Read the book: «Crown Prince's Bought Bride»

CHAPTER ONE

REMIREZ ALEXANDER MONTEGOVA, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Montegova, paused before the imposing double doors, his raised fist as frozen as the rest of his body.

It didn’t escape him that anyone who knew him would be shocked by this uncharacteristic display of hesitancy. Since infancy he’d been lauded as a fearless, valiant visionary who would one day steer his people to greater heights than any of his forebears had imagined.

But here he was, cowed by a set of doors.

Granted, they weren’t just any doors. They were the portals to his final destiny. As pretentious as the words sounded, that didn’t make them any less true.

He’d been dreading this day.

The simple truth was he didn’t want to go inside. Didn’t want to face his mother the Queen. Every instinct warned him that he wouldn’t emerge the same person.

When had that ever mattered? He’d never belonged to himself. He belonged to history. To the destiny forged by countless Mongetovan warriors who’d fought bloody battles to carve out this Western Mediterranean kingdom with their bare hands.

For as long as he drew breath he would belong to the people of Montegova. Duty and destiny. Two words branded with indelible ink into his skin.

Like twin weights they settled like a heavy cloak over his shoulders, making his next breath a torturous chore.

‘Your Highness?’ his senior aide prompted nervously but firmly from behind him. ‘Her Majesty is waiting.’

One voice in many that peppered his daily life. One that cajoled and coaxed and, when he closed himself off to that, as he’d mastered doing, prodded and pushed.

The morning’s summons, however, had been absolute.

His mother requested his presence at nine o’clock sharp. The solid gold antique clock standing proudly in one of the many marbled and hallowed hallways of the Grand Palace of Montegova solemnly announced that he was five seconds from being late.

With a resigned breath, he unfroze his fist, rapped sharply on the gold-leaf-framed doors and awaited the command to enter.

It arrived, brisk and firm, yet wrapped in a layer of unmistakable warmth.

The voice accurately reflected the woman seated in the throne-like chair beneath the grand coat of arms that spelled out her royal status in Latin, her flint-grey gaze tracking him across the vast office.

She nodded approvingly when he executed a respectful bow before taking his seat before her.

‘I was wondering how long you’d remain behind the door. Am I really so frightful?’ she mused with a trace of sadness in her eyes.

That sadness grated, but Remi refused to let it show.

He was used to people wearing that expression in his presence. He was used to several more expressions, yet sorrow and pity chafed the worst. But he supposed it was better than being treated as if he were made of fragile glass.

He ignored the emotion and searched her face for signs that, just this once, his instincts were wrong. But from her perfectly coiffed hair and flawless make-up, to the classic Chanel suit she favoured for official duties, and the diamond and emerald brooch made in the image of the Montegovan flag, Remi was left in no doubt that this meeting was exactly what he’d suspected it to be.

The axe was truly about to fall.

‘Not frightful, no. But I suspect the reason for this summoning will leave one of us less than thrilled.’

His mother’s lips pursed momentarily before she rose. A tall, striking woman, she would have commanded attention with effortless ease even if she hadn’t been the reigning Montegovan monarch. Long before she’d become Queen she’d won three beauty pageants across the world. When she deigned to bestow it on the deserving her smile could stop a grown man in his tracks—Remi had seen it first-hand. The hair that had turned silver almost overnight ten years ago, after his father’s death, had once been as dark as his own, but she’d owned that very visible sign of pain and grief with the same stalwart strength that had stopped her kingdom from descending into chaos at the sudden death of its King and the scandal that had followed. At twenty-three, Remi had been deemed too young to take the throne so his mother had taken his place as interim ruler. He was supposed to take the throne on his thirtieth birthday. But then further tragedy had struck.

His mother was the strongest woman he knew. Which was why everything inside him tightened when, after several minutes examining the spectacular view from her office window, she returned to her desk, planted her palms on the polished antique cherry wood and locked eyes with him.

‘It’s time, Remirez.’

His gut clenched tighter. She very rarely used his full first name. As a child that had never boded well for him or his hide. As a grown man of thirty-two it still commanded his attention.

Unable to remain seated in the foreboding of impending fate, he stood and paced in front of her desk. ‘How much time are we talking, here? Weeks? Months?’

It wouldn’t be years. She’d already given him two years. And lately she’d indicated, without cruelty, that it was time to set his own grief aside.

‘I would like to make the announcement that I’m stepping down at the next Solstice Festival.’

The third week in June.

‘That’s...three months away.’ The reality of it hit him like a cold wave in the face.

‘Yes,’ she replied firmly. ‘Which means time is of the essence. We must put our house in order before we begin to make the announcements.’

‘Announcements?’ he echoed. ‘Plural?’

His mother’s gaze dropped momentarily to her desk. ‘I’m not just stepping down, Remi. I’m also taking extended leave from all official duties.’

Isadora Montegova wasn’t just the ruling monarch, she was also an active member of parliament.

‘You’re resigning? Why?’

Her lips compressed—a sign that she didn’t like to admit whatever it was she was about to say. ‘The past few years have been difficult for both of us. I need a little...time away from everything.’

She wouldn’t stoop so low as to call it me time, the way others might, but if anyone had earned the right to retreat and regroup it was his mother.

Not only had she borne the unexpected death of her husband with unwavering strength, she’d weathered the subsequent scandal unleashed by the discovery of her husband’s decades-long secret with remarkable dignity and poise.

Behind closed doors, though, Remi had caught glimpses of the true toll it had taken on her. He himself had barely been able to hold back his fury at discovering that the father he’d held in such high esteem had proved to be faithless. Over the years his rage had boiled down to a simmering resentment, but it had never dissipated. Because not only had his father caused his mother untold hardship by his actions, he’d also thrown the kingdom into turmoil for years. Years which had taken a brutal toll on his mother. On him and on Zak, his younger brother.

Secrets and lies. It was a cliché until it happened on your doorstep and was played out for the world to see.

He tamped down on his fury as his mother reached out.

‘Which brings me to the next housekeeping problem.’ She opened a slim folder and slid it across the desk.

And there, displayed in full Technicolor, was the latest source of his mother’s angst.

Jules Montegova.

The surly half-brother who’d been presented to them moments after his father’s burial. The twenty-eight-year-old whose paternity had been proven via a discreet DNA test, to be royal, courtesy of an illicit affair his father had indulged in when he had briefly been stationed in Paris on diplomatic duty.

Jules was the scandal that had nearly unsettled the kingdom. The paparazzi had gone on a feeding frenzy for months, prising open every closet they could find in the hope of unearthing more skeletons.

It would have been easier to stomach had Jules not proved to be nothing but a thorn in their sides from the moment he’d arrived in Montegova ten years ago.

Remi scanned the picture, his jaw clenching as he noted the glassy eyes, the dishevelment, the slurred expression of drunkenness. ‘What has he done now?’ he bit out.

Queen Isadora’s mouth twisted. ‘A less aggravating question would be what hasn’t he done? Three weeks ago it was reckless gambling in Monte Carlo, then he flew to Paris and carried on gambling for another four days. The royal bursar was apoplectic when he received the bill. Ten days ago he turned up in Barcelona and gatecrashed a private party Duke Armando was throwing for his niece. Since then he’s been in London, and in the past few days in this woman’s company,’ she said, sliding aside the first picture to reveal several more.

They all showed variations of the same woman. Dark blonde. Leggy. Bright green eyes and a figure designed to stop traffic. She was striking. And her smile would win a contest against a thousand-watt bulb.

But she was a dime a dozen in Remi’s world. All flash and no substance.

Hell, in one picture she was literally flashing her underwear, uncaring that the world could see her lacy thong as she threw her arms around his half-brother’s neck. In all of the pictures her clothes barely covered her admittedly remarkable assets, and the camera’s glare threw every curve and dip into high-definition exposure.

Remi examined her carefully, searching for weaknesses. His gaze tracked her pert little nose, her wide, sensual mouth, cheekbones sculpted by a master craftsman and a delicate jawline designed to be worshipped with fingers and lips.

The sleek line of her neck dropped to slender, lightly tanned shoulders. Her collarbones were revealed by a sleeveless top, drawing attention to her soft throat and the impressive swell of her breasts. A flat, toned stomach, rounded hips and those endless legs completed the package.

She was flawless. Physically, at least. He had very little doubt that she would be severely lacking in other areas. Except maybe in the—

‘Who is she?’ he snapped, intensely annoyed with the direction of his thoughts. Who cared how the trollop was in bed?

His mother resumed her seat, her gaze meeting his. ‘Her details are on the last page. The rest is still sketchy, but I’ve seen more than enough to know she presents a potential problem. For one thing, Jules never usually stays in one place more than a few days. He’s been in London for almost two weeks. And, unfortunately, these are the least offensive pictures. Whatever is going on between them needs to end. Now. The royal transition must be as smooth as possible. So far he’s refused my summons for him to return to Montegova. Short of having his bodyguards forcibly put him on a plane—and risk a kidnapping charge—I have to find a way to bring him to heel.’

Remi’s gaze was drawn, against his will, back to the pictures. He flipped to the last page. The woman his half-brother had taken up with was summed up in four lines.

Madeleine Myers

Waitress

Twenty-four years old

College dropout

Distaste filled his mouth. ‘You want me to take care of it?’ For the sake of his kingdom’s reputation, his half-brother’s antics needed to be curbed before they attracted unwanted attention.

Queen Isadora linked her fingers and placed them on the desk. ‘Jules may not have any interest in behaving like a Montegovan except when it eases his way into casinos and parties, but this cannot be allowed to continue. He pretends otherwise, but he’s a little in awe of you. I dare say you scare him a little too. He’ll listen to you. And you’re the only one I trust to handle this discreetly.’ She cleared her throat. ‘With the news of my stepping down and your ascension to the throne we can’t afford another scandal now. Especially when you announce that you’ll be taking a wife at the end of the summer.’

Icy shock gushed through his veins, rendering him speechless for one stunned second. ‘I will be what?’ he demanded when he found his tongue.

‘Don’t look so shocked. Surely this doesn’t come as a surprise? You were all set to do so two years ago.’

Different emotions surged high—a peculiar mingling of pain, futile anger, bitterness and guilt. The first was natural—the pain of a cherished one lost never went away. Although lately the pain had been less and the other emotions more pronounced.

His anger stemmed from a life cut far too short. From all the plans made that would never come to fruition. And the bitterness was aimed squarely at fate and the cruelty of time.

The fact that his fiancée had been on her way to her doctor when the tragedy had struck was irony itself.

Which brought him to the guilt. The culmination of events had been his fault and his alone. For that he had to bear the crushing weight on his soul.

‘You would be king and married by now if we hadn’t lost Celeste,’ his mother said, gentle but firm.

His teeth clenched at the unnecessary reminder. ‘I’m well aware of that.’ Just as he was well aware that his voice now echoed the chill weaving through his bloodstream. ‘But tell me, Mother, where exactly am I to conjure a bride from in three months?’

If he’d hoped to cow her with his caustic tone, he should have known better.

Without missing a beat she opened a tiny drawer directly in front of her chair and took out a single piece of paper. ‘The list of candidates we put together for you five years ago is still viable—save for one. She married a count and is already pregnant with her second child.’

The trace of wistfulness in her voice further aggravated Remi, but he kept his emotions on a tight leash, saved his verbal dexterity for the noose caressing his throat.

‘I didn’t stoop to plucking my future wife from a list put together by faceless advisers five years ago and I’m not about to do that now.’

Queen Isadora slapped the piece of paper down on the desk. ‘Well, that’s too bad. This time you don’t have the luxury of time or indulgence. Perhaps this is the best way forward. I married for love. You were about to marry the woman of your heart. Look where that got us both!’

Remi stiffened. His mother froze in her chair, her eyes widening in shock at her own outburst. Thick silence slammed between them as Remi examined her closer, noted the pallor beneath the make-up, the lines of stress bracketing her eyes.

He’d absorbed more of her duties this past year, but he could still see the strain of office on her face.

Heavy really was the head that wore the crown, temporary or not.

A crown that was soon to be placed upon his own head.

Before he could comment she gathered herself with regal poise, her spine ramrod straight as she speared him with a glare.

‘Let me be clear, Remirez. I will not sit by and watch all that I’ve painstakingly rebuilt these past ten years fall to ruin again because your sensibilities won’t allow it. You’ll go to London, separate your half-brother from this piece of bad news and bring him home. Then you’ll pick a bride and announce your betrothal one week before the Solstice Festival. At the festival we’ll give an official date for your wedding, which will be three months after your engagement. That gives you six months to get used to the idea of marriage. I’ll make myself available to help with preparations if you need me to. Otherwise, I look forward to being the lucky mother of the groom come September.’

She closed the folder and nudged it an extra inch towards him, before straightening the specially engraved pens which had belonged to his father.

When she was done, she looked him straight in the eye. ‘It’s time to take your true place as head of this kingdom. I know you won’t let me down.’

One minute later, Remi walked out. And, as he’d rightly predicted, everything had changed.

* * *

Five more weeks.

Maddie Myers resisted the urge to check her phone for the exact hour and minute before this nightmare was over.

She should never have agreed to this preposterous proposition. So far every second had been hellish.

But then her choices were severely limited. And when a Lamborghini sideswiping you compounded those woes by knocking the grocery shopping paid for with your last tenner out of your hands, you needed to take a moment to accept that things were truly awful.

With luck in very limited supply in her world, she’d thanked every star she could name for escaping that horrifying incident with just a few unpleasant-looking bruises, the occasional twinge in her ribs that made it difficult to take a full breath and a sore arm.

To be honest, Maddie was sure it was the shock of being nearly run over that had made her agree to Jules Montagne’s scheme in the first place. But by the time she’d downed that second restorative brandy she’d been in the darkest pit of despair, one that not even expensive booze could lift her from. So when the owner of the Lamborghini of Death had offered her a solution to her problems...

Truth be told, at that point she’d been seriously considering the logistics of how to sell one of her kidneys, so a rich assaulter with money to burn had seemed the answer to her prayers.

Nevertheless, it had taken her forty-eight hours to accept his deal. Probably because he’d been cagey about why he needed her in the first place. If Maddie had learned one thing in life, it was to look before she leapt. Blind trust was no longer a flaw that would tarnish her.

She’d trusted her mother to stay and help the family she’d helped break apart. She’d trusted her father every time he’d told her he had his addiction under control. And Greg... He’d been the worst culprit of all.

So when Jules had delivered that stony-faced ask no questions ultimatum her first instinct had been to walk out of the fancy wine bar he’d taken her to after nearly running her over, and never look back.

But no matter how many times she’d checked her meagre bank account, or riffled through her belongings in the hope of finding something pawn-worthy, the balance had fallen far too short.

With time running out for her father, she’d had no choice but to return Jules Montagne’s phone call.

Of course his help hadn’t come for free. Hence her being once again dressed like a high-class escort, listening to him hold court among his circle of trustfundistas and minor royals in another VIP lounge as they guzzled thousands of pounds’ worth of champagne.

She’d long since passed the life is so unfair and why me? stage. And after her mother’s shocking desertion Maddie had shrugged off there’s always hope too.

‘Hey, Maddie, smile! The way you’re staring into your glass, you’d think somebody’s died.’

She plastered on a fake smile while the urge to scream burned through her gullet. True, no one had died. But the man who’d once been a strong, supportive father—a man now sadly broken by his failures—most definitely would, unless she pulled off this performance successfully and collected the payment due to her.

Seventy-five thousand pounds.

The exact amount needed for her father’s private kidney operation and aftercare in France.

The exact amount Jules had agreed to pay her if she pretended to be his girlfriend for six weeks.

She raised her gaze from her glass and connected with the gunmetal eyes of her pretend boyfriend. The man who barely spoke to her once they were away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi who dogged his every movement.

‘Smile, cherie,’ he insisted, with a hard, fierce light in his eyes.

She tried again, aiming for authenticity this time. She must have succeeded. He gave a brisk nod and raised his glass to her before swinging back into whatever joke he’d interrupted himself in.

Maddie breathed in relief, winced as her ribs protested, then went back to wondering just how long she could survive down this rabbit hole.

The first time they’d gone out she’d heard one tabloid hack shout a question about Jules’s family—specifically how the queen felt about his behaviour. Maddie had asked him about it. He’d shut her down with a snapped response she was sure had been a lie, and reminded her of the ask no questions rule.

The possibility that she’d struck a bargain with a minor royal had triggered unease. Media attention was the last thing she wanted.

Despite needing the money desperately, she’d voiced her concerns. Jules’s suggestion that she wear headphones with the music turned up high to avoid the paparazzi’s questions, and keep her head down to avoid the camera’s flash had worked a treat. After all, she couldn’t answer questions she couldn’t hear.

Maddie was sure that her perceived rudeness had earned her a disparaging label on social media. But the great thing about selling your laptop so you could buy food and using your phone only for emergency calls to avoid expensive bills was the blessed absence of the burden of social media.

So here she was, firmly ensconced in Wonderland, with no inkling of why she was playing pretend girlfriend to a handsome, spoilt, maybe minor royal who travelled with two bodyguards.

She watched him beckon one of them. Jules whispered in his ear, then loudly ordered another half-dozen bottles of Dom Perignon as the young guard headed to the back of the nightclub.

In the gleeful melee that followed the arrival of more booze, very few people noticed Jules following his bodyguard.

The sudden realisation that she’d aligned herself with a man who was headed down the same path of addiction as her father was enough to propel Maddie to her feet. She wasn’t sure exactly how she would deal with Jules Montagne if she caught him taking drugs, but her burning anger and anxiety couldn’t be contained.

She was halfway across the floor when a commotion by the front doors caught her attention.

Except it wasn’t a commotion. It was more a force of nature invading the onyx-and-chrome interior of the Soho nightclub.

Two bodyguards, taller, sharper and burlier than the ones who followed Jules around, parted the crowd.

The man who sauntered forward and paused under a golden spotlight nearly caused Maddie to swallow her tongue.

Frozen in place, she stared unashamedly, certain that the faint tendrils of artificial smoke and strobe lighting were causing her to hallucinate the sheer magnificence of the god-like creature before her.

But no.

He was flesh.

The quiet fury and electric energy blanketing him clearly transmitted through the muscle ticking in his jaw.

He was blood.

Royal blood, if the arrogant, regal authority with which he carried himself and the further four bodyguards who formed a semi-circular barrier around him were any indication.

There was something vaguely familiar about him, although where she could possibly have caught a glimpse before of that square, rugged jaw, those haughty cut-glass cheekbones or those sinfully sensual lips eluded her.

Eyes like polished silver gleamed beneath slashed dark brows, scanning the crowd as he continued to prowl through the semi-dark space.

As he drew closer Maddie knew she should look away. Not out of shame or discomfort, but out of sheer self-preservation. He radiated enough sensual volatility to urge her to avoid direct eye contact. To take herself out of his magnetising orbit before she was swallowed up in his vortex.

And yet she couldn’t make her feet move. In fact she was fairly sure her lungs had stopped working too, now she was witnessing the way he moved. Like a jungle cat on the prowl... Each step a symphony of grace and symmetry and power.

Utterly absorbing.

Infinitely hypnotic.

She was unashamedly gawking when his eyes locked on her. For a fistful of heartbeats he stared.

Hard. Intense. Ice-hot.

Then with long strides he zeroed in on her. His scent invaded her senses as powerfully as the man himself. He smelled of ice and earth, elemental to the core and so utterly unique she could have stood there breathing him in for an eternity, her sore ribs be damned.

‘Where is he?’ he breathed, and the sound was electrifying enough to send skitters of stinging awareness over her skin.

Whether by some silent command, or simply because everyone in the room knew they were in the presence of greatness, the volume of the music had dropped. That was the reason she heard him and knew that his voice was deep and accented, resulting in sensually wrapped words that triggered a yearning to hear him speak again just for the hell of it.

Maddie knew that would never happen. When this man spoke it was for immediate and masterful effect, no extraneous words necessary.

Seconds passed. His nostrils flared slightly. She realised she hadn’t answered.

‘I...’ She swallowed hard. ‘Where is...? Who do you mean?’

‘The man you’re here with. Jules—’

‘What are you doing here?’

The snapped question from Jules held anger, panic and defiance, slicing through Maddie’s comprehension that the stranger—whoever he was—knew her, knew she was with Jules.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead he studied Jules from head to toe, causing him to fidget and adjust his ruffled clothes.