Their Royal Wedding Bargain. Michelle Conder

a debt of gratitude, even if his brother didn’t think so.

      Catching the direction of his thoughts before they progressed any further, Rafe shook them off with well-practised ease. This was partly the reason he hated returning home. The memories, the choked feeling of constraint and the heaviness that came over him that wasn’t a part of the life that he lived now. A life based on unsurpassed pleasure, beauty and freedom. A life he lived predominantly in England, where he’d used a stellar investment in technology while attending Cambridge to purchase his first bar and nightclub. He had ‘the touch’ some said, an innate ability to tap into what his clientele wanted and to transform any venue he took over into the hottest place in town.

      Which often made him the hottest property in town, pursued again and again by women looking to change his mind about remaining single. Something he had no intention of doing. Ever. In his experience the novelty factor rarely lasted beyond the bedroom and, even if it did, his parents’ tumultuous relationship had cured him of ever thinking marriage was an institution he wanted to be part of.

      Much better to have fun while it lasted, and move on before anyone got hurt. And if the tabloids wanted to paint him as a playboy prince to get foot traffic on their websites, that was hardly his problem. Something Jag didn’t understand.

      But then Jag was still a little aggrieved about the whole French heiress debacle at this event last year. Having grown bored early on in the night, Rafe had taken her to his hot tub upstairs, only to have her post photos of the two of them to her social media account. If he’d known Jag was in the middle of important negotiations with her father at the time he would have insisted that she leave her phone downstairs.

      An oversight that had led him to promise his brother that he would stay out of trouble this evening. Which wasn’t exactly fair because Rafe rarely went looking for trouble any more. More often than not it found him.

      As if on cue, he saw his sister making a beeline for him as she wound her way through the throng of impeccably groomed guests at the ball.

      ‘I take it the ostrich lost?’ he teased, his eyes going to the brightly coloured feathers covering her skirt. ‘Or do you have plans to return the outfit to the poor creature at the end of the night?’

      ‘Laugh all you want,’ Milena challenged with narrowed eyes. ‘But I love the dress and every feather had already been shed before it was collected. Is that what you were grinning at before? Or was it something else? I swear you had that glint in your eye that said you were up to no good.’

      ‘Just remembering a certain French heiress I met at about this time last year.’

      ‘Oh, please.’ Milena rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t let Jag hear you say the words “French” and “heiress” together in a sentence; he’ll blow a gasket.’

      ‘He needs to loosen up. He got the deal with her father through in the end so it was a win-win for both of us.’

      ‘No thanks to you,’ she retorted. ‘When are you going to start dating women you respect and want to—’

      ‘Don’t say it.’ Rafe shuddered. ‘I like to imagine that you’re still innocent of such matters. And anyway, I promised our esteemed brother that I’d be on my best behaviour tonight, so don’t worry.’

      He gave his sister his trademark grin, knowing that it wouldn’t work one bit. She might be six years younger than his thirty years but she’d always had his measure.

      ‘That only makes me worry more.’ She groaned. ‘And, speaking of Jag, you need to cut him some slack. He’s got a lot on his plate right now.’

      ‘Like?’

      ‘The Berenian thing.’

      ‘Still?’ Rafe arched a brow. He knew Berenia was causing problems but he’d thought that would have died down by now. ‘So he didn’t marry their revered Princess last year. They need to move on and get over it.’

      ‘There’s more to it than that. Santara has advanced much further on the world stage than Berenia, which brings its own set of resentments.’

      ‘Yes, but still their incompetence can hardly be our problem.’

      ‘I don’t know the ins and outs of it but… Oh, there’s Jag, looking for us. I was supposed to find you so we can get the official photos out of the way.’

      ‘Lead on,’ Rafe said with amusement. He’d smile and play nice so his brother would have nothing to grumble about at the end of the night. Then tomorrow he’d fly home and resume his normal life, which wasn’t dictated by pomp or protocol.

      ‘Rafa.’ Jag greeted him with a hint of stiffness. ‘I wasn’t sure you were going to make it this year.’

      ‘Never miss it. Especially if there’s a French heiress to be had.’

      ‘Rafa!’ Milena scolded under her breath. ‘You promised.’

      Rafe laughed. ‘Don’t worry. Jag knows I’m joking.’

      ‘Jag hopes you’re joking,’ his brother muttered. ‘And just because you made a career out of annoying our father don’t feel that you have to carry the tradition on with me because I’m King.’

      ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ Rafe grinned. ‘I hear you’re having some issues with the Berenians.’

      ‘Don’t mention that word. I swear they’re the most stubborn people on earth.’

      A photographer stopped in front of them. ‘The lighting is probably better over by the far column, Your Majesty; do you mind moving in that direction?’

      ‘Not at all,’ Jag said, casting his eyes across the sea of chattering guests until he spotted what he was looking for. He crooked his finger, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth, softening his face in a way Rafe had rarely seen before. Following his line of sight, he watched as Jag’s new wife made her way towards them. Clearly pregnant, in a slim-fitting gown, she looked beautiful and only had eyes for his brother.

      When she reached his side, Rafe could have sworn the rest of the room dissolved for both of them. Bemused, he wondered what it felt like to want someone that much, and then decided he didn’t want to know.

      ‘Good evening, Your Majesty,’ Rafe greeted his new Queen. ‘You’re looking as beautiful as ever.’ He took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Should you ever tire of my stiff-necked brother, you only have to—’

      ‘Rafa—’ Jag began warningly.

      Queen Regan laughed softy and placed her hand on his brother’s arm. ‘Always the devil, Rafaele.’ She smiled at him. ‘It’s a skill to make a pregnant woman blush. But where is your date tonight? I understand you’re seeing a Spanish supermodel. Ella? Or Esme?’

      ‘Estela,’ Rafe corrected.

      ‘My apologies.’ She glanced around curiously. ‘Did you bring her with you?’

      ‘Unfortunately, we had a difference in priorities and parted ways.’

      ‘And you’re clearly crestfallen.’ Regan arched a brow, a playful glow in her eyes. ‘Do I want to know what those priorities were?’

      ‘If you two are quite finished flirting,’ Jag said with an edge of menace in his voice, ‘the photographer is waiting.’

      ‘Sorry.’ Regan threaded her arm through his. ‘But I’m a married woman now. I have to live vicariously and Rafaele always has such interesting stories.’

      ‘I’ll give you an interesting story later on,’ Jag promised throatily. ‘For now just smile and imagine it.’

      ‘Whatever they have, I don’t want it,’ Rafe grouched, lining up on the other side of his sister.

      ‘It’s called love,’ Milena said impishly. ‘And I can’t wait to experience it.’

      ‘Just