Conveniently Wed to the Prince

‘Complicated break-up.’

He had the feeling she’d used that line before, perhaps to deflect unwanted attention, and the shadows in her eyes showed the truth of her words. Bleak shadows, like storm clouds on a summer’s day. And there was a slump to her shoulders that betokened weariness. Only for an instant, though, and then her body straightened and she met his gaze.

‘But if your lawyers don’t find a loophole I’ll get over it. Fast. Because, like it or not, we’ll both have to contemplate matrimony. With or without romance.’

Picking up the bottle of wine, he topped up their glasses. ‘Yes, we will.’

A germ of an idea niggled at the back of his brain, but before he could grasp it his phone buzzed. A glance down showed his lawyer’s name. He looked around the still crowded restaurant and picked up.

‘John. I’ll call you back in five.’

Holly’s eyes looked a question.

‘Lawyer.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Guess we’ll have to skip dessert. I’d rather talk to him in private, so let’s head upstairs.’

CHAPTER FIVE

ONCE

IN THE lounge area of their suite, Holly perched on the edge of a brocaded chair and watched as Stefan pulled his phone out of his pocket and pushed a button. Nerves sashayed through her as he paced the room with lithe strides. But her edginess wasn’t only down to trepidation about his lawyer’s verdict; her whole body was in a tizz.

There had been a moment—hell, way too many moments—over dinner, when she’d wanted nothing more than to be like one of the women he’d described. A woman happy to pursue the here and now and take advantage of the promise of a physical connection with him.

Ridiculous. And of all the men for her hormones to zone in on Stefan Petrelli was the most unsuitable—on a plethora of levels. She focused on the conversation.

‘It’s Stefan.’

He listened for a moment and his expression clouded, lips set in a line.

‘You’re sure?’

Another moment and he hung up, dropped the phone in his pocket and turned to face her.

Holly leant forward. ‘There’s no loophole, is there?’

‘Not even a pinhead-sized one. James Simpson did a sterling job.’

‘So we’ll have to get married. Undertake that race to the altar.’

Holly clenched her hands as realisation washed over her. What an idiot she’d been. Instead of dining with Stefan Petrelli, getting her knickers in a knot over a Michelin-starred meal, she should have been shut up her room formulating a back-up plan. A marriage plan.

Chill.

It wasn’t as if Stefan had been out there searching for a bride. That was the whole point of them staying together this weekend.

‘Yes.’

The tightness of the syllable, the drumming of his fingers on his thigh, the increased speed of his stride all conveyed his dissatisfaction with the idea.

Holly got to her feet. ‘Right. I’d better get going, then. The truce is over. The stick-together phase is finished.’

Yet her feet seemed reluctant to move—or rather, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, they wanted to move towards Stefan rather than away. Get a grip. Talk about getting it wrong. Stefan was now officially the enemy.

‘So I guess this is it.’

There was no guesswork involved. This was over. Next time she saw Stefan it would be in a court of law, once one of them had succeeded in marrying. So this was their last few minutes together.

Get a grip faster, Holly.