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INVITATION TO THE
PRINCE’S PALACE
JENNIE ADAMS
THE PRINCE’S
SECOND CHANCE
BRENDA HARLEN
INVITATION TO THE
PRINCE’S PALACE
JENNIE ADAMS
About the Author
Australian author JENNIE ADAMS grew up in a rambling farmhouse surrounded by books and by people who loved reading them. She decided at a young age to be a writer, but it took many years and a lot of scenic detours before she sat down to pen her first romance novel. Jennie has worked in a number of careers and voluntary positions, including transcription typist and pre-school assistant. She is the proud mother of three fabulous adult children, and makes her home in a small inland city in New South Wales. In her leisure time Jennie loves long, rambling walks, discovering new music, starting knitting projects that she rarely finishes, chatting with friends, trips to the movies and new dining experiences.
Jennie loves to hear from her readers and can be contacted via her website at www.jennieadams.net
For Kara
Dear Reader,
Take one modern-day prince, add an everyday girl and an unconventional marriage arrangement, and watch the unanticipated romance unfold.
Invitation to the Prince’s Palace is my first royal story, and I’m so excited to be exploring the fantasy of an everyday girl marrying literally the prince of her dreams.
One of my pleasures is to throw characters with differing backgrounds, histories and outlooks together and watch the sparks fly as they resist each other, fall for each other, and figure out how to overcome the odds to be together. I’ve particularly enjoyed writing Rikardo and Melanie’s story. It has given me the chance to consider what it might be like for an ordinary girl to be swept off her feet and into a complete fantasy world—one she doesn’t believe she deserves or would be able to live in. Watch her prince figure out how to convince her, and watch him come to believe that true love can indeed happen—even when it’s the last thing he has planned!
I hope you enjoy the story of Australian cook Melanie Watson and her wonderful European prince, Rikardo Ettonbierre, as much as I enjoyed writing it.
With love from Australia,
Jennie
CHAPTER ONE
‘YOU’RE here. I expected to have to wait longer.’ Melanie Watson tried not to sound too desperately relieved to see the cab driver, but she was relieved. She’d been saving money to try to start a new life away from her aunt, uncle and cousin. She still didn’t have enough, but tonight she’d experienced very clearly just how soul-destroying it truly could be to live among people who postured rather than accepted, who used rather than loved.
The family’s gloves had come off and Mel had made the choice to leave now whether she was quite financially ready, or not.
Mel had waited until her cousin had disappeared into her suite of rooms, and until her aunt and uncle had fallen into bed. She’d cleaned up every speck of the kitchen because she never left a job half done, and then she’d ordered a cab, left a note in her room, packed her life into suitcases and carried it to the kerb.
Mel tried to focus her gaze on a suburb painted in shades of silvery dawn. The sun would rise fully soon. The wispy chill would lift. Clarity and the new day would come and things would look better. If she could only stay awake and alert for that long.
She really felt quite odd right now, off kilter with an unpleasant buzzing in her head. She didn’t exactly feel she might be about to faint, but … she didn’t feel right, that was for sure.
‘It’s a nice time for a drive. It’ll be really quiet and peaceful.’ That sounded hopeful, didn’t it? At least a little bit positive and not overly blurry?
With the kind of anonymity born of speaking to a total stranger, Mel confided, ‘I’m a bit under the weather. I had an allergic reaction earlier and I didn’t get to take anything for it until just now. The medication is having a lot stronger impact on me than I thought it would.’
She’d got the treatment from her cousin’s stash while Nicolette had seen off the last of the wealthy guests. Maybe Mel shouldn’t have helped herself that way, but she’d been desperate.
Mel drew a breath and tried for a chirpy tone that emerged with an edge of exhaustion. ‘But I’m ready to leave. Melbourne airport here we come.’
‘I arrived earlier than anticipated so I’m grateful that you are ready.’
She thought he might have murmured, ‘Grateful and somewhat surprised’ before he went on.
‘And I’m pleased to hear your enthusiasm despite the problem of allergies. Might I ask what caused them?’ The taxi driver’s brows lifted as though he didn’t quite know what to make of her.
Fair enough. Mel didn’t know what to make of herself right now. She’d fulfilled her obligations, had pulled off all the beautiful desserts and other food for the dinner party despite harassment from her relatives and cleaned up afterwards when the party had finally ended.
Now she really needed her wits about her to leave, and they weren’t co-operating. Instead, they wanted to fall asleep standing up. Like a tram commuter after a big day’s work, or a girl who’d taken a maximum dose allergy pill on top of a night of no sleep and wheezing and swallowing back sneezes and getting a puffy face and puffy eyes.
‘My cousin bought a new perfume. She sprayed it near me and off I went. Apparently I’m allergic to gardenias.’ Mel dug for the remnants of her sense of humour. She knew it was still in there somewhere! ‘Just don’t give me any big bunches of those and I’m sure we’ll be fine.’
‘I will see to that. And you are right. It is a good time for a drive. The Melbourne cityscape is charming, even in pre-dawn light.’ His words seemed so serious, and his gaze focused on her eyes, then on the spot where the dimple had come and gone in her cheek as she made her small joke. Would the dimple have offset her red nose and puffy face? Somehow Mel doubted it.
Mel focused on him, too. It was difficult not to because the man was top-to-toe gorgeous. Tall, a little over six feet to her five feet four and beautifully lean. Mel blinked to try to clear her drowsy vision.
He’d spoken in that lovely accent, too. French? No, but something European, Mel thought, to go with his tanned skin and black hair and the almost regal way he carried himself. He had lovely shoulders, just broad enough that a woman could run her hands over them to appreciate their beauty, or lay her head to rest there and know she could feel secure.
He wore an understated, expensive-looking suit. That was a bit unusual for a cab service, wasn’t it? And his eyes—they weren’t hazel or brown but a glorious deep blue.
‘I just want to curl up.’ Maybe that explained her reaction to him because his broad shoulders looked more appealing by the moment.
‘Perhaps we’d better get your luggage loaded first, Nicol—’ The rest of the word was drowned by the double beep of a car’s unlocking device. He reached for the first two suitcases.
She must have given her full name of Nicole Melanie Watson when she booked the taxi. Since going to live with her aunt and uncle at age eight, Mel had only been known by her middle name. It felt strange to hear the first one again. Strange and a little shivery, because, even hearing only part of the word, his accent and the beautiful cadence of his voice made it sound special.
Oh, Mel. For goodness’ sake.
‘It’s a pretty set of luggage. I like the floral design.’ Was Mel making sense? She’d rescued the luggage when her cousin Nicolette had wanted to throw it out, but of course this man didn’t need to hear that. And she didn’t need to be quite so aware of him, either!
‘You wouldn’t lose the luggage easily. The design is quite distinctive.’ He cast her a sideways glance. ‘You are quite decided about this?’
‘I’m decided.’ Had he had people try to scam him out of fares? Mel would never do that. She knew what it was like to try to live on a tight budget. Her aunt and uncle might be well off, but they’d never seen the need to do more than meet the basic costs of taking her in. Once she reached working age, they’d expected her to return their investment by providing cheap kitchen labour. For the sake of her emotional health, Mel had to consider any debt paid now. ‘I won’t change my mind.’
She glanced to where he’d parked and saw, rather than a taxicab, an unmarked car. The cab agency had said there was a shortage of cabs but she hadn’t realised someone might come for her in their private car in their off-duty time. Wouldn’t that be against company policy?
And the car was a really posh one, all sleek dark lines and perfectly polished. That didn’t seem right for a cab driver, did it? How would he afford it? Mel frowned.
‘Did you come straight from a formal dinner or something?’ It must have been a really late night.
The words slipped out before she could censor them. The thought that followed worried her a little, but he’d have had sleep wouldn’t he? He looked rested.
You’ll be perfectly safe with him, Mel. It won’t be like—
She cut the thought off. That was a whole other cause of pain for Mel, and she didn’t want to let it in. The night had been tough enough.
‘Most dinners I attend are formal unless I have a night with my brothers.’ Rikardo spoke decisively and yet … his guest didn’t look as he’d expected. She didn’t … seem as he’d expected. Her openness and almost a sense of naivety … must be because she wasn’t feeling well.
He tucked the odd thoughts away, and tucked his passenger into the front seat beside his. ‘You may rest, if you wish. Perhaps by the time we arrive at the airport your allergy medication will have done its job and you’ll be back to normal.’
‘I doubt that. I feel as though I’ve been felled by elephant medicine.’ She yawned again. ‘Excuse me. I can’t seem to stop.’
He’d collected a drowsy and puffy version of Sleeping Beauty. That was what Prince Rikardo Eduard Ettonbierre thought as the airport formalities ended and he carried Nicolette Watson onto the royal private jet and lowered her into a seat.
She’d slept most of the way to the airport and right through the boarding process. The medication had indeed got the better of her, but she was still very definitely … a sleeping beauty.
Despite the puffy face she seemed to have held her age well since the days when she’d been part of his university crowd during his time in Australia. She’d been two years behind him, but he’d known even then that Nicolette wanted to climb to the heights of social success.
Though their paths had not crossed since those days, Nicolette had made it a point to send Christmas cards, mark his birthday, invite him as her personal guest to various events, and in other ways to keep her name in front of him. Rik had felt awkward about that pursuit. He didn’t really know what to say now, to explain his lack of response to all those overtures.
Perhaps it was better to leave that alone and focus on what they were about to achieve. He’d carefully considered several women for this task. In the end he’d chosen to ask Nicolette. He’d known there would be no chance he would fall for her romantically, and because of her ambitious nature he’d been confident she would agree to the plan. She’d been the sensible choice.
Rik had been right about Nicolette. When he’d contacted her, she’d jumped at this opportunity to elevate her social status. And rather than someone closer by, who might continue to brush constantly through his social circles once this was all over, when their agreement ended, Rik could return Nicolette to Australia.
‘You should have allowed me to carry her, Your Highness.’ One of his bodyguards murmured the words not quite in chastisement, but in something close to it. ‘Even driving a car by yourself to get her—You haven’t given us sufficient information about this journey to allow us to properly provide for your safety.’
‘There is nothing further to be revealed just at the moment, Fitz.’ Rik would deal with the eruption of public and royal interest in due course but there was no need for that just yet. ‘And you know I like to get behind the wheel any time I can. Besides, I let you follow in a second car and park less than a block away. Try not to worry.’ Rik offered a slight smile. ‘As for carrying her, wasn’t it more important for you to have your hands free in case of an emergency?’
The man grimaced before he conceded. ‘You are correct, Prince Rikardo.’
‘I am correct occasionally.’ Rik grinned and settled into his seat beside Nicolette.
Was he mad to enter into this kind of arrangement to outwit his father, the king? Rik had enjoyed his combination of hard work and fancy-free social life for the past ten years. As third in line to the throne, he’d seen no reason to change that state of affairs any time soon, if at all. But now …
There were deeper reasons than that for your reluctance. Your parents’ marriage …
His bodyguard moved away, and Rik pushed that thought away, too. He wasn’t crazy. He was taking action. On these thoughts Rik turned his attention to the sleeping woman. Her hair fell in a soft honey-blonde curtain. Though her face still showed the ravages of her allergy problem, her features were appealing.
Long thick brown eyelashes covered eyes that he knew were a warm brown colour. She had soft pink lips, a slim straight nose and pretty rounded cheeks. She looked younger in the flesh than in the photo she’d emailed, than Rik had thought she would look now …
She sighed and Rik had an unexpected urge to gently kiss her. It was a strange reaction to what was, in the end, a business arrangement with a woman he’d never have chosen to know more than peripherally if not for this. A response perhaps brought on because she seemed vulnerable right now. When she woke from this sleep she would be once again nothing but the ladder-climbing socialite he’d approached, and this momentary consciousness would be gone.
The pilot commenced take-off. Rik’s guest stirred, fought for a moment to wake. Her hand rose to her cheek.
‘You may sleep, Nicolette. Soon enough we will take the next step.’ He said it in his native Braston tongue, and frowned again as the low words emerged. He rarely spoke in anything but French or English, unless to one of the older villagers or palace staff.
Nicolette turned her head into the seat. Her lashes stopped fluttering and she sighed. She’d cut her hair too, since the emailed photo she’d sent him. The shoulder-length cut went well with the flattering feminine skirt and silk top she wore with a short cardigan tied in a knot at her waist. The clothing would be nowhere near warm enough for their arrival in Braston, but that would be taken care of.
Rik made his chair comfortable, did the same for his sleeping guest, and took his rest while he could find it. When Nicolette sighed again in her sleep and her head came to rest on his shoulder, Rik shifted to make sure she was comfortable, inhaled the soft scent of a light, citrus perfume, and put down the feeling of contentment to knowing he was soon to take a step to get his country’s economy back on its feet, and outwit his father, King Georgio, at the same time. Put like that, why wouldn’t Rik feel content?
‘You had an uneventful flight, I hope, Your Highness?’
‘Not too much longer and we’ll be able to disembark, Prince Rikardo.’
Mel woke to voices, snippets of conversation in English and another language and the low, lovely tones of her taxi driver responding regally while something soft and light and beautifully warm was draped around her shoulders.
‘What—?’ Heart pounding, she sat up abruptly.
This wasn’t a commercial flight.
There were no rows of passengers, just some very well-dressed attendants who all seemed to make her taxi driver the centre of attention in a revering kind of way.
Mel’s allergy was gone. The effects of the medication had worn off. That was good, but it also meant she couldn’t be hallucinating right now.
She had vague memories of sleeping … on an accommodating shoulder.
Yet she didn’t remember even boarding a flight!
This plane was luxurious. It had landed somewhere. Outside it was dark rather than the sunshiny day she’d looked forward to in Melbourne, and Mel could feel freezing air coming in through the aperture where another attendant waited for a set of steps to be wheeled to the edge of the plane.
She should be feeling Sydney summer air.
Memory of that expensive-looking car rose. Had she been kidnapped? Tension coiled in her tummy. If anything was wrong, she’d left a note saying she was moving to Sydney. Her relatives might be angry to lose their underpaid cook, but she doubted that they would go looking for her. Not at the expense of their time or resources.
Breathe, Melanie. Pull yourself together and think about this.
The driver had asked her if she was ‘sure about this’. As though they already had an arrangement? That would make it unlikely that she’d been kidnapped.
But they didn’t have an arrangement!
Mel turned her head sharply, and looked straight into the stunning gaze of the man who’d placed her in that car.
She’d thought, earlier, that he was attractive. Now Mel realised he was also a man of presence and charisma. All those around him seemed to almost feel as though … they were his servants?
Words filtered through to Mel again. French words and, among those words, ‘Prince Rikardo’.
They were addressing her driver as a prince?
That was easy, then, Mel thought a little hysterically. She’d fallen down a rabbit hole into some kind of alternative world. Any moment now she would sprout sparkling red shoes. That’s two different fairy tales, Mel. Actually it’s a fairy tale and a classic movie. Oh, as though that mattered! Yet in this moment, this particular rabbit hole felt all too real. And maybe there’d been a book first, anyway.
Stop it!
‘You’re fully refreshed? How are the allergies? You slept almost twenty-four hours. I hope the rest helped you.’
Did kidnappers sound calm, rational and solicitous?
Mel drew a breath, said shakily and with an edge of uncertainty she couldn’t entirely hide, ‘I feel a bit exhausted. The allergies are gone. I guess I slept them off while we travelled between Melbourne and … ?’
‘Braston.’ He spoke the word with a slight dip of his head.
‘Right. Yes. Braston.’ A small country planted deep in the heart of Europe. Mel had heard of it. She didn’t really know anything about it. She certainly shouldn’t be anywhere near it. ‘I’m just not quite sure—You see, I thought I’d be flying from Melbourne to Sydney—’
‘We were able to fly very directly.’ He leaned towards her and surprised her by taking her hand. ‘You don’t need to be nervous or concerned. Just stick to what we’ve agreed and let me do the talking around my father, the king.’
‘K-king.’ As in, a king who was the father of a prince? As in, this man, Rikardo, was a prince? A royal prince of Braston?
Stick with the issue at hand, Mel. Why are you here? That’s the question you need answered.
‘You are different somehow to what I have remembered.’ His words were thoughtful.
‘Remembered from our drive to the airport? I don’t understand.’ Her words should have emerged in a strong tone. Instead they were a nervous croak drowned by the clatter of a baggage trolley being wheeled closer to the plane.
Well, this was not the time for Mel to impersonate a scaredy frog waiting to be kissed into reassurance by a handsome prince.
Will you stop with the fairy-tale metaphors already, Melanie!
‘You’re nervous. I understand. I’ll walk you through this process. Just rely on me, and it will be easy for both of us to honour our agreement.’
Mel drew a deep breath. ‘Seriously, about this “agreement”. There’s been—’
‘Your Highness, if you and your guest would please come this way.’ An attendant waved them forward.
The prince, Rikardo, took Mel’s elbow, tucked the wonderful warm wrap more snugly about her shoulders, and escorted her to the steps and down them onto the tarmac.
Icy wind whipped at Mel’s hair and stung her face but, inside the wrap, she remained warm. Floodlights lit the small, private airstrip. A retinue of people waited just off the tarmac.
Mel had an overwhelming urge to turn around and climb back onto the plane. She might not be down a rabbit hole, but she was definitely Alice in Crazyland. None of this would have happened if she’d been completely herself when she ordered that ride to the airport and believed it had arrived. Mel would never take someone else’s medication again, even if it were just an over-the-counter one that anyone could buy!
‘Please. Prince … Your Highness …‘ As she spoke they moved further along the tarmac. ‘There truly has been some kind of mistake.’
What could have happened? As Mel asked the silent question puzzle pieces started to come together.
If he’d called at the right address, then he had expected to collect a woman from there.
Her cousin had been in a strange mood, filled with secrecy and frenetic energy. At the end of the dinner party, Nicolette had rushed to her room and started rummaging around in there. Had Nicolette been … packing for a trip?
Rik had said he’d arrived earlier than he’d expected to. That would explain Nicolette not being ready. Mel had thought that he’d called her by her first name of Nicole, but it could have easily been ‘Nicolette’ that he said. She and her cousin looked heaps alike. Horror started to dawn. ‘It must have been Nicolette—’
‘Allow me to welcome you on to Braston soil, Nicolette.’ Rikardo, Prince Rikardo, spoke at the same time. He stopped. ‘Excuse me?’
Oh. My. God.
He’d mistaken Mel for Nicolette. Mel’s cousin had made some kind of plan with this man. That meant Rikardo really was a prince. Of this country! As in, royalty who had made an arrangement with Nicolette.
Mel, the girl who’d worked in her aunt and uncle’s kitchen for years, was standing here in a foreign country with an heir to the throne, when it was her cousin who should be here for whatever reasons she should be here. How could the prince not realise the mistake? Surely he’d have seen that Mel wasn’t Nicolette, even in dawn light and with Mel affected by allergies? Just how well did this prince know Nicolette?
Yes, Mel? And how many times has Nicolette become furious when one of her acquaintances mistook you for her when they called at the house?
‘Unless we’re in the public eye, please just call me Rik.’ He hustled her into the rear of another waiting car and climbed in beside her. A man in a dark suit climbed into the front, spoke a few words to the prince in French, and set the vehicle in motion.
The prince added, ‘Or Rikardo.’
‘You probably have five given names and are heir to a whole lot of different dukedoms or things like that.’ Mel sucked up a breath. ‘I do watch the news and see the royal families coming and going.’ She just hadn’t seen this particular royal. ‘The most famous ones. What I mean is, I’m not an overt royal-watcher, but I’m also not completely uninformed.’
Which made her sound like some kind of overawed hick who wouldn’t have a clue how to behave in such august company. Exactly what Mel was! ‘Please … Prince … Rik … I need to speak to you. It’s urgent!’
‘We have arrived, Your Highness.’ The words, spoken in careful English, came again from the driver.
He’d drawn the car to a whisper-quiet halt and now held the door open for them to alight. Rikardo would get out first, of course, because he was, after all, a prince.
A burst of something a little too close to hysteria rose inside Mel’s breast.
‘Thank you, Artor, and also for speaking in English for the benefit of our guest.’ Rikardo helped Mel from the car. He glanced down into her face. ‘I know you may be nervous but once we get inside I will take you to our suite of rooms and you can relax and not feel so pressured.’
‘S-straight to the rooms? We won’t see anyone?’ Well, of course they would see people. They were seeing people right now. And what did he mean by their suite? ‘Can we talk when we get there? Please!’
‘Yes, we will talk. It shouldn’t be necessary at this late stage, but we will discuss whatever is concerning you.’ He seemed every inch the royal as he said this, and rather forbidding.
Mel’s stomach sank even further. She hadn’t meant for this to happen. She hadn’t meant to do anything other than take a taxi to the airport. She had to hope it would be relatively easy to fix the mistake that had been made.
Rik whisked her up an awe-inspiring set of steps that led to a pair of equally stunning studded doors. As they approached the doors were thrown open, as though someone had been watching from within.
They would have been, wouldn’t they? Mel glanced up, and up again, and still couldn’t see the ending of the outside of this enormous palace. Parts of it were lit, other parts melted into the surrounding darkness. It looked as though it had been birthed here at the dawn of time. Mel shivered as the cold began to register, and then Prince Rik’s hand was at her back to propel her the final steps forward and inside.
Voices welcomed their prince. Members of the royal retinue of staff stood to attention while others stepped forward to take the prince’s coat, and Mel’s wrap.
How silly to feel as though the small of her back physically held the imprint of the prince’s fingers. Yet if he hadn’t been supporting her Mel might have fainted from the combination of anxiety and feeling overwhelmed by the opulence.
The area they entered was large, reaching up three levels with ornate cornicing and inlaid life-sized portraits of royal family members fixed into the walls. A bronze statue stood to one side on a raised dais. Creams and gold and red filled the foyer with warm resplendence. It would be real gold worth more than an entire jewellery store.
‘Welcome to the palace.’ Rik leaned closer to speak quietly into Mel’s ear.
‘Thank you. That is …‘ Mel’s breath caught in her throat as she became suddenly very aware of his closeness.
She’d laid her head on his shoulder, had slept the hours of the flight away inhaling the scent of his cologne. On some level of consciousness, Mel knew the pace of his breathing, knew how it felt to have him sleep with his ear tucked against the top of her head. The feel of the cloth of his suit coat against her arm, his body warmth reaching her through the fabric.
For a moment consciousness and subconscious memory, nearness and scent and whatever else it was that had made her aware of him even initially through a fog of medication, filled Mel. She forgot the vital need to explain to him that he’d made a mistake and she had, too. She forgot everything but his nearness, and the uneven beat of her heart.
And then Prince Rikardo of Braston spoke again, softly, for her ears only.
‘Thank you for agreeing to help me fulfil my father’s demands and yet maintain my freedom … by temporarily marrying me.’
