His Princess in the Making. Melissa James

emotions with laughter, giving him time to gather his thoughts before he spoke.

      “Little, but she makes an impact,” Charlie shot back dryly, the grin diluted by the lifted brow. He turned toward the palace, his arm slung casually around Toby’s shoulders. She held onto him from the other side.

      It felt unbreakable: the Three Musketeers going into battle.

      Four Musketeers, including Puck. The image of her tousled, yapping pet as D’ Artagnan made her chuckle.

      He didn’t ask why she laughed. He knew she’d tell him.

      She turned to Toby, biting a corner of her lip, filled with delicious laughter. “I wonder how the King’s going to react to my dog in the palace.”

      “Vesuvius or Etna?” His tone was dry. “I’ve been informed His Majesty is somewhat of a hothead.”

      “Just a bit,” Charlie answered, with a world of dryness in his voice.

      “He’s used to getting his way, that’s for sure. And when he doesn’t…” Lia shuddered. “With Theo Angelis and Puck in one room, I have a feeling the explosion will be more like Krakatoa.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      OF COURSE, taking the dumb mutt out of the travelling cage ended in disaster.

      Puck woke up just as Toby was connecting quite nicely with the bed-ridden old monarch. Puck squirmed out of Giulia’s arms—the stupid dog didn’t know his luck resting against her beautiful breasts; if she ever let him that close he’d never move again—and raced around the invalid’s room, marking his territory with excited yelps.

      Not the best introduction to the last member of the Costa family.

      While servants flooded the place and everyone ran around after the dog—trying to stop the million-and-one leg-liftings Puck had to perform every time he was somewhere new—the King, the only one seemingly unperturbed by the canine antics, tipped his fingers in silent beckoning to Toby.

      Toby crossed the room, knowing what was coming.

      “Make no mistake, boy. You’re here to talk them both into staying—to doing their duty to their country—and after the weddings you go back to where you belong,” the King muttered.

      While Toby wasn’t about to rouse the fears of an old man recovering from a heart attack, no matter how minor, he couldn’t lie either. “I came to help, sire—but I belong with Charlie and Giulia, no matter where they are. We’re family, sire.”

      The simple statement of fact created his first enemy in the palace.

      His own stupidity created the second.

      When he met Princess Jazmine and the Grand Duke, he kept his attention on them. If his heart sank at the suave, handsome, friendly perfection that was Giulia’s “lovely” Max, he kept it to himself. He was too aware that the King was watching his every interaction with Giulia like a hawk.

      In a month, everything had changed. The old king, sick and in the twilight days of his rule, still held the power over whether he stayed or was bundled back on that jet—and Charlie and Giulia needed him here.

      Yet, despite her earlier joy at his arrival, Giulia seemed too quiet. She was looking at her feet, avoiding everyone’s eyes. In spite of her perfect appearance, something was wrong inside her—and yes, as he’d feared, she had lost weight. The lovely ripe curves he loved so much were too slender for a woman of five-foot-ten. Her skin was paler than he liked, and her eyes didn’t have the fresh sparkle she always had when she’d been out in the sun, communing with nature—another of her stress releases, along with cooking and reading.

      He’d have to get her out there again. That was, if he could get rid of all the black-suited minders, cameras and royal watchers. If he could allay the old man’s suspicions and gain his trust.

      It wasn’t going to happen. Sick and fighting for the good of his people, the King had seen straight through all Toby’s defences that had been in place for a decade. The King knew how he felt about Giulia. The only person who knew his secret was the only enemy he’d ever made in his life, and the most powerful man in the country.

      So he might as well be honest. Any chance to get her alone, and let her tell him what was going on with her.

      “Giulia, my beloved, to put it without any overkill, even jet food sucks. I’ve missed both you and your cooking like hell the past weeks. Therefore, I opine, it’s way past the time when we disappear to discover the royal kitchens and make some of your unbelievably delicious moussaka, and those decadent mud muffins the way only you can make them…and we can talk.”

      Why did she take so long to look up? But when she did he lost his breath. For a moment, a bare second, as she lifted her gaze to his the look he’d hungered to see for a decade was there. The chocolate-dark, slumberous eyes held desire.

      Then it vanished as if it had never been, leaving him wondering if it was jet lag, their long separation or the same useless wishing he’d known for so long.

      But if he’d imagined it, so had Charlie and the King. Charlie’s eyes were glazed with shock—and the look the old man gave Toby was even harder, more calculating. “I think it’s time we allowed these three to catch up.” The unspoken words hovered between king and commoner: the sooner you help them decide, the sooner you go.

      As if in harmony with the King’s silent declaration of war, Jazmine and Max both nodded. “We’ll leave you,” Max said, with a smile aimed at Giulia alone.

      “No, we’ll go to my room.” Giulia sounded off-kilter. “No cameras.”

      “That wouldn’t be appropriate for a princess, my dear,” the King said, gently but with finality. “Even such an old friend as Toby cannot enter your room.”

      Watching closely, Toby saw her nostrils flare a little, her lush mouth tighten, but she nodded, a short, jerking movement of her head.

      “I’ll make sure the cameras are turned off in the tea room, and nobody will be at the balconies,” Jazmine said quietly. “They can wait at the base of the stairs.”

      The King nodded, looking exhausted. “Well thought of, my dear.” He waved them all out.

      A minute later they’d entered some kind of sumptuous, gold-painted tea room, with antique furniture, and mirrors and paintings on the walls. It was beautiful but, to his mind, overdone. It screamed its importance unnecessarily. Whoever had commissioned this place had had a real ego problem.

      After they’d made certain the cameras were turned off and the security detail was away from the outside doors, the Grand Duke—“call me Max”—said to Princess Jazmine, “I think it’s time we leave them alone to talk.” These Mediterranean women really had the most beautiful names.

      Though it had been the right thing to say, the way he smiled at Giulia set Toby’s teeth on edge. He spoke as if he knew Giulia, knew what she’d want and that he could give it to her. He smiled at her as if they were close.

      What made it worse was the way Giulia smiled back.

      Was it a friendly smile, or did it hold more? After a month, she’d given this man her trust, her friendship, and—no, no—her heart? Had she accepted the royal engagement after knowing the guy a few weeks, when he’d waited for her for ten long, agonising years?

      A red haze clouded his vision. All the reasons for his silence vanished from his jet-lagged brain. For the first time in ten years he lost control, acting on impulse, obsession, years of love. “Wait.”

      Jazmine and Max turned back.

      “Are the rumours true about the royal marriages for you—all four of you?” He stared hard at Max.

      Taken aback by the directness of the attack, Max nodded. “It’s the way things are done here. Though he’s giving us