Conveniently Wed to the Prince

Exhibit One: The official interview done by April Fotherington—aka wife of Chief Advisor Marcus Alriksson—accompanied by the first official photograph.

Analysis: A little posed, a little formal, expressions a little strained. But who can blame them? It’s hard to pose officially.

Verdict: Are they in love? Possibly...maybe.

Exhibit Two: The televised interview.

Analysis: They talked the talk, walked the walk...until it came to the L question. Then they stumbled, but made a quick recovery.

Verdict: Are they in love? Maybe, baby.

Exhibit Three: The wedding.

Analysis: Definitely looking hot—but who wouldn’t in a dress like that?

Verdict: The jury is still out.

So I undertook a little casual surveillance...

Please note that I made no attempt to breach the privacy of the honeymoon suite itself, but I am guilty of a bit of ducking and diving whilst I followed the newlyweds around Lycander.

And so to Exhibit Four:

Holly’s heart hit her boots as she skimmed the photos.

Herself in the palace gardens, looking up at Stefan, a smile on her lips and love in her eyes. Jeez. She looked as if she thought he was the best thing since sliced granary. Oh, and joy! There was a picture of them in a clinch. She was literally hanging off his lips. But it wasn’t only that photo. The next was the killer. Her hand was on his T-shirt, brushing off a speck of dirt, and the goddamn look in her eyes was one of love.

She didn’t need to read the verdict, but she did it anyway—just in case there was even a sliver of a possibility that she’d got it wrong.

Verdict: One loved-up princess...

So, the best of luck to our new royals. Life gave them lemons and it looks like Princess Holly is going to make lemonade!

Panic strummed every single synapse—how had it happened? This reporter had got it right. Somewhere down the line she’d fallen for Stefan. Fool that she was. He’d made it more than clear that he was no fairy tale prince and she’d been damned sure her fairy tale days were over. Yet somehow she’d done it again—fallen in love with a man who didn’t love her back.

What to do? What to do?

For a start she had to make sure Stefan didn’t so much as suspect the truth. If he saw this article she’d laugh it off, put it down to the light, her acting skills, sexual afterglow...anything but the truth.

Speak of the devil... She looked up as the door opened, braced herself, shut the laptop and rose to her feet.

‘Hi. How did it go?’ Too breezy.

‘It went fine.’

His voice was even—not cold, but not warm, and the glint she’d become used to over the past days was gone. She’d been right—he was mad at her.

‘Good—and I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’ He shrugged off his jacket and threw it over the back of an armchair.

‘I know I forced your hand. I didn’t think you’d go if I’d told you where we were going.’

Even as she focused on the words the truth whirled inside her head, made his coolness hurt more. Love... She loved him.

‘It should have been my decision to make. I don’t like being bulldozed or manipulated. But I do understand that you did it with the best intentions, and Frederick and I had a productive few hours. The community wins...brand Petrelli Princes wins.’

‘That isn’t why I organised it.’