I frown. “Victoria—”

  “We’ll start the search for your wife as soon as we get to Montovia,” she says. “I’m sure there are plenty of noblewomen who will be more than willing to comfort the crown prince.”

  My body is still tight with need, but as much as I’d like to grab her to me and kiss her arguments away, I can tell by the look in her eyes I’m not going to change her mind about this, not now.

  “If that’s what you want, then I won’t try to convince you otherwise,” I say, returning to my seat. “But I see no harm in seeking comfort in the arms of each other, especially after what we experienced together. In fact, should you change your mind and decide you need any comforting—”

  “I won’t.”

  “Well, if you do, you only need to say the word.” I capture her gaze in mine. “I have a sneaking suspicion that this isn’t something either of us will easily shake.”

  “I can deal with it without your help,” she says, but beneath the determination in her eyes, I’m fairly certain I see fear. I don’t know why she’s being so stubborn about this, why she’s resisting this pull between us or denying the deep need for comfort I know she must feel, but I intend to discover the truth. Carefully, of course.

  In the meantime, I think, shifting and trying to ignore the ache in my cock, this is going to be the world’s longest flight.

  Victoria

  I force a smile and walk over to take a seat on the other side of the plane. This area is less like a traditional airplane and more like a living room—there are four seats, two on each side facing the others with a small table in between.

  He stands and follows me over to this side of the plane.

  I look up at him with the same phony smile. “Would you like to discuss your potential brides? I assume you told your mother about this plan—did she have any suggestions?”

  He frowns, his brow furrowing and he stares at me for a moment before he takes a seat across from me.

  “I assume Princess Natasha will be on the list. I think people have wondered why the two of you haven’t already gotten together. She seems to have everything you want in a woman—she’s beautiful, she’s royal…” I try not to growl when I say the word, but I only barely cover my disdain.

  “She’s an idiot.” His face is expressionless and he merely stares at me.

  I wrinkle my nose. “She went to Harvard—”

  “And received a meaningless degree in French literature.” He stares at me again. “And she can barely discuss that.”

  “Well, you may have to lower your standards a bit, Your Highness. It isn’t like beautiful noblewomen are falling from the sky—” I stop, my mouth falling open as I realize what I’ve said.

  But he doesn’t react at all—not even flinch or a wince. He just stares at me, almost like he’s waiting for me to say something else. Maybe to admit to my desires, the way he almost dared me to a few minutes ago.

  “I think she should be on the list, even if you know for sure you aren’t going to choose her.” I pause for a second. “Did you have someone in mind already? The woman who will win the contest?”

  He narrows his gaze. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t bother doing this. I would merely propose and be done with it.”

  “And that would lose all the drama and buildup of the courtship, which your adoring public will want to watch. The thing is, Andrew, they usually like to watch it build over the course of years. Months, at least. You might want to consider that, too, after you choose your winner. That maybe you’ll want a longer courtship, even if you do intend to marry—”

  “Why wait if we intend to marry?” He lifts a brow. “What is the point of dragging a courtship out any longer than necessary? I will win the affections of the public and they will want to see a royal wedding. I intend to marry the winner within no more than a month or two. And—”

  “Wait—no more than a month or two? Why?”

  He glares at me again. “Because the people will want a royal wedding. They will want the full pageantry at the end of the contest.”

  I tilt my head and look at him for a second. There’s something in his voice that isn’t ringing quite true. “Even on those reality shows, the man doesn’t marry the woman right away. Most of the time, they never get married at all. It’s pretty hard to find a wife from a limited menu of options—”

  “She merely needs to be tolerable. If she can carry on a conversation, that will be enough for me. We’ll have already established that the public adores her, as they will have had some say in my final choice. And the public will be eagerly awaiting our royal wedding and we’ll not disappoint them.”

  I search his eyes, trying to figure out what it is about this story that is making the back of my neck tingle—a sure sign for me that there’s something more to it. And then I realize what it is—his brother.

  My lips press together—I’m not sure if I should ask him about it or not. But I finally muster up the courage to ask my question. “What does Leopold think of this plan of yours?”

  I can almost see flames burst from his eyes when I say his brother’s name. “I haven’t asked him, Victoria. I don’t generally consult with my brother on matters such as this.”

  I smile. “I can’t imagine that you’ve really ever consulted anyone on matters such as this. It isn’t like it’s a typical princely activity, is it? Having a public pageant to choose a bride?”

  “Leopold’s opinion means nothing to me. It never has and it never will.”

  There’s something about the way he says it that is off. I can’t put my finger on it, but something isn’t right.

  We’re silent for a moment before I finally speak. “Well, you’ll at least consult him about when his wedding is, right? You won’t want to ruin whatever he has planned with Elle.”

  He growls and stands up, walking back over to the counter. He pours himself a half-glass of an amber liquid, downs it in a single gulp and fills it back up before he returns to sit across from me.

  He almost slams the glass down on the small table separating us. “Princess Natasha can be on the list.”

  “Okay.” I try to catch his gaze, but he’s staring at the floor.

  He lowers his voice. “And Lady Maria. I suppose that I now don’t care that she’s fucked Leopold.”

  “Oh…kay.” There’s something in his voice that is almost frightening. Something I’ve heard before, but can’t quite place. Something…wrong.

  He picks the glass back up and looks down into it. His grip is so tight on the thing that it looks like it might shatter in his hand. He works his jaw for a moment. “Hopefully my mother will have thought of one or two more women since I’ve spoken with her.”

  I nod, wishing I had a notepad to jot down my own thoughts on the matter. Like how this is the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever done. And how I know he’s going to regret it—I’m not sure how I know that, but I can feel it. I think we’re both going to regret every bit of this.

  “Have you?”

  His voice jolts me out of my thoughts and I look over at him. His face is pinched, almost pained.

  My brow furrows. “Have I…what?”

  “Fucked him.”

  I frown, but I see now what’s going on. I shake my head slowly. “No, Andrew. I haven’t slept with your brother—”

  “But you would have. And once he sees you in the palace, he’ll try to bed you. We both know that. He… He…”

  I reach out and take his hand in mine, even though I know I shouldn’t. Even though I know that every time I touch him, I’m taking my own heart in my hands, knowing there will never be anything more than heartbreak if I allow things to progress any further between us.

  He looks down at our hands before looking over and meeting my gaze.

  We’re like that for what feels like hours before he finally speaks again. “I don’t care any more, Victoria. I don’t care if it’s Natasha or Maria or you.” He almost spits out the last word. “I need an heir. I need to marry as quickly as possible and have an heir. I cannot allow my brother to take the life that was promised to me.”

  He pauses, staring into my eyes for another long moment. “I cannot and I will not allow it.”

  Andrew

  It’s clear to me that even now, Victoria doesn’t understand. Perhaps I was wrong to trust her—how can she tell this story effectively if she doesn’t understand why it is so important? I must make her understand.

  Victoria is frowning at me. “How can you think Leo is trying to take anything from you?”

  “It’s not about what I think,” I say, unable to keep the frustration from my voice. “It’s about what the world thinks. You know as well as I that the people love to make assumptions about those who live in the public eye. You must know they’ll make all manner of assumptions about why Leopold is marrying before I am. I won’t have such rumors undermining my position or my loyalty to Montovia. It’s too late to be the first to father a child, but if I have my wife pregnant within a few months, I think we can avoid most of the awkwardness, don’t you?”

  “I think you’re insane,” she says.

  I look down at my glass again. “Victoria—”

  “You’re the crown prince. The world knows that already. They don’t care about which of you marries first.” She squeezes my hand.

  I can only stare at her. “If you honestly believe that, Victoria, then I can’t believe you’ve lasted in your profession for as long as you have. The public loves to speculate—and they’re often helped by the media. Walk into any grocery in your country and read the headlines on the newsstands—one magazine will be claiming that two actresses are fighting over the same man, another will suggest that two reality television stars are in a feud over the respective sizes of their paychecks. The press loves drama and conflict—so much so that often they will create it where there is none. We must get ahead of any stories they would create about me.”

  Victoria is frowning again. “That doesn’t mean this is the best way to do that.”

  “Then tell me,” I say, dropping her hand. “What is a suitable alternative? How else do we give them the drama they crave?”

  She just stares back at me. “This whole thing would be a heck of a lot easier if you just told me entire truth. I still don’t even know the reason you hired me in the first place.”

  “I’ll tell you everything when—”

  “When we reach Montovia. I know.” She turns away from me. “Then maybe we should wait to finish this conversation there.”

  “Maybe that’s a good idea,” I say, reaching out and touching her arm. She starts slightly at my touch, and I step closer, right against her back, and let my fingers move down her skin. “Perhaps if we—”

  “We’re not doing any of that, either,” she says, jerking away from me. “Not here and not in Montovia.”

  I frown. “Then how would you recommend we spend the remainder of this flight?”

  “You can do whatever you want,” she says. “I’m going to try and sleep. It’s been a long few days and I can’t imagine things are going to get easier when we get to Montovia.” She walks over to her seat and sits down again.

  I start to argue with her—if she’s simply trying to end our current conversation, then there are other ways to do that. But when I look at her a little more closely, the fatigue is plain on her face. She was only checked out of the hospital a couple hours ago, I remind myself. And we’re both still recovering from the days we spent in the wilderness.

  I go to the cabinet and grab a blanket and pillow for her—and a second set for myself. Victoria looks almost surprised when I hand them to her, but neither of us says a word. I take my seat next to hers and spread the blanket across my lap. The sofa in the plane’s seating area folds down into a bed, and I almost suggest that she sleep there—but given the circumstances, I suspect my words would be taken the wrong way. And judging by the way she’s fastened her seatbelt tightly across her lap again, I imagine she feels safer where she is buckled in. Fortunately, our seats are large and comfortable.

  She leans her seat back and props the pillow beneath her head, her face turned away from me. I lie back as well, but I know it is futile to attempt to sleep. There is too much on my mind—and the memory of the plane crash is too fresh—to allow me to drift into slumber. Instead, I listen to her slow breathing.

  After a few minutes, she shifts in her seat, trying to find a different position. A few minutes after that, she moves again. I suspect it’s more than the fact that she’s trying to sleep in an airplane seat that keeps her tossing and turning.

  “Victoria,” I say softly.

  Her eyes open and she looks at me.

  “The armrest goes up,” I tell her. “If you want…”

  She nods, and I push up the armrest between us. She loosens her seatbelt and slides toward me, and I raise my arm and put it around her, allowing her to nestle against my side. Her head rests at the crook of my shoulder, and beneath our blankets, her hand settles against my chest.

  She lets out a soft sigh, and I can feel her physically relax in my arms. I press my hand against her back and hold her close. I feel better, too, having her in my arms.

  I don’t know if she sleeps, but I do not. My consciousness seems to drift in and out, but I never fully escape into dreamland—I’m too aware of where we are. And when I close my eyes, my mind flashes between images of the plane crash and images of headlines they will surely print about me if Victoria and I can’t handle this nightmare.

  Somehow, though, time drifts by. Eventually, the pilot’s voice crackles over the speaker again, telling us we’re approaching Montovia.

  Victoria stirs and sits up. But she remains sitting close to me as the plane descends. My fingers find hers, and we squeeze each other’s hands as we land.

  The moment the plane is on solid ground again, I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Victoria seems to feel it, too—there’s color in her complexion again, and there’s a bright look in her eyes as she rises from her seat. Neither of us can seem to get off the plane fast enough.

  It’s the middle of the night here in Montovia. But the palace is lit up against the night sky, shining with lights to welcome me home. I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to return. I feel as if I am safe again. As if I can breathe again.

  Victoria has been here before, I know. But I still catch her looking with wonder at the brightly-lit palace before us as the carts take us from the palace’s airstrip to the door.

  There’s quite an entourage waiting for us at the palace. Attendants of course, but also most of my family. My mother is here, as well as Sophia and my brother William. Leopold and Elle are also here, naturally—but the biggest surprise is probably my father, whose face remains carefully blank as my mother comes rushing forward.

  “Oh, Andrew,” my mother says, throwing her arms around me and hugging me close.

  I put my arms around her. She’d wanted to come meet me at the hospital in America, but it was decided it would be better to avoid the media circus that her visit would have caused.

  “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she murmurs to me. “When we thought…”

  “It was an unfortunate accident,” I tell her gently. “But as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

  She squeezes me again and then releases me, and when she steps back, I can see tears shining in her eyes. Sophia bounds forward next, hugging me before I even have a chance to greet her.

  I spend the next several minutes assuring everyone that I’m all right, that there’s no reason to make a big fuss out of my return. It’s clear they have questions for me, but fortunately, the members of my family are well trained in restraint.

  Some even better than others, I think, my eyes going first to my father, and then over to my brother Leopold. My father is still wearing that impassible expression, and though my brother is smiling, he has yet to say a word to me.

  “Oh, but I’m sure the two of you are exhausted,” my mother says. She clutches my hands so tightly I’m not sure she’ll ever let them go. “We’ve prepared a room for Ms. Simpson. And are you two hungry? I can have the cook send something up to your rooms.”

  I glance over at Victoria. She looks a little stunned by the crowd of people around us—but the circles under her eyes are also plain to see. I suspect she got as little real sleep on our flight as I did.

  “Yes, I think we should get some rest,” I say. “And have the cook send up some things.”

  Victoria nods. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll take Victoria to her room,” my mother says. She gives me one more hug, squeezing me far longer that propriety dictates. “Tomorrow, let’s have lunch.”

  “Of course,” I say.

  I glance at Victoria over my mother’s shoulder, and she’s looking back at me. Something in her eyes startles me—if I didn’t know any better, it looks almost like apprehension. Fear.

  This is the first time we’ll be separated since the plane crash, I realize. Even though it’s only for a night, and even though we’re both going to be beneath the same roof, I feel my own stomach tighten at the thought. I don’t want to be parted from her, and from the look in her eyes, I wonder if she’s having a similar thought.

  “If you tell me where her room is, I can take her there,” I say.

  “Nonsense,” my mother replies, finally releasing me. “I think I can take over the hosting duties from here. You go get some sleep. Don’t worry—I’ll make sure she’s settled in.” She blinks again, tears still twinkling in her eyes.

  My mother thinks she’s doing me a favor, I realize. And playing hostess is her way of dealing with her emotions.

  “Well, if you would just tell me where her room is—” I start, then cut off abruptly when I realize how this must sound. Both Sophia and Leopold seem to be watching me very closely. “For tomorrow,” I add quickly. “She and I will have work to discuss—”

  “Don’t you dare think about work just yet,” my mother says. “It would do both of you some good to spend a few days recovering first.” She slides her arm through Victoria’s. “I’ve put her on the east wing. Don’t worry—someone will point you in the right direction after you’ve both had a chance to rest.”