One Night With The Forbidden Princess. Amanda Cinelli

lips. She had seen it all.

      Just in the past month it had been revealed that one of the upstairs maids had engaged in an affair with the head gardener’s handsome son. Olivia had overheard the whole sordid situation developing—right up to the point when said housemaid had found out that her beau was also heavily involved with one of the palace florists. The ensuing slap had resounded across the courtyard and earned the young Romeo a speedy transfer outside the palace.

      The housemaid had moved on quickly enough, accepting a date with a palace guard. The look of delirious happiness as she’d described their first kiss to her friends had haunted Olivia for days.

      She stood restlessly, leaning against the side of the fountain. Was that look the very thing she was sacrificing by agreeing to a loveless marriage?

      She frowned, drawing her hand through the water and watching the ripples spread across her own solemn reflection. Love was about falling for the wrong guy, having your heart broken and then ending up with your handsome Prince Charming—not that she had ever experienced it. But she had watched enough old movies to know it was always true love’s kiss at the end that gave her that butterflies feeling in her stomach. That moment when the couple swore their undying devotion and fell into each other’s arms…

      She wanted to feel like that. At least once in her life.

      There had been a handful of kisses in her past; she was twenty-six, after all. But never more than a brief touching of lips. The kind of men who had been permitted near her just happened to be the kind of men who got aroused at the thought of their own reputations inflating with a real-life princess on their arm. Not one of the men she’d dated had ever tried to get to know her really.

      A prickle made its way along her skin as she thought of a certain pair of grey eyes, raking their way down her body. It was madness, the way her body had seemed to thrum deep inside just from a man’s gaze. It was ridiculous.

      She looked down at her forearms, seeing the gooseflesh there. Why did he have to affect her so violently when no other man had managed to inspire so much as a flicker of her attraction?

      She bit the inside of her cheek with frustration and turned to begin walking back to her apartments—only to find a large male frame blocking her path.

      ‘Good evening, Printsessa.’