The Royal's American Love (2 page)

Maybe I’ll make some contacts and start some deals
,
Marianne thought, but the truth was she was simply too entranced by all the
luxury. This was a high life she couldn’t really imagine herself living day to
day. At the moment, she was only visiting, and she could deal with that well
enough.

There was dancing; of course there was dancing at Opal’s
gala. Marianna looked wistfully at the dance floor, and realized with a bit of
rueful amusement that dancing on her new heels might be a very poor idea.
Instead, she made her way to the buffet table, where there was a delicate array
of truly gorgeous little treats.

She had just popped a tiny strawberry tart into her mouth
when she sensed someone at her elbow. She turned around and looked up.

Then she looked up some more, because the man standing next
to her was tall, even when she was wearing her heels. For a moment, she was
simply trapped. There was something in this man’s handsome face that left her
breathless, that made her feel as if all the air had been squeezed out of her
body. His hair and eyes were a deep and mysterious black, and something about
his bronzed skin made her want to run her fingers along his fine cheekbones.

Then she shook herself out of her trance, because he was talking
to her.

“Would you care for a drink?”

She blinked, realizing he was holding up a champagne flute
and offering it to her by the elegant stem. The gesture was enough to wake her
up a little, and she laughed.

“Seriously? Sorry, I don’t know about where you’re from,
but most ladies in Los Angeles don’t care for drinks that they didn’t see
made.”

He looked surprised.

“Are you afraid that it might be…poisoned?”

“Let’s just say that smart girls don’t take chances if they
can help it,” she replied. “But I’ll let you buy me something from the
bartender if you’re still interested.”

He eyed her with genuine amusement, and she was pleased to
see he didn’t fight her. Instead, he kept the champagne for himself, escorting
her to the bar off to the side of the ballroom. When he laid his hand on the
small of her back to guide her through the crowd, she felt a frisson of
pleasure pulse through her body.

Seriously, has it really been that long since you had a
boyfriend?

The bartender poured her wine from freshly-opened bottle,
and she turned her gaze to the handsome stranger.

“So now that I have a drink in my hand, I want to hear all
about you,” she said. “What brings you to Opal Featherstone’s gala?”

“Ah, well, that’s a dull story, I’m afraid. It is simply
that Greece is proud to claim Miss Featherstone’s roots as the country of her
parents, and I showed up merely to pay my respects to a woman who is greatly
admired in my home country. I think some of it is that my mother was a fan when
she was a girl.”

Marianna found herself charmed by the rhythm of the man’s
words. This was someone who could keep her interest by reading the phone book,
and she would have been fine with that. She was so lulled by his voice, she almost
missed it when he asked her a question.

“So what brings you here? I saw you from the balcony. You
and Miss Featherstone seem close.”

Something about the way he said that made faint alarms go
off in her head. She needed to be very careful. While celebrities hiring
ghostwriters was nothing new, the last thing she wanted to was to hurt Opal by
ruining her big night.

“Oh, I’m her grandniece. Great-aunt Opal insisted I come. I
think she’s hoping I’ll meet someone.”

“And so you have,” the man said gallantly. “My name is
Nikolos.”

“Nikolos,” she said slowly, tasting the syllables on her
tongue. “Well, Nikolos, my name is Marianna.”

“Are you a Mari or an Anna, perhaps? That is quite a
mouthful for a woman as…”

“As short as me?” she asked with a grin. “Heard that one
before, and you are going to have to try a little harder if you think that you’re
going to be original. And nope. I’m not a Mari, or an Anna, or an Ann, or
anything like that. If you want to be my friend, I’m Marianna. Are you ever a
Ni?”

His grin was wide and sharp.

“No, not really. A bit like waving a red flag in front of a
bull. You shouldn’t call me Ni unless you want to suffer the consequences.”

With a deliberation that was impressive, he swept his eyes
swiftly down her body, making her shiver. If it were someone else, if it were nearly
anyone else, she would have been offended. Because it was this specific man,
she felt flattered and something else that she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, swallowing a little.
“You said you’re an emissary. What does that mean, exactly?”

“It mostly has to do with cultural exchanges. Some
administration, some liaison work, bit of shooting the breeze. After you do it
for a while, it turns out to be pretty boring. And what is it you do,
Marianna?”

There was a kind of intensity he gave to her name that made
herquiver . She ignored it, because she did need to keep her wits about her for
the moment.

“I’m a writer,” she said. “A journalist, actually. I mostly
do lifestyle pieces, but I’ve worked a few different beats since I’ve come up.
The most interesting one was the crime beat, but that is really not something I
would do again.”

He looked impressed.

“That must have taken you through some awful places and
some awful times. It was very brave of you, and your commitment to the truth is
impressive.”

She laughed a little self-consciously.

“I don’t know about brave. I mean, I’m not working there right
now, am I? The truth was that I wanted a paycheck.”

“And now?”

“Well, I still want a paycheck, but I have the skills to
get into what I really want to get into.”

“And what would that be?”

She almost told him about her new interest in biography and
ghostwriting. It had been on her mind enough lately that she nearly let it
spill right then and there, but she knew that wouldn’t be appropriate. She was
simply standing too close to Opal to risk her friend overhearing, and besides,
she didn’t know this person. He could run and tell anyone and everyone her
secret. Yet she found herself continuing to speak.

“The truth, of one kind or another. The real truth. Not the
‘who, what, where, when, why, and how’ of journalism. I want to touch something
a little deeper. I want to immortalize something that is more important, that
perhaps some people don’t know about.”

“That sounds quite beautiful,” Nikolos said thoughtfully.
“Are you sure you’re not an artist?”

“Oh god no,” she said with a light laugh. “The truth is that
I tried the fiction gig, and I don’t care for it. I can do it, but my prose
just feels…flat, you know? I want…I want to work with the truth, to make it
better than fiction, to show the world.”

Something about her last words seemed to move him, and he
took her hand in his warm one.

“I can tell that you are a very passionate woman,” he said,
his voice dropping a little. She felt that warm shiver go through her, but she
grinned up at him gamely.

“And I can tell that you are very good with women,” she
said in that same husky voice. “Tell me, does that get you a lot of attention?”

The moment those words left her mouth, she was afraid that
she had gone too far, but then he grinned. It was a more real expression than
she had seen yet, and it changed his face from merely handsome to entrancing.

“You caught me out,” he said, in a much more natural tone
of voice. “May I simply say that I’m impressed and call it good?”

“I would call it very good,” she said. This time, she let a
little bit of the attraction she was feeling drip into her voice, and she
mimicked his look, taking in his body in its well-fitted tuxedo. “What do you
want me to call you?”

He started to answer her, but then his phone rang. His look
of dismay was so intent she burst out laughing, unable to maintain the femme
fatale exterior.

“Go answer it,” she said. “I know what being on call is
like.”

With a faintly thunderous expression, he strode a bit away
to take the call.

Marianna was content to wait for him, but then she saw a
terribly familiar face in the crowd. With an inward curse, she ducked behind a
pillar.

Morris Fitzsimmons was a muckraker from the paper where she
had worked. He was notorious for a certain kind of malice that made him a good
gossip monger and a terrible person. If he was at this gala, he was likely
looking to dig up some kind of dirt, and Marianna knew he would never believe
that she was Opal Featherstone’s grandniece. He would start digging, and he
would start finding things, and then Opal might get her heart broken. Marianna couldn’t
live with that.

With stealth skills that would have been the envy of any
spy, she skated through the crowd, avoiding Morris’s darting eye. With her
lovely hairdo and dress, he might not have recognized her at all, but when it
came to something this important, she decided it was far better to be safe than
sorry.

As she made her way to the entrance, she spared a thought
for the handsome emissary she had been having such a good time with.

Well, the clock struck midnight, and now Cinderella has
to get home before she turns into a pumpkin
,
Marianna thought.
It
was really just a little dream, anyway.

She knew that, while the gala might be Opal’s real life, it
wasn’t hers. That was fine. Tomorrow she would return the clothes to Mei, and
she would start looking for another job.

An hour later, while she relaxed in front of the
television, a notification popped up on her phone.

With a frown, she realized it was from Henry, Opal’s
assistant.

Are you interested in further ghostwriting work? An
associate of mine has made clear a need that he has been trying to fill.

Marianne’s eyes opened wide. Maybe she would have work
sooner than she’d thought.

Very interested, thank you for thinking of me, Henry! What
are the details?

The response came back very quickly.

What do you think of spending the next month in Greece?

* * *

The call was from Philip, who simply wanted to make sure
that he was at the gala. He had gotten off the phone in just a few minutes, but
when he looked back, he was dismayed to see that his flame-haired Marianna had
disappeared.

Nikolos was too wise to think he should never get dumped,
but something about this stung. Perhaps it was that they were simply getting on
so well. Perhaps it was simply because she was one of the most enchanting women
he had seen in his life.

He walked around the gala, looking to see if she was still there,
but she seemed to have disappeared into thin air. He shook his head in
disappointment, making his way to the gates.

If she wasn’t around, there truly wasn’t much that was
going to keep him there.

Nikolos supposed it was for the best, anyway. After all, he
was flying back to Greece in just a few short days, and somehow a short affair
wasn’t what he necessarily wanted with someone like her.

His heart tugged at him, but he ignored it, walking into
the warm Los Angeles night. Suddenly he was homesick. He had been traveling for
a few months, and it would be so good to be back in his native country.

Yes
, he thought.
It’ll be good to be home.

Chapter Two

For almost two days, Marianna had been on her best
behavior. Her phone interview with the Greek Queen’s assistant had gone
swimmingly. Marianna had shown off her credentials as a journalist, and though
she didn’t mention her experience with ghostwriting, she knew Henry had filled him
in.

Finally, they met up for a lunch at a place that was
certainly far too expensive for her to afford, and he gave her the details.

“Miss Clark, I don’t mind telling you that this task is a
preview for greater things. If you do the job well, it might lead to an
engagement that we predict could last a year or more. If you look at the figure
I have just texted you, you will see that we can make it worth your while.”

Marianna’s eyes opened wide at the figure. It was so much
she didn’t even try to hide the fact she was impressed.

“So this is an audition for a bigger job, Mr. Lagana?”

“Indeed. This is a job that requires your utmost
professionalism and discretion. We wish you to spend a month with the second
son of the Greek royal family. He is a bit unruly, perhaps a bit wild, and we
would like him shown in the best light. After that, we shall see.”

Marianna was already having visions of a spoiled nineteen-year-old
who spent all his time cruising the Mediterranean. If that boy was all that
stood between her and what might be the job of a lifetime, she was ready go.

“I’m sure that I will do quite well,” she said.

Mr. Lagana was flying back to Greece that week, so she
packed away her things in a blind hurry, put together a bag, and took advantage
of his offer to take her straight to the job. Mei had squealed with delight,
and Opal gave her a very wise smile.

“Look at you go, my little darling, and where you stop,
no one will know,”
Opal had said.

* * *

Marianna had purchased a few sleek, basic black dresses
that were both fashionable and work-appropriate, and now dressed in one of them,
she was ready to meet her new challenge.

Mr. Lagana had given her a few hours to collect herself at
the hotel room he had arranged—a modern wonder that was easily three times the
size of her apartment—and then he invited her to dinner with the young prince.

She adjusted her glasses on her nose, nodding at her
reflection in the mirror.

“You got this,” she said confidently, and walked down to
the waiting car.

From the accounts Mr. Lagana had given her, she expected an
ultramodern restaurant or bar. Instead, he took her to an obscure little
trattoria in a surprisingly humble neighborhood. At her slightly confused look,
he smiled.

“Believe me when I say that this has the absolute best
carbonara in the city. The royal family wants the best, and at least the prince
has no problem seeking it out wherever it lurks.”

She followed him through the restaurant to a small private
room in the back. There as a dark-haired man sitting at the table. Marianna felt
a strange tingle run up her back. She was ready to dismiss it as nerves, but
then the man looked up with those ink-black eyes, and she felt as if the bottom
had dropped out of the room.

Oh god, it’s him…

She blanked out for a few moments. When she came to
herself, Mr. Lagana was making introductions.

“This is Prince Nikolos Maheris, son of King Constantinus.
Your highness, this is Miss Marianna Clark.”

For a long moment, Nikolos merely looked at her. He looked
at her for long enough that she wondered if he recognized her at all. While
that would have been an impressively crushing blow to her pride, it would
definitely have made things just a little easier.

Then he smiled, and it was that slow smile that made her
feel as if the room was a few degrees too hot.

“Marianna…may I call you Mari?”

“No,” she said after a moment. “That’s not…tremendously
attractive to my ear. After all, I don’t know what you would think if I called
you Ni.”

She spoke without thinking about it, and she glanced at Mr.
Lagana, who appeared to be viewing the exchange with some approval.

“Good. Perhaps she is someone who will not put up with your
nonsense, your highness,” he said, and Nikolos laughed.

“You are never one to mince words, Philip. I took the
liberty of having a takeout box prepared for you. I just received word from my
mother that there’s a situation at the palace which might require your deft
touch.”

Mr. Lagana frowned briefly.

“It’s likely the Turkish ambassador again. The event next
week has riled him significantly, and he insists on making it our problem.
Thank you for the box. I will appreciate it, especially if this continues on as
long as I fear it might.” Mr. Lagana turned to her. “Miss Clark, please excuse
my departure. I will likely be catching up with you for progress reports at
some point in the next few days.”

Mr. Lagana hurried out, closing the door firmly behind him.
Now she was alone with Nikolos, and she couldn’t seem to stop staring at his
wide, wolf-like smile.

“Well, Marianna, are you planning to sit down?”

There was a chair next to him, but that felt too close, as
if it were a date rather than a business meeting. She took a seat across the
table from him.

“Some Greek emissary you turned out to be,” Marianna said. He
didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed.

“At some point, it becomes a good idea to be a little
discreet about certain things. There are questions and attitudes you don’t
always want to encounter, after all. I might ask you the same question. Are you
truly Opal Featherstone’s grandniece? Where did you disappear to that night?”

“I’m not her grandniece, no. I’m a business associate for a
rather discreet endeavor, so I’ll thank you to remember that as I need to
handle your affairs discreetly as well.”

She hoped the warning would be enough, and Nikolos nodded
thoughtfully.

“I see. Discretion is to be prized, and so we will speak no
more about it. Now, tell me where you went. Were you actually trying to dodge
me?”

The idea he would think that startled her. She had regretted
leaving him behind, but she hadn’t thought it would give him more than a moment
of bother. She hadn’t anticipated he might be dismayed, and she certainly hadn’t
foreseen the slight hurt she thought she could detect in his expression.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I definitely wasn’t trying to dodge
you. I only saw a man I knew, a very unpleasant man. If he had seen me there,
he would definitely have known that I was not Opal Featherstone’s grandniece,
and everything might have been spoiled. I couldn’t bear to have that happen.”

“You’re very kind, Marianna,” Nikolos said with a smile. “I
suppose I must forgive you this time.”

“Good,” she said with a laugh. “Otherwise you might not
like what I write about you.”

“I probably wouldn’t,” he said ruefully. “I think my parents
are hoping that my innate sense of shame will kick in if there is someone here
to watch me like a babysitter. If I did something embarrassing, they would
probably insist that you leave it in your article.”

“Do you have a great deal to be ashamed of?”

Nikolos shrugged.

“I like to have a good time. My brother, Alexandros, is
going to be the king, and he’s the one who needs to be dignified. He recently
got married, so he’s earning extra points, as they say. Now that he’s taken
care of, I suspect that my mother wants me to follow in his footsteps.”

“I see. And is that what you want?”

“I am restless,” he said. “I always want to be out doing,
out seeing, out experiencing things. I know how lucky I am to have the
opportunity to do so, and I don’t intend to let it get away from me, no matter
what my parents think.”

For a moment, Marianna wondered what it would be like to
live that close to your own desires, to be able to get what you wanted with
just a little bit of will. Then she put it aside, because it didn’t serve the
moment.

“So if you truly had your way, you would only be doing more
of the same?”

He laughed a little in surprise, and then he gave her a
more careful, considering look.

“You’re interviewing me,” he observed, and there was
something just a little dangerous in his voice.

“I am?” she asked, slightly guilty. She had been.

“Yes, you are. And you might not be recording the
conversation, but there’s a good chance that tonight’s going to end up in the
thing you write, isn’t there?”

“You’re…not wrong,” she conceded. She wondered if he was
angry at her. She’d had some people become angry when they realized they’d
revealed a lot more than they’d intended.

He nodded thoughtfully.

“Playing a bit dirty there, little one,” he said, “but I’ll
forgive you if you are willing to actually order some food before we get
started again.”

At that moment Marianna’s stomach grumbled, making them
both laugh.

“All right,” she said, giving in. “What’s good?”

“Since we’re here? I’m going to recommend the kleftiko. It’s
amazing, and just about my whole family orders it from this place.

“That sounds good,” she said happily.

Marianna watched as he conversed with the waiter in Greek,
and when he turned back to her, she looked at him expectantly.

“What’s kleftiko?”

Nikolos stared at her for a moment before laughing
abruptly.

“You don’t know, and you let me order it anyway?”

“Well, I assumed that you weren’t going to poison me, and I
figure that you’re a man of taste. I don’t have any food restrictions at all,
so I thought I’d be adventurous. Now are you going to tell me or shall I wait
until they bring the food?”

“Kleftiko is lamb that has been roasted so slowly and
thoroughly that the meat is falling off of the bone. Typically, lemon juice and
garlic are used in the marinade. It’s good, but I always used to like it for
the story that went with it.”

“What story is that?”

“Something my grandmother told me when this dish was served
at the palace. It supposedly originates from bandits stealing lambs and goats
and cooking them in covered pits so that the smoke wouldn’t give them away…”

Nikolos trailed off, and then she realized that he was
looking at her suspiciously.

“You did it again,” he said accusingly.

“I didn’t! Wait, what was I meant to have done?”

“I say that we are going to wait until the food at least
arrives before we start with the interview again. Yet suddenly I look up and
find I’m telling you something about myself yet again. What kind of little
witch are you?”

“All I said was ‘oh,’” Marianna said, amused. “Maybe it’s only
that you have always liked to talk, and you are just now realizing it.”

Nikolos didn’t look pleased with that explanation, but he
nodded.

“Tell me about yourself then,” he challenged. “Who has
Philip hired to write about me, to explain me to the world?”

“He’s hired a professional,” Marianna said proudly. “What I
told you at the gala was true. I’ve worked a lot of different stories, and I’ve
always gotten the most that I can from them. I have always made it a point to
get to the root of things, and I take my job seriously. I’ll take this job
seriously as well, and you can depend on me to do you a lot of good…wait, why
are you smiling like that?”

If Nikolos had any ire from her earlier questions, it was
gone now as he looked at her with unabashed delight. He looked as if he were on
the verge of breaking into laughter, and self-consciously she stopped speaking.

“What is it?”

“It’s you,” he said marveling. “Can you really speak about
yourself at all? I am not sure that you can.”

“Of course I can speak about myself,” she said with
confusion. “I was just doing it.”

“Oh no you weren’t at all. You were telling me about your
job. And in all fairness, that’s all we talked about when we first met as well.”
He shifted in his chair. “Well, well, well. Maybe this is why you’re such a
good reporter and writer. Stories simply flow to you because you leave so much
space open for people to give them to you.”

For some reason, his words made her blush.

“That’s really not the way it is,” she muttered. “I talk
about myself all the time. In fact, I’m sure that I talk too much most of the
time.”

“I am not really a patient man,” Nikolos said with a grin.
“And if you want to put that in the book, you are certainly welcome to.
However, what I will tell you is that you have not even verged on talking about
yourself too much. How about this. If it irritates me, I will tell you. Until
then, I expect you to talk about yourself as much as you want to, yes?”

“That has all the markings of an imperial command,” she
said, and he grinned.

“Caught you that time. I’m not going to talk about myself.
Instead, I want to hear about why you became a journalist.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough,” she said. “I guess I’ve always
wanted things to be fair. I was a dreadful tattletale when I was a little
child. I used to call the adults’ attention to every little rule being broken.
Someone finally told me that it wasn’t appropriate unless someone was actually
getting hurt, and from there, journalism seemed like the right choice. I like
telling the truth, and I like having the truth be useful. Does that make
sense?”

“It does. And why, if you suit it so well, are you leaving
it to write articles about spoiled princelings?”

“Oh, that one’s easy. The issue with writing for a
newspaper is that you have to, well, tell the truth and just the truth. It’s
not really a trouble, precisely, but it is definitely something that makes it
more difficult to get to what I consider the heart of it all.”

She paused, thinking to her last months on the job at the
newspaper. It was a good job, but it had left her feeling so tired, so worn.

“There were so many stories around me,” she said finally.
“There were simply so many things that I needed to see, but couldn’t. When I
met…when I met my first ghostwriting client, I saw that there was a whole wide
world in just one person. That was the difference. At my old job, I was trying
to bring the world down to a place to make it relevant to a person. With this,
I’m trying to show a single person or group of people to the world.”