The Prince's Bride (Modern Fairytales 2)

And he probably never would.

His aide let out a small, derisive laugh. “Oh, come on now. How could you possibly know it was her? It’s been…” Harry cut off, clearly doing the math in his head. “Ten years. You couldn’t possibly remember what she looks like. It was just another blonde American. They’re hardly a rare find.”

With any other woman, or man, he’d met that long ago, Leo would agree. But his runaway lover was undoubtedly the same Alicia who had stolen his heart all those years ago, and never given it back. He would never, not in a million years, forget the way her lips felt under his…or how fucking amazing she tasted. “It was Alicia. She—”

The door to his office opened, and King Henry poked his head through the crack, blinking. “Why is there press sitting in the hallway out here?”

“Coffee break.” Leo pushed to his feet and saluted his father, hoping he hadn’t heard their conversation. That was the last damn thing he needed. “Father.”

His father waved a hand, frowning. “At ease, son. Harry.”

“How are you feeling?” Leo asked, dropping his arm back to his side. “Did you have any more chest pains? I can send for the doctor—”

“I’m fine.” The king pressed his lips together, and his blue eyes skimmed over his son’s face. His faded brown hair was still bright against his pale skin, but it used to be as deep as the hair on Leo’s head. “You’re the one who’s pale.”

“I had a late night,” Leo said drily.

“Of course you did.” King Henry smiled, appearing more alive than moments before. “Who is she?”

His father had been consistently ask

ing him this question for the past five years, ever since he graduated university, and he clearly thought he’d met someone at the ball. Someone of marriageable status. The king’s health was failing, and age was catching up to him, and it had been his hope to see his son married with an heir and a spare for longer than Leopold could remember.

Leopold, however, had no interest in marriage.

Sure, eventually he’d pick someone who was eligible to be his wife. But he refused to marry strictly for money or country ties. If and when he married, it had to be because there was some sort of common ground, some spark of attraction that pushed him into it.

He refused to feel nothing for his bride.

And until he found that spark, that woman, he refused to wed for his country. While most royal couples were married for politics, rather than sentimental reasons, his parents had been so in love that his father still mourned the loss of his mother even after all this time.

He wanted that.

Not awkward conversations and stilted small talk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leo said quickly, shooting Harry a warning glance. The last thing he needed was his father discovering his night with Alicia. What came next would not help his cause with his runaway lover. “I danced, had a few drinks.”

“Lies.” His father frowned. “Harry? Who is she?”

The other man pressed his lips together in annoyance, but caved like a house of playing cards. “Alicia Forkes, Your Majesty.”

“Traitor,” Leo hissed, mentally planning his revenge against Harry. It involved his royal sword shoved up his fucking—

“Alicia?” The king squinted. “Isn’t that the name of the American from before?”

“Yes.” Leo forced a calmness to his face, which he didn’t quite feel. “We ran into each other at a nightclub I visited after the ball.”

“I always enjoyed her frank speech and free spirit,” his father said, acting far too excited for Leo to let down his guard. “Something the Americans do so well. She reminded me of your mother when she was younger, before we married. Was she happy to see you, after all the time spent apart?”

“Not exactly.” Leopold glanced at his pompous aide, who was glowering at him as if he’d somehow insulted him, and then back to his dad. “In fact, she didn’t even remember me at all.”

Harry choked on his sip of coffee.

His father frowned. “Are you certain it wasn’t a game?”

“It wasn’t,” Leopold said flatly. “Not only did she not remember me, but she also ran out on me last night after we…spoke.”

“How very American of her,” Harry said sardonically, patting his mouth with the edge of a napkin as he set down his coffee. But that did nothing to hide the narrowness of his eyes. “Well, then, back to the photos? We have another meeting at—”