Hannah forced herself to focus on her reflection. Her hair hung straight and very golden—she’d never been this blond in her life—even as her eyes had been subtly lined and lashes darkened to intensify the blue of her eyes. Her lips were full and a discreet golden pink. Her couture gown—the color somewhere between gold and sand—had a deep V neckline and long straight sleeves making Hannah feel unusually sophisticated.
“Nothing,” Hannah answered, astonished by how much she looked like the real Princess Emmeline.
Now that her hair had been cut and colored, with her makeup applied by the same deft hand that did Emmeline’s makeup, Hannah truly could pass for the princess.
If she didn’t know better, even she would think they were twins. “I look … I look …” She searched for the right words to express herself but couldn’t find them.
“Stunning,” a deep voice said quietly from the doorway, finishing her sentence for her.
Hannah’s hands clenched the arms of her chair as her gaze met Zale’s in the mirror. He was no longer angry, just somber, but she wasn’t ready to see him. Too much had been said already for one day.
But he lifted a hand, dismissing the stylists. “We’d like some privacy, please.”
She swallowed uneasily as they slipped away and the door to the dressing room closed, leaving her alone with him.
For a long moment after the others left he said nothing. “I was wrong,” he said, breaking the silence. “I handled the situation this morning badly.”
It was the last thing Hannah had expected him to say. “I don’t suppose you’d ever cancel a meeting for a headache,” she said.
“No.”
“Just as I don’t suppose you ever let a headache keep you out of a football game.” “Definitely not. “
Her lips curved. “You played with pain?” “My job was to play, not sit on the bench.” She’d expected as much. You didn’t become a star midfielder without pain and sacrifice. “So, no excuses.” “No excuses,” he echoed.
At least on this point, her father would agree with him. Her father was tough—physically and mentally—and he’d raised Hannah to be the same. She wasn’t allowed to make excuses. Always do your best, he’d tell her, no matter what.
Not that being here, passing herself off as Emmeline, was her best.
“I can understand why you were so upset with me then,” she added carefully. “But I didn’t this morning. I thought you were being a bully.”
“A bully?”
“An unreasonable one.”
He looked startled and then he smiled, a quick smile that made him real and warm and sexy.
But she didn’t want to find him sexy. Not if he was Emmeline’s.
“Have we made a mistake, Emmeline?”
The quiet question in his deep, softly accented voice shocked her. “What?”
“I wonder if we’re forcing something we shouldn’t.”
She looked at him, too stunned to speak.
“It’s never been easy between us,” he added, leaning against the wall, his big shoulders even broader in the black jacket. His brow furrowed. “I know why I’ve pushed ahead, but why have you? There are a half dozen eligible royals you could marry right now. You could have your pick of any of them—”
“But I chose to marry you,” she interrupted softly, because Emmeline had chosen him, and while Emmeline might not love Zale, she must want to be Queen of Raguva.
“Why?”
“For all the same reasons you chose me—our families approved, our countries would forge a stronger alliance, the next generation would be secure.”
He sighed and ran a hand along his jaw. “I wish I could believe you.”
She sat up straighter. “Why can’t you?”
“Your behavior this past year. The secret weekends with your Argentine boyfriend. The prolonged contract negotiations. Your refusal to spend time with me until now.” His broad shoulders shifted. “One of those alone would give me pause, but all three? I’d be a fool to trust you.”
She knew he was talking about Emmeline, but at the moment his anger and mistrust felt personal. “You’d be a bigger fool to let me go.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Why would I?”
“Your country has felt the same economic downturn that the rest of Europe has experienced, but you have big plans to turn the economy around, and those plans hinge on me.” Hannah was grasping at straws now, trying to piece together an argument based on the articles she’d read online about the impact the royal wedding would have on Raguva—increased tourism, greater financial resources, improved clout and visibility. “Since the announcement of our engagement, Raguva’s popularity has skyrocketed. The scenic coast has become the new Riviera, and the public can’t get enough about us and the wedding. The telecast of the ceremony will bring millions to your treasury—” She broke off, drew a quick breath. “Are you willing to throw all that away on a whim?”