The Prince's Fake Fiancée. Leah Ashton

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СКАЧАТЬ true,’ he said. ‘You look like a princess.’

      She grinned. ‘I suppose that’s the idea,’ she said. ‘You look very much like a prince, yourself.’

      Her gaze flicked over his tuxedo—the crisp white shirt, the black bow tie, the white pocket square.

      ‘No crown?’ she asked, her eyes sparkling.

      ‘No,’ he said, firmly. His brother had worn one at his coronation, but Marko never had. But he then surprised himself by adding, ‘Damn uncomfortable things.’

      How did this woman do that? He’d spent the whole week knotted up with tension, and yet now he was teasing her?

      Jasmine’s lips quirked upwards.

      ‘Well, I am actually uncomfortable in these shoes.’ She gathered up her skirt so she could poke her heels out from under the fabric.

      They were a glittering gold, with a peep-toe front.

      ‘I didn’t have time to paint my toenails,’ she continued. ‘But these were the best match for the dress out of the collection that Ivan somehow sourced for me. It’s just they pinch a little. I have no idea how he did it so quickly. It was like he had some secret stash of evening shoes in the palace.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Marko said, suddenly.

      She shrugged. ‘It’s okay, I’ve packed a few plasters in my clutch so my feet will survive. I’m always prepared.’

      She was deliberately misinterpreting him, and it made him smile.

      ‘You know what I mean,’ he said.

      She just smiled. She was quick to smile—and it was a gorgeous smile. Natural and wide.

      How had he not noticed before?

      ‘We have somewhere to be,’ she said.

      ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘the schedule.’

      She nodded. ‘We need to get moving, or my guys downstairs will get twitchy.’

      Almost on cue, a member of Lukas’s staff came up the stairs, his boots a soft thud on the carpet. ‘The King is ready to see you now.’

      * * *

      They were to meet King Lukas and Queen Petra in the Knight’s Hall.

      Located at the base of one of the four circular...towers? Turrets? Jas wasn’t sure, but whatever they were they were large, and round, and located at the four corners of the palace, connected together by long, stone corridors, half clad in dark wood panelling.

      Lukas’s attendant had announced their arrival, and then quietly disappeared. No security stood at the opened door before them—at such a secure location, there was no need for it. It was why Prince Marko and herself had no escort, and why Jas’s team were already down in the ballroom.

      To be honest, on nights like tonight, in a secure building, with a strict guest list and no current threat, there wasn’t a heck of a lot for security to do. The King’s own staff had the perimeters under control—so all Jasmine and her team would be doing tonight was ensuring that events progressed as scheduled, and to keep an eye out for anything unusual. Effectively, they would’ve just blended into the background—ready if required, but otherwise unobtrusive. The Prince and Felicity would’ve barely noticed they were there.

      Jas certainly hadn’t expected to be anywhere near this close to Prince Marko this evening.

      She looked up at him, standing so close to her that her shoulder would bump his upper arm if she moved even a little bit.

      No. She certainly hadn’t expected to be this close to Marko. Tonight, or ever.

      ‘You okay?’ he asked, his voice low.

      This close, his delicious accent gave her shivers, and she closed her eyes as she took a deep breath.

      ‘Of course,’ she said.

      She wiggled her toes in her new shoes, welcoming the way they rubbed just a little at the back—the slight pain a useful reminder that this was actually happening. She opened her eyes—only to find herself gazing directly into Marko’s blue gaze.

      She shivered again.

      The sound of a man clearing his throat made Jas jump, and she stepped back abruptly from Marko.

      ‘You two lovebirds planning on joining us?’

      It was, of course, the King.

      Marko’s older brother stood in the opened doorway. He was tall—about the same height as Marko, and with similar dark-coloured hair. But Lukas’s hair was longer, and peppered with grey. He wore an identical suit to his brother, but he wore it with an ease that Jasmine only now realised that Marko lacked. Lukas wore his tux as if he wore one every day—and, Jas realised, that probably wasn’t too far off the truth. A king must attend formal events as regularly as Jas had Thai takeaway when she was back home: i.e. a lot.

      Jasmine straightened her shoulders and smiled at Lukas. He was easy to smile at—his expression open and welcoming, so different from his more shuttered brother.

      And then Marko wrapped his fingers around Jas’s hand—and she had to do everything in her power not to gasp.

      Fortunately, Lukas had already turned away, gesturing for them to follow him into the Knight’s Hall.

      Marko had never touched her before—if she excluded a brief, firm handshake when they’d first met several days ago. Marko had barely met her eyes back then, and as such the touch had been warm—but utterly unmemorable.

      This was nothing like that.

      Marko had laced his fingers through hers—an intimate gesture, and fitting, of course, for an engaged couple. But for Jas, the intimacy was shocking, and sent a thrill of sensation up her arm and through her body to finally pool low in her belly.

      Jas’s gaze flew upwards, but Marko wasn’t even looking at her. That probably would’ve dumped ice water over her unwanted reaction—but then, he squeezed her hand.

      Now, she knew he was just being reassuring. She knew he was holding her hand for show and not any other reason.

      And yet...as crazy as this was, as insane as it all was, it was so easy, just for a moment, to desperately wish it were all real.

      But—since when had Jas Gallagher believed in fairy tales?

      Inside the Knight’s Hall, Jas gently tugged her hand free. She wiggled her toes again, rocking her heels on the parquet floor.

      Queen Petra stood near the unlit fireplace, and she turned to greet them. She wore a stunning red gown, and her blonde hair was piled in an elaborate updo, behind a diamond and platinum tiara.

      ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘I’m Petra.’

      She sounded so normal, as if they’d met at a barbecue, except that she had a fancy accent.

      ‘I’m СКАЧАТЬ