CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

‘B Y THE WAY , Mr Lord, I’d like to thank you for signing all the paperwork so promptly,’ Isabelle announced as she stood beside Travis Lord, staring at the huddle of historic buildings below them that made up Sariyelva—the town’s fairy lights already twinkling in the gathering dusk.

The journey here had taken them over an hour and during that time they’d barely exchanged a word. Perhaps because they were both mindful of the barriers that had been lowered far too readily with their race and the snowball fight. Barriers that she had been determined to rebuild.

But as much as she did not wish to test those barriers, Isabelle knew she couldn’t remain silent any longer. There was too much they needed to discuss... Especially concerning the wedding ceremony itself. And its immediate aftermath.

Unfortunately, she had been unable to address these important details as they’d skied, and snowboarded down the trail, because she had been tongue-tied by the memory of him wrestling her to the ground. And the intent expression on his face as his gaze had shifted to her mouth. In that moment, while he’d held her down in the snow, she’d seen something intoxicating in his eyes—not just approval, but need. And for a second—a pregnant, endless, disturbing second—her heart had slowed from a giddy two-step to a heavy, one-two punch—and all her hopes and dreams had centred on the fierce desire to have him kiss her again.

Utter madness, obviously.

What had she been thinking? Cavorting with him like a teenager? Because, even after an hour, the memory of his big body pressing hers into the snow, his heavy breathing from their exertions visible in the frosty air, his gaze dark and serious, still felt like too much—and also not nearly enough.

He glanced at her, his lips quirking in the half-smile she found aggravating and captivating all at once.

‘I thought I told you there would be trouble if you called me Mr Lord.’

‘Sorry, I meant Travis, of course,’ she said, flustered—again.

Her gaze strayed to his mouth, then jerked to his face, to find him watching her. Her cheeks burned.

For goodness’ sake, Issy, stop thinking about the kiss that never happened.

‘We have a lot to discuss,’ she blurted out. ‘Especially concerning the wedding ceremony. I think it best we marry as soon as possible—to facilitate the lease agreement.’ She began to talk too fast, the words tumbling out of dry lips as she struggled to regain her composure. And keep her focus firmly on logistics and not the memory of his mouth lowering to hers.

‘Obviously neither of us wants to have a full-blown royal wedding, especially as this is not a real marriage, and time is of the essence, but once I tell the Ruling Council about our engagement there will be expectations that we—’

‘What expectations?’ He interrupted her.

The scowl had returned. The one he’d worn on the ridge while asking—or rather demanding—she dismiss her bodyguards. It had occurred to her several times in the past hour—as she had tried to understand her subsequent behaviour—that giving into that request had been the rock on which her common sense had perished. Or rather, very nearly perished.

‘As I’m Androvia’s monarch,’ she began, attempting to gather what was left of her wits, again, ‘my wedding will have to be in the public eye.’

The scowl deepened. ‘How public?’

‘Public enough to convince the world ours is a real marriage.’

‘Give me specifics,’ he said. ‘A ballpark figure for guest numbers, media imprints, time frames, et cetera.’

‘I can’t possibly give you those figures until I’ve spoken to my Privy Council and employed a team to do the planning.’ She scowled back. ‘I just wanted to make you aware a royal wedding—however low-key—is a public event. We will also have to arrange a short honeymoon. But I’ve already cleared my schedule to accommodate a wedding date on the twenty-first of December, if that is amenable. So, a few days off over the Christmas break during which we would remain in the palace should suffice to fulfil the honeymoon commitment.’ She stopped abruptly, aware she was babbling again.

‘That’s a lot of extra stuff you’re asking me to commit to,’ he growled.

Really? Was it that much to ask? When he was getting land worth millions for a single dollar? ‘As I said,’ she began again , ‘I will endeavour to ensure the time requirements are not onerous for you.’

He stared at her for the longest time. ‘Okay.’

Relief coursed through her—even though she wasn’t sure why. If getting the most basic of commitments out of him was this hard, how would she ever make this work for an entire year?

But before she could point this out to him, he added, ‘I can make the twenty-first work, just about, to relocate my base to Androvia for the resort project.’

‘Fabulous,’ she said, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

‘But I have a couple of conditions.’

‘What conditions?’

‘We make the honeymoon trip two weeks instead of a couple of days and we stay at my cabin in Colorado.’

‘But... What? ’ she asked, or rather croaked. ‘But that really isn’t necessary,’ she said. ‘A working holiday in the palace on Christmas and Boxing Day will be more than sufficient. Plus, we will be expected to make some public appearances in the days immediately after the nuptials. And between Christmas and New Year.’

‘No way. The wedding is public enough. Plus I always take a couple of weeks off over Christmas to recharge. And if I’m going to have to play nice for the wedding, not to mention spend a year in Androvia, I’m gonna need the break even more than usual.’

She could hear the surly tone, but also the steely determination.

Panic made her throat close. ‘But I can’t commit to that... It’s...’ Too intimate? Too dangerous? Too exposing? ‘I can’t possibly take two weeks away from my official duties in December, and at such short notice,’ she said hastily, trying to come up with a viable excuse not to spend a fortnight with him—especially at Christmas.

She hated Christmas. It had always been a difficult time of year for her, even before her parents had died, and one she had never enjoyed. The thought of being forced to celebrate it with a man like him, who she suspected already had the ability to see too much, was untenable. ‘And it makes no sense to leave the palace,’ she continued, ‘when it will create a security nightmare—’

‘Stop panicking,’ he cut in, making her brutally aware she had revealed too much already. ‘I’ll agree to ten days in total, to accommodate your schedule,’ he said. ‘And I’ll get my people to liaise with Jensen about the security once we go public with the engagement,’ he continued, as if it were already a done deal. ‘But it shouldn’t be a problem. My place is secluded and private with only one access road. And if we keep the location under wraps, it’ll take at least ten days for anyone to find us there.’

Secluded? Private?

The thought only horrified her more. Keeping busy was the way she got through the season, the way she rode out the storm of memories—and the hollow ache of loneliness—that had dogged her at this time of year ever since she was a child.

‘But I...’ she began, desperately trying to come up with reasons not to agree to his request. ‘That’s really not—’

But he interrupted her again. ‘Quit freaking out, Belle,’ he said, sounding reasonable. Far too reasonable. But the determination—which she remembered from their stand-off over her security detail—told a very different story. ‘Consider those ten days a chance to let off steam and figure out the logistics of this arrangement. We’re not gonna have any time together before the marriage, so we’re gonna need time after to get to know each other.’

‘But I never take more than a few days off at Christmas...’ she tried again, feeling her panic rising. ‘I have too many commitments. And I—’

‘Then you’ll have to cancel them. Like I said, Christmas is the only chance I get to go boarding and chill. Plus, I’m gonna need some guaranteed downtime away from the media after the wedding circus you’re insisting on.’

Christmas? Downtime? The idea horrified her.

‘But there’s going to be so much to do...’ She trailed off as his expression remained implacable and unmoved.

‘There’s always so much to do. What are you so scared of?’

‘I’m not scared,’ she said, desperate to convince herself now, as well as him.

She made herself breathe. Letting Travis Lord know of her fears, of how vulnerable she felt at that time of year, would just expose her more... Especially as the prospect of spending ten days alone with him was already catapulting her so far outside her comfort zone she was practically on Mars.

‘Then what’s the big deal?’ he said, still being Mr Far-Too-Reasonable. ‘My place has enough space we won’t bump into each other if we don’t want to, and you’re probably gonna need some downtime, too.’

But I never take downtime.

She swallowed the revealing remark.

How had he managed to box her into a corner again? As he had during their snowball fight? With no ammunition left.

Blast the man, he’s outmanoeuvred me again. This is getting to be a really annoying habit.

‘Okay, fine.’ She sighed, knowing it was not at all fine. But continuing to freak out, as he had so indelicately put it, would just put her at more of a disadvantage.

You are a queen, you can handle anything, including a ten-day Christmas break with Travis Lord.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad? She would simply have to keep her wits about her while she was in his home. And, strictly speaking, this would still be a working Christmas. He certainly did not seem the sentimental sort, so surely he would not insist on any of the trappings of Christmas that she had always avoided. And she did need to get to know him better, if only to figure out how to stop him outmanoeuvring her so easily. Plus, if she was going to spend a year pretending to be intimate with him, she needed to become comfortable with spending time with him. She would consider this a baptism of fire. And anyway, they would not be alone—because she very much doubted he cooked and cleaned for himself.

‘Cool,’ he said. ‘You won’t regret it.’

Unlikely, seeing as I already am.

He glanced at the sun, which was about to dip below the horizon. ‘Come on, we have a date with the paparazzi.’ He stamped his feet back into the bindings of his snowboard. ‘FYI, don’t forget to look like you adore me as soon as we hit town, Belle.’

Her heart pounded against her ribcage—and pulsed between her thighs.

Precisely!