Prince of Secrets

He’d found time to sit with her today, though, while she and her stepfather’s lawyer went over the prenuptial agreement. Perry had offered his expertise as well, but honestly?

Chanel trusted Demyan to watch out for her best interests more than her stepfather.

Once she’d read it through, though, she didn’t think she needed anyone else’s interpretation. For a legal document, the language was straightforward and to the point.

There was some serious overkill in her opinion, but nothing that bothered Chanel to sign.

Upon her marriage, she and her heirs gave up any and all rights they might have in Volyarus, its financial and political endeavors and anything specifically related to the business enterprises of the Yurkovich family.

The fact that particular paragraph was followed by one giving any children she had with Demyan full interest as his heirs, she felt was particular overkill.

Clearly, the royal family was very protective of their interests, though. King Fedir’s influence, no doubt.

The man had not warmed up to her at all, but he’d never been unkind, either. After her years with Beatrice and Perry, Chanel was practically inured to anything less than overt hostility.

Even with what she was sure were the king’s stipulations, the terms of the agreement were very generous toward Chanel, considering the fact she wasn’t bringing any significant accumulated wealth to the marriage. The agreement guaranteed an annual sum for living expenses that Chanel couldn’t imagine spending in five years, never mind one.

Unless it was on research, but she didn’t see Demyan approving using their personal finances to fund her scientific obsessions. Yurkovich Tanner had been generous in that regard already.

One thing the prenup spelled out in black and white, oversize and bolded print to her heart was that Demyan wanted their relationship to be permanent. If she’d been in any doubt.

Which she wasn’t.

The financial provision did not decrease in the event of his death. The annual income was Chanel’s and her children’s for her lifetime and theirs.

There were some other pretty stringent requirements that would insure she didn’t divorce Demyan or be unfaithful to him, though. Not that she would ever do either.

But the agreement spelled out quite clearly that any children born of a different father had absolutely no financial interest through her or any other source in the Yurkovich, Zaretsky or Volyarussian wealth.

Oddly, if she divorced Demyan, or he divorced her for anything other than her infidelity, she would still be well taken care of. Until she remarried. If she were ever to marry someone else, or have irrefutable evidence of infidelity brought against her, she lost all financial benefits from her marriage to Demyan.

It wasn’t anything less than she expected, but having it spelled out in black and white sent a shiver along her spine that was not exactly pleasant.

Demyan laid his hand over hers before she signed. “You are okay with all the terms?”

“They are more than generous.”

“I will always make sure you have what you need, no matter what the agreement says.”

“I believe you.” And she did. With everything in her.

CHAPTER TEN

THE MORNING OF Chanel’s wedding was every bit as tediously focused on beauty, fashion and making an impact as she’d feared it might be with Beatrice in charge.

Strangely, for the first time in her life, Chanel found she didn’t mind her mother’s fussing over her appearance.

For once, going through the paces of having her legs waxed, her hair done and makeup applied resonated with an almost welcome familiarity in this strange new situation that had become her life.

It had been years since Chanel had sat through one of her mother’s preparation routines for a social function, but the sound of Beatrice’s voice giving instruction to the stylists resonated with old memories.

Memories were so much easier to deal with than the reality of the present. She was marrying a prince.

It was beyond surreal.

“Your fingers are like ice.” The manicurist frowned as she took Chanel’s hand out of the moisturizing soak. “Why did you say nothing? The water must be too cold.”

Beatrice was there in a second, testing the water with her own finger and giving Chanel a look filled with concern. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

Chanel nodded.

Her mom did not look comforted. “The argan oil solution is warm enough, but the manicurist is right. Your hands feel like they’ve been wrapped around an icicle.”

Chanel shrugged.

“Mom, she’s marrying a prince. That’s not exactly Chanel’s dream job,” Laura said in that tone only a teenager could get just right. “She’s stressed out.”