A Bride For The Playboy Prince: The perfect royal romance to celebrate Harry and Meghan’s wedding. Sandra Marton

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      So she smiled as widely as she could. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Eleonora,’ she said.

      ‘Likewise, Your Royal Highness,’ said Eleonora, her coral lips curving.

      Luc glanced from one woman to the other. ‘Then I shall leave you both to become better acquainted.’ He turned towards Lisa. ‘I have a lot of catching up to do so I’ll see you at dinner. But for now I will leave you in Eleonora’s capable hands.’

      Lisa nodded, because what could she say? Please don’t go. Stay with me and protect me from this woman with the unsmiling eyes. She and Luc didn’t have that kind of relationship, she reminded herself, and she was supposed to be an independent woman. So why this sudden paralysing fear which was making her feel positively clingy? Was it the see-sawing of her wretched hormones playing up again?

      In silence Lisa watched him go, the sunlight glinting off his raven hair and the powerful set of his shoulders emphasising his proud bearing. Suddenly the room felt empty without him and the reality of her situation finally hit home. She was no longer ordinary Lisa Bailey, with a failing shop, a mortgage and a little sister who was being dominated by a feckless man. She was now a princess, married to a prince adored by all his people—and all the curtseying and bowing was something she was going to have to get used to.

      And despite all her misgivings, she couldn’t help but be entranced by the sun-drenched island. During the drive to Luc’s palace, she had seen rainbows of wild flowers growing along the banks of the roads and beautiful trees she hadn’t recognised. They had passed through unspoiled villages where old men sat on benches and watched the world go by in scenes which had seemed as old as time itself. Yet as they had rounded a curve in one of the mountain roads she had looked down into a sparkling bay, where state-of-the-art white yachts had dazzled like toys in an oversized bathtub. It had been at that point that Lisa had realised that she was now wife to one of the most eligible men in the world.

      ‘You would like me to show you around the palace?’ questioned Eleonora in her faultless English.

      Lisa nodded. What she would have liked most would have been for Luc to give her a guided tour around his palatial home, but maybe that was asking too much. She could hardly tell him she had no intention of behaving like a real wife and then expect him to play the role of devoted husband. And mightn’t it be a good idea to make an ally out of his devoted aide? To show a bit of genuine sisterhood? She smiled. ‘I should like that very much.’

      ‘You will find it confusing at first,’ said Eleonora, her patent court shoes clipping loudly on the marble floors as they set off down a long corridor. ‘People are always taken aback by the dimensions of the royal household.’

      ‘Were you?’ questioned Lisa as she peeped into a formal banqueting room where a vast table was adorned with golden plates and glittering crystal goblets. ‘A bit shell-shocked when you first came here?’

      ‘Me?’ Eleonora’s pace slowed and that coral-lipped smile appeared again. ‘Oh, no. Not at all. My father was an aide to Luc’s father and I grew up in one of the staff apartments on the other side of the complex. Why, the palace is the only home I’ve ever really known! I know every single nook and cranny of the place.’

      Lisa absorbed this piece of information in silence, wondering if she was supposed to feel intimidated by it. But she wasn’t going to let herself be intimidated. She had been upfront with Luc and maybe she should be just as upfront with his aide—and confront the enormous elephant which was currently dominating the palatial corridor.

      ‘I know that Luc was supposed to marry Princess Sophie,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’m guessing that a lot of people are disappointed she isn’t going to be Luc’s bride.’

      It was a moment before Eleonora answered and when she did, her voice was fierce. ‘Very disappointed,’ she said bluntly. ‘For it was his father’s greatest wish that the Princess should marry Luc. And the Princess is as loved by the people of Mardovia as she is by her own subjects on Isolaverde.’

      ‘I’m sure she is,’ said Lisa. ‘And...’ Her voice tailed off. How could she possibly apologise for having ruined the plans for joining the two royal dynasties? She couldn’t even say she would do her best to make up for it by being the best wife she possibly could. Not when she had every intention of withholding sex and ending the marriage just as soon as their baby was born.

      So she said very little as she followed Eleonora from room to room, trying to take in the sheer scale of the place. She was shown the throne room and several reception rooms of varying degrees of splendour. There was a billiards room and a huge sports complex, with its fully equipped gym and Olympic-sized swimming pool. She peered through the arched entrance to the palace gardens and the closed door to Luc’s study. ‘He doesn’t like anyone to disturb him in there. Only I am permitted access.’ Last of all they came to a long gallery lined with beautiful paintings, and Lisa was filled with a reluctant awe as she looked around, because this could rival some of the smaller art galleries she sometimes visited in London.

      There were portraits of princes who were clearly Luc’s ancestors, for they bore the same startling sapphire eyes and raven tumble of hair. There were a couple of early French Impressionists and a sombre picture of tiny matchstick men, which Lisa recognised as a Lowry. But the paintings which captured her attention were a pair hanging together in their own small section of the gallery. Luminously beautiful, both pictures depicted the same person—a woman with bobbed blonde hair. In one, she was wearing a nineteen-twenties flapper outfit with a silver headband gleaming in her pale hair, and Lisa couldn’t work out if she was in fancy-dress costume or not. In the other she was flushed and smiling in a riding jacket—the tip of her crop just visible.

      ‘Who is this?’ Lisa questioned suddenly.

      Eleonora’s voice was cool. ‘This is the Englishwoman who married one of your husband’s ancestors.’

      It was a curious reply to make but the coral lips were now clamped firmly closed and Lisa realised that the aide had no intention of saying any more. She sensed the guided tour was over, yet it had thrown up more questions than answers. Suddenly, the enormity of her situation hit her—the realisation of how alien this new world was—and for the first time since their private jet had touched down, a wave of exhaustion washed over her.

      ‘I think I’d like to go to my room now,’ she said.

      ‘Of course. If you would like to follow me, I will show you a shortcut.’

      Alone at last in the vast marital apartment, Lisa pulled off her clothes and stood beneath the luxury shower in one of the two dazzling bathrooms. Bundling her thick curls into the plastic cap she took with her everywhere, she let the powerful jets of water splash over her sticky skin and wash away some of the day’s tension. Afterwards she wrapped herself in a fluffy white robe which was hanging on the bathroom door and began to explore the suite of rooms. She found an airy study, a small dining room—and floor-to-ceiling windows in the main reception room, which overlooked a garden of breathtaking beauty.

      For a moment Lisa stared out at the emerald lawns and the sparkling surface of a distant lake—reflecting that it was worlds away from her home in England. Inside this vaulted room, the scent of freshly cut flowers wafted through the air and antique furniture stood on faded and exquisite silken rugs. Peeping into one of the dressing rooms, she saw that all her clothes had been neatly hung up in one of the wardrobes.

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