Zoe’s twenty-five. The island’s rule, and the consequent care of your cousin as Crown Princess, lies squarely on your shoulders. Now…do you want me to find an address for this woman called Elsa?’
CHAPTER TWO
ROYALTY was standing on Elsa’s beach.
Sunlight was shimmering from the surface of a turquoise sea. The tide was at its lowest for months. Their beach was a mass of rock pools and there were specimens everywhere.
They’d swum far out to the buoy marking the end of shallow water and a pod of dolphins had nosed in to check them out. They’d dived for starfish. They’d floated lazily in the shallows; floating eased the nagging ache in Elsa’s hip as nothing else could. Finally they’d made each other crowns out of seaweed pods, and now Queen Elsa and her consort, Princess Zoe, were marching back to the house for lunch and a nap.
To find royalty waiting for them. Royalty without seaweed.
For a moment Elsa thought she’d been out in the sun too long. The man was dressed like a prince from one of Zoe’s picture books. His uniform was black as night, tailored to perfection. His slick-fitting suit was adorned with crimson epaulettes, tassels, braid and medals. His jacket and the top collar of his shirt were unbuttoned, but for some reason that made him look even more princely.
A prince trying to look casual?
Uh-oh. Her hand flew to her seaweed crown and she tugged it off as icy tendrils of fear crept round her heart.
Royalty was fantasy. Not real. Zoe’s father had always been afraid of it, but his stories had seemed so far- fetched that Elsa had deemed them ludicrous.
‘Look,’ Zoe said, puzzled, and the eight-year-old’s hand clutched hers. Zoe had only been four when her parents died, but maybe she remembered enough of her father’s paranoia to worry.
Or maybe the sight of someone dressed as a prince on a Queensland beach was enough to worry anyone.
‘I can see him,’ Elsa said. ‘Wow. Do you think he’s escaped from your
‘He’s gorgeous,’ Zoe said, relaxing a little as Elsa deliberately made light of it.
‘He must be hot,’ Elsa said cautiously.
‘Do you think he came in a carriage like in
‘If he did, I hope it has air-conditioning,’ Elsa retorted and Zoe giggled.
Good. Great. Zoe giggling was far more important than any prince watching them from the sand dunes.
‘Maybe he’s looking for us,’ Zoe said, worry returning. ‘Maybe he’s from Khryseis.’
‘Maybe he is.’ Neither of them had ever been to Khryseis, but the fabulous Mediterranean island was part of Zoe’s heritage-home to the father who’d been killed when she was four. According to the Internet, Khryseis was an island paradise in the Mediterranean, ruled up until now by a King who was as corrupt as he was vindictive. Zoe’s father, Christos, had spoken occasionally of the old King’s malice. Now those stories came flooding back, and Elsa’s fears increased accordingly.
The man-the prince?-was walking down the sandy track towards them, tall, tanned and drop-dead gorgeous. Elsa stopped and put down her pail. She held Zoe’s hand tighter.
A lesser mortal might look ridiculous in this situation but, despite his uniform, this man looked to be in charge of his world. Strongly built, aquiline features, dark hooded eyes. Cool, authoritative and calm.
And then he smiled. The combination of uniform, body and smile was enough to knock a girl’s socks off. If she had any socks that was, she thought, humour reasserting itself as she decided it was ridiculous to be afraid. She wiggled her toes deep into the sand, feeling the need to ground herself.
Oh, but that smile…
Down, she told herself fiercely. Hormonal response was exactly what wasn’t wanted right now. Act cool.
She met the man’s gaze and deliberately made herself match his smile. Or almost match it. Her smile was carefully that of someone passing a stranger. His smile, on the other hand, was friendly. His gaze dropped to Zoe- and his smile died. That always happened. No one could stop that initial reaction.
Instinctively Elsa tugged Zoe closer but Zoe was already there. They braced together, waiting for the usual response. Try as she might, she couldn’t protect Zoe from strangers. Her own scars were more easily hidden, but Zoe’s were still all too obvious.
But this wasn’t a normal response. ‘Zoe,’ the man said softly, on a long drawn-out note of discovery. And pleasure. ‘You surely must be Zoe. You look just like your father.’
Neither of them knew what to say to that. They stood in the brilliant sunlight while Elsa tried to think straight.
She felt foolish, and that was dumb. She was wearing shorts and an old shirt, and she’d swum in what she was wearing. Her sun-bleached hair had been tied in a ponytail this morning, but her curls had escaped while she swam. She was coated in sand and salt, and her nose was starting to peel.
Ditto for Zoe.
They were at the beach in Australia. They were appropriately dressed, she thought, struggling for defiance. Whereas this man…
‘I’m sorry I’m in uniform,’ he said, as if guessing her thoughts. ‘I know it looks crazy, but I’ve pulled in some favours trying to find you. Those favours had to be repaid in the form of attending a civic reception as soon as I landed. I left as soon as I could, but the media’s staked out my hotel. If I’d stopped to change they might well have followed me here. I don’t want Zoe to be inundated by the press yet.’
Whoa. There was way too much in that last statement to take in. First of all…Was he really royal? What was she supposed to do? Bow?
Not on your life.
‘So…who are you?’ she managed, and Zoe said nothing.
‘I’m Stefanos. Prince Regent of Khryseis. Zoe, your grandfather and my grandfather were brothers. Your father and I were cousins. I guess that makes us cousins of sorts too.’
Cousins. That was almost enough to make her knees give way. Zoe had relations?
This man’s voice had the resonance of a Greek accent, not strong but unmistakable. That wasn’t enough to confirm anything.
‘Christos didn’t have any cousins,’ she said, which was maybe dumb-what would she know? ‘Or…he always said there was no one. So did his mother.’
‘And I didn’t know they’d died,’ he said gently. ‘Zoe, I’m so sorry. I knew your father and I knew your grandmother, and I loved them both. I’m very sorry I didn’t keep in touch. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you so obviously needed me.’
Elsa was starting to shake. She so didn’t want to be shaking when Zoe was holding her hand, but it was happening regardless.
She was all Zoe had. And-she might as well admit it-for the last four years Zoe was all she’d had.
‘You can’t have her.’ It was said before she had a chance to think, before her head even engaged. It was pure panic and it was infectious. Zoe froze.
‘I’m not going with you,’ she whispered, and then her voice rose in panic to match Elsa’s. ‘I’m not, I’m not.’ And she buried her face against Elsa and sobbed her terror. Elsa swung her up into her arms and held. The little girl was clutching her as if she were drowning.
And Stefanos…or whoever he was…was staring at them both in bemusement. She looked at him over Zoe’s head and found his expression was almost quizzical.
‘Good one,’ he said dryly. ‘You don’t think you might be overreacting just a little?’
She probably was, she conceded, hugging Zoe tighter, but there was no room for humour here.
‘You think we might be a bit over the top?’ she managed. ‘Prince Charming on a Queensland beach.’ She looked past him and saw a limousine-a Bentley, no less, with a chauffeur to boot. Overreaction? She didn’t think so. ‘You’re frightening Zoe. You’re frightening me.’
