The Billionaire Prince’s Daughter (European Billionaire Beaus 2)

You strike my fancy, Artur thought, but words stayed silent on the tip of his tongue.

“I doubt it,” he said with a laugh that sounded genui

ne to him but didn’t feel real in the slightest. “But I’ll still go on the nationwide tour. You couldn’t keep me in the palace if finding me a bride is what’s on the agenda.”

6

Sasha bustled around the room, taking out one top after another, holding them each up for Amy’s approval.

“Yes to the blue, no to the peach.” Where had she gotten the peach top, anyway? Amy couldn’t remember. It was late, almost ten, and her eyes burned. Sasha had wanted to take care of the packing herself, but Amy didn’t want to get out into the middle of Stolvenia and find that she didn’t like any of the clothing combinations that had come with her. But as the suitcase filled, something else nagged at her mind.

“That should be plenty, don’t you think?” The two women peered down at Amy’s suitcase, then Sasha gave a satisfied nod and flipped the cover shut. They’d be on the road for three weeks, which meant that Amy had to pack fairly heavily, but she’d tried to keep it pared down as much as possible. The last thing Artur needed was to have their entourage photographed dragging in ten suitcases for the publicist.

“I’ll get my toiletries together. Then I think we’re good to go.”

“I’ll be off then, Ms. Branch.”

“Amy,” she told Sasha with a grin. “If it’s a protocol thing—”

“We have to follow lots of protocols in the royal household, and it’s an honor.” Sasha’s eyes twinkled when she said this.

“In here, at least, call me Amy.”

“Goodnight, Amy. Let me know in the morning if there’s anything else you’ve decided to bring.”

The morning. They hadn’t scheduled too many meetings for the next day, since planning for the trip was mostly done, to Amy’s enormous relief.

Planning might have been a large part of Amy’s job, but it was still exhausting nonetheless.

Despite the enormous yawn that escaped her, she lingered in the main room of her suite a little longer. In the privacy of her thoughts, it was easier to admit that she was hoping Artur might knock on the door.

The conversation the past week had seemed so...charged. Not just the proposal, but the discussion of love. Maybe she wasn’t in love with him, but something in her core lit up at the sight of him. His gaze on her felt warm and precious somehow.

Amy brushed her hands over the slight curve of her belly. It could be the hormones making her feel a little giddy whenever he walked in the room.

“You’re tired,” she said out loud to herself. “Go to bed.”

As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was out. The dreams came on fast and furious—Artur reaching back for her in a field of flowers, stretching out on the grass beneath him, his hand on her belly—

The alarm burst into a final and pleasant dream after what seemed like no time at all, and Amy jolted upright in bed, slapping at her phone until the sound stopped.

Artur, Artur, Artur. He’d been in her head all night.

Amy threw her legs over the side of the bed and headed for the shower. Once she was clean, with fresh makeup and her hair in a twist at the back of her head, she went out to look for something to wear.

There were no official meetings today with the large group, so Amy pulled her favorite pair of jeans from the drawer. The drawers themselves looked a little empty after the packing spree. Good thing she’d left herself these. It had been a little while since she’d worn them, and she looked forward to working in complete comfort today.

Right up until the moment when the zipper stuck.

“Oh, come on.” She had half her attention on the drawer in front of her, mentally sorting through the remaining tops, and she tugged harder at the stubborn zipper. It still didn’t give. She pulled it down to the very bottom of the track and tried again. It wouldn’t move more than an inch.

Amy moved in front of the mirror and looked at the offending zipper.

Oh crap.

It wasn’t the zipper—it was her. Her belly was finally in the way. They were her loosest, most forgiving jeans—the ones with the very most stretch—but they had reached their limit.

Amy tugged the jeans back down her legs, noticing only now that they had seemed a little tight when she’d pulled them up. She’d meant to go shopping. In the rush of the planning, she’d completely forgotten. And now what? She had a couple of skirts that fit. She’d bought those right before she left for Stolvenia. But the rest of them—oh no. She hadn’t even tried them on since touching down at the palace.