Princess in the Making. Michelle Celmer

      “She did mention a desire to tour the village,” the king said.

      That was as good a place to start as any. “Well then, we’ll go first thing tomorrow.”

      “I can’t tell you what a relief this is. And if ever you should require anything from me, you need only ask.”

      Send her back to the U.S., he wanted to say, but he would be taking care of that. After he was through with her, she would be sprinting for the plane. But the key with a woman like her was patience and subtlety.

      He and his father hung up, and Marcus dropped his phone back on the table. He looked over at the pool, then up to the balcony of Miss Reynolds’s room. He should give her the good news right away, so she would have time to prepare for tomorrow’s outing. He toweled off then slipped his shirt, shorts and sandals on, combing his fingers through his wet hair as he headed upstairs. He half expected to hear her daughter howling as he approached her room, but the hallway was silent.

      He knocked, and she must have been near the door because it opened almost immediately. She had changed into snug black cotton pants, a plain pink T-shirt, and her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. She looked even younger this way, and much more relaxed than she had when she stepped off the plane. It struck him again how attractive she really was. Without makeup she looked a little less exotic and vampy, but her features, the shape of her face, were exquisite.