It was the last thing Hannah had expected him to say. “I don’t suppose you’d ever cancel a meeting for a headache,” she said.
“No.”
“Just as I don’t suppose you ever let a headache keep you out of a football game.” “Definitely not. “
Her lips curved. “You played with pain?” “My job was to play, not sit on the bench.” She’d expected as much. You didn’t become a star midfielder without pain and sacrifice. “So, no excuses.” “No excuses,” he echoed.
At least on this point, her father would agree with him. Her father was tough—physically and mentally—and he’d raised Hannah to be the same. She wasn’t allowed to make excuses. Always do your best, he’d tell her, no matter what.
Not that being here, passing herself off as Emmeline, was her best.
“I can understand why you were so upset with me then,” she added carefully. “But I didn’t this morning. I thought you were being a bully.”
“A bully?”
“An unreasonable one.”
He looked startled and then he smiled, a quick smile that made him real and warm and sexy.
But she didn’t want to find him sexy. Not if he was Emmeline’s.
“Have we made a mistake, Emmeline?”
The quiet question in his deep, softly accented voice shocked her. “What?”
“I wonder if we’re forcing something we shouldn’t.”
She looked at him, too stunned to speak.
“It’s never been easy between us,” he added, leaning against the wall, his big shoulders even broader in the black jacket. His brow furrowed. “I know why I’ve pushed ahead, but why have you? There are a half dozen eligible royals you could marry right now. You could have your pick of any of them—”
“But I chose to marry you,” she interrupted softly, because Emmeline had chosen him, and while Emmeline might not love Zale, she must want to be Queen of Raguva.
“Why?”
“For all the same reasons you chose me—our families approved, our countries would forge a stronger alliance, the next generation would be secure.”
He sighed and ran a hand along his jaw. “I wish I could believe you.”
She sat up straighter. “Why can’t you?”
“Your behavior this past year. The secret weekends with your Argentine boyfriend. The prolonged contract negotiations. Your refusal to spend time with me until now.” His broad shoulders shifted. “One of those alone would give me pause, but all three? I’d be a fool to trust you.”
She knew he was talking about Emmeline, but at the moment his anger and mistrust felt personal. “You’d be a bigger fool to let me go.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Why would I?”
“Your country has felt the same economic downturn that the rest of Europe has experienced, but you have big plans to turn the economy around, and those plans hinge on me.” Hannah was grasping at straws now, trying to piece together an argument based on the articles she’d read online about the impact the royal wedding would have on Raguva—increased tourism, greater financial resources, improved clout and visibility. “Since the announcement of our engagement, Raguva’s popularity has skyrocketed. The scenic coast has become the new Riviera, and the public can’t get enough about us and the wedding. The telecast of the ceremony will bring millions to your treasury—” She broke off, drew a quick breath. “Are you willing to throw all that away on a whim?”
“It’s not a whim. I’ve been concerned about your suitability for a long time.”
“Then why have you let it go this long? The wedding is in just nine days. The lawyers are here—all five of them. And the portrait artist is out there setting up his easel this very moment.”
His gaze narrowed. His jaw tightened. He didn’t speak for so long that the uncomfortable silence turned into exquisite tension. “I like confidence in women, Emmeline, but you’re absolutely brazen. You’ve flaunted your boyfriend beneath my nose for months and yet you expect me to just ignore my better judgment and marry you anyway?”
Heat washed through her, scorching her cheeks, burning her skin. “There is no boyfriend.”
“Emmeline, I know all about Alejandro. You’ve been together for years.”
“But that was before we were engaged. We’re not together anymore.”
He gave her a cool look, features grim. “So how do you explain the photographs of you and Alejandro at the Palm Beach polo match?”
“You know I attended the match and posed for pictures afterward. It was a charity event and I took pictures with everyone.
Why aren’t you asking me about the photos I took with the English or Australian teams?”
“Because you’re not involved with any of their players.”
“But I’m not involved with anyone anymore. I’m here, engaged to you.”
“Maybe here in body, but not in spirit.”
“You don’t know that. You can’t say that!” She fought back. The last thing Hannah wanted was to be responsible for Emmeline and Zale’s relationship. She hadn’t come all this way, or struggled this much, to have Zale break off the engagement here and now. No, if Zale wanted to end the engagement, he had to end it with Emmeline, not with her. And if Emmeline wanted to break things off, then she needed to tell him—in person, which meant she had to get here and sort this out herself.
Princess Emmeline’s presence was required. Immediately. “You see only my faults and none of my strengths,” she said. “Maybe that’s because your faults outnumber your strengths.”
“So that’s that? You’ve made up your mind, decided our fate, game over?”
“You make it sound like I’m an executioner about to take off your head.”
“It feels like it.”
“Emmeline!”
She shook her head. “You’re not giving me a chance.” “I gave you chances—twelve months of them!” “But I’m here. I came. Let’s play the damn game, Zale!” “What does that mean?”
“It means we’re still early in the match and you’re wanting to pick up the ball and walk off the field. But we have nine days until the ceremony, nine days to figure out what’s real and what’s not. So put the ball down. Give me a chance to play.”
“And so what do you suggest?”
“We use this time right now to get to know each other. We make every effort to see if this could work before you make a rushed, and rash, decision.”
His expression looked skeptical.
“We commit the next nine days to discovering if we’re compatible. If we are, we marry as planned. If we’re not, we end this amicably.”
“It sounds reasonable except for one thing. We can’t cancel the wedding at the eleventh hour, not after everyone has traveled at great effort and expense to be here for the event. It would be a public relations nightmare.”
“Five days, and we’ll make a decision?”
“Four,” he countered. “Four days should be more than sufficient if we use the time wisely. And then if I’m still not happy in four, it’s over. Done.