Seduced by the Spare Heir. Andrea Laurence

though. I can imagine it’s scary to come that close to death without any kind of warning. I mean, to go all that time without knowing you had...what was it, exactly?”

      “A congenital heart defect,” she replied, the lie slipping effortlessly off her tongue after all these years.

      “Yeah, that’s terrifying to think your own body is just waiting to rebel against you.”

      Serafia stiffened and tried to nod in agreement. That would be frightening, although she really wouldn’t know. Her parents had done an excellent job spreading misinformation about her very public heart attack. Why else would a perfectly healthy twenty-four-year-old woman go into cardiac failure on the runway and drop to the floor with a thousand witnesses standing by in horror?

      She could think of a lot of reasons, and for her, all of them were self-inflicted. Serafia had fallen victim to an industry-endorsed eating disorder, which had spiraled out of control leading up to that day. Anorexia was a serious illness, an issue that needed more visibility in the cutthroat modeling industry, but her family wanted to keep the truth out of the papers for her own protection. At the time, she had been in no condition to argue with them on that point.

      Instead the word was that she’d retired from the modeling business to get treatment for her “heart condition” and no one ever questioned it. Instead of surgeries, her actual treatment had included nearly a year of intensive rehabilitation. She had to slowly put on thirty pounds so she didn’t strain her heart. Then she learned to eat properly, how to exercise correctly and most important how to recognize the signs in herself that she was slipping into bad habits again.

      “Are you better now?” he asked.

      That was debatable. With an eating disorder, every day was a challenge. It wasn’t like being an alcoholic or a drug user, where you could avoid the substance of choice. She had to eat. Every day. She needed to exercise. Just not too much. She had to maintain her weight and not swing wildly one way or another, or she’d put too much strain on her damaged heart. But she was managing. One day at a time, she reminded herself. “Yes,” she said instead. “The doctors got me all fixed up. But you’re right, I couldn’t face the catwalk again after that. After nearly dying, I realized I wanted to do something else with my life. I’m much happier with what I’m doing now.”

      “Gabriel Alejandro Montoro!” a sharp voice shouted through the doorway to the patio. It was followed by several loud steps across the stone and a moment later, the figure of his younger sister, Bella, appeared.

      “There you are. Everyone has been looking for you.”

      Gabriel shrugged, unaffected by his sister’s exasperation. “I’ve been right here the whole time. And since when do you get to call me by my full name? Only Mama gets to do that.”

      “And if Mama were here, she’d haul you back into the house by your ear.”

      Serafia chuckled. Her memories of Adela were spot-on. “I’m sorry to monopolize Gabriel’s time,” she said, hoping to draw down some of his sister’s ire. “We were discussing the plans for his royal transformation.”

      Bella eyed Serafia suspiciously, then turned to look at Gabriel. “Good luck with that. Either way, Father wants you inside, and now. He’s wanting to do some kind of toast and then he wants to see you out on the dance floor. The press wants a shot of you dancing.”

      Gabriel stood with a reluctant sigh, reaching out his hand to help Serafia up. “And so it begins. Would you care to join me inside?”

      “Absolutely.” Serafia slipped her arm through his and they walked back into the house together.

      There were even more people in the room now than there were when she’d decided it was too crowded and gone outside. Nothing she could do about it, though. She stayed by his side as they cut through the crowd in search of his father. They found him standing by the bar with Gabriel’s cousin, Juan Carlos.

      Serafia had never had much contact with the Salazar branch of the Montoro family, but she had heard good things about Juan Carlos. He had a good head on his shoulders. He was responsible and thoughtful. To hear some people talk, he was Gabriel’s polar opposite and a better choice for king. She would never tell Gabriel that, though; he had enough worries. Perhaps Juan Carlos would accept a post as the king’s counsel. He would make an excellent adviser for Gabriel or royal liaison to Alma’s prime minister.

      “There you are,” Rafael said once he spied them. “Where have you...” He paused when his gaze flicked over Serafia. “Ah. Never mind. Now I know what has occupied your time,” he said with a smile.

      “It’s good to see you again,” she said, returning his grin and leaning in to hug her father’s oldest friend.

      “Too long!” Rafael exclaimed. “But now that some of us will be back in Alma, that will not be the case. Your father tells me he’s considering moving back if the monarchy is stable.”

      “He told me that, as well.” Her dad had mentioned it, but the Espina family was a little gun-shy when it came to their home country. Their quick departure from Alma in the 1940s had been a messy one. There were rumors and accusations thrown at anyone who fled before Tantaberra rose to power, and her family was not immune. Serafia knew they would move slowly on that front and some might never return. Spain was all she had ever known and she had fallen in love with Barcelona. It would take a lot to lure her away from her hacienda with beachfront views of the Mediterranean.

      Rafael clapped his son on the back. “Now that you’re here, I want to make a small speech, do a toast, and then maybe you can take a spin around the dance floor and encourage others to join you. The party is getting dull.”

      Gabriel nodded and Juan Carlos went over to silence the band and bring Rafael the microphone. The music stopped as Rafael stepped onto the riser with the band and raised his hand to get the crowd’s attention. He had such a commanding presence; the whole room went deathly silent in a moment. He would’ve made a good king, too. Alma’s archaic succession laws needed to be changed.

      “Ladies and gentlemen,” Rafael began. “I want to thank all of you for coming here tonight. Our family has waited seventy years for a night like this, when we could finally see the monarchy restored to Alma. With it, we hope to see peace, prosperity and hope restored for the people of Alma, as well. I’m thrilled to be able to stand up here and join all of you in wishing my son and future king, Prince Gabriel, all the success in the world as he returns to our homeland.”

      Several of the people in the crowd cheered and applauded Rafael’s statement. Gabriel stood stiff at Serafia’s side, his jaw tight and his muscles tense. He didn’t seem to be as excited as everyone else. After their discussion outside, she understood his hesitation. Still clinging to his arm, she squeezed it reassuringly and smiled at him.

      “I ask everyone here to raise their glass to the future king of Alma, Gabriel the First! Long live the king!”

      “Long live the king!” everyone shouted as they held up their glasses and took a sip. Serafia raised her glass as well, drinking the last of her wine.

      “Now I would like to ask Gabriel to step out onto the dance floor and show us a few moves. Everyone, please, join us.”

      “Looks like I have to ask a lady to join me on the dance floor.” Gabriel leaned in closer to her, a sly smile curling his full lips. “Have your doctors cleared you for vigorous physical activity?”

      Serafia smiled at Gabriel and nodded. “Oh yes, I’ve got a clean bill of health. I could go all night on the dance floor if you can keep up with me.”

      Gabriel took her hand and led her out into the center of the room. As the band started playing an upbeat salsa tune, his hand went to her waist and tugged her body tight against his. “Is that a challenge?” he asked.

      The contact of his hard body against hers sent a shock wave through her system that she had little time to recover from. He was no longer the mop-topped little boy she remembered running up and down the beach with his kite. Now his green eyes glittered