His eyes opened in protest.
‘We have to get up,’ she explained. ‘Today we have somewhere we need to be.’
‘Where?’ Now alertness had come into play, and his grey eyes watched her.
Holly bit her lip. Part of her wanted to tell him, but another part suspected he’d refuse to go. ‘I’d rather not say.’
Now he too sat up, leant back against the wooden headboard, and a frown grooved his forehead. ‘I’d rather you did.’
Holly shook her head and plumped for honesty. ‘You may not go if I do.’
‘And you want me to go?’
‘Yes.’
A pause, and then he shrugged. ‘Then we’ll go.’
‘Thank you.’ She dropped a kiss on the top of his head and grinned at him. ‘I’m going to get ready.’
‘Lumberjack look or suit?’
‘Lumberjack is fine, and there won’t be any reporters. Or I hope not.’
Now she frowned. Despite promises from the press that they would respect their privacy, April had been correct. Stray reporters dogged their steps. Not many, to be fair, but enough that they had taken to sneaking out through the back door of the hotel en route to quirky corners of Lycander, where they wandered hand in hand, eating ice cream, or savoury crêpes, chatting or walking in silence. But even then every so often she’d been aware of the click of a camera, the sense of being followed.
‘OK. Let’s get this show on the road.’
Swinging her legs out of bed, she headed for the bathroom, trying to soothe the jangle of nerves, her anxiety that she was making a monumental mistake—a massive overstepping of the bounds of their marriage deal.
* * *
Stefan looked out of the window of the official car, watching as the prosperous vista dropped away and the houses became progressively more dingy, the vegetation more sparse and scrubby, the poverty more and more clear. He realised they were headed to the now familiar outskirts—back to the suburb they had first visited, where they had met Sasha.
The car glided to a stop near the nursery, and once again the sheer contrast between life here and in the affluent city hit him anew. Roofless houses, patched over with tin, smashed windows... And yet a community resided here. Children were playing in the streets, looking at the cars with rapt interest.
Cars in the plural... Another car from the royal fleet was parked opposite.
The door opened and he watched with a sense of inevitability as Frederick emerged, flanked by two security men whom he waved away to a discreet distance.
The Crown Prince’s expression mirrored his own—surprise mixed with resignation—and a sense of solidarity sneaked up on Stefan. Seconds later Sunita also stepped out, clad in a discreet dark blue dress. His sister-in-law waved cheerily and Stefan lifted a hand in an attempt at enthusiasm.
‘Why are we here?’ he hissed out of the side of his mouth.
Holly gave him a tentative smile, though her blue eyes shaded apprehensively. ‘You’ll see. Come on.’
Compression banded his chest and the sense that he had been manipulated fuzzed his brain as he considered his options. He could ask Franco to turn the car and rev it out of here. But wiser counsel prevailed—that would hardly back up the impression of brothers reunited. Whilst there were no reporters visible, he was pretty sure this meeting could hardly be kept secret.
A glance at Frederick indicated that he’d come to much the same conclusion, and he headed towards them as Stefan climbed out, no doubt propelled by a prod in the back from Sunita.
‘Stefan,’ he said formally.
‘Freddy.’
Stefan couldn’t resist. His brother had hated being called Freddy as a child, and the sense of being pushed into an awkward position had clearly sent Stefan straight back to childhood. Any minute now he’d find a pram and start chucking toys.
To his surprise, Frederick’s face split into an unexpected smile.
‘No one’s called me that since you left,’ he said. ‘And, for the record, this wasn’t my idea. At a guess, it wasn’t yours either.’