If The Ring Fits.... Melissa McClone

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СКАЧАТЬ She took a step backward.

      “Please, Miss Armstrong,” Didier coaxed. “We must see if it fits.”

      “If the ring fits, do I win a prize or something?”

      Didier grinned. “Or something.”

      Christina glanced back at the prince. It would be nice to try on the ring, his ring. A chance of a lifetime. A chance to really be Cinderella at the ball. And how could she get in trouble if the prince’s own advisor had told her to try it on? Not even her father could get upset about it. The ring was way too small anyway. No way would it fit. After a moment of hesitation, she extended her left hand. “Okay.”

      Didier brought the ring to her finger. Funny, but it almost felt like heat was emanating from the gold band. Must be Didier. Men were always hot. When the ring touched her skin, a buzz of electricity shot up her arm. She gasped, but Didier continued sliding the ring onto her finger. When he let go of her hand, Christina couldn’t believe it. The ring fit.

      She stared at it. Beautiful. Someday, she would have an engagement ring of her own. Not this spectacular. A simple gold band would do. All she wanted was to find a man who would love her for who she was, a man who wanted what she did—children, pets, a porch with a swing. A normal life, a normal family.

      No more limelight. No more photographs or headlines or snide remarks in gossip columns. No more twelve-inch-thick prenuptial agreements to protect an inheritance she didn’t want.

      Didier furrowed his brow. “Are you all right, miss?”

      “Yes,” Christina said, feeling warm and a little dizzy. Too much sun, too much champagne, too much lusting after Prince Richard. The proverbial clock had struck midnight. Time for this Cinderella to call it a night. “Thank you for letting me try it on. It’s exquisite.”

      She pulled on the ring, but it wouldn’t budge.

      Didier leaned toward her. “Is there a problem, Miss Armstrong?”

      Christina pulled on it again, but her fingertips simply slid over the elaborately decorated band. The ring wouldn’t even twirl around her finger. “It seems to be stuck.”

      “Let me try, miss.” Didier straightened his shoulders and tugged on the ring until Christina cried out in pain. “It doesn’t seem to be moving.”

      She couldn’t understand why Didier smiled as if he’d just won the lottery. “I must get this ring off. If my father finds out, he’ll kill me. And the prince…” A glance told her Prince Richard was too engrossed in his conversation to realize what was happening. Christina wanted to keep it that way. “Would it be okay if I went to the ladies’ room and tried to remove it?”

      For some reason, Didier seemed to be enjoying himself. His brown eyes twinkled; his smile grew wider. He looked almost giddy. “I don’t think it’s coming off.”

      “Please.” Why had she allowed this to happen? She knew better. “I’d like to try.”

      From his peripheral vision, Richard saw Didier approach. It was about time. If Richard heard one more boring piece of gossip about the United Kingdom’s royal family, he was going to reinstate flogging.

      “May I speak with you for a moment, Your Highness?” Didier asked.

      “Of course.” Richard bowed to the women surrounding him. “Excuse me, ladies.” As soon as the women were out of earshot, he sighed. “Thank you for coming to my aid, Didi. I never thought I would escape with all my clothes on. I felt like a rabbit surrounded by panting wolves. I was hoping you would leave the ring long enough to rescue me.” Richard glanced at its pedestal, the empty pedestal. No guard. No ring. His stomach knotted. “Where is the ring?”

      Didier’s wide grin answered his question.

      No. This could not be happening.

      The legend wasn’t true; it wasn’t. The legend dictated he had to marry the woman whom the ring fit within a week or abdicate. He would do neither.

      It was his duty to marry and produce an heir. He would, but not because he was turning thirty and a legend dictated it. He would marry whom he wanted, when he wanted.

      Every decision in his life had been made for the sake of San Montico. He had sacrificed childhood dreams and adult desires for his family, his people, his country. But the choice of a wife was his, and his alone, to make. “Does anyone know? My mother?”

      “No, we can make an announce—”

      “Tell no one.” Richard needed time to think, time to come up with a plan. He would not let San Montico’s sentimental attachment to a legend take away the most important choice of his life and keep him from modernizing the country. “Where is…it?”

      “In the ladies’ lounge,” Didier said. “With Miss Armstrong.”

      Not her. Please not her.

      “May I suggest a course of action, Your Highness?”

      Richard clenched his teeth. “No. You have done enough.”

      Please work. Please. Christina lathered her hands with soap. But the ring wouldn’t budge, not a fraction of an inch, not even a millimeter. She rinsed her hands, double-checking the drain plug on the gold-plated sink. Not that a ring this size could fit, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

      Staring at the ring on her red, swollen finger, Christina fought the urge to scream. She could have said no when her mother insisted she come to San Montico, but accepting the invitation had seemed like such a little thing to make her mother happy. Only now…

      Christina would disappoint her parents. Again. She should have known no matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to please them. But no, she’d gone against her better judgment and said yes. And embarrassed herself. Her family. Her country. Wait until her mother found out.

      What if the ring didn’t come off? Christina flexed her hand. Surely they wouldn’t want to chop her finger off? She was an artist. She needed all her fingers. Time to give the soap another try.

      Perhaps she was overreacting a little, but this was a small island in the Mediterranean ruled by a prince, not the U.S. government. San Montico might never have heard of due process of law. They might even follow another law—an eye for an eye, a hand for a hand. She lathered again.

      Maybe her father could do something—open a factory, build a resort, pay off the national debt. Maybe the prince would understand. Maybe her life was over.

      She added more soap, but the ring still wouldn’t budge.

      As her stomach curled up and turned one somersault after another, she leaned against the marble counter and groaned. “What am I going to do?”

      A man cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

      In the mirror, Christina saw Prince Richard’s reflection. He stood with his arms folded across his chest and an unreadable expression on his face. He looked more like a pirate than a prince. A mean pirate. So much for him understanding.

      “I knocked, but no one answered.”

      Turning, Christina СКАЧАТЬ