Her eyes were sparkling with anger and pain, and he could tell just how strongly she felt because her accent had deepened. ‘My parents were always distant, too busy with affairs of state to see what was happening with their children. My brother Raffi was left to grow up like a wild child. When he was just fifteen, he was photographed by the paparazzi in a bar, drinking alcohol, despite being way under the legal age limit. It snowballed from there. He followed our Uncle Benito—my father’s younger brother—in being a playboy, except Benito at least worked hard to balance it out. Raffi…well, he just laughed and said it didn’t matter, because he was the heir to the throne and the favourite and he’d do whatever he liked.’ She spread her hands. ‘He had no self-discipline, no thought for others. Which was why he ended up wrapping his car round a tree last week. Thank God he was the only one involved and didn’t hurt anyone else.’ She shuddered. ‘I think that’s why my father didn’t suggest abdicating before—because he knew Raffi was too young and irresponsible to make a good king.’
Dragan looked at her. ‘You’re the heir to the throne now. And you have the self-discipline your brother lacked.’ Studying for a degree in veterinary sciences wasn’t an easy option, and doing it in her second language would have made it even harder.
‘But I don’t have the rest of the princessy accomplishments. I was never the elegant young debutante who was happy with her ballet lessons and piano lessons and deportment and whatever else a princess is supposed to learn—the only thing I enjoyed out of that lot was riding, and that was only because I could escape to the stables and could learn how to look after the horses. The number of times my mother dragged me out and told me that I shouldn’t be playing around in all the mess—how I should act like a princess instead of having straw in my hair like a stablehand. And I couldn’t do it. I never fitted in.’ She sighed. ‘You know, most girls spend their time dreaming they’re princesses in disguise—like the princess and the pauper. For me it was the other way round. I wanted to be the ordinary girl, not the princess.’
That was what she’d been when she’d met him. An ordinary girl. The newcomer to the village—a stranger in a strange land, like himself.
But all the time she’d been playing a part. Pretending to be someone she wasn’t.
Was she playing a part now? He couldn’t help wondering.
‘You’re not an ordinary girl. You’re Princess Melinda of Contarini.’
‘I’m Melinda Fortesque, MRCVS. Soon to be Melinda Lovak.’ She paused. ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind.’
It was breaking his heart to do this, but he had to do the right thing. Families were important, and he couldn’t let her cut herself off from hers. ‘It can’t happen. I don’t fit into your world—and you know it, or you would have asked me to go with you.’
‘You think I asked you to stay because I was ashamed of you?’ She shook her head. ‘Far from it. I’m proud of you. But you have to understand, my mother is a cross between Queen Victoria and Attila the Hun. She’s a terrible snob. I didn’t want her being rude to you and hurting you.’
‘Your parents are never going to accept me,’ he pointed out softly. Just as Georgina’s parents would never accept Luka. Different class, different culture.
‘They will.’
Typical Melinda. Stubborn. But for her own sake he had to make her face the truth. ‘So how did they react to that newspaper story?’ he asked.
‘Not well,’ she admitted.
‘Exactly. No way will they let you marry a commoner.’
‘I don’t want to marry some prince or other they’ve chosen for me. I want you,’ she said.
‘The papers brought out all the stuff about me being a refugee.’
She spread her hands. ‘So? Dragan, it wasn’t your fault there was a war. And you have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing! You had a horrible time that wasn’t of your making, but you came through it. You’ve worked hard and you’ve made something of yourself. You haven’t just taken and taken—you’ve given back. You’re a good man. And that’s exactly what I told my mother. That you’re kind and compassionate, that you’re a brilliant doctor, that you’re clever—for goodness’ sake, you were going to study law and you speak more languages than I do! I told her that every day is better for me now when I wake up because I know you’ll be there. I love you, Dragan.’
She paused and looked straight at him.
He knew what she was waiting for. And how he wanted to tell her that he loved her all the way back. That, yes, he felt hurt and angry and betrayed that she’d kept the truth from him, but they’d work it out together because he loved her.
But he had to do the right thing. Which meant denying it.
‘I can’t forgive you for keeping me in the dark—for agreeing to marry me when you know it can’t happen.’
‘Yes, it can.’
How? They were worlds apart. And Melinda was destined to rule her country. ‘Marry me, and you’ll cut yourself off from your family.’
She raked a hand through her hair. ‘Dragan, I know family’s important to you. I know you miss yours. And if mine were even the slightest bit how you described yours to me, there wouldn’t be a problem. But they’re not. And I’ve barely been back to Contarini since I came to England to study veterinary science. My parents didn’t even come to my graduation. That’s how close we are. So cutting myself off…’ She shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to cut off. My sister’s the only one I’m close to, and I don’t really fit into her social circle either.’ There was the tiniest sparkle in her eye. ‘Though she liked your picture in the paper. And she told me to follow my heart.’
Follow your heart. Good advice. Except…sometimes you had to put your duty first. Melinda’s father was ill and needed to retire. Her family needed her—and in his eyes family should always come first. He knew she was planning to put him before her duty—which was wrong, wrong, wrong. Whereas if she thought there was nothing for her here, it might make it easier for her to leave. To go back and do the right thing.
For her sake, he was going to have to say something that hurt him bone-deep. ‘We’re not getting married,’ he said. ‘It’s over.’
Her eyes widened. ‘No. You don’t mean that. Please, Dragan. Tell me you don’t mean it.’
‘I can’t marry someone who doesn’t trust me. Someone I don’t trust any more.’
‘But, Drag—’
‘It’s over,’ he said, not looking into her eyes because he didn’t trust himself not to crumble. ‘I’m sorry. You’d better leave through the back door—there are paparazzi out the front.’
She stared at him for a long, long moment.
Then she left the room. Closed the French doors behind her.
And Dragan discovered that the pain he’d known as a teenager, when he’d lost his family, had just come back. With a vengeance.
CHAPTER NINE
YEARS of training let Melinda walk down the little alley at the back of Dragan’s house and through to the other side of Harbour Road with her back straight and her expression neutral. Even though she wanted to bawl her eyes out, she made absolutely sure that the paparazzi couldn’t detect her thoughts—no way was she going to let them have a picture they could use with a speculative caption.
But the second she was back in her flat with the door closed behind her, she slid down the wall to the floor, drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms tightly round herself.
It was all over.
Dragan had called off the wedding.
Now