enlightened as he was.
“I wanted to mention something else. Darius is going to accompany you to Carnelia. Permanently.”
“I can’t ask him to do that—he lives here.”
“He wants to go. His loyalty to you has always been unquestionable.”
She adored Darius. He’d kept her sane at times when it felt as if her life was just too much. “Does Kostas know about this?”
“He’s in full agreement. I trust Kostas implicitly—he will take care of you. It’s when he’s not there I want an Akathinian, a known quantity, with you.”
“Why? You think I’m in danger?”
“I think it’s a smart precaution. You’re walking into a very tricky political situation.”
She didn’t like how he hadn’t answered the question. But then she’d known taking on this challenge was full of risk.
“Kala.” Fine.
Nik’s gaze softened. “I think you’re very courageous to do this, Stella. I’m proud of you. Remember you are not alone. You are never alone. We’re with you every step of the way.”
Her heart softened. Her rock, Nik was. Passionate, idealistic like her, the yin to Athamos’s rock-steady yang, she’d had to get to know him in pieces. He’d been sent off to join Athamos at boarding school when Stella was four, leaving her with only her nannies and tutor to keep her company while her mother immersed herself in her charity work as her marriage imploded.
She’d seen her brothers on holidays, had eagerly eaten up any time she’d had with them, missing them desperately when they left. When she’d gotten old enough to travel by herself, she’d visited Nik frequently in New York, hoping someday to join him there with her studies. But her parents had axed that dream.
She held his gaze now, as Constantinides electric blue as her own. “S’agapao.” I love you. “You know that.”
“Ki ego s’agapao.” I love you, too. He enfolded her in a warm hug. “Now pick a dress. The party is days away.”
Sofía and Alex returned with coffee and biscuits. Stella eyed the tray. “You think it’s my blood sugar.”
“We’re working all angles,” said Alex.
She smiled. Eyed the dresses. Felt her old fighting spirit rear its defiant head.
“I’m thinking the sapphire blue.”
She