He glanced around. “I would prefer a more private place to discuss matters. Inside the limo perhaps?”
Isabel glared at him. “Do I look like the kind of woman who would get into a car with strangers?”
Niko assumed based on her reaction the answer wasn’t yes. “I may be a stranger, but I am your husband.”
“That remains to be seen.”
She wasn’t making this easy, but given her appearance he shouldn’t be surprised. “Perhaps the garage or if there is an office—”
“Here.”
He needed her cooperation. The last thing Niko wanted to do was upset her any more than he already had. He would allow her this much control.
“Fine. We shall remain here.” He removed two folded pieces of paper from the pouch. “I took the liberty of having the marriage certificate translated.”
She eyed him warily. “Marriage certificate, huh?”
He extended the papers toward her. “See for yourself.”
Instead of reaching for the documents as Niko expected, Isabel wiped her hands on the thighs of her oversize coveralls. The same way she had when she’d walked out of the garage.
Not totally without manners, he realized, but a far cry from the grace and style of a woman like Julianna. “These are copies so it doesn’t matter if they get dirty.”
Isabel took the documents and unfolded them. As she read, she flipped back and forth between the two pages.
Niko appreciated her thoroughness. Now all he needed was her compliance. Given how things were proceeding so far, that might take time. Especially since he hadn’t begun to explain the situation to her.
“The certificate actually looks legit,” she said.
“It is.”
“But it’s wrong.” She pointed her oil stained finger to the line with her mother’s name. “My mother was never married.”
He hesitated.
This “complication” went beyond Isabel Poussard being his child bride and standing in the way of him marrying Juliana and obtaining her significant dowry and trade support from Aliestle. Isabel might think she was a full-blooded American, but she wasn’t. She was also Vernonian, the last of the royal Sachestian bloodline. Her family came from Sachestia, a region in the northern part of the country. She was one of his subjects, one who knew nothing of her parents, her homeland or her past. Isabel deserved to know the truth, but a part of him felt awkward about what he had to do, say. He wished it were already over.
“Your mother, Evangeline Poussard, was an American college student. She was backpacking through Europe when she met Prince Aleksander Zvonimir.” Yesterday, Niko’s parents had explained what happened so he could explain it to Isabel today. “The two fell in love and eloped.”
She looked at Niko as if he’d grown horns. “My mother was married to a prince?”
“Yes.”
Isabel’s mouth quirked. She looked as if she was trying hard not to laugh. “So I suppose next you’re going to tell me someone who looks like Julie Andrews is not only my grandmother, but also the queen?”
Niko had no idea what Isabel was talking about. He knew who the actress was, but couldn’t connect to the reference. He looked at Jovan for an explanation.
“The Princess Diaries,” Jovan explained quietly. “A series of books and movies about an American who discovers she’s a princess.”
Niko had never heard of any such Princess Diaries, but at least he understood the context now.
“My mother is the queen,” he said to Isabel. “Though she would be thrilled to be a grandmother, I can assure you she looks and sounds nothing like Mary Poppins.”
Isabel didn’t crack a smile.
So much for his attempt to lighten the mood.
She shook her head. “I just don’t see how any of this can be true.”
“The truth is not always clear, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
As she studied the translated document, two lines formed above the bridge of Isabel’s nose. He found the trait surprisingly endearing. It made her seem less in control and more open to possibility.
“Let’s say my mother was married to this prince, and he’s my father,” Isabel said. “Why would she give birth to me in America?”
“She didn’t,” Niko said. “You were born in Vernonia.”
“My birth certificate says I was born in the United States. I have a copy.” Isabel pursed her lips. “One of the documents is fake. I’m guessing it’s yours.”
“Guess all you would like, but yours is the fake,” he said. “Given the political unrest in Vernonia when you were born, I wouldn’t be surprised if your parents had another birth certificate made omitting both Vernonia and Prince Aleksander’s name.”
“You sound as if you believe all this.” Disbelief dripped from each of her words. “That Prince Aleksander was my father.”
“Yes,” Niko said firmly. “I believe you are Princess Isabel Poussard Zvonimir Kresimir.”
She scrunched her nose. “Do I look like a princess?”
“You look like a car mechanic, but that doesn’t change the facts. You are a princess of Vernonia and my wife.”
Isabel stared at the marriage certificate. “Then how did I wind up here?”
“That’s what we’d all like to know,” Niko admitted. “My father’s staff have been trying to figure that out.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Where did they think I was?”
He didn’t answer.
“Where?” she pressed.
“Buried in your family’s cemetery.”
She gasped. “You thought I was dead?”
“Not me. I was too young to remember you, but all of Vernonia believed you were killed with your parents in a car bombing a month after our wedding.”
Isabel lowered the papers. “A car bombing?”
“By a splinter faction of Loyalists who were nothing more than terrorists.” The way her eyes clouded bothered him. “It was a … troubled time, with two groups aligned to different royal bloodlines. That is in the past now.”
The two little lines above the bridge of her nose returned.
Good, Niko thought. Isabel was thinking about all that he’d told her. She would see she had to believe—
“Look. I get that you’re somebody. Otherwise you wouldn’t have the limo, lawyer aide guy, documents or a police escort. You know my mother’s name, but you have the wrong person. The Evangeline Poussard who was my mother never went to Europe. She never married. She never would have married off her baby. And she died due to complications with childbirth, not in a terrorist attack.”
“What about the box?” Niko asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe there are identical boxes. Yours and hers.” Isabel shoved the papers at him. “I don’t have time to deal with this. I have work to do.”
With