‘Of course not.’ Holly’s voice sounded sure, but he could still sense her tension.
‘Good.’ April closed her notebook with a snap and smiled. ‘You need to work on being more lovey-dovey and then I reckon you can pull it off. As a reporter, I don’t usually condone lies, but I have learnt that sometimes there are shades of grey and I think what you are trying to do here is a good thing for Lycander. But it is risky. So please be careful. People will be watching you; they will be looking for evidence of a break-up or a fake-up. There will be a huge amount of interest in you both and you will be subject to intense and invasive scrutiny. People will do anything to get information, because information is valuable. So stay in character.’ April rose. ‘I’ll be in touch for another practice session before the television interview.’
‘We’ll look forward to it.’ He made no attempt to hide the irony but April took no umbrage, merely smiled at him.
‘I’ll let Marcus know how it went.’
Stefan nodded. ‘I’ll see you out.’
* * *
Holly watched as Stefan and April exited the meeting room and exhaled a long breath. She felt as if she’d run a marathon. Her whole body ached from the conflicting signals she’d sent it for the past two hours. Pretending to be attracted to a man she was desperately attracted to but didn’t want to be at all attracted to—the conundrum was testing her hormones to the limit.
She looked up as he re-entered the room. ‘I’ve asked the kitchens to rustle us up a picnic supper and bring it to our room,’ he said.
To her surprise her stomach gave a small gurgle, and it occurred to her that she was hungry. ‘That sounds brilliant.’ She looked at him. ‘You are very good at providing meals.’
The idea was a novelty. Ever since her mother had left Holly had taken on the role of cook, desperately wanting to look after her father, and the correct meals had become even more important when her father’s heart condition had been diagnosed.
‘Food is way too important to miss,’ Stefan said.
‘No arguments here.’
They made their way up the stairs to their suite, and Holly halted on the threshold. The suite was an exquisite mixture of contemporary comfort and historic detail. The stone walls of the lounge boasted a medieval fireplace, ornate gilded mirrors and beautifully woven tapestries. Latticed windows showed a view of the mountains in the distance and the hustle and bustle of the city below. The furniture was the last word in simple luxury—warm wood, and a sofa and armchairs that beckoned you to sink into their comfort.
So she kicked off her heels and did exactly that, just as someone knocked on the door.
Stefan let a waiter in and the young man pushed in a trolley laden with sandwiches, mini-pastries, slices of quiche, miniature pies and bowls of salad in a kaleidoscope of greens and reds.
Once the repast was arranged the waiter withdrew. Stefan seated himself opposite her and they both served themselves.
‘This place is utterly incredible,’ Holly said. ‘Just the sort of place I imagined princesses living in when I was a little girl.’
‘Is that what you wanted to be when you grew up?’
‘It was one of many scenarios. I also wanted to be an award-winning actress, a famous pop star, a ballerina, an astronaut and a prize-winning scientist. The key elements in all these scenarios was that I’d win prizes... Oh, and for some reason I also always imagined myself arriving to pick up my prize in a pink limo!’
Perhaps that had been her own personal assertion that she was a girl and everyone would just have to lump it.
‘What about you? What did you imagine yourself being when you grew up? I mean, you were already a prince.’
Stefan’s face tightened and a shadow crossed his eyes. She knew her words had twanged a memory, and not a good one. But then he shrugged,
‘I was never a real prince; that’s why I left my kingdom as soon as I could. But I’m back now, and if we’re going to pull this off we have some more work to do.’
Her tummy plummeted as she wondered if he was going to suggest they practise being ‘lovey-dovey.’ Not a good plan—not here and now, with her body already seesawing after the forced proximity of their interview.
‘I think we need to get to know more about each other,’ she said. ‘The kind of facts you learn over time. So how about we do twenty questions? I’ll go first. Favourite colour: pink.’
One eyebrow rose and his lips quirked with a small hint of amusement. She had little doubt that he knew exactly why she was rushing into a fact-finding mission.
‘Dark blue. Favourite film genre: Action.’
‘I’ll watch anything. Ditto with books.’
‘Anything sci-fi.’
Forty minutes later he stretched. ‘That was a good session—and now I’m ready to hit the sack. Unless, of course, you want to practise anything else?’