Not Fit for a King

chapter THIRTEEN

IT TOOK Hannah just a moment after waking to realize she was alone. Stretching out a hand to the space near her the sheets were cool.

Zale had been gone for a while.

The realization sent her heart tumbling and she rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. It was morning. Zale was gone. And she’d be leaving here now.

Sometime in the next half hour or hour, she’d pack her things and say her goodbyes.

The idea of saying goodbye to Zale, though, made her heartsick.

She loved him but would leave him.

How was this right? How was it fair?

And how would Zale say goodbye to her? Would he come to her room and say goodbye there? Or would he meet her at the door? Or would he refuse to see her, and say nothing at all?

Hannah’s heart contracted, her chest aching with the pressure and pain. But you can’t cry, she told herself. You must keep it together for Zale’s sake. You must stay calm until you ‘re gone.

And she would stay calm. She’d focus on the future, on returning to her life, her own life, the life of an ordinary twenty-five-year-old woman working to pay her bills, make her car payment and cover her rent.

She once liked being ordinary, and she’d always loved her independence and autonomy. She’d enjoyed working and then coming home at night to her apartment, and curling up on the sofa and watching her favorite shows and reading her favorite books.

She could do this, she repeated, throwing back the covers to face her day.

Hannah had barely finished her shower in her bathroom in the Queen’s Chambers when Lady Andrea came knocking on the door to discuss Hannah’s day with her.

“It’s going to be a busy day with the ball tonight,” Lady Andrea said, consulting her calendar with the scrawl of events and notes. “You’ll join His Majesty for morning coffee in his office, and then directly after you’ll have a fitting with Monsieur Pierre who has flown in this morning with your gown for tonight’s Amethyst & Ice Ball.”

So that’s how this would play out, Hannah thought, unable to speak. He was summoning her to his office where he’d say a few brief words and then have her shown to the door. How perfectly professional. How wonderfully regal. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll dress quickly.”

“I’m not supposed to say anything,” Lady Andrea said, dropping her voice, “but I’ve seen the ballroom. The decorations are breathtaking. The entire room has been transformed into a winter wonderland with floor-to-ceiling ice sculptures.”

Hannah didn’t care about the ball. She wouldn’t be there. But she did care about Zale. She cared very much about saying goodbye, and handling herself right. She had to keep it together. Had to be as calm and controlled in Zale’s study as possible.

Twenty minutes later, Hannah found herself seated in Zale’s personal study, a room lined with floor-to-ceiling books that made her think of a library, sipping a cup of coffee in a chair across from Zale’s desk, wishing he’d speak.

He’d barely looked at her since she arrived a few minutes ago. Nor had he touched his coffee. Instead he stared at a spot on his desk, fingers drumming on the rich polished wood.

“Did you sleep well?” he finally spoke, breaking the unbearable silence.

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“Yesterday I was very upset. I overheard you on the phone and felt betrayed—”

“It’s okay, Zale. I understand. I’m not going to make a scene—”

“I owe you an apology,” he interrupted tersely. “I had it all wrong. You were telling me the truth. You weren’t speaking to Alejandro.”

She felt a shiver of alarm. “How do you know?”

“He was badly injured in a polo accident yesterday in Buenos Aires. He was in surgery for hours, and he remains unconscious in intensive care.” He finally looked at her, his expression blank, his jaw hard. “I imagine you already knew that—”

“I didn’t.”

He looked away, swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Emmeline. I know you have … strong … feelings for him.”

She stared at her hands, fingers interlocked. “I’m sorry he was hurt, but I’m not in love with him.”

“No?”

She shook her head and lifted it to meet his gaze. “How could I, when I care so much about you?”

For a long moment he searched her eyes before taking a deep breath. “You still do? Even though last night I was determined to throw you out?”

Her lips curved into a tremulous smile. “Yes.”

He looked pale and tense and unhappy. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you.”

Guilt clawed at her. She struggled to hang on to her smile. “Mistakes happen.”

“Can you forgive me?”

“Yes.”

“And will you please stay? I don’t want to host the ball tonight without you at my side.”

“Yes. Absolutely. I’d love to be there with you.”

“Thank you.” He sounded relieved but his expression remained grim. “And in that case, I’m to send you straight back to your room for a final fitting for tonight’s ball gown.”

She nodded, forced another smile and quietly slipped away.

He watched her leave, listened as the door closed soundlessly behind her.

For a moment he felt strangely bereft. Hollow and empty and alone. He didn’t like it.

He’d liked having her in his study. He enjoyed her company. Loved having her around.

She’d said last night that she knew she wasn’t the woman he’d wanted, but she was wrong. She was exactly what he wanted. Now he just needed to prove it to her.

It was time he stopped trying to control everything so much. Time to stop defining everything as black or white. Could he open a little? Grow a little? Change for her?

Yes.

He pictured her sleeping so trustfully in his arms last night and he wanted that every night. He wanted a life with her, a future together. Marriage and babies and everything that went with it.

Across the palace in the Queen’s Chambers, Hannah stood in her dressing room on the small, low stool in a thin white Grecian gown that wouldn’t zip closed, her image caught reflected in the numerous mirrors. And no one said anything.

Not Lady Andrea who sat in the corner with her notebook. Or Camille and Teresa who stood against the far wall. Or Celine, who hovered behind Anton Pierre, the designer from Paris who’d just flown in that morning hand carrying the two commissioned gowns—the ball gown for tonight’s gala and the wedding dress for Saturday’s ceremony.

No one spoke because what could anyone say?

The thin, slim chiffon gown should have cascaded effortlessly in an elegant column of white. Instead the fabric rode up in Hannah’s armpits and the back wouldn’t zip. Turning her head, Hannah could see her thin bra strap across her back and even that looked tight.

“Suck in your stomach,” Anton Pierre said, tugging hard on the zipper of the gown, lips pursed, expression critical.

“I am,” Hannah answered, wincing a little as the zipper pinched her back, catching at her skin.

“More,” he insisted.

She yelped as he zipped another bit of skin. “Ouch, stop! Stop. That hurts.”

Anton threw his hands up in displeasure. “If this gown is too tight, your wedding gown isn’t going to fit, either. Your breasts and hips are huge, Your Highness. What have you been eating?”

“Not a lot,” Hannah answered, knowing she’d actually lost weight in the past week, at least five pounds.

“Nonsense. I think you’re bingeing on butter and bon bons, Your Highness. I’ve dressed you for years and you’ve always asked me to tell you the truth. So I’m telling you the truth. You’re fat. You have chub.” He grabbed an inch on her back near her bra strap and pinched. “This is bad. You must lose ten pounds quickly—immediately—or you won’t be wearing my wedding gown. It’s made for a princess, not a midfielder.”

“Get out!” Zale’s voice thundered through the dressing room, rattling a mirror on one wall. He looked huge and violently angry as he gestured toward the door. “Get out, Pierre, before I personally throw you out.”

Then he turned on Lady Andrea. “How dare you allow a designer to speak to Her Highness that way? Where is your loyalty? Where is your allegiance? Perhaps you need to pack up your things, too, and join Monsieur Pierre on his plane home.”

Lady Andrea covered her mouth, holding back a sob. “Your Majesty, forgive me. I was just about to intervene—”

“When?” He interrupted. “I stood outside the door listening.

I heard it all. When were you going to intervene? How far did you intend to let it go?”

Lady Andrea shook her head and wiped away tears that were falling fast and furious.

“That’s all the answer I need,” Zale retorted. “Pack your things.”

He turned to Celine, Camille and Teresa next. “And you three? What is your excuse? Why did none of you protect Her Highness?”

Celine’s eyes were huge in her face. “I should have, Your Majesty. I wanted to. But I was scared.” “Why?”

Celine glanced at Hannah and then back to Zale. “I didn’t think it was my place because Monsieur Pierre is so famous and Princess Emmeline’s favorite designer …” Her voice drifted off and she pressed her hands together. “Should I pack my things, too?”

Zale looked at Hannah who still stood on the stool with the gaping chiffon gown clutched to her chest. His jaw jutted, eyes blazed and for a moment he just looked at her, expression impossible to read, then turned back to Celine. “I will let Her Highness make that decision. But I want all of you to leave us now. I’d like to speak to Princess Emmeline alone.”

The staff escaped from the dressing room and closed the outer door to the suite.

Zale crossed to the stool where Hannah was standing. “Give me your hand.”

She did and he helped her step off the stool and onto the ground.

“Turn around,” he instructed.

She did and he drew the zipper down so she could step from the dress.

“How could you let him speak to you that way?” He gritted, his features hard, his expression savage. “I’m supposed to be thin,” she whispered.

“Utter nonsense. You are perfect. I wouldn’t change one thing about you.”

Her eyes burned and she blinked. “Yes, but fashion designers prefer very slim models. Clothes look better that way.”

“I couldn’t care less about clothes. I care about you.”

Her heart staggered a bit inside her chest. “You do?”

“Can’t you tell? I haven’t kept my hands off you since you arrived.”

“I figured you had a healthy sex drive.” “I do, but I’ve had no problem managing it until I met you.” She smiled crookedly. “You still make that sound like a problem.”

“It is. I pride myself on my self-control but you have challenged it, and challenged me, at every turn. But I’m glad. It’s made me realize just how strong my feelings are for you.” He drew a rough breath, his expression darkening all over again. “My God, how dare Pierre talk to you that way? I nearly thrashed him! I still want to go after him, teach him a thing or two.”

He did sound angry, crazy angry, which was so not Zale Patek, King of Cool. “But what about tonight’s ball? I need something to wear.”

“We’ll get that one altered,” he said. “I know a Raguvian designer who puts Anton Pierre to shame.”

“You think she can fix it?”

“Not just fix. Eva will improve the design.” He looked at her, shook his head. “She’ll take what I think is a rather boring dress and will make it extraordinary. You are an extraordinary woman and deserve no less.”

Her heart skipped.

He’d just called her extraordinary. The words her father had used for her late mother. The words she’d always wanted to hear. “Thank you,” she said, her voice breaking.

He reached for her, pulling her into his arms. His head dipped and his mouth covered hers, lips traveling slowly, leisurely over hers, drawing a hot, hungry response.

Hannah gloried in his warmth, and slipped her hands up his broad chest to wrap her arms around his neck.

His hands moved to her hips and he molded her against him. He was hard and hungry for her but after another long, melting kiss he pushed her gently away. “If I don’t make some calls now, and track Eva down, you won’t have a dress to wear tonight.”

She gave him a naughty smile. “That’s okay. I’ll go naked.”

“The hell you will,” he said on a growl.

Hannah laughed as he swatted her backside and was still smiling after he left and she threw herself onto her bed.

She stretched happily, recalling how Zale had swept into the dressing room and ordered Pierre out. It was like a scene from a movie. Zale Patek, rushing in on his white stallion to save the lady in distress.

Hannah’s smile faded as she thought of Lady Andrea. Poor Andrea. Hannah wasn’t sure that Andrea deserved to be fired. Monsieur Pierre was intimidating. No one knew how to handle him … well, no one but Zale. Hannah decided she’d talk to Zale and ask him to hire Andrea back.

Hannah was still lounging on the bed when her phone in the nightstand drawer buzzed with an incoming message.

Hannah knew it was from Emmeline. She could feel it in her bones. And this time she didn’t want to know what Emmeline had to say.

A minute passed. And then another. Finally, reluctantly, Hannah retrieved the phone and opened it.

It was from Emmeline. The text was brief.

I’m not coming to Raguva. The wedding is off. Once you leave I’ll break the news to Zale. Text me when you’re gone. Sorry.

Hannah blinked, read it again and when the words were the same, she felt everything tilt and slide, crashing into disaster. It had all been for naught.

Emmeline wasn’t going to marry Zale. Zale would be embarrassed and angry beyond measure.

She read the message again. And then again. But each time it was the same.

Emmeline wasn’t coming. She wouldn’t be marrying Zale after all. And Hannah had to go.

Little spots danced before Hannah’s eyes. She had to go. Had to leave.

A knock sounded on the bedroom door. “Your Highness?” It was Celine. “Can I come in?”

Hannah couldn’t speak. Breathe, breathe, she told herself, air bottled in her lungs.

“Your Highness?”

Tears filled Hannah’s eyes. It had happened. She had to leave. But she couldn’t go tonight, not hours before the ball. She couldn’t humiliate Zale like that. No, she’d go in the morning, first thing tomorrow.

“Yes,” she called out at last, her voice faint, strangled. “Please, come in, Celine.”

Celine opened the door and saw Hannah sitting on the bed wiping away tears. “Is everything all right, Your Highness?”

“Everything’s great.”