Chapter Eight
ISABELLA WATCHED HIM stride from the room.
Until her final question, when Theo had snapped, she’d been enjoying the question-and-answer session.
The man had to have a weakness somewhere and she was determined to find it.
Anything she could glean, she figured, would flesh out more about her captor and had to help her in her quest to escape.
She knew she hadn’t learned enough to save her yet, but she now knew more than she had. Theo was a proud Greek, a protector, a bodyguard—and a widower.
That was news.
She wondered about his late wife. What kind of woman could possibly have tamed this cold and hard man-mountain into a loving husband?
And what had happened to her?
Two things were clear—she’d made him angry by raising the topic.
And the other more important thing he’d revealed—he wasn’t in a current relationship.
Because she’d given him every opportunity—surely he would have said if he was?
Surely he’d be wanting to deter her from making another attempt at invading his bedroom and throwing herself at him?
And yet he’d not said anything.
Interesting.
Encouraging.
Because he wasn’t immune to her. She knew that, from his reaction last night, and from the stolen glances he was so eager to pretend were all about making sure she wasn’t trying to run away.
She knew that he wouldn’t suddenly dart out of view and pretend he wasn’t there if he was simply keeping an eye on her to ensure she didn’t try to escape.
And now she had one more night.
This time was a gift. Another opportunity to convince Theo to care enough for her that he would listen to her and believe her and wouldn’t return her home.
One more night, that’s all she had. She just prayed it was enough.
Talk that night at the café was all about the storm.
Flights home cancelled. Climbs of Mt Gower, fishing and coral viewing tours cancelled—and the weather outside might be wild, but even with the cancellations, nobody present was complaining about their forced detention on Lord Howe Island.
A delay in leaving was a positive. Even if the weather was rubbish, an excuse to extend a holiday was a win.
Because nobody really wanted to go home to work and study.
The complaints were happily relegated to the holidaymakers on the mainland with bookings to get to the island who were seeing their holiday shrinking by the day.
Nobody seemed glum about their forced retention on Lord Howe Island—apart from Theo.
He sat at table thirty with a dark look of thunder plastered to his face. ‘What will it be tonight?’ Izzy asked, when she went to take his order. ‘The paella again?’
She was sure she almost heard him growl. ‘The kingfish,’ he said.
‘Good choice,’ she said. ‘And a drink for you, sir? A glass of wine perhaps?’
‘Just table water.’
‘Wise choice. So that’s it?’
He grunted and she spun away back to the kitchen. Millie stopped her behind the bar after she’d delivered the order to the kitchen. ‘How’s it going with Mr Dreamboat?’
Izzy snorted. She looked back over her shoulder and caught his glare. ‘Mr Scowly-Face you mean. Sorry to disappoint you, but nothing’s going on.’
‘But he’s back here tonight and he can’t peel his eyes from you.’
She shrugged. ‘He’s stuck on the island like we all are, and at a guess I’d say he’s not happy about it.’
‘Do you know he left last night just after you did?’
So, it had been noticed? ‘Really?’
‘Do you think he’s stalking you?’
She shook her head. Not anymore. Theo had already done that. He’d already found her.
‘But maybe better safe than sorry. Maybe we should call the police? Get him to have a word.’
She caught one of the diners at one of her tables gesturing for attention and Izzy, grateful for the change of topic, put her hand to her friend’s shoulder.
‘Thanks, for worrying about me, but no. There’s no need for that.
Besides, there’s a cyclone causing all kinds of problems on the island.
I’m sure the police are busy enough as it is. ’
She made her way to the table requesting service.
She’d thought about appealing to the police, of course, because she could do with another person in her court and to run interference, but she wasn’t convinced the police were going to help her.
She was no political prisoner seeking asylum.
She was a runaway princess who’d gone missing from her country—and if that wasn’t enough to raise a goodly number of questions—she’d escaped to the island using someone else’s identity.
That was going to provide another uncomfortable line of questioning surrounding identity theft.
It might have delayed her departure from the island, but in the end, they would probably have handed her back to Theo, happy to see the back of this troublesome princess.
So no, seeking help from the police was no guaranteed way to protect her and prevent whatever Theo had planned.
She had worked out a fallback plan though.
If nothing else that she attempted worked between now and their time of departure, she would make a last-ditch attempt at freedom by making a scene at the airport.
Hang the uncomfortable consequences, accusations of kidnapping tended to get the attention of security.
Meanwhile she was going to have to find another way around her current problem.
And she was seriously crossing her fingers that she had…
Outside the restaurant the wind howled, buffeting the windows and doors and sending gusts of wet and wild air through the restaurant every time someone attempted to enter or exit.
And then the rain started pelting down again, pounding a tattoo on the roof.
At the back of the restaurant Theo was protected from all but the mightiest blasts, but still the spray was a bitter reminder of why he was stuck here, on this dot of an island in the middle of the Tasman Sea.
He was so close to closing this deal. He’d managed to hunt down the Princess.
He’d located her when nobody else had been able to.
How could such a simple thing as the weather be his undoing?
And now, instead of delivering the Princess home, as he had been contracted to do, he was stuck here watching his target wait tables.
Wait tables.
A princess.
If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would think it unthinkable. Unimaginable.
And yet, for all he doubted it possible, for all he could see, she was doing a good job.
Whatever issues she’d faced during her first shift were clearly behind her.
Tonight, the crowd was less frenetic, the guest house with the generator problems having apparently sorted its issues, but still the Princess was run off her feet with the hungry crowd.
She wasn’t being precious. She wasn’t holding back.
She was fully engaged in her work, and with conversations with her tables.
More than a few clients, he’d noticed, had ordered the paella.
On her recommendation? The diners wouldn’t be disappointed.
What he’d tasted last night of his meal had been perfection.
She hadn’t lied about how good it was. It was no surprise it had reminded her of home.
And again, he had to admit a kind of grudging respect for her. He’d assumed her plea to work her shift tonight was no more than a ploy for her to delay their departure and allow her more time to attempt to escape.
And while there was still an element of truth to that—she’d made it crystal-clear that she didn’t want to be removed from her bolt-hole and delivered home and she was going to use any delaying tactic that she could—it was also clear she was good at her job.
She might have had a rocky start, as his driver, Tom had alluded to, but clearly, she’d picked up the skills required of her very quickly.
Something he hadn’t expected of a pampered princess.
She didn’t look like any pampered princess now. She looked like any other hard-working waitress, a notebook in her hand, pen behind her ear at the ready.
Why was she here? Why had she run? Her tale of a brother wanting to marry her off was medieval, if not prehistoric.
So, was her brother right, that she was envious that he would take the crown when she wasn’t able to?
A woman who thought she should be the ruler of Rubanestein and yet, here she was, waiting on tables.
Hardly the actions of someone who believed she was top of the tree rather than a worker bee.
Unless that was part of an act to impress him, to convince him that she was fully invested in her work?
He pondered that possibility as he watched her dart between tables, efficiently taking orders, delivering pizzas and paellas, bottles of water and glasses of wine.
No, he decided, that didn’t make sense. She appeared too capable in her work here. More than that, she clearly enjoyed it. This was no act.
Which raised even more doubts in his mind about her brother’s story. Where the hell was that report he’d requested?
But even without that report, he sensed there was something he was missing. What was the real reason for her running?
He watched her gather up plates from a table.
Her blonde hair was tied back, but coiled tendrils had escaped to fall about her face as she dipped lower.
He caught the moment she glanced over at him.
She looked away and straightened the second she saw him watching her, before walking stiffly to the kitchen.
Oh yes, Princess, he thought, I’m watching you.
And maybe the only good thing was, it was no hardship to.
The night was growing old. The tables were thinning out, customers donning waterproof coats and jackets before exiting into the wild night air to board guest house buses or hire cars. Nobody was walking or had cycled tonight.
And the weather wasn’t improving. From the few meteorological sites he’d been able to access during dinner, the cyclone was circling closer, the winds growing wilder. Some reports expected the winds to blow out overnight, while others expected conditions to persist for another day or two.
He didn’t want to think about what that might mean. A twenty-four-hour delay had been bad enough.
The Princess appeared at his table to collect his empty plate. ‘Would you like coffee or dessert, sir?’
‘You don’t have to act with me,’ he said, tossing his napkin on the table. ‘I’m not your target audience.’
She swiped her hands on her apron and smiled. ‘I’m just doing my job.’
He didn’t bother to smile back. ‘And I’m just doing mine. As soon as this weather moves on, you’re going home.’
Her smile brightened as if he hadn’t just tried to puncture her mood. ‘So, no coffee or dessert then?’
‘No,’ he growled, annoyed that she hadn’t reacted. Okay, so she was probably feeling smug that the weather had delivered a twenty-four-hour delay in their departure, and by all accounts, there was a chance the same might happen again tomorrow, but he wanted her to show some vulnerability.
He wanted her to react. He wanted her to stop fighting the inevitable and accept that she was being taken home whether she liked it or not.
Damn it.
He wanted her to understand that he wasn’t some plaything she could use to get her way. She needed to understand that he was no Luke or Mateo that she could use and bend to her will.
Instead, she was too confident. Too sure of herself for someone he’d taken to be young and innocent.
Not that she’d turned out to be innocent given her experiences with the likes of Luke from Bondi and Mateo the barista, and certainly not after her late-night intrusion into his own bedroom last night.
The Princess had been on the run for weeks.
Goodness knows how many encounters she’d had along the way.
Was she imagining that he would be the next notch on her belt? Did she believe that if she managed to seduce him, that he’d change his mind about delivering her home?
Because if she thought that, then she wasn’t just crazy. She was certifiable.
There was absolutely no chance of him getting involved with the Princess.
She was his charge. His responsibility. Sure, she came all wrapped in a pretty package with her blonde hair and her sweet curves, but even if his body told him he was tempted—which he most certainly was not—she was forbidden to him.
Messing with the Princess would be a huge betrayal of professional trust. He wasn’t about to sacrifice either his career or his business for this spoilt princess.
Whatever the Princess had in mind, whatever plan she had come up with to prevent her return to Rubanestein, it wasn’t going to happen.