Читать книгу Innocent Surrender: The Virgin's Proposition / The Virgin and His Majesty / Untouched Until Marriage - Шантель Шоу, Robyn Donald - Страница 9

ANNY DIDN’T SEE Demetrios again.

She didn’t really expect she would.

But as she went about her business, as she walked to the clinic, did her grocery shopping, worked on her dissertation, and actually went to a screening or two at the Palais du Festival over the next ten days, she couldn’t help keeping an eye out to see if she could spot the tall dark-haired man who had so startlingly swept into her life.

He had gone back to the clinic. She knew that because Franck had been full of the information. And he hadn’t only come the next day as he’d promised, but also several times over the past week and a half.

Yesterday, Franck had told her gleefully this afternoon, he had commandeered a wheelchair and taken Franck down to the dock.

“A wheelchair? You went to the dock?” Anny, who had never been able to get Franck to go anywhere because he was too self-conscious, could barely believe her ears. “Whatever for?”

“We went sailing.”

Then she really did gape.

Franck nodded eagerly. “We went in his brother’s sailboat.”

He recounted his amazing day, his eyes shining as he told her how Demetrios and his brother Theo—“a racing sailor,” Franck reported—had simply lifted him out of the wheelchair and into the boat, then set out for a sail around the Îles de Lérins.

Anny was still stuck imagining Franck allowing himself to be lifted, but apparently, as far as Franck was concerned, Demetrios and his brother could do anything. “Didn’t he tell you?” Franck demanded.

Anny shook her head. “I haven’t seen him.”

He looked surprised. “You should have come in the mornings. He always came then.”

Of course he did. Because he knew when she went to see Franck. She’d told him. If Demetrios had wanted to see her, he could have. He knew where she lived.

He hadn’t. And she hadn’t sought him out, either.

She’d had her night. She’d relived it ever since.

Of course she couldn’t deny having wished it had lasted longer—even wishing it had had a future. But she knew it didn’t.

So it was better that she not encounter him again. So even though she had kept an eye out for him over the following week and a half, she’d carefully avoided attending any parties to which he might have gone.

Of course, she knew he’d come to Cannes to work, not to party. But she also knew that sometimes going to parties was part of the work. Some years it had even been part of her own. Fortunately her father had decided not to host one this year.

And now the festival was over. Demetrios, she was sure, was already gone. He’d got what he came for. News stories early this week had reported that he’d landed a big distributor for the film he’d brought to Cannes. And yesterday she’d read that he’d found backing for his next project.

She was happy for him. She almost wished she had seen him again to tell him so. But what good would that have done, really?

It would only have been embarrassing. He might even have believed she was stalking him.

No. She’d already had her own personal fairy tale with Demetrios Savas. One night of lovemaking.

That was enough.

But when Gerard had called her that afternoon and announced, “We will be hosting a party on the royal yacht this evening,” she wasn’t quite as sanguine as she’d hoped.

She’d told herself that she would go to her fate gracefully and willingly. He was a good man. A kind man.

But the truth was, she’d barely given him a thought since the night she’d had dinner with Demetrios.

Now she felt oddly cold and disconnected as she repeated, “We?” Did he meant the royal “we” or “the two of them”?

“My government,” Gerard clarified briskly. “The party was planned to occur whether I was here or not. We hoped to attract film companies, you know. The revenues are an excellent boost to the economy.”

“Yes, of course.” Her father believed that, too.

“And since I’ve finished my work in Toronto, I’m able to be here. And it will be a wonderful opportunity for us to host it together.” He sounded delighted.

Anny wasn’t certain. “Are you sure I should host it with you?” she asked. “I mean, we’re not married.” As if he needed reminding.

“Not yet,” Gerard agreed. “But soon. That is something we need to discuss, Adriana.”

“What is?”

“The date of our wedding.”

“I thought we agreed we’d wait until after I finished my doctorate.”

“Yes, but we can make plans. It will not be an elopement, you know.”

“Of course not. But there will be time—”

“Yes,” Gerard said cheerfully. “Tonight. After the party.”

“But—”

“So, no, you will not be my official hostess,” he went on, “but we have waited long enough. I’ve missed you, Adriana.”

“I’ve—” Anny swallowed “—missed you, too.”

He heard the hesitation in her voice. “You are upset that I wasn’t here last week.”

“No. I—”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be,” he explained to her. “Duty called. It often does,” he added wryly. “You understand. Better than anyone, you understand.”

“Yes.”

“But I am here now. And I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight. I will be there for you at eight.” He rang off before she could object.

Object? Hardly. Gerard had the same ability to command that her father did. It came from a lifetime of expecting people to fall in with his plans. And even if he had stayed on the phone, what possible objection could she have made?

Of course he had sprung it on her at the last minute. But it wasn’t as if she couldn’t pull herself together, find a dress, be prepared to leave at eight.

Princesses were always prepared. It was part of their job description.

She just wished she felt more prepared to marry him.

“His Highness regrets that he is unable to come in person,” the driver said respectfully as he bowed, then helped Anny into the back of the black sedan that had arrived outside her flat at precisely 8:00 p.m. “He is hosting a dinner meeting. He will be on the yacht when you arrive.”

Anny tried to look regretful, too. But what she felt was relief. While she could make conversation with anyone anywhere, thinking about being alone with Gerard in the confines of the car had made her edgy for the past three hours.

He would be all that was proper and polite. And so would she. They would make small talk. Discuss the weather. His trip to Toronto. Her latest chapter notes on her dissertation.

Or their upcoming wedding.

She flashed a quick smile at the driver. “C’est bien. Merci.”

He shut the door, and immediately the silence enveloped her. Sometimes riding in cars like this suffocated her. She felt as if she were buffered from the real world, isolated, with the sounds and commotion beyond the doors held firmly at bay.

But right now, for a few minutes, she welcomed it. The short ride to the harbor would give her a chance to compose her thoughts, to prepare herself, to become the princess of Mont Chamion she would have to be this evening.

But as the car approached the harbor, she became distracted by the rows of yachts and sailboats, thinking about how Demetrios and his brother had brought Franck here. Now she scanned the multitude of boats as if, just by looking, she might be able to tell which one was Theo’s.

Of course chances were very good Demetrios’s brother was already gone. And it didn’t matter anyway. The memories of her night with Demetrios had been intended for her to take out and savor, yes. But they weren’t intended to distract her from the obligations at hand.

Now, though, even when she turned her gaze away from the harbor and stared resolutely straight ahead, it wasn’t the driver she saw. In her mind’s eye she still saw Demetrios making love with her.

“Go away,” she muttered under her breath.

The driver glanced around at the sound of her voice and met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness?”

“Nothing.” Anny pressed her fingers to her temples, feeling a heachache coming on. “I was simply thinking aloud.”

And she needed to stop. Now.

A small launch carried her to where the royal yacht lay at anchor. As they approached the yacht she could see tuxedo-clad staff scurrying around. She caught snatches of the lively sounds of live music. Maybe she and Gerard would dance. He would hold her in his arms and they would find love together. It had happened that way for Papa and Mama. Her father had assured her it was so. Their marriage had been arranged and it had been wonderful. It could happen.

Determinedly Anny lifted her chin and made herself smile at the prospect.

She even made a point of minding her royal manners and staying primly seated until the crew brought the launch alongside the yacht when she would have preferred to stand up and let the wind whip through her hair or, worse yet, be the one to throw the line and clamber aboard the way she always had on her father’s smaller yacht when she was a child.

So she was definitely in princess mode when she heard Gerard say, “Ah, wonderful. Here you are at last.”

He was waiting on deck and gave her his hand to help her aboard, then let his gaze travel in slow admiration down the length of her navy blue dress with its galaxies of scattered silver sequins for a long moment before he kissed her on both cheeks.

Then, to her surprise, he wrapped her in a gentle embrace. “It’s so good to see you again, my dear.”

He truly did look pleased.

He was a lovely man, Anny reminded herself guiltily. Kind. Gentle. Capable of love. He had after all, by all accounts, loved his first wife very very much.

“Gerard,” she greeted him warmly, and smiled not only with her lips but her voice as well.

He linked his arm through hers and drew her onto the deck beside him. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to come and get you in person. But I had a dinner meeting with Rollo Mikkelsen. Come. I want you to meet him. Rollo is the head of Starlight Studios. He’s interested in possibly setting future projects in Val de Comesque.”

Anny smiled. “What wonderful news.”

“It is.” Gerard opened the door to the main salon where a table had been set for perhaps ten people. The meal was over now and the dinner guests had left the table to chat in small groups. “Rollo.” He drew Anny with him toward the nearest group of men. “I’d like you to meet my fiancée.”

They all turned as Gerard slipped an arm around Anny’s waist and said proudly, “Her Royal Highness, Princess Adriana of Mont Chamion, may I present Rollo Mikkelsen, head of Starlight Studios.”

A man took her hand.

Anny didn’t see him at all. He was nothing but a blur. Her heart pounded. She smiled perfunctorily, murmured politely, “Mr. Mikkelsen, a pleasure.”

“And Daniel Guzman Alonso, the producer,” Gerard said, introducing the next man.

Another blur. Another hand shook hers. Now her ears were ringing as well. Her voice worked, though, thank God. “Mr. Guzman Alonso, I’m delighted to meet you.” Years of social deportment practice had something to recommend it, after all.

“And of course you must recognize Demetrios Savas,” Gerard was saying jovially, “whose latest film Rollo has just agreed to distribute.”

Demetrios was not a blur at all. Sharp and clear, tall and imposing. And, judging from the hard jade glare in those amazing eyes, somewhere between stunned and furious. His gaze raked her accusingly.

Anny could barely breathe. Nor could she stop her own eyes from fastening on him, hungrily, devouring him. Wanting him again so badly that how she could ever have thought one night would be enough, she hadn’t a clue.

“Mr. Savas.” She held out her hand to him, polite, proper, sounding—she hoped—perfectly composed.

Demetrios crushed it in his. “Your Highness,” he said through his teeth. “Imagine meeting you here.”

A princess?

Anny Chamion was a princess?

She was the “delightful fiancée Princess Adriana” that Gerard had mentioned over dinner?

His fiancée would be joining them later, the crown prince of Val de Comesque had said. She was busy with her day job—unspecified—and since he hadn’t given her any warning, he’d only asked her to come to the party, not appear for dinner.

“Even we royals have to work hard these days,” he’d joked. “You will meet her tonight.”

Now here she was, with Gerard’s arm around her, looking serene and elegant and every bit as royal as the man she was marrying.

Which made Gerard her “elderly widower”?

Demetrios’s teeth came together with a snap. Maybe she hadn’t used the term “elderly,” but that was what he’d thought.

The slim fingers he was crushing between his were trying unsuccessfully to ease out of his grasp. For a moment he didn’t even realize he was still gripping them.

Then, still staring into Anny’s—no, Princess Adriana’s—wide eyes, he dropped them abruptly, took a step back and shoved his hands into his pockets.

It was probably some sort of social solecism, to have his hands in his pockets in front of a princess, but short of strangling her, he could think of nothing else to do with them.

Besides, as far as social gaffes went, it was no doubt a bigger one to have slept with her!

He shot her a glare. He doubted she noticed. She wasn’t looking at him. She was smiling at Rollo Mikkelsen, answering a question he’d asked her, her voice low and melodious, steady and completely at ease—just as if she were not standing between the man she was going to marry and the man she’d taken to her bed!

And he’d thought Lissa was a lying cheat!

Abruptly he said, “Excuse me. I see someone I need to speak to.” And he turned and walked out of the room as fast as he could.

It was no bigger lie than hers. And almost at once he did see someone he knew. Mona Tremayne was standing on deck by herself, looking at the sunset, and even if it meant listening to her extol the virtues of her darling starlet daughter Rhiannon, he was determined to do it.

It was better than standing there listening to the lying Princess Adriana charm all and sundry while her fiancé looked on!

Mona was delighted to see him. She kissed him on both cheeks, then patted his arm. “It’s lovely to see you, dear boy. I’m glad you’re back among the living.”

Demetrios took a careful breath and tried to focus solely on her. “It wasn’t that bad,” he told her. He liked Mona, always had. She called a spade a spade, and she couldn’t help it if her daughter was a ditz.

“Maybe not for you. But we can’t afford to let talent go to waste,” she said with a throaty laugh caused by too many years of cigarettes. “You do good work. You’ve been missed.”

“Thanks.” His heart was still pounding, but he refused to look back toward the salon. He didn’t gave a damn where the princess was. He slanted Mona a grin. “Does that mean I can toss an idea at you?”

“You want to marry my daughter?” Another wonderful husky Mona Tremayne laugh.

Demetrios managed a laugh of his own as he shook his head. “I’m through with marriage, Mona.” Truer words had never been spoken.

“I’m not surprised,” Mona said briskly, her eyes telling him that she knew more than he had said. Then she smiled and added, “Well, if you ever change your mind, you’ve got a fan in my household. More than one.”

Demetrios smiled, too. “Thanks.”

She leaned against the railing and stared out across the water before slanting him a sideways glance. “So toss me the idea,” she suggested. “I’m listening.”

It was the sort of chance he’d been waiting for all week. Mona at his disposal, her daughter nowhere to be found. And he did have an idea for her. He tried to pitch it.

He’d have done better if, a few minutes later, he hadn’t been instantly distracted by the sound of Anny’s voice nearby and the knowledge that she and Gerard had come out onto the deck.

He lost his train of thought as he glanced over his shoulder to see where she was. His fingers strangled the railing because he still wanted to grab her and shake her and demand to know why the hell she hadn’t bothered to tell him who she really was. Not to mention what she thought she’d been doing inviting him into her bed!

He was still steaming. Still furious.

And not paying any attention at all to whatever Mona was saying in reply to his movie pitch.

“—think I’ll jump overboard,” Mona ended conversationally and looked at him brightly.

In the silence Demetrios recollected himself and tried to get a grip. “Huh?”

“Oh, my dear.” Mona patted his cheek. “We should talk another time—when you can focus.”

“I’m focusing,” he insisted.

But only, it seemed, on Anny. He couldn’t seem to make sense of anything beyond her soft voice somewhere behind him, followed by the melodious sound of her laughter. Then he heard Gerard, too, chiming in, speaking rapidly in French to whoever they were talking to, and then Anny switched to French as well. Their conversation went too quickly for him to have any idea what they were saying.

She sounded happy, though. Was she happy? What about her loveless marriage?

“But if I drowned, I couldn’t be in your film then, could I?” Mona was saying.

He stared at her blankly.

She laughed, again. “Never mind, dear.” She gave him air kisses and began to move away. “Another time. I think I’ll find another drink.”

“I’ll get you a drink,” he said hastily.

“No, dear boy. I’m fine. You stay here and entertain royalty.” And giving his cheek one more pat, she swept away.

He turned to protest again—and came face-to-face with Anny.

Her wide eyes were searching his face. Her smile, so polished earlier, looked slightly more strained now. “Demetrios.”

He drew himself up straight. “Your Highness,” he said stiffly.

“Anny,” she corrected, her voice soft, the way it had been in bed.

He ground his teeth. “I don’t think so.” His voice was, he hoped, pure steel. He braced his back and elbows against the railing, and glared down at her.

“Anny,” she insisted. “It’s who I am.”

“Certainly not all of who you are,” he reminded her sharply. “You could have told me.” He looked around for Gerard, expecting him to appear at her side. But her prince had moved away and on the other side of the deck, deep in conversation with Rollo and another studio executive Demetrios knew.

“I could have,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to. Why should I?” Her tone was indifferent, as if it could make her idiocy appear perfectly reasonable.

“Because I might have liked to know?” he snapped.

No one was close to them. The sextet had begun to play. A clarinet was warbling. Thank God, because this wasn’t a conversation anyone should be overhearing.

“I asked you to tell me what I should know about you,” he reminded her.

“You didn’t need to know that.”

“You asked me to sleep with you!”

Color flared in her cheeks. She glanced around quickly as if fearing people would hear.

A corner of his mouth twisted. “Something else you don’t want anyone to know? Afraid your elderly widower will learn what you were up to?”

“My what?” She looked confused.

“Your fiancé,” he bit out. “The man who is oh-so old and decrepit and who doesn’t love you.”

“I never said he was elderly or decrepit. Gerard is twenty-one years older than I am,” she said through her teeth. “Which may not seem like much to you, but it is a different generation.”

He grunted, acknowledging that. But it didn’t explain the rest. “So why are you marrying him? Daddy forcing you? Are you making a governmental alliance?” He spat the words.

“Something like that.”

He snorted. “Give me a break. This is the twenty-first century!”

“It can still happen,” she maintained.

“You’re saying your old man sold you off to the highest bidder?”

“Of course not! It was simply…arranged. It’s good for both countries.”

“Countries? That’s what matters? Not people?”

She lifted her chin. “Gerard is a fine man.”

“Whom you betrayed by sleeping with me,” he pointed out sardonically.

She opened her mouth as if she would deny it, but then she closed it again, her lips pressing into a thin line. The color was high in her cheeks. She looked indignant, furious, and incredibly beautiful.

“Obviously I made a mistake,” she said tightly, hugging her arms across her chest. “I was out of line. I never should have suggested anything of the sort. It was…” She stopped, her voice not so much trailing off as dropping abruptly.

“What was it?” Demetrios asked her, trying to fathom what was going on in that beautiful head of hers.

She shook it. “Nothing. Never mind. Forget it.”

“Will you?” he asked her.

“Yes.” The word came out quickly. Then her gaze dropped. So did her voice. “No.”

At her soft yet stark admission, his own eyes jerked up to search her face, to try to understand her. Once he’d caught on to Lissa’s duplicitous behavior, he began to have an inkling what she was up to, though God knew he’d had no idea how far she would go.

But Anny didn’t sound like she was lying now. Not this time.

“Did it solve anything?” he pressed her.

She didn’t answer. Finally, when he thought she wasn’t going to reply at all, she shrugged. “I don’t know.” She wasn’t looking at him now. She’d come to stand next to the railing, too, and now stared across the water toward the lights of Cannes. Her shoulders were slumped.

Demetrios was still angry, though whether he was more annoyed at her or at himself, he couldn’t have said. After Lissa, he damned well should have known better. And what the hell was Anny doing, letting herself be a pawn?

It was none of his business, he reminded himself. He should turn and walk away. But his feet didn’t take the hint. They stayed right where they were. Behind them the sextet had segued into something lilting and jazzy.

Anny didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze never wavered from the shore.

“Fascinating, is it?” he demanded when she still didn’t look at him.

“It’s beautiful,” she replied simply.

He grunted. “All lit up like a fairy tale,” he said mockingly, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“Some would say that,” she agreed quietly.

“Not you?” He pressed her. The breeze lifted her hair. It smelled of citrus and the sea. He wanted to touch it, to brush it away from her face, hook it behind her ear, touch her cheek. Touch her.

He knotted his fingers together instead.

“I’m not a big believer in fairy tales,” she said in a soft monotone.

“Except for one night,” he reminded her harshly.

“I’m sorry. You could have said no,” she pointed out.

His jaw tightened. “Should have said no,” he corrected.

The breeze caught her hair again and tossed tendrils of it against his cheek. More citrus scent assailed his nostrils. Demetrios turned his head away, but just as quickly turned back to breathe in the scent again, to feel the softness touch his face.

She took a careful breath. “I want to thank you for going back to see Franck.”

“No thanks necessary. I didn’t do it for you,” he said flatly.

“I know that. But even so, it means a great deal. To him,” she added. “And taking him sailing.” She turned her head to smile at him. “Brilliant. I can’t believe you got him to do it. But he loved every minute.”

Demetrios didn’t want her thanks. He didn’t want her smiles. He shrugged irritably. “I was glad to do it. He’s a good kid. Smart. He’s got a lot of potential.”

“Yes.” Anny smiled slightly. “I agree. I’m afraid he doesn’t.”

“He’s angry. Given what happened to him, why shouldn’t he be?” Demetrios remembered all the times in the past three years when his own anger had stopped him cold, threatening to derail his dreams. There were too many to count. Now he took a slow careful breath. “He’ll find his way,” he said. They continued to stare at the seafront in silence for a long moment, then he added, “He’ll get there with some support from friends like you.”

“And you,” Anny added.

Demetrios shook his head. “I’m leaving. Bright and early tomorrow morning. I’m taking my brother’s boat to Santorini.”

“But you won’t forget Franck.” She sounded certain.

How could she know him well enough to be sure of that when he felt like she didn’t know him at all? Demetrios didn’t know. But he had to admit she was right in this case. “No, I won’t forget him. I’ll stay in touch.”

She smiled, satisfied. “He’ll like that.” She stared down at the water, unspeaking for a long moment, but she didn’t walk away.

Neither did he. He didn’t feel as angry now. He couldn’t have said why, except that this Anny, princess or not, was the one he remembered.

She brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “I thought you’d be gone by now. You got what you came for—excellent distribution, a highly acclaimed film.”

“Rollo’s taking it on, yes. And the critics have been kind.”

“I’m sure it’s not just kindness.”

“You didn’t see it?” Surely princesses could see whatever they wanted. Royal prerogative or some such thing.

“No. I—I wanted to. But I didn’t want you to think—” She stopped.

“Think what?” he demanded.

She shrugged awkwardly. “That I was…chasing you. I meant what I said, one night. I told you the truth, Demetrios. I just…didn’t tell you all of it.” She had turned and was looking at him intently now, as if she were begging him to believe her.

Did he? Or was she as good an actress as Lissa?

It didn’t matter, he reminded himself. Princess or not, she wasn’t part of his life. Not after tonight.

But he couldn’t stop himself saying, “Look, Anny. You can’t do this if you’re not sure. Gerard might be a great guy. But marriage is—” He let out a harsh breath, knowing he was the last person on earth who should be offering advice on marriage. But then, who knew better the mistakes you could make even when you thought you were marrying for love?

“Marriage is what?” she asked when he didn’t go on.

“Marriage is too damned hard to risk on flimsy hopes!” He blurted the words angrily, not at her, but at Lissa.

Of course Anny didn’t know that. She stared at him, eyes wide at his outburst.

Demetrios stared back. It was none of his business. None of his business. The words echoed over and over in his head.

“Adriana!” Gerard’s voice behind them made them both start.

“I have to go,” Anny said quickly.

Demetrios straightened up at once, and gave her a polite distant nod. “Of course.”

But still she didn’t move away. She faced him and looked into his eyes for a long moment, a slight smile on her face. “Thank you.”

He raised a brow. “For the memories?” he said sardonically.

She nodded. Their gazes locked.

“Adriana!” Gerard’s voice came again, more insistent this time. Anny turned to go. Demetrios caught her hand and held her until she looked back at him. “Don’t regret your life, princess.”

Demetrios kept away from her the rest of the evening.

Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? He thought she’d used him and lied by omission. It hadn’t felt like a lie. It had felt like being able—for once—to share herself, the woman, not the princess, that she really was.

But she didn’t suppose Demetrios saw it that way. He was probably avoiding her. Or maybe he had forgotten her already. She was the one who had vowed to remember. And dear God, she was. Every single second Anny knew exactly where he was. She saw who he talked to, who talked to him.

As Gerard’s unofficial hostess she was required to focus on other things, on all his guests. And no one could have faulted her attention to her role. She chatted with his guests, gave them what she hoped appeared to be her undivided attention—even when it was being shared with the tall, lean man with wind-blown hair talking to this producer or that actress.

Gerard kept her close, smiling at her and nodding his approval. “Your papa is right. You are marvelous,” he told her.

Yes, Papa would be proud. But Anny’s heart wasn’t in it. Her soul wasn’t in it. Only later that evening when, shortly before midnight, she saw Demetrios board the launch back to the harbor, did her heart and soul let her know where they were. A hollow desperate ache opened up inside her.

He wasn’t for her. She knew that.

She repeated it over and over in her head even as she continued smiling brightly at the couple telling her about their South Pacific cruise. She nodded, commented, laughed at a witty remark and didn’t miss a beat.

But she didn’t miss the sight of Demetrios standing alone on the deck of the launch looking back at the yacht, either.

As soon as she could, she made her excuses and slipped away to stand in the bow of the royal yacht to catch a last glimpse of the launch as it grew smaller and smaller and finally merged with the lights of the harbor, and he was gone.

They were ships that passed in the night, she told herself. One night.

“Adriana!” Gerard’s voice called to her once more.

She swallowed, then called, “Je viens. I’m coming.”

She heard Demetrios’s words echo in her mind. Don’t regret your life, princess.

She prayed desperately that she wouldn’t.