“Who put you up to this?” she finally asked as her laughter subsided. “Did Gus do this? Or Jacques? Is this to get back at me for the shaving cream?”
“While I look forward to one day hearing about the shaving cream, I can assure you this is all very real.”
She held up one of the photographs of her mother. “So my father is a ruler of a principality I’ve never heard of—”
“Country. He’s a king, so Linnaea is designated as a country. Tulay is a principality overseen by a prince.”
She waved his interruption aside. “Country, kingdom, whatever, which makes my mysterious brother a prince, too, and me...what? A princess? Heiress to a beautiful castle?”
Cass sighed. Her mirth and attempt at maintaining good humor despite the nastiness of whatever joke he was playing on her was swiftly replaced by anger.
“It sounds incredible, I know—”
“No,” she said before she tossed back the rest of the cocktail and set the glass on the bar. “It sounds like the most awful joke someone has every played on me. I’m curious to know who gave you my mom’s photo.” She picked up another picture of her mom and the older man, arm in arm in front of the Eiffel Tower. “Seriously, this is some great Photoshop work.”
Cass’s eyes glittered dangerously. A shiver traced its way down her spine.
“This is no joke.” His glacial voice rivaled the winter winds tearing across the prairie outside. “Thousands of people are depending on us.”
“On us?” she repeated. “Who are you? Is your name even Cass?”
“It is. Short for Cassius Morgan Adama, a prince of the country of Tulay.”
Her hand drifted back toward the glass. Maybe he was actually unhinged and believed everything he was saying. It would certainly explain the conviction with which he spoke.
“The country of Linnaea is in dire financial straits. If you accept my proposal, you can help them, and I can help your family.”
She stared at him for a long moment. He didn’t give off a crazy vibe. But then how could any of this be true? Little girls dreamed of being secret princesses and one day being whisked off by their own Prince Charming.
But this was reality. Real life where fathers disappeared and mothers died and stepfamilies treated you like the scum on the bottom of their shoe.
“Fine. Humor me, and then I’m leaving. What exactly are you proposing?”
Cass reached down, then straightened and placed a blue velvet box on the counter. Briony stared at the box as her heart started to pound.
“Cass...”
He flipped the lid open to reveal a stunning diamond encircled by sapphires set in a silver band that screamed it was an antique. She didn’t know how long she stared at the ring before she raised her shocked gaze to Cass’s face. His eyes glinted once more with that predatory gleam, as if he’d cornered his prize.
“Marriage.”
CHAPTER THREE
CASSRETURNEDBRIONY’Sstare with his own. Her emerald gaze dropped back to the ring, then up to him. The shock etched on her pale face would have been comical if there wasn’t so much riding on this moment.
“Marriage,” she finally repeated.
“Yes.”
She whirled away from the bar, the scrunchie that had held her hair on top of her head giving way to the ferocity of her movements. Her fire-red curls tumbled over her shoulders and down her back.
God, she was glorious. Anticipation hummed in his veins as he circled the bar and followed her through a narrow doorway into a poorly lit room with lockers stacked against one wall.
What are you doing?He stopped, keeping distance between himself and Briony. He had indulged in the fantasy Briony had presented him when she’d flashed that grin, savored their flirtations and entertained vivid images of her spread naked across his bed.
But he was no longer Cass Morgan. No, he was back to being Prince Cassius Adama, and he had a job to do, a duty to fulfill. While sex would one day play a part in his and Briony’s marriage, lust and any other chaotic emotions tied to love would only clutter up what he had to do. He would not make the same mistakes his father and Aunt Alecine had by succumbing to their feelings.
Briony stalked to one locker with a sunshine sticker peeling off the metal door, twirled the combination on the lock and wrenched it open. She yanked a threadbare green coat out and shoved her arms into the sleeves.