Marion Lennox - Betrothed: To the People’s Prince

A book in the Marrying His Majesty series, 2009

INTO her crowd of beautiful people cameNikos.

She was taking a last visual sweep of the room, noting descriptions for tomorrows fashion column.

The men were almost uniformly in black-black T-shirts, black jeans and designer stubble. The women were Audrey Hepburn clones. Cinched waists, wide skirts and pearls. The fifties look was now.

There was little eating. Cinched waists and body slimmers didnt allow for snacking, the waiters were sparse and it wasnt cool to graze.

Nikos was holding a beer, and as the waiter passed with a tray of tiny caviar-loaded blinis he snagged four. He tipped one into his mouth, then turned back to search the room.

For her.

After all these years, he could still stop her world.

Shed forgotten to breathe. It was important to breathe. She took a too-big sip of her too-dry Martini and it went down the wrong way.

Uh-oh. If it wasnt cool to eat, it was even more uncool to choke.

But help was at hand. Smooth and fast as a panther, Nikos moved through the crowd to be by her side in an instant. He took her drink, slapped her back with just the right amount of force, and then calmly waited for her to recover.

Nikos.

She could faint, she thought wildly. An ambulance could take her away and shed be in a nice, safe emergency room. Safe from the man shed walked away from almost ten years ago.

But fainting took skills she didnt have. No one seemed about to call for help. No one seemed more than politely interested that she was choking.

Except Nikos.

She didnt remember him as this big. And thisgorgeous? He was wearing faded blue jeans instead of the designer black that was de rigueur in this crowd. His shirt was worn white cotton, missing the top two buttons. He had an ancient leather jacket slung over his arm.

The fashion editor part of her was appreciative. Nice.

More than nice. Nikos.

She coughed on, more than she needed to, trying desperately to give herself space. His dark hair was curly, unruly and a bit too long. His brown-black eyes were crinkled at the edges, weathered from a life at sea. Among this crowd of fake tans, his was undeniably real. His whole body was weathered by his work.

Nikos. Fisherman.

Her childhood love.

Hed grown from a gorgeous boy into awhat? She didnt have words to describe it. She was the fashion editor of one of the worlds leading glossies, and she was lost for words.

Words were what she needed. She had to think of something to say. Anything. Almost every eye in the room was on them now. She couldnt retreat to choking again.

You want your drink back? His tone was neutrally amused. Deeper than last time shed heard him. A bit gravelly, with a gorgeous Greek accent.

Sexy as hell.

He was balancing his beer, her Martini and his three remaining blinis. Hed used his spare hand to thump her.

He was large and capable and

Nikos.

Now shed stopped choking, the crowd had turned their attention to him. Well, why wouldnt they? The models, designers, media and buyers were openly interested. Maybe more than interested. Their concentrated attention contained more than a hint of lust.

You going to live? Nikos asked mildly, and she thought about it. She might. If he went away.

What are you doing here?

Looking for you.

Its invitation only.

Yep, he said, as if that hadnt even crossed his mind as something to bother about. How had he done it? People would kill for an invitation to this launch. Hed simply walked in.

You look cute, he said, raking her from head to toe.

Right. Shed gone to some trouble with her outfit. Her tiny red skirt was clinging in the right places, shed managed to make her unruly black curls stay in a knot that was almost sophisticated, but in this crowd of fashion extremists she knew she disappeared.

Go away, she said, and he shook his head.

I cant do that, Princess.

Dont call me that.

Its what you are.

Please, Nikos, not here.

Whatever, he said easily. But we need to talk. Phones dont work. You keep hanging up.

You dont hang up phones any more. Very knowledgeable, she thought. What sort of inane talk was this?

On Argyros we hang up telephones. After we talk to people.

I dont live on Argyros.

Yeah, thats what I want to talk to you about. Its time you came home. He handed her back her Martini. He drained his beer and ate his three bite-sized blinis, then looked about for more. Two waiters were beside him in an instant.

He always had been charismatic, Athena thought. People gravitated to him.

Shed gravitated to him.

So how about it? he said, smiling his thanks to the waiters. Oh, that smile

Why would I want to come home?

Theres the little matter of the Crown. Im thinking you must have read the newspapers. Your cousin, Demos, says hes talked to you. Im thinking Alexandros must have talked to you as well-or did you hang up on him, too?

Of course I didnt.

So you do know youre Crown Princess of Argyros.

Im not Crown Princess of anything. Demos can have it, she said savagely. He wants it.

Demos is second in line. Youre first. It has to be you.

I have the power to abdicate. Consider me abdicated. Royaltys outdated and absurd, and my lifes here. So, if youll excuse me

Thena, you dont have a choice. You have to come home.

Thena. He was the only one whod ever shortened her name. It made her feelas she had no business feeling.

Just tell it like it is and move on, she told herself. Be blunt and cold and not interested. He was talking history. Argyros was no longer anything to do with her.

Youre right, she managed. I dont have a choice. My life is here.

But not in this room. All of a sudden the room was claustrophobic. Her past was colliding with her present, and it made her feel as if the ground was shaking underneath her.

She and Nikos in the same room? No, no, no.

She and Nikos in the same city? She and Nikos and their son?

No!

Fear had her almost frozen.

Nikos, this is futile, she managed. Theres no use telling me to go home. My home is here. Meanwhile, I have things to attend to, so if youll excuse me She handed her Martini glass back to him and, before he could respond she swivelled and made her way swiftly through the crowd.

She reached the door-and she kept on walking.

She hadnt retrieved her checked coat. It didnt matter. Outside was cold, but she wasnt feeling cold. Her face was burning. She was shaking.

Maybe hed let her be.

Or maybe not. He hadnt come all the way from Argyros to be ignored.

It was raining. Her stilettos werent built for walking. She wanted to take them off and run. Because of course hed follow.

Of course he did.

When he fell in step beside her she felt as if shed been punched. NikosHe threatened her world.

Where are we going? he asked mildly.

Nowhere youre welcome.

Is this any way to greet family?

Im not your family.

Tell that to my mother.

His motherShe thought of Annia and felt a stab of real regret. She glanced sideways at Nikos-and then looked swiftly away. AnniaArgyros

Nikos.

Shed walked away from them ten years ago. Leaving had broken her heart.

Its your heritage, he said mildly, as if he was simply continuing the conversation from back at the fashion launch.

I never had a heritage. It was all about Giorgos.

The Kings dead, Athena. He died without an heir. You know that.

And that makes a difference how?