Hester’s hand quivered in his and he tightened his hold.
‘You’re really leaving right away?’ Fi asked.
‘It’s been difficult,’ Alek said honestly. ‘It’s best we get back to Triscari. There’s a lot for Hester to take in.’
Worry dulled the delight in Fi’s eyes.
‘It’s okay. Everything’s in your diary and you can always text me with any problems,’ Hester said earnestly. ‘I can keep answering your correspondence—that’s the bulk of what I do for you and there’s no reason why I can’t continue.’
Alek bit his tongue to stop himself interrupting with all the reasons why she wasn’t going to be able to keep working for his sister.
‘Are you sure?’ Fi’s relief was audible.
‘Hester can help train someone up to take over from her quite quickly.’ He sent Hester a shamelessly wicked smile. ‘After all, you’ll be busy managing your own mail shortly.’
A mildly alarmed look flickered in her eyes before she smiled politely back.
‘Well.’ Fi drew breath. ‘I have to go, I’m late to meet my friend. I only called in to tell Hester I need her to…never mind. I can do it. I’ll leave you to…go.’ She glanced again between him and Hester. ‘I still can’t believe it.’
Fi stepped in and Alek gave her a one-armed hug.
He met Hester’s gaze over the top of Fi’s head and saw the glint of amusement in her eyes. She was very good at managing her emotions and at managing a volatile Fiorella. A volatility he knew he had in common with his sister on occasion.
When Fi left, he released Hester’s hand—with a surprising amount of reluctance.
‘Thank you,’ he said. He needed to focus on the important things. Like fabricating their story. ‘You’re good at lying.’
‘I’m good at saying what’s necessary for self-preservation,’ she replied. ‘That’s a different skill.’
His senses sharpened. Self-preservation? Why was that?
‘You really want us to maintain this “relationship” in front of Princess Fiorella?’ she asked too calmly.
‘For now.’ He nodded. ‘I don’t want to risk any inadvertent revelations and I don’t want her to worry.’
‘She’s your sister, she’s going to be concerned about your happiness.’
‘I thought she seemed more worried about you than me.’ He shot her an ironic glance.
‘She doesn’t need to worry about me.’ Hester gazed down at her desk. ‘I’m fine. I can handle anything.’
He had the odd feeling she could but that didn’t mean that she should. ‘It seems the pretence is under way, Hester. This is your last chance to back out.’
She was silent for a moment, but then lifted her serene face to his. ‘No, let’s do this. You should be crowned.’
Really? He didn’t think she was in this for his benefit. She’d become rich; that was the real reason, wasn’t it? Except he didn’t think it was. What did she plan to do with the money?
He frowned. It shouldn’t matter, it wasn’t his business.
But what had she been so ‘distracted’ with lately? Not a man, or she’d not have said yes to him. He’d bet it was someone else, someone she wanted the money for.
He huffed out a breath and willed his curiosity to ebb. He didn’t need to know any more. She was palace employed, therefore palace perfect. Contained, aloof, efficient. She even maintained a polite distance from Fi, who he knew was physically demonstrative. He now realised part of Fi’s shock—and reason for her eventual belief—had been because he and Hester were touching. Fiorella hadn’t hugged Hester when she’d left. He was sure the reserve came from Hester—strictly observing her role as employee, not confidante or friend. Doubtless she was all about ‘professional boundaries’, or something. It was evident in the way she dressed too. The utilitarian clothes and sensible black canvas shoes were almost a services uniform from the nineteen-forties. But her hourglass figure couldn’t quite be hidden even by those ill-tailored trousers. Her narrow waist and curving hips held all the promise of soft, lush pillow for a man…that stability she’d made him think of.
But she made him think about other things too—like why did she live in that prison-like cell of a bedroom? Why was it so lacking in anything personal other than a mangy stray cat, a broken wooden box and a pile of second-hand books?
She was like a walled-off puzzle with several pieces missing. Happily, Alek quite enjoyed puzzles and he had a year to figure her out. Too easy—and there was no reason they couldn’t be friends. He could ignore the unexpected flares of physical interest. If his desperate speed-dating of the last month had proven anything to him, it was that the last thing he wanted was anything remotely like a real relationship. Definitely not a true marriage. Not for a very long time. As for that vexed issue providing his kingdom with an heir…that he was just going to put off for as long as possible. Somehow he’d find a way to ensure any child of his didn’t suffer the same constraints he had.
‘We should make plans.’ He moved forward to her desk. ‘I need to contact the palace. You need to pack.’ He glanced over to where she stood worryingly still. ‘Or…?’
‘How are we going to end this?’ she asked pensively. ‘In a year. What will we say?’
He was relieved she wasn’t pulling out on him already. ‘I’ll take the blame.’
‘No. Let me,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re the King.’
‘No.’ He refused to compromise on this. ‘You’ll be vilified.’
Double standards abounded, wrong as it was, and he wasn’t having her suffer in any way because of this. He’d do no harm. And she was doing him a huge favour.
‘I don’t want to be walked over,’ she said a little unevenly. ‘I’ll do the stomping. Keep your reputation. Mine doesn’t matter.’
He stared at her. She stood more still than ever—defensively prim, definitely prickly—and yet she wanted to be reckless in that?
‘You’d sacrifice everything,’ he tried to inform her gently.
‘Actually, I’ll sacrifice nothing,’ she contradicted. ‘I don’t care what they say about me.’
No one didn’t care.
