INVITATION TO THE
PRINCE’S PALACE
JENNIE ADAMS
THE PRINCE’S
SECOND CHANCE
BRENDA HARLEN
INVITATION TO THE
PRINCE’S PALACE
JENNIE ADAMS
About the Author
Australian author JENNIE ADAMS grew up in a rambling farmhouse surrounded by books and by people who loved reading them. She decided at a young age to be a writer, but it took many years and a lot of scenic detours before she sat down to pen her first romance novel. Jennie has worked in a number of careers and voluntary positions, including transcription typist and pre-school assistant. She is the proud mother of three fabulous adult children, and makes her home in a small inland city in New South Wales. In her leisure time Jennie loves long, rambling walks, discovering new music, starting knitting projects that she rarely finishes, chatting with friends, trips to the movies and new dining experiences.
Jennie loves to hear from her readers and can be contacted via her website at www.jennieadams.net
For Kara
Dear Reader,
Take one modern-day prince, add an everyday girl and an unconventional marriage arrangement, and watch the unanticipated romance unfold.
Invitation to the Prince’s Palace is my first royal story, and I’m so excited to be exploring the fantasy of an everyday girl marrying literally the prince of her dreams.
One of my pleasures is to throw characters with differing backgrounds, histories and outlooks together and watch the sparks fly as they resist each other, fall for each other, and figure out how to overcome the odds to be together. I’ve particularly enjoyed writing Rikardo and Melanie’s story. It has given me the chance to consider what it might be like for an ordinary girl to be swept off her feet and into a complete fantasy world—one she doesn’t believe she deserves or would be able to live in. Watch her prince figure out how to convince her, and watch him come to believe that true love can indeed happen—even when it’s the last thing he has planned!
I hope you enjoy the story of Australian cook Melanie Watson and her wonderful European prince, Rikardo Ettonbierre, as much as I enjoyed writing it.
With love from Australia,
Jennie
CHAPTER ONE
‘YOU’RE here. I expected to have to wait longer.’ Melanie Watson tried not to sound too desperately relieved to see the cab driver, but she was relieved. She’d been saving money to try to start a new life away from her aunt, uncle and cousin. She still didn’t have enough, but tonight she’d experienced very clearly just how soul-destroying it truly could be to live among people who postured rather than accepted, who used rather than loved.
The family’s gloves had come off and Mel had made the choice to leave now whether she was quite financially ready, or not.
Mel had waited until her cousin had disappeared into her suite of rooms, and until her aunt and uncle had fallen into bed. She’d cleaned up every speck of the kitchen because she never left a job half done, and then she’d ordered a cab, left a note in her room, packed her life into suitcases and carried it to the kerb.
Mel tried to focus her gaze on a suburb painted in shades of silvery dawn. The sun would rise fully soon. The wispy chill would lift. Clarity and the new day would come and things would look better. If she could only stay awake and alert for that long.
She really felt quite odd right now, off kilter with an unpleasant buzzing in her head. She didn’t exactly feel she might be about to faint, but … she didn’t feel right, that was for sure.
‘It’s a nice time for a drive. It’ll be really quiet and peaceful.’ That sounded hopeful, didn’t it? At least a little bit positive and not overly blurry?
With the kind of anonymity born of speaking to a total stranger, Mel confided, ‘I’m a bit under the weather. I had an allergic reaction earlier and I didn’t get to take anything for it until just now. The medication is having a lot stronger impact on me than I thought it would.’
She’d got the treatment from her cousin’s stash while Nicolette had seen off the last of the wealthy guests. Maybe Mel shouldn’t have helped herself that way, but she’d been desperate.
Mel drew a breath and tried for a chirpy tone that emerged with an edge of exhaustion. ‘But I’m ready to leave. Melbourne airport here we come.’
‘I arrived earlier than anticipated so I’m grateful that you are ready.’
She thought he might have murmured, ‘Grateful and somewhat surprised’ before he went on.
‘And I’m pleased to hear your enthusiasm despite the problem of allergies. Might I ask what caused them?’ The taxi driver’s brows lifted as though he didn’t quite know what to make of her.
Fair enough. Mel didn’t know what to make of herself right now. She’d fulfilled her obligations, had pulled off all the beautiful desserts and other food for the dinner party despite harassment from her relatives and cleaned up afterwards when the party had finally ended.
Now she really needed her wits about her to leave, and they weren’t co-operating. Instead, they wanted to fall asleep standing up. Like a tram commuter after a big day’s work, or a girl who’d taken a maximum dose allergy pill on top of a night of no sleep and wheezing and swallowing back sneezes and getting a puffy face and puffy eyes.
‘My cousin bought a new perfume. She sprayed it near me and off I went. Apparently I’m allergic to gardenias.’ Mel dug for the remnants of her sense of humour. She knew it was still in there somewhere! ‘Just don’t give me any big bunches of those and I’m sure we’ll be fine.’
‘I will see to that. And you are right. It is a good time for a drive. The Melbourne cityscape is charming, even in pre-dawn light.’ His words seemed so serious, and his gaze focused on her eyes, then on the spot where the dimple had come and gone in her cheek as she made her small joke. Would the dimple have offset her red nose and puffy face? Somehow Mel doubted it.
Mel focused on him, too. It was difficult not to because the man was top-to-toe gorgeous. Tall, a little over six feet to her five feet four and beautifully lean. Mel blinked to try to clear her drowsy vision.
He’d spoken in that lovely accent, too. French? No, but something European, Mel thought, to go with his tanned skin and black hair and the almost regal way he carried himself. He had lovely shoulders, just broad enough that a woman could run her hands over them to appreciate their beauty, or lay her head to rest there and know she could feel secure.
He wore an understated, expensive-looking suit. That was a bit unusual for a cab service, wasn’t it? And his eyes—they weren’t hazel or brown but a glorious deep blue.
‘I just want to curl up.’ Maybe that explained her reaction to him because his broad shoulders looked more appealing by the moment.
‘Perhaps we’d better get your luggage loaded first, Nicol—’ The rest of the word was drowned by the double beep of a car’s unlocking device. He reached for the first two suitcases.
She must have given her full name of Nicole Melanie Watson when she booked the taxi. Since going to live with her aunt and uncle at age eight, Mel had only been known by her middle name. It felt strange to hear the first one again. Strange and a little shivery, because, even hearing only part of the word, his accent and the beautiful cadence of his voice made