“Who?”
It was Sally’s turn to roll her eyes this time. “The prince of course. C’mon, Angel, you can tell me. Your secret’s safe with me, although I am kind of pissed at you for not telling me about him, or who you really are, any time in, oh, the last seven years!”
Sally softened her words with a smile, but Mila could see that she was still hurt by the omission.
How did you explain to someone that even though you’d been engaged to a man for years, you barely even knew him? One formal meeting, where she’d been so painfully shy she hadn’t even been capable of making eye contact with the guy, followed by sporadic and equally formal letters exchanged by a diplomatic pouch, didn’t add up to much in the relationship stakes.
“I...I don’t really know what he’s like.” Mila took in a deep breath. “I have Googled him, though.”
Her friend laughed out loud. “You have no idea how crazy that just sounded. You’re living a real life fairy tale, y’know? European princess betrothed from childhood—well, okay, the age of eighteen at least—to a reclusive neighboring prince.” Sally sighed and clutched at her chest dramatically. “It’s so romantic—and all you can say is that you’ve Googled him?”
“Now who sounds crazy? I’m marrying him out of duty to my family and my country. Erminia and Sylvain have hovered on the brink of war for the last decade and a half. My marriage to Prince Thierry is supposed to end all that—unite our nations—if you can believe it could be that simple.”
“But don’t you want love?”
“Of course I want love.”
Her response hung in the air between them. Love. It was all Mila had ever wanted. But it was something she knew better than to expect. Groomed from birth as not much more than a political commodity to be utilized to her country’s greatest advantage, she’d realized love didn’t feature very strongly alongside duty. When it came to her engagement, her agreement to the union had never been sought. It had been presented to her as her responsibility—and she’d accepted it. What else could she do?
Meeting the prince back then had been terrifying. Six years older than her, well-educated, charismatically gorgeous and oozing confidence, he’d been everything she was not. And she hadn’t missed the hastily masked look of dismay on his face when they’d initially been introduced. Granted, she hadn’t looked her best, but it had still stung to realize she certainly wasn’t the bride he’d hoped for and it wasn’t as if he could simply tell everyone he’d changed his mind. He, too, was a pawn in their betrothal—a scheme hatched by their respective governments in an attempt to quell the animosity that continued to simmer between their nations.
Mila rubbed a finger between her eyebrows as if by doing so she could ease the nagging throb that had settled there.
“Of course I want love,” she repeated, more softly this time.
She felt Sally’s hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t joke.”
“It’s okay.” Mila reached up and squeezed her friend’s hand to reassure her.
“So, how come you came here to study? If peace was the aim, wouldn’t they have wanted you two to marry as soon as possible?”
Again Mila pictured the look on Prince Thierry’s face when he’d seen her. A look that had made her realize that if she was to be anything to him other than a representation of his duty, she needed to work hard to become his equal. She needed to complete her education and become a worthy companion. Thankfully, her brother, King Rocco of Erminia, had seen the same look on the prince’s face and, later that night, when she’d tearfully appealed to him with her plan to better herself, he’d agreed.
“The agreement was that we’d marry on my twenty-fifth birthday.”
“But that’s at the end of next month!”
“I know.”
“But you haven’t finished your doctorate.”
Mila thought of all the sacrifices she’d made in her life to date. Not completing her PhD would probably be the most painful. While her brother had insisted she at least include some courses in political science, the main focus of her studies had been environmental science—a subject that she’d learned was close to the prince’s heart. After years of study, it was close to hers now, too. Not being able to stand before him with her doctorate in hand, so to speak, was a painful thought to consider, but it was something she’d just have to get over. She certainly hadn’t planned on things taking this long, but being dyslexic had made her first few years at college harder than she’d anticipated and she’d had to retake a number of courses. As Mila formed her reply to her friend, Sally was suddenly distracted.
“Oh, he’s so hot!”
Mila snorted a laugh. “I know what he looks like. I’ve Googled him, remember.”
“No, look, he’s on TV, now. He’s in New York at that environmental summit Professor Winslow told us about weeks ago.”
Mila looked up so quickly she nearly gave herself whiplash. “Prince Thierry is here? In the US?”
She trained her gaze onto the TV screen and, sure enough, there he was. Older than she remembered him and, if it was humanly possible, even better looking. Her heart tumbled in her chest and she felt her throat constrict on a raft of emotions. Fear, attraction—longing.
“You didn’t know he was coming?”
Mila tore her eyes from the screen and fought to inject the right level of nonchalance into her voice. “No, I didn’t. But that’s okay.”
“Okay? You think that’s okay?” Sally’s voice grew shrill. “The guy travels how many thousand miles to the country where you’ve been living for years now and he can’t pick up a phone?”
“He’s obviously only in New York for a short while and I’m sure he’ll have a strict timetable set in place. I’m over here in Boston—he can’t exactly just drop in.” She shrugged. “It’s not like it matters, anyway. We’re getting married in a little over four weeks’ time.”
Her voice cracked on the words. Even though she played at being offhand, deep down it had come as a shock to see him on the TV. Would it have killed him to have let her know he was coming to America?
“Hmph. I can’t believe you’re not seeing each other while he’s here,” Sally continued, clearly not ready to let go of the topic yet. “Don’t you even want to see him?”
“He probably doesn’t have time,” Mila deflected.
She didn’t want to go into what she did or didn’t want when it came to Prince Thierry. Her feelings on the subject were too confusing, even for her. She’d tried to convince herself many times that love at first sight was the construction of moviemakers and romance novelists, but ever since the day of their betrothal, she had yearned for him with a longing that went deep into the very fabric of her being. Was that love? She didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she’d had any stellar examples during her childhood.
“Well, even if he hadn’t told me he was coming here, I’d certainly make time to see him if he was mine.”
Mila forced herself to laugh and to make the kind of comment Sally would expect her to make. “Well, he’s not yours, he’s mine—and I’m not sharing.”
As she expected, Sally joined in with her mirth. Mila kept her eyes glued to the screen for the duration of the segment about Prince Thierry—and tried to ignore the commentary about herself. The reporters were full of speculation as to her whereabouts, which had been kept strictly private for the past several years. Though she realized, if Sally had put two and two together as to who she was, what was to say others wouldn’t, also?
She clung to the hope