Chapter Three
THE LIMOUSINE CRUISED down a street that housed some of Paris’s most famous fashion showrooms. ‘There’s no need to come in,’ she said. ‘I’ll text when I’m ready to leave.’
She didn’t even look at him. Because she thought the person keeping her safe didn’t deserve courtesy?
You weren’t exactly courteous yesterday, were you? For once you didn’t bother to hide your feelings.
Fotis ignored his double standard. He wasn’t paid to be friendly. He wasn’t even being paid!
Yet her curt dismissal rankled. He didn’t want this woman’s attention but he was stuck with her. He loathed people who took what they wanted without gratitude for those who made their lives easy.
But last night he’d promised himself not to take his eye off the ball. He couldn’t let personal dislike interfere with that duty.
‘I’ll come in with you, no need to text.’
That earned him a sharp stare. Cool grey eyes surveyed him as if suspecting an ulterior motive. ‘It’s unnecessary.’
The car stopped and he glanced past her to the gold-and-cream awning leading into the showroom. The window display was artfully minimal and a couple of tourists took selfies.
‘Don’t worry, Princess. I won’t follow you into the changing room.’
He watched her eyes widen fractionally and her mouth tighten. To his surprise he felt a tug of satisfaction in his belly, knowing he could pierce her complacency.
‘Besides,’ he murmured, ‘it’s the perfect chance to be seen together as a couple. It would be wise to give our fake relationship a trial in public before tonight’s event. We need to look believable together.’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Frankly I don’t care if people believe we’re a couple.’
‘Do you really want to draw attention to the fact you need a bodyguard glued to your side rather than observing at a distance? That’s guaranteed to attract public speculation. It would draw attention away from the event and fix it squarely on you.’
Maybe that was what she wanted.
But when she blinked he was surprised to read uncertainty in her expression.
Since they’d met she’d been supremely confident. For a bare second she looked almost vulnerable.
‘Very well.’ Her voice was clipped. ‘You can come in. There’s a lounge area where you can wait. As for our relationship…’ Her head snapped around, eyes stormy. ‘Don’t say anything, even if asked.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he drawled. ‘Whatever you say, ma’am.’
Did her lips twitch? He couldn’t tell if it was amusement, annoyance, or a trick of the light. Before he could be sure she turned towards the door.
‘Wait! Don’t get out until I’m there.’
Did this woman have no idea of basic safety precautions? She must have had close personal protection before. It was an intrinsic part of being royal.
He filed that away to ponder later.
Fotis got out and walked around the rear of the limo.
As arranged, the driver stayed behind the wheel, ready to accelerate to safety if need be.
After surveying the street, Fotis opened the back door, keeping his focus more on their surroundings than her.
A professional guard, a man he’d known in the military, strolled towards them down the pavement as if merely passing.
Everything was under control as planned.
Yet Fotis’ concentration splintered as he put his hand to her elbow to usher her towards the building.
The sudden, visceral response to his flesh touching hers stunned him. There was rocketing heat and a blast of awareness that made his fingers tighten on her cool, bare arm while everything inside him tensed. With need.
Forcing out the air trapped in his lungs, he withdrew his hand, holding it behind her back as they walked through the door that opened for them.
Repressing a scowl, Fotis nodded to the doorman and forced himself to take in their surroundings. The likelihood of a threat inside here was slim but even so…
Looking for threats took his mind off that powerful stab of awareness when he touched her. Sexual awareness.
Grim amusement eddied. It was laughable, of course.
He wasn’t masochistic enough to hanker after a woman like her.
She had too much in common with his hedonistic, social butterfly mother, a type he’d always avoided.
His reaction now was his body’s way of reminding him he hadn’t been with a desirable woman for… how long?
Fotis jerked his attention to his charge, now surrounded by fawning female attendants. He took his place beside her, preternaturally aware of her as if he’d entered a force field. His skin tingled and his hands flexed as a phantom drift of cinnamon teased his nostrils.
‘This way please, Your Highness.’ The older of the pair turned to him with a gracious smile. ‘Monsieur.’
But her attention was clearly on her client as she led them to another room fitted with comfortable sofas, plush carpet and a raised podium surrounded by mirrors.
A third staff member arrived bearing a bottle of vintage champagne and a pair of tulip glasses.
The princess said, ‘Thank you, but not for me.’
Fotis also declined a drink, and the offered canapés. He strolled the perimeter of the room, taking in the large, adjoining dressing room, entering just far enough to be sure there was no separate access to the space.
‘No.’ The single word sliced through the low murmur of voices like a blade through butter. ‘Absolutely not.’
He swung around, senses on alert because, while his charge hadn’t raised her voice, her implacable tone jarred. He stalked closer, curious.
‘But, ma’am,’ the older woman said, ‘it’s been arranged. The work has been done.’
‘I’m sorry there’s been confusion, but I intend to wear the dress I ordered last month. I wasn’t consulted about a change.’
‘Ah, in that case, let me show you.’ The saleswoman’s expression eased into a smile as she clicked her fingers and a minion hurried off. ‘I’m sure, when you see it, you’ll approve.’
The underling returned with a red dress draped over her arm. She cradled it as gently as a mother with a newborn child and the other attendants smiled enthusiastically.
‘Voilà! With Your Highness’s colouring and figure it will look spectacular.’
But Her Highness’s expression wasn’t enthusiastic. Fotis saw a ripple of emotion across her face, a frown on her brow and something stark in her eyes. A second later she smoothed her features. But there was tension in the set of her jaw and stiff shoulders. Anger?
Two attendants held the dress up between them. Even he could see it was stunning. On the right body it would stop traffic.
‘As you see, that shade with your colouring—’
‘No.’ This time the princess’s voice was the merest whisper, but it stopped the woman in mid flow. ‘I won’t wear it.’
‘But Monsieur Gaudreau specifically requested it. It’s been an honour to work on such an iconic piece. It will be the centrepiece of the whole…’
The princess turned her back on the mannequin and Fotis saw the other woman’s smile disintegrate. ‘I’ll wear the dress I ordered. I assume it was completed?’
The other woman licked her lips, frowning. ‘Of course, Your Highness. But this would mean so much, not just to Monsieur Gaudreau but to everyone who—’
‘I’m sorry, madame. But it won’t do.’ She didn’t sound sorry and Fotis saw the other attendants frown at each other, eyes wide with horror. ‘I’ll try on the dress I ordered.’ When no one responded she added, ‘Or I could wear an outfit I brought from Cardona.’
That caused a stir. Within seconds the red dress had disappeared, replaced by one in blue. The jubilant mood of minutes ago was replaced with awkward wariness.
Without glancing his way Princess Rosamund disappeared into the dressing room with several attendants.
What had just happened? Fotis was no expert on women’s fashion.
The red dress was stunning and it was clear from the reaction of the staff that her rejection of it was deeply shocking.
He knew the significance of tonight’s opening gala to the retrospective of Juliette Bernard’s films. Especially for Antoine Gaudreau, an old man who’d worked with Bernard and was revered by many as something approaching a national icon.
Fotis’ mouth twisted. Clearly her high and mightiness didn’t take kindly to having their plans altered by anyone but her.
She’d reacted to the new dress as if they’d tried to foist a canvas sack on her, instead of a beautiful creation that would make her look a million dollars. Her refusal had to be sheer pique at having her plans thwarted. What other explanation could there be?
He’d known Princess Rosamund was selfish. Now he added callous to his list.
She’d ignored the staff’s eagerness and the fact they’d clearly worked hard to produce the red dress. The fact it meant a lot to an old man at the very end of his career, and by the sound of it, many others, meant nothing to her.
She didn’t care about others’ feelings. Clearly she didn’t subscribe to the idea that privilege came with responsibility to others.
Distaste soured his mouth and he reached for one of the canapés.
He’d been in her company less than twenty-four hours and couldn’t wait to be rid of her.
Fotis spent the rest of the day in his own company.
After the debacle at the couturier, and a stop at a famous store to buy a beribboned gift box of macarons, they’d returned to the house.
He’d been with the princess only long enough to see her make a salad before she disappeared to eat in her room and spend the afternoon there.
He’d been startled by her easy competence in the kitchen, whipping up a dressing and deftly chopping ingredients as if it were second nature.
What surprised him even more was that she’d left half the salad for him to save him getting his own lunch. Even now he found it hard to credit. She’d barely looked at him as she moved around the big kitchen, absorbed in her own thoughts.
Or determined to ignore the staff.
Yet the unexpected gesture was surprisingly generous. How did that fit with the spoiled persona?
Curious, he’d dug into the salad and found it surprisingly tasty.