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This morning’s headlines had been as he’d envisaged. She was the commoner soldier who’d stolen the Prince’s heart. Tomorrow there’d be pictures of her in uniform placed alongside her ‘princess makeover’ look tonight. The fashion bloggers would gush over her ‘transformation’. It irritated the hell out of him.
But there’d be no doubt that this was a love match. Even the innuendo-drenched pictures of them crossing the tarmac the other day emphasised that. Her popularity was assured. She’d given loyal service to her country. She was beautiful. And tonight she’d proved she could nail the glamour and grace expected of a princess.
They didn’t know there was so much more to her— determination, intelligence, integrity, humour. And fragility. She’d aced her ‘mission’, but he wondered about the price she was going to pay.
He saw her glance at the soldiers stationed in the four corners of the room—saw the longing in her eyes. She’d rather be on the sidelines than centre stage. He understood. He felt it.
Suddenly there was nothing more important than standing with his wife, holding her hand and staring the world down. Except as he stepped towards her one of his aides requested that he meet with another of the foreign politicians in attendance.
He masked his irritation with a smile. But as he talked he kept his focus on her—and those around her. As she’d predicted, they did stare at her—all of them. Men. Women. He realised, too late, that he didn’t much like it either.
There were women here who’d been tagged as possible princesses, but Antonio was too frozen to be bothered and Eduardo had stunned them all by turning up with a bride already on his arm. Part of him had enjoyed thwarting those stuffy aides’ plans. But that lick of satisfaction hadn’t lasted. Now he wondered how ‘perfect’ his plan really was—about the pressure she’d be under from here on in.
How many almost-anorexic socialites did he know? Women who lived in the public eye were ruthlessly and relentlessly judged on their appearance, on their every move, until it almost broke them. And he’d put Stella at the epicentre of all that stress.
Eduardo’s head ached. He hadn’t thought this through properly. He hadn’t thought about everything he was making her sacrifice and asking her to do and be. How had he ever thought this would be easy?
Hell. He hadn’t thought at all.
He didn’t want her to change, to lose herself. He didn’t want her to hate this life.
But he’d put her into it. He could have let her go to New Zealand and she could have lived there in quiet, peaceful anonymity.
But he needed the child she carried. And he still wanted her.
* * *
Stella glanced sideways, trying to spot Eduardo. Not because she needed him, but because she wanted him to see that she was killing this moment. He was only a couple of feet away, talking to the finance minister of another small European country. As she watched Crown Prince Antonio joined him. In their formal regalia the two brothers looked so alike, but they were so different. For one thing, Eduardo was human. And so hot.
Across the small distance he met her gaze and smiled softly. Smiling back, Stella fought the instinct to put a hand to her belly. It would be the ultimate giveaway, given that her every movement was being watched and recorded, to be discussed and analysed in magazines and on daytime chat shows.
She was the news right now. She had to project the right image and protect their secret. It was the most challenging mission of her life. But she was doing okay. She even liked what she was wearing. The pleasure of success deepened her smile.
‘Your Highness.’
Stella’s heart seized and that smile fell as she turned to face the man who’d spoken. Her father, in full military colours, regarding her as expressionlessly as ever.
‘General,’ she answered quietly, aware that the people nearest them had stepped back, apparently to give them space, but at the same time avidly watching.
She waited, stupidly aching to see something in his expression. Recognition. Approval. Anger. Anything. But there was only the blank expression of a dutiful official. He’d stripped her of the thing she’d loved most and sent her away—alone. And now he couldn’t even bring himself to speak to her.
Nothing personal. Nothing paternal. Ever.
That old disappointment leached the pleasure of success from her.
She knew there weren’t just people watching, that there were cameras, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything more. She just stood silently, unable to hide her hurt.
