Touched by her anxiety to do the right thing, when most of the women he knew would probably have shoved him to the ground in their race to sleep in the King’s bed, he showed her Jazmine’s note. He hoped she didn’t notice that he was carefully covering the “Dear Sander” at the start of the royal instructions with his thumb. “The Queen’s instructions are clear, miss. You’re family to royalty now. Whenever you stay with them, you’ll live as they do.”
Mari read the note, eyes still wide, but then she shook her head. “It’s so nice of Jazmine to offer, but I’ll be more than happy in one of the guestrooms. Just so long as we push off soon,” she added with an endearing nervous nibble at her lip and a glance around the darkened cargo hold, as if expecting Mikhail to pop out of a shadowy corner any second.
Knowing that tone well—his mother spoke just like that when she was determined to have her way—Sander didn’t bother arguing as he lifted her bags out of the trunk. He’d just put her bags in the Stateroom, and let her awe and pride do the rest. “Ready?” He was surprised to find he was enjoying the novel experience of playing employee to a commoner.
She nodded. “Definitely. The sooner the better.” She headed for the lit door marked Exit in a form of Koi Greek rare outside of Hellenia, but close enough to read.
He only realised then that Mari had been speaking Hellenican Greek the whole time—and so had he. It had been that easy with her, so natural he hadn’t noticed.
Alarm bells went off in his head. What was it about Mari that drew princes and dukes to her like compasses to the north, when she wasn’t even trying?
An hour later, Mari stood on the deck of the yacht, watching the harbour recede from view. Her sigh was heartfelt when she saw no yacht or chopper racing to catch them.
A soft tingling at her neck told her Lysander was nearby, watching her.
How she knew, she had no idea. He had that effect on her; all the denial in the world wouldn’t change it. She found him—well, gorgeous. It didn’t mean anything would happen.
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