Princess in the Making. Michelle Celmer

confronting him so directly probably hadn’t been her best idea ever. She’d always had strong convictions, but she’d managed, for the most part, to keep them in check. But that smug look he’d flashed her, the arrogance that seemed to ooze from every pore, had raked across her frayed nerves like barbed wire. Before she could think better of it, her mouth was moving and words were spilling out.

      She stole a glance at him, but he was still focused on his phone. On a scale of one to ten he was a solid fifteen in the looks department. Too bad he didn’t have the personality to match.

      Listen to yourself.

      She gave her head a mental shake. She had known the man a total of ten minutes. Was she unfairly jumping to conclusions, judging him without all the facts? And in doing so, was she no better than him?

      Yes, he was acting like a jerk, but maybe he had a good reason. If her own father announced his intention to marry a much younger woman whom Vanessa had never even met, she would be wary too. But if he were a filthy rich king to boot, she would definitely question the woman’s motives. Marcus was probably just concerned for his father, as any responsible son should be. And she couldn’t let herself forget that he’d lost his mother less than a year ago. Gabriel had intimated that Marcus had taken her death very hard. He was probably still hurting, and maybe thought she was trying to replace the queen, which could not be further from the truth.

      Looking at it that way made her feel a little better.

      But what if he disliked her so much that he tried to come between her and Gabriel? Did she want to go through life feeling like an intruder in her own home? Or would it never feel like home to her?

      Was this just another huge mistake?

      Her heart began to pound and she forced herself to take a deep breath and relax. She was getting way ahead of herself. She didn’t even know for certain that she wanted to marry Gabriel. Wasn’t that the whole point of this trip? She could still go home if things didn’t work out. Six weeks was a long time, and a lot could happen between now and then. For now she wouldn’t let herself worry about it, or let it dash her excitement. She was determined to make the best of this, and if it didn’t work out, she could chalk it up to another interesting experience and valuable life lesson.

      She smiled to herself, a feeling of peace settling over her, and gazed out the window as the limo wound its way through the charming coastal village of Bocas, where shops, boutiques and restaurants lined cobblestone streets crowded with tourists. As they pulled up the deep slope to the front gates of the palace, in the distance she could see the packed public beach and harbor where everything from sailboats and yachts to a full-size cruise ship were docked.

      She’d read that the coastal tourist season stretched from April through November, and in the colder months the tourist trade moved inland, into the mountains, where snowboarding and skiing were the popular activities. According to Gabriel, much of the nation’s economy relied on tourism, which had taken a financial hit the last couple of years.

      The gates swung open as they approached and when the palace came into view, Vanessa’s breath caught. It looked like an oasis with its Roman architecture, sprawling fountains, green rolling lawns and lush gardens.

      Things were definitely starting to look up.

      She turned to Marcus, who sat across from her looking impatient, as though he couldn’t wait to be out of the car and rid of her.

      “Your home is beautiful,” she told him.

      He glanced over at her. “Had you expected otherwise?”

      Way to be on the defensive, dude. “What I meant was, the photos I’ve seen don’t do it justice. Being here in person is really a thrill.”

      “I can only imagine,” he said, with barely masked sarcasm.

      Hell, who was she kidding, he didn’t even try to mask it. He really wasn’t going to cut her a break, was he?

      She sighed inwardly as they pulled up to the expansive marble front steps bracketed by towering white columns. At eighty thousand square feet the palace was larger than the White House, yet only a fraction of the size of Buckingham Palace.

      The instant the door opened, Marcus was out of the car, leaving it to the driver to help Vanessa with her things. She gathered Mia, who was still out cold, into her arms and followed after Marcus, who stood waiting for her just inside the massive, two-story high double doors.

      The interior was just as magnificent as the exterior, with a massive, circular foyer decorated in creamy beiges with marble floors polished to a gleaming shine. A ginormous crystal chandelier hung in the center, sparkling like diamonds in the sunshine streaming through windows so tall they met the domed ceiling. Hugging both sides of the curved walls, grand staircases with wrought iron railings branched off to the right and the left and wound up to the second floor. In the center of it all sat a large, intricately carved marble table with an enormous arrangement of fresh cut exotic flowers, whose sweet fragrance scented the air. The impression was a mix of tradition and modern sophistication. Class and a bit of excess.

      Only then, as Vanessa gazed around in wonder, did the reality of her situation truly sink in. Her head spun and her heart pounded. This amazing place could be her home. Mia could grow up here, have the best of everything, and even more important than that, a man who would accept her as his own daughter. That alone was like a dream come true.

      She wanted to tell Marcus how beautiful his home was, and how honored she felt to be there, but knew it would probably earn her another snotty response, so she kept her mouth shut.

      From the hallway that extended past the stairs, a line of nearly a dozen palace employees filed into the foyer and Marcus introduced her. Celia, the head housekeeper, was a tall, stern-looking woman dressed in a starched gray uniform, her silver hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her three charges were similarly dressed, but younger and very plain looking. No makeup, no jewelry, identical bland expressions.

      Vanessa smiled and nodded to each one in turn.

      “This is Camille,” Celia told her in English, in a flat tone that perfectly matched her dour expression, signaling for the youngest of the three to step forward. “She will be your personal maid for the duration of your stay.”

      Duration of her stay? Were they anticipating that she wouldn’t be sticking around? Or more to the point, hoping she wouldn’t?

      “It’s nice to meet you, Camille,” she said with a smile, offering her hand.

      Looking a little nervous, the young woman took it, her eyes turned downward, and with a thick accent said, “Ma’am.”

      The butler, George, wore tails and a starched, high collar. He was skin and bones with a slight slouch, and looked as though he was fast approaching the century mark … if he hadn’t hit it already. His staff consisted of two similarly dressed assistants, both young and capable looking, plus a chef and baker, a man and a woman, dressed in white, and each looking as though they frequently tested the cuisine.

      Marcus turned to George and gestured to the luggage the driver had set inside the door. Without a word the two younger men jumped into action.

      A smartly dressed middle-aged woman stepped forward and introduced herself as Tabitha, the king’s personal secretary.

      “If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask,” she said in perfect English, her expression blank. Then she gestured to the young woman standing beside her, who wore a uniform similar to those of the maids. “This is Karin, the nanny. She will take care of your daughter.”

      Vanessa was a little uncomfortable with the idea of a total stranger watching her baby, but she knew Gabriel would never expose Mia to someone he didn’t trust implicitly.

      “It’s very nice to meet you,” Vanessa said, resisting the urge to ask the young woman to list her credentials.

      “Ma’am,” she said, nodding politely.

      “Please, call me Vanessa. In fact, I’ve never been