The Forbidden Prince (15 page)

EPILOGUE

H
ER
R
OYAL
H
IGHNESS
, Princess Gisele, adjusted the folds of her dress as she settled onto the ornate, red velvet chair with its gilded arms and headrest.

Being in this prime position at the front of
Les Iles Dauphins'
historic cathedral meant that she could take in the full majesty of the wonderful old, stone building—the ornate archways and pillars, the glowing wood of the rows of pews and the statues of her country's most significant figures whose mortal remains had been laid to rest in the raised vaults. The stained-glass windows were renowned as well and right now the intricate panes of glass were glowing as they were touched by the day's fading sunshine.

It could be—and often had been—a sombre place to sit but not today.

Today there were garlands of snowy white flowers on every pew and around the base of every statue. There was joyful music thundering from the enormous pipes of the organ and the harmony of a choir to add to its tone. And there was a sea of colour wherever Gisele's gaze roamed. So many beautiful dresses in shades of pink, blue and mauve. So many wonderful hats on the women in the pews that gave way to tiaras and crowns towards the front of the congregation. Nobody had refused the invitation to attend this function so it was a ‘who's who' of European royalty.

Only one seat was empty and that was the one right beside Gisele.

Henri's chair.

With a sigh, Gisele shifted her gaze once more and caught that of her beloved grandson. He looked every inch the Prince he was in his military uniform with its red sash and gold epaulettes. His medals shone and the silver scabbard of his sword had been polished to within an inch of its life.

Their gazes held for a long moment. This was such a happy occasion but there was sadness, too. Loved ones who couldn't be here had to be acknowledged.

The music was softer now, so it was possible to hear the faint roar coming from outside the cathedral walls. The sound of thousands of voices in a collective cheer. Gisele could imagine the scene as vividly as if she were standing out there on the top of that huge sweep of wide steps.

The ornate, gold dolphin coach that was only brought out on the most momentous of occasions—pulled by the immaculately groomed white horses of the royal stables—would have just come to a halt at the bottom of the steps.

Another man, in a uniform even more impressive than Raoul's, would alight from the open coach and would be holding out his hand to help the bride climb down.

How wonderful was it that Mika had asked Henri to be the man to escort her down the aisle today?

And what a blessing he was still well enough to do this. He seemed to have taken on a whole new lease of life, in fact, with such joy to look forward to.

He hadn't really needed Gisele to remind him of what it had been like to be young and in love. Or of how much strength that love had given them both over the decades and how it had got them through some very difficult times.

Mika had won Henri's heart so quickly.

Had won everybody's hearts.

What could have been a dreadful scandal had miraculously become the love story of the century. Raoul was now firmly ensconced as ‘the People's Prince' and he had clearly found a princess worthy of ruling by his side. Not only could everybody rejoice on the occasion of a royal wedding, they still had the coronation to look forward to and—even better—the anticipation of the birth of a new prince or princess in the near future. The first member of the next generation of the de Poitier family.

So much happiness.

Gisele had a lace-edged handkerchief clutched in her hand and she had a feeling she would need to use it very soon. She could feel tears of joy gathering as the music paused and then swelled into the triumphant opening bars of Wagner's
Bridal Chorus
. She rose to her feet, as did everybody else in the cathedral.

It was beginning.

The tears started as soon as she saw her beloved husband by the side of this exquisite young bride. They continued as her heart caught at the sight of all the children following the pair. It had been Mika's idea—to go to the orphanage and choose everyone who wanted to be a flower girl or a page boy. The girls wore long white dresses and had colourful garlands of flowers on their heads and the boys looked adorable in sailor suits.

Mika looked beyond adorable. She had approached this intimidating occasion with the same kind of good-humoured determination that she was applying to every aspect of royal life she'd been learning in the last few months. The design of her dress was simple and didn't accentuate her growing bump. Mika had asked for a ‘swirly' dress that would look pretty when she danced with her new husband later and the dressmakers had been delighted to oblige. With an empire line, it fell in soft folds, the beaded bodice having a sweetheart neckline.

Gisele had offered a diamond necklace to match the tiara that was holding her veil in place but Mika had been right in choosing something else.

Her own necklace of that tiny, silver dolphin charm.

The priests leading the procession up the aisle reached their positions at the front of the cathedral now and there was nothing to obstruct the lines of vision as Raoul and Mika got closer to each other.

Henri left Mika by Raoul's side and came to sit beside Gisele. Would the television cameras pick up the way their hands touched and then held? It wasn't exactly protocol on a formal occasion but Gisele needed the touch. Her heart was so full it almost hurt.

Squeezing his fingers, she watched as Raoul lifted his bride's veil back and revealed her face. And then, for a heartbeat, and then another, the bride and groom seemed to be lost in each other's eyes.

And those smiles...

Gisele had to let go of Henri's hand, then. She needed her handkerchief too much.

So much joy was simply too contagious...

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
THE BEST MAN'S GUARDED HEART
by Katrina Cudmore.

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The Best Man's Guarded Heart

by Katrina Cudmore

CHAPTER ONE

S
OFIA
'
S
VOICEMAIL
. A
GAIN
. Grace Chapman gave her smartphone's contact photo of her best friend a death stare and muttered, ‘You can hide, Sofia, but I'll find you.'

Grace loved Sofia to bits; during the madness of the past few years she'd been her rock of cheerful good sense. But every now and again, when life got too intense, Sofia lost the plot big-time. Like today. Yes, Grace might have missed her flight and ended up arriving in Athens seven hours late. But she'd had everything under control. Until Sofia had obviously panicked and called in the big guns: the Petrakis family. Which meant that instead of catching the last ferry of the day at Piraeus port, as she had hoped, Grace was now stuck in the VIP lounge of Athens airport, awaiting the arrival of Sofia's soon-to-be father-in-law. A man who brought the word
intimidating
to a whole new level of meaning.

Sofia would have thought she was helping; but in truth she had totally messed up Grace's already tight schedule. There was no way, now, that she would make it to Sofia's wedding venue, Kasas Island, in time for the flower delivery in the morning.

She wasn't going to panic.

Okay, she
was
panicking.

Less than three days to prepare and organise the flowers for the Greek society wedding of the year.

Three days that would determine the success or failure of her dream to establish her name as a leading wedding floral designer. Three days to prove that she wasn't
‘a clueless dreamer'.

This morning, full of enthusiasm, she had thought she could take on the world. Now she just felt embarrassed and out of her depth.

She pushed the untouched champagne flute the lounge hostess had presented to her further away. Her stomach felt as though it was off doing a moon walk without her.

The lounge door swept open. And her stomach headed into orbit at the prospect of being at the receiving end of Mr Petrakis's surly manner.

But standing at the far end of the airport lounge was
not
the older man she had expected. Instead, penetrating eyes scanned the room and came to a land on her. Long tanned fingers shot upwards. His eyes continued to bore into hers. With a quick tug, he unravelled his bow tie, leaving it to hang lose.

Her smile wavered. She took in the chiselled bone structure, the confidence of his stride as he walked towards her, the perfection of his tuxedo. The tousled disarray of his dark brown hair that made him look as though he had just climbed out of bed.

‘Miss Chapman?'

His voice was smooth and refined. If Central Casting was ever looking for a new Bond he would be a shoo-in. Her already racing heart galloped even faster.

Her seat was low and he seemed impossibly tall and menacing as he stood over her.

Clumsily she clambered out of it and tugged down on the hem of her yellow sundress, which suddenly felt too short and casual in the presence of his designer tux and expensive cologne. She was a low-budget package tourist to his first-class sophistication.

His eyes ran leisurely over the length of her body. Her insides melted. A thick dark eyebrow rose as he waited for her to speak, but for the first time in her life no meaningful words jangled in her brain. Instead it was a wasteland of inappropriate thoughts of lust for the man who stood before her.

Just above his left eyebrow a sickle-shaped scar became more prominent as his frown deepened. She balled her hands, worried that she'd give in to temptation and reach out and run her thumb against it.

After another excruciating few seconds of silence she eventually managed to garble out, ‘Yes... Yes, I'm Grace Chapman. I was expecting Mr Petrakis. The airport ground staff told me he had asked that I stay here until he arrived.'

With a quick nod he answered, ‘Yes I did.'

‘Oh.'
It slowly dawned on her who he was. ‘
Oh!
You must be Andreas... Christos's brother. I thought it was your father who had sent the message. He and I met in London last month, at Christos and Sofia's engagement party.' Grace held out her hand. ‘You're the best man, I believe?'

He paused for a second before smooth warm skin enclosed her hand. His handshake was firm, the dominant clasp of a powerful man who liked to get his own way.

In her flat sandals she had to arch her neck to meet his stare. Piercing green eyes framed by long dark eyelashes studied her, and his head was thrown back at an arrogant tilt. The apple really hadn't fallen far from the tree. Dark stubble lined smooth golden skin.

‘And I believe
you're
to be the chief bridesmaid?'

She ignored the coolness of his tone and let her enthusiasm for the upcoming wedding take over. ‘Yes
—
and also the wedding floral designer. Sofia and I have been best friends for years. It's a shame you missed the engagement party—we had such fun.'

He gave an indifferent shrug and then his mouth curled derisively. ‘You missed your flight.'

Her heart leapt at his reproachful tone. About to explain why, she stopped. He really didn't look as if he was in the mood to hear about delayed trains. Instead she said, ‘Yes, unfortunately. Now my priority is to get to Kasas as soon as possible.'

‘You've missed the last ferry.'

She forced herself not to say something terse and gave a polite smile. ‘Yes, I know.' Her smile wobbled.
Don't say anything. Remain calm. I'm sure he doesn't mean to be so arrogant.
Her good intentions lasted all of one second. ‘My flight did arrive in time for me to catch the ferry. I had a taxi waiting.'

His mouth thinned. ‘And tomorrow the sun will rise in the west...'

Well, really!
Frustration hummed in her ears. ‘I had an hour.'

He scowled at her, making no effort to conceal his growing irritation. ‘Christos realised you would miss the ferry so he called me and asked that I collect you.'

Her frustration gave way to embarrassment. His superior attitude might be rubbing her up the wrong way, but she had to face the fact that his night had obviously ended abruptly because of her.

She gestured to his tux and said, ‘I hope I didn't disturb your night out.'

Something flashed in the depths of his eyes. Was it annoyance or some other memory? Had he been with someone? Sofia had said he had a reputation for being a playboy. Maybe she had been right about that tousled hair. It was still relatively early...but then what did
she
know about the bedroom habits of playboys? None of her exes had ever come close to being as dangerously lethal as the man standing before her.

‘No doubt Sofia panicked and got Christos to call you. She's worried I'll get lost. It's my first time in Greece. In fact it's my first time being abroad on my own.'

Those dark eyebrows narrowed. He studied her incredulously. An awkward silence followed.

She said the first thing that came into her head. ‘I suppose you spend your days travelling...what with your business and everything?'

He tilted his head and gazed at her suspiciously. ‘Have you been doing your homework on me?'

‘No!' Her cheeks grew hot and she cringed to think he might assume she was blushing out of guilt. ‘Of course not. I only know what Sofia told me...that you are Christos's older brother.'

The eldest son of the wealthy and powerful Petrakis family, in fact, who had gone on to amass his own fortune in construction and property.

As he continued to gaze at her sceptically she added, ‘I've only met Christos a few times, but from the moment I met him I knew that he and Sofia were perfect for one another. I'm so happy for Sofia. And her dad is equally thrilled that she's marrying a fellow Greek.'

Uncomfortable at the way he studied her, and trying to ignore just how gauche she felt in front of this much too silent and urbane man, she decided to change the subject to something that puzzled her. She gestured towards the other waiting travellers, and frowned when she saw that the other two women in the room, both much more elegantly groomed for the VIP lounge than she was, were staring at Andreas with obvious appreciation.

‘How did you know who I was?'

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and took out a phone. After a few quick swipes he handed it to her. A photo of her and Sofia pulling silly faces at the camera popped up on the screen. Christos had taken the photo last weekend, after Sofia's hen party in London...they'd both had one too many mojitos. Grace gave a squeal of despair.

For the briefest of moments a faint hint of amusement lifted his mouth upwards, but it faded and he said with a note of exasperation, ‘Christos is flooding my email with photos of Sofia.'

Confused by his tone, she decided to ignore it and handed Andreas back his phone. ‘That's so cute. They're so in love. Sofia tells me that Kasas is incredibly romantic. She truly appreciates you hosting the wedding there.'

He deposited the phone back in his pocket and folded his arms. The side of his upper lip curled upwards. Lord, he had a beautiful mouth. Wide, with lips that were much too full. A mouth that promised endless sleepless nights.

She gave herself a mental shake. She had enough on her plate with the wedding flowers. Getting distracted by this Greek god standing in front of her was definitely not a good idea.

He gestured to her chair. ‘Please—take a seat. I think we should discuss your stay on Kasas.'

Puzzled, she sat back down and wished once again that she had worn a longer dress as her hem rode up the length of her legs. When she glanced up, Andreas was sitting opposite her, his eyes trained on her bare legs. When their eyes met she saw a hint of appreciation. But then he inhaled a deep breath and moved forward to lean his elbows on his thighs, the wool of his trousers stretching over hard muscle.

‘I had intended taking you to Kasas tonight—'

She could not help but interrupt as relief flooded her veins. ‘That would be
fantastic
. The flowers and all the other supplies are being delivered early tomorrow morning, and I need to be there to—'

His hand slashed down through the air to halt her interruption with his own. ‘Yes, but considering that you've never been to Greece before why don't I arrange for the wedding planner to organise the flowers? You can spend the next few days travelling. Kasas is isolated. It would be much more enjoyable for you to explore Greece instead. As I'm returning to the island for the rest of the week, you are welcome to use my apartment and the services of my chauffeur here in Athens.'

Her mouth dropped open. Was he being serious?

‘But I'm the florist for the wedding.' Through her confusion a horrible thought occurred. ‘Christos
did
tell you that I would be arriving early to create all the floral arrangements, didn't he? This has been planned for weeks.'

‘He may have mentioned it...amongst all the chaos of the other wedding plans. I hadn't appreciated that you would be staying for so long.'

Heat flared even more brightly on her cheeks. He clearly wasn't keen on her staying on the island. And he obviously had no idea or appreciation for the work and skill involved in flower design.

Memories of her father's sneering comments about her making a living by
‘playing with flowers'
had her saying in the politest voice she could muster, ‘I appreciate your offer, but tomorrow morning I have over a thousand flowers being delivered to the island. It's essential that I'm there to coordinate their arrival. I take my job very seriously, Mr Petrakis. That's why I've spent the past month planning the designs, sourcing the flowers and organising support florists from nearby islands. I'm not going to walk away from my commitments now to go on
holiday
.'

His jaw tightened and he fixed her with an intense stare. ‘My island is secluded. There is only my villa. No shops or bars to entertain you.'

She could not help but give a light laugh. ‘I'm not here for shopping or the nightlife.'

‘I'm concerned that you will be bored in the evenings, when the wedding planner and her team have left the island. Apart from my married housekeeper and a gardener, who live in a separate villa, there will be no other people around.'

His eyes, filled with a masculine heat, held hers and a surge of tense energy passed between them.

He came a little closer and in a low growl added, ‘It will only be you and me.'

For a crazy moment something primal, something beyond comprehension, crackled in the air between them. Heat flared in every cell of her body. Her breath caught as a wave of longing...of desire...rippled through her.

His eyes grew darker as he held her stare, and a slash of heat appeared on his cheeks.

He looked away abruptly, his jaw tightening as he cleared his throat. ‘I'll be working late each evening, so I won't be available to entertain you.'

Grace blinked. And blinked again. She felt dizzy with the desire to move towards him, to inhabit his space, to inhale his scent, to feel the heat of his body. What was happening to her?

For the past month she had been so excited about this trip—at the prospect of finally establishing her name as a florist, of finding her freedom. And now her bubble of happiness had truly burst.

Should she take up his offer? The prospect of spending nights alone with him in the seclusion of his island with virtually no one else around was daunting. A strange tug of war of deep attraction and irritation was raging between them...and she wanted to run away from it. And, after years of dealing with her father's unforgiving attitude, did she honestly want to spend time with a man who would be happier if she wasn't there?

But this wedding was about celebrating Sofia and Christos's love. She wasn't going to let Andreas Petrakis stand in the way of her making sure they had the perfect flowers to represent that love and commitment. There was no way he was stopping her from creating Sofia's bouquet—which she intended to do by weaving all her love for her best friend into the design. And she had to remember the importance of this wedding in establishing her career.