She sucked in a steadying breath, one meant to refocus her attention as much as it banished some of the lingering heat from her body. So they were attracted to each other. Fine. People all around the world kissed and had sex and did all of sorts of things without putting their hearts on the line. She could, too.
She had to, if this was going to work.
She ran a frustrated hand through her hair. Did she even want it to work? Could she truly accept a loveless marriage?
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out to see an email from her bank. A quick glance revealed that it was just one of several that must have come through when she was sleeping. Credit card balances, zero. Mortgage balance, zero. Confirmation of two new accounts established in Stacy’s and Ella’s names, both with six-figure statements.
She slipped her phone back into her pocket. Whether she wanted it or not was beside the point. She would make it work.
She surveyed the gowns on the bed. Part of her wanted to stalk out of the bedroom in her jeans and shirt just to spite him. Except, she acknowledged irritably, the only person she would be hurting would be herself. With another deep, cleansing breath, she shoved the kiss into the deepest recess of memory and focused on the dresses that lay before her.
The first, a deep red that reminded her of the color of wine with a short-sleeved top and a full skirt and a ribbon about the waist, was beautiful but just a tad too formal for a simple meeting. The second was sky blue but was crafted of the most delicate-looking lace she’d ever seen, threads of silver holding the intricate pieces together. Stunning, but she would probably snag it on something before she left the plane.
The last dress, though, seemed perfect. The pale lavender bodice and waist were bedecked with small jewels. Formal, but the knee-length skirt and sleeveless top lent a casual flair that made her feel more at ease.
As she slid the dress on, she couldn’t help but feel a small tingle of anticipation. In just a matter of hours, she would finally meet her father.
She focused on that and ignored the apprehension tightening the muscles in her neck.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THECASTLELOOKEDas if it had been crafted from a fairy tale. A sparkling white palace stood against the backdrop of pine trees dusted with snow. Towering spires topped by crimson flags waved in the breeze. A cobblestoned drive wound its way in a serpentine pattern up the hillside. As the limo pulled up to a stunning marble staircase, Briony nervously smoothed the folds of her skirt.
She tore her gaze away to glance at Cass. He’d barely looked at her since she’d emerged from the bedroom dressed in her new finery. He’d murmured a “You look nice” before resuming his phone conversation. A limo had whisked them away from the airport around the outskirts of a quaint-looking city Cass had identified as the capital city, Eira. Two- and three-story buildings that looked as if they’d been crafted a couple centuries ago were interspersed with several more modern-looking towers.
With every passing mile, Cass’s face had grown tense, his jaw hardening as his eyes sharpened. Was it difficult for him, being back in the country he had been torn from as a child?
An uncomfortable sensation settled in her stomach. Cass’s story about his aunt and her father having a falling-out had been so vague. How could a simple disagreement over spending have led to the family being asked to leave the country? She should have pursued it more on the plane, but they’d transitioned so quickly to talking about Linnaea’s financial problems that she’d forgotten.
Until now. The apprehension she’d suppressed on the plane, the feeling that she’d missed something in this rapid journey from lonely barmaid to secret princess, spread across her skin, a persistent itch she couldn’t get rid of.
A guard opened her door. Cass kept a hold on her elbow, as if he were afraid she would bolt at any moment. Another guard escorted her and Cass up the stone stairs, through a set of double doors and into a stunning three-story hallway with soaring ceilings and walls covered in paintings that looked old and expensive.
It was beautiful, Briony acknowledged, but cold, more like a museum than a home she could picture growing up in. How odd, too, that the palace would maintain such an extensive collection of art when the country was in such dire financial straits.
Stop judging. For all she knew, these paintings could have been in the palace for years, decades even, long before the recession.
A young woman with pale skin and equally pale blond hair pulled into a severe bun waited for them at the top of yet another sweeping staircase. She waited until a maid dressed in traditional black with a white apron had taken their coats and disappeared into the depths of the palace before she spoke to Cass.
“Your Highness,” she said in a clipped tone, bowing her head just slightly enough to have it count.
“Clara. A pleasure to see you again.”
The thinning of Clara’s lips suggested she was anything but pleased to see Cass.
“I received your message thirty minutes ago, Your Highness.” Her ice-blue eyes drifted to Briony. Something flashed in them before she turned back to Cass. “We didn’t expect you until Monday. Had you notified the palace sooner, we would have been more prepared.”
“And risk not giving the king a surprise?” Cass replied with a smile so cold it rivaled the ice in Clara’s glare. “You know how much he loves surprises.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Besides, Alaric is expecting me.”
“Prince Alaric,” Clara corrected stiffly.
Cass ignored her correction and turned to Briony. “Meet your half brother’s right-hand woman, Clara Stephenson. The country would fall apart without her work.”
Despite his mocking tone, Briony noted a thread of genuine admiration in his voice. Judging by Clara’s frigid gaze, however, she didn’t pick up on it.
Clara dropped into a shallow curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” she said, her voice a tad warmer as she addressed Briony. “Your brother has been most anxious to meet you.”
And what about my father?