The Prince's Royal Dilemma. Brenda Harlen

she should go home. Unfortunately, home was nearly a thousand miles away, so she’d asked the palace chauffeur to take her to Tan’s house instead.

      Tanis had returned to Tesoro del Mar two years after Lara had settled on the island, partly to avoid her mother’s attempts to marry her off but mostly to be closer to her best friend. An art history graduate and struggling artist, she worked full-time at a local café to pay the rent and part-time at the Port Augustine Art Gallery to buy her canvases and paints and—she kept hoping—make some professional connections. In light of her busy schedule, Lara was lucky to have caught Tan at home—and grateful.

      “I would have loved to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.” Her friend brought a bottle of merlot and a couple of glasses to the table.

      Lara knew that even if she could explain her vehement outburst, her behavior was still inexcusable. “I was just so hurt and angry.”

      “And understandably so.” Tanis poured the wine. “You’ve devoted four years to that family, and he tosses you out on your butt because of a sexy photo in the paper.”

      She winced. “I don’t even want to think about that picture. I still don’t understand how it could have been taken. It was a private beach—and Lexi and Damon and Marcus were there, too.”

      “Telephoto lens,” her friend said matter-of-factly. “Then some creative zooming and cropping and instead of a picture of the royal nanny spending a day at the beach with the kids, the photographer has a front-page sex kitten.”

      “Thank you so much for your support.”

      Tan just grinned.

      Lara sipped her wine. “Do you think he can have me deported for what I said to him?”

      “He’s the prince regent—he could probably have you deported for jaywalking, but why would he bother?”

      “Good point.”

      “You know,” Tanis said, bringing a platter of assorted sweets to the table, “you should consider the possibility that His Royal Arrogance did you a favor.”

      “How’s that?” she asked miserably.

      “Because as long as you were working and living at the palace, you were never going to get over your infatuation with him.”

      Lara selected a macademia nut brownie and bit into it. “Which is the same problem you have with your work at the art gallery.”

      “Now at least you’re free to do what you want when you want,” her friend continued, ignoring the reference to her own life. “Maybe even go out on a date every once in a while.”

      “You make it sound like I was locked up in the palace tower for the past four years.”

      “You might as well have been.”

      “I’ve been on dates,” Lara said, just a little defensively.

      “Have you ever gone out with the same guy more than twice?”

      “What does that have to do with anything?”

      “No,” Tanis answered her own question. “Because you mentally compare everyone to Rowan, and what normal guy could even hope to compete with a prince?”

      She couldn’t deny it was true, even if the comparisons had mostly been subconscious, so she said nothing.

      “You’re twenty-five years old,” her friend continued. “Way too young to be thinking about marriage, in my opinion, but if you really want to have a dozen kids of your own someday, you have to stop living in a fairy-tale world and start looking for daddy prospects.”

      “You’re right,” she finally admitted.

      Tan’s smile was smug. “Of course I’m right. And I know just the man to make you forget all about His Royal Arrogance.”

      She groaned. “Please tell me you’re not talking about a blind date.”

      “Actually, I’m not talking about a date at all, but a job.” She broke a peanut butter cookie in half and popped a piece into her mouth.

      “What job?” Lara asked.

      “Taking care of Luke’s kids.”

      “Your Luke?”

      “My boss,” her friend clarified.

      Lara had met him a couple of times at the art gallery and knew a little of his basic background from Tanis. A hunky widower with twin girls, if she remembered correctly. And the object of her friend’s secret affection. “I thought he had a nanny.”

      “He did. Until last week when she ran off with a sculptor whose work was on display at the gallery.”

      She managed a smile. “And you think he’s desperate enough to hire a nanny fired by the royal family?”

      “I know he’d be lucky to have you,” Tan said loyally. “In fact, I’ll give him a call right now if you’re interested.”

      Lara was tempted to say no, to let herself dream that the prince regent would somehow realize he’d made a mistake and ask her to come back, but she knew that would never happen.

      “But if you’re not sure, you can take some time to think about it,” Tan continued. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”

      “Thanks,” Lara said, grateful for the offer, though she knew she couldn’t accept it. Her friend’s apartment was barely big enough for one person, even without all the art supplies scattered around. “But I think starting a new job would be good. I need to move on.”

      “Then I’ll call Luke right away.” Tanis was already reaching for the phone.

      Lara sipped her wine while her friend made the arrangements.

      “He wanted to come over and pick you up right now,” Tan said when she disconnected the call.

      “I could go now,” she agreed.

      “No way. It’s a rare occurrence for us to have the same day off and I want to go shopping.”

      “Shoe shopping?”

      Her friend grinned. “Is there any other kind?”

      “I guess a new job calls for new shoes,” she agreed, but her eyes filled again with tears.

      Tan touched her hand. “It will get better.”

      “The worst part of this whole situation is that I wasn’t prepared and I should have been. I knew Prince Rowan never liked me—I just didn’t realize how much he actually disliked me.” She swallowed. “It was almost as if he was looking for an excuse to fire me.”

      “That’s because he’s an arrogant, pompous ass,” Tanis declared with such conviction that Lara had to smile.

      “Married?” Rowan stared at Henri Marchand, certain the information he’d just been given couldn’t possibly be true. “You must be joking.”

      “I’m afraid not,” his political advisor and longtime friend said solemnly. “If you don’t marry within six months of your thirty-fifth birthday, you risk losing the throne.”

      “Can I challenge the law? Change it?”

      “You could try, but it would be a difficult and time-consuming process and your birthday isn’t far away.”

      Rowan scanned the highlighted portion of the text again, shaking his head. “Which means that I have little more than six months to find a suitable bride.”

      The corners of Henri’s mouth curved just a little, and Rowan knew he was amused by the thought of his avowed bachelor friend finally sticking his head in the marriage noose.

      “That’s right, Your Highness.”

      “And if I refuse? Would