The Prince's Scandalous Wedding Vow

His broad shoulders shifted. “Just the way I know I’m not American. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound like...me.”

He released her and she took a step back, and then another, not because she wanted to be apart from him but because she couldn’t think when she was close to him and this conversation was important. “Your memory is returning.”

“It must be.”

“What sounds like you? Could you describe yourself? Who do you think you might be?”

“European. Wealthy.” He grimaced. “Mediterranean, most likely. I think I run a company, or own my own company, and I’m good at it. I feel like I have quite a few employees, so my company can’t be small. And I have a nagging suspicion that I’m a perfectionist, and, quite possibly, not easily pleased.” He looked chagrined. “And if that is all true, I’ve just described a man that sounds like a pompous ass, which makes me despise myself, even though I don’t yet know myself.”

She laughed. “Considering that you don’t know yourself, I think you’re being a little hard on yourself. After spending the past few days with you, I think you’re a better person than you described. My gut says you’re a very good person, as well as something of a loner, because even when you were with your friends, you were still a bit distant, and rather alone.”

“Probably because I’m an unlikable prat—”

“No!” She interrupted with a throaty gurgle of laughter, and the sheer joy in the sound stopped her. Was that really her giggling? Sounding so impossibly girlish and happy? Josephine went through life very seriously. She was committed to facts, not feelings, and her life revolved around work and being useful and practical.

“What are you thinking now?” he asked.

“Is it that obvious I have a tendency to overthink everything?”

“I like it. I like you. Don’t ever apologize for being you, Josephine.”

The commanding gruffness in his voice made her throat swell closed. She felt a ridiculous need to cry. It had been such a strange and wonderful few days with him here, and everything inside her felt full and tender and new.

“We should head back to the house so I can focus on dinner,” she said.

He caught her by the wrist to stop her from escaping. “You never answered my question. What were you thinking just a moment ago?”

She suppressed a shiver as he stroked the inside of her wrist with the pad of his thumb, setting her alight. “That I’m happy,” she said unsteadily, trying not to look at his mouth, trying not to remember their kiss earlier, because it had been perfect, and he made her feel beautiful and perfect, and standing close to him made her shockingly aware of how much she wanted to feel more. “And...” She gulped a breath and then lifted her chin, determined to finish her thought. “I’m happy you’re here.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE SKY WAS putting on a show tonight, the sunset a stunning orange on top of red, while waves crashed onto the beach—but the beauty was lost on him. Tension rolled through him. He didn’t yet know himself, but he sensed parts of himself. It was strange and disorienting as well as infuriating. He didn’t like not knowing himself, and he didn’t want to be called by a name that wasn’t his.

He wanted his name, and his identity.

He wanted to be himself, whoever that was, good or bad. He’d take the good and bad, fully embracing both because it was beyond frustrating to feel and think without a foundation of self, never mind self-knowledge.

Every time he heard himself say I think...a little voice inside him stopped him, questioning him. Are you sure? How do you know?

So, hurrah, his memory was returning, but it wasn’t fast enough. He was impatient with the process. He didn’t want pieces of himself; he wanted all his memory back. He wanted his life back. It wasn’t enough to sense things about himself. He needed to know. He needed the truth.

The darkness inside him threatened to engulf him tonight and it crossed his mind that this life of hers was not him, which just made him want to know what his life was. He was by no means bored on Khronos, and he was enjoying being with Josephine, but this quiet island of hers wasn’t his life.

He knew with certainty that his life wasn’t quiet.

His work wasn’t calm.

His world had stress and chaos and deadlines and people.

“Here,” Josephine said, emerging at his side on the beach, a glass of wine in her hand. “I think you could use it.”

He arched a brow.

“It’s good wine,” she said, smiling, her full lips curving, the sweet lift of her lips reminding him of their kiss earlier, and how soft her mouth had been beneath his, and how good she’d felt in his arms. Hunger stirred and he imagined doing all sorts of things to her that weren’t innocent and would probably shock her.

But she’d enjoy it, and he’d enjoy her pleasure.

“And I need it because...?” he asked, smashing his hunger, not needing one more torment tonight.

“You’re pacing this poor beach like a caged tiger. I’m hoping a couple glasses of Father Epi’s merlot might help you relax.”

He took the glass from her. “We’ve never had wine before.”

“I don’t normally drink, but this is a special occasion.”

“Is it?”

She nodded, color suffusing her lovely cheekbones. “I thought we should do something different tonight. Make tonight special. Hopefully it will provide some diversion and distract you from whatever is bothering you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“Why?”

“I care about you.” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “Which is why we’re having dinner alfresco tonight. I’ve set a table for us and we will enjoy dinner outside and watch the sun set, and you’ll be my first real date. Unless that is too awkward?” She bit into her lush lower lip for a moment, struggling with her confidence. “Am I horribly awkward? I’m afraid I am.”

“There is nothing awkward about you,” he answered huskily, reaching for her and drawing her close. “I would enjoy a dinner date with you very much, bella,” he murmured, his head dropping to kiss her soft, warm mouth. For a moment she stiffened, and then in the next, she leaned into him, giving herself up to him. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue and when her lips parted, he claimed her mouth, too, his tongue teasing hers, tasting her, wanting her. She shivered against him, and he kissed her jaw and then the side of her neck, feeling her shiver again as he kissed his way down to her collarbone, the air catching in her throat. She

was so sensitive. He battled his desire, keeping his need in check.

She wanted a date. She wanted romance. He could do that.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she said quickly, breathlessly. “I’m taking care of the dinner and I’ve already set the table. Want to come see?”

He nodded because he did want to see, very much so. He offered her his arm, and she shyly tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow. They left the beach, returning to the little house, which looked altogether different with the glowing fire outside in a fire pit and a small round table covered with a vivid tablecloth with bright birds and butterflies against a black wool background. There were two place settings on the table, and tall tapered candles glimmered in the center. It was charming and rustic and he was touched that she had gone to such pains for him.

“That’s not a Greek tablecloth,” he said.

“No, it’s from Peru. My dear Azucena made it for me before we left. I was supposed to save it for my hope chest—” She broke off when she saw his confusion. “Do girls not have hope chests where you’re from?”

“I’m not sure. What is that?”

“It’s where you save things for your wedding. Linens and quilts and other things to help you begin your new home once you’re married.”

He noticed she wouldn’t look at him as she talked, and color darkened her cheeks.

“I’m not planning on getting married,” she added, moving around the table, adjusting the plates and glasses, “and it seems like such a waste to leave this lovely tablecloth in a chest forever, so I brought it out tonight. It’s pretty, though, isn’t it?”

“It is.” But he wasn’t looking at the cloth. He was looking at Josephine as the candlelight illuminated her profile. She’d changed at some point from her casual sundress into a long blue skirt that she’d paired with a white peasant-style blouse. Her long hair had been pulled into a loose knot that she’d attempted to secure with what looked like wooden sticks, but long tendrils of hair were slipping out and curling loosely at her neck and around her face.