Contract Wedding, Expectant Bride. Yvonne Lindsay

      A sharp rap sounded at the door to her room, making her jump. She fought to compose herself and felt a flash of annoyance as Sonja Novak let herself into the room without waiting for Ottavia’s call of consent. Sonja was followed by a footman, dressed in the staff’s standard uniform of a navy suit and tie. Ottavia’s eyes swiftly took in the items the footman carried.

      Her laptop and her phone. Relief flooded her. Finally, she would have access to the outside world.

      “Your devices,” Sonja said coldly as she gestured to the footman to put them on the delicate writing desk. “King Rocco has directed that you be given access to the castle Wi-Fi and the printer on this floor. The password to the internet has already been installed on your computer and you have been added to the castle network. You will find a printer in the business suite at the end of the corridor.”

      “Thank you,” Ottavia said graciously, even though she’d have much rather commented along the lines of “about time,” instead.

      “I sincerely hope His Majesty’s trust in you is not misplaced,” Sonja remarked as the footman exited the room.

      “Misplaced? Why should it be?”

      “You’re hardly what I would call trustworthy, are you? Always selling yourself to the highest bidder? How can we be certain you won’t abuse your...position here?”

      A flame of anger licked to life inside Ottavia, but she kept it banked down. It wouldn’t do to show this woman how much her remark insulted. But then, maybe that had been Sonja Novak’s intention all along?

      “We?” Ottavia repeated. Did others join the woman in her concerns? Sonja declined to answer. Ottavia met the other woman’s hard glare with a gentle smile. “If I could have some privacy now, please...?”

      For the second time that day, Ottavia turned her back on her. She knew it was a dangerous move. In battle, one never turned one’s back to the enemy, but she had no wish to engage in any further conversation. The entire time Ottavia had been held here, the king’s adviser had made it more than clear that she felt Ottavia should never have sullied the glorified air of the castle.

      “Ms. Romolo, you may think that now you are no longer a prisoner here you have the upper hand over me, but you are mistaken. Don’t push me, or you will regret it. And do not, under any circumstances, betray King Rocco’s trust in you.”

      “You can let yourself out,” Ottavia responded.

      It was only once the door snicked quietly closed behind her that Ottavia allowed herself to relax. She huffed out a breath of air and eagerly reached for her phone. There’d be messages she needed to attend to. She thumbed the power button but was frustrated by a completely blank screen. Flat, obviously. Never mind, in her suitcase were her chargers.

      She retrieved the chargers and plugged in both her phone and her laptop. Her heart sank when she saw how many voice mails were stored on her phone. She listened to each one, her heart aching. Her cheeks were wet with tears by the last. Ottavia sighed and put her phone down on the table with a shaking hand. Should she call Adriana now?

      Her heart said yes even while her mind cautioned no. Evenings were always the worst; a call now could leave Adriana’s caregiver with a wealth of stress for the night. No, the morning would be better.

      Steeling herself against her heart’s plea, Ottavia placed her phone on her bedside table and turned instead to her laptop. As she opened it, Ottavia wondered if her computer had been examined during the time they’d held it. No doubt. Her phone, too. Well, she had nothing to hide, she thought with a surge of frustration for the position she had been forced into.

      Forced into for now, yes, but not to stay. The reminder echoed through her mind. Yes, King Rocco had held her captive here for some time, but she was here now of her own volition. Her own choice. And she had a job to do.

      A small smile curved her lips as she booted up the laptop and opened a contract template, swiftly keying in the necessary data, highlighting some sections, deleting others. When she was satisfied she had everything within the contract that she needed, she sent the document to print. Her lips formed a grim line when she saw the palace printer installed in her printer queue, its presence confirming that, yes, they had been into her computer. At least she kept no sensitive data on here relating to her previous client base.

      Ottavia let herself out of her room to search for the business suite. Even as she opened the door and stepped out into the richly carpeted corridor she felt as if she was doing something wrong—as if she was still a prisoner, but now on the verge of escape. There was an irony in that, she realized. A deep irony. The contract would ensure there was no escape for her for a while at least, and strangely, that didn’t bother her as much as it should.

      Perhaps it had something to do with the contents of the contract—if Rocco didn’t agree then she would be on her way north, home. Her contract, her choices, her safeguards. Would her sovereign agree? A piece of her hoped not, knowing that she’d have a much easier time regaining her hard-won composure if she was away from the king and the unwelcome and irresistible attraction she felt for him. But then another part of her—a part she didn’t want to examine too closely—wanted to see just how far that attraction would take them both...

      The business suite Sonja Novak had mentioned was exactly where she’d said it would be. Even though it had clearly irritated the woman to give Ottavia the freedom of the castle, or at least this floor, she’d done what she’d been instructed to do. Freedom was a relative thing, however. Ottavia didn’t doubt for a second that she was under surveillance. The discreetly placed cameras around the room and at intervals on the corridor made that abundantly clear.

      The knowledge made her take her time—sauntering across the room and inspecting the equipment there, before going to the printer and lifting the sheets neatly stacked on the tray. She idly flicked through the printed pages, even though she knew exactly what they said, then separated them into the two sets and secured each with clips from a dish on a nearby desk. Then, with a nod of satisfaction she returned to her room.

      It was still early evening and she had plenty of time before her nine thirty rendezvous with the king. What should she wear? What was it he’d said? Don’t bother dressing for the occasion? She smiled. She knew what he expected and she would deliver exactly what he’d asked for. After all, wasn’t that what she did best? Deliver on men’s expectations?

      A slightly bitter taste filled her mouth. Their expectations, yes, but always, always, on her terms, and her king may find that getting what he asked for was another thing entirely.

      * * *

      Rocco turned as he heard the knock on his door. Nine thirty. Perfect timing.

      “Enter!”

      The door swung wide to admit his courtesan. A thrill of anticipation raced through him, making him feel even more invigorated than he had after his run. The sensation rapidly turned to shock as he let his eyes drift over the woman standing in the doorway. Gone was the sensuous drift of silk over skin. Gone was the perfectly arranged swath of hair falling over her shoulders. Gone was the makeup that had accentuated her fascinating gray-green eyes and the slope of her sculpted cheekbones. Even her lips were denuded of any tint of color.

      As the surprise faded, humor pulled from deep inside him. So, she’d taken his words literally and hadn’t dressed for the occasion. The last thing he’d expected was for her to turn up in, however, was yoga pants and a faded and stretched T-shirt with a scruffy pair of sneakers on her feet. Even her hair was pulled back in a ponytail so tight that it gave him a headache just looking at it.

      And yet, she’d failed to obscure her natural beauty and grace or the way the well-washed fabric of the oversize shirt slipped off one shoulder, exposing the sinfully delectable curve of her shoulder and a hint of the shadow of her collarbone. What was it about her that could cause something as simple as the play of light and shadow on her skin to send his senses into overdrive? He relished finding out.

      “Your Majesty,” she greeted him, dipping into a curtsy.

      It