Her Christmas Prince. Catherine Mann

the door behind them, Eleanor spun back around, holding a newspaper in her shaking hands. “What,” she demanded through clenched teeth, “is the meaning of this?”

      Alandra stood perfectly still, stunned by the queen’s obvious displeasure, but unsure of the cause. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t make out the headline of the article being waved between them.

      Seemingly unfazed by his mother’s mood, Nicolas reached for the paper. There, taking up nearly all of the top half of the front page was a close-up photo of Nicolas and Alandra. They were standing on the balcony of the hotel suite, caught in an unmistakable embrace.

      The photo had to have been taken after they had made love, then gone out on the balcony for a breath of fresh air…only to end up kissing for long, stolen moments before drifting back inside to make love again.

      Alandra’s cheeks flamed at both the memory and the knowledge that someone had been out there, snapping pictures of a very private moment.

      Above the photo, sending a wave of nausea through her stomach, was a bold, glaring headline that declared her Prince Nicolas’s American Tart.

      Nicolas muttered a dark curse beneath his breath and lowered the newspaper.

      Still vibrating with anger, the queen said, “You and your little…American are on the front page of every newspaper in Glendovia. I told you, Nicolas. I told you not to get involved with her, that she would only bring shame and embarrassment to our family.”

      The sick sensation clawing at Alandra’s insides grew worse. She’d come to Glendovia to get away from one scandal, only to find herself smack in the middle of another.

      And this one was even worse, because now it was true. She hadn’t had an affair with Blake Winters, as the American press had claimed, but she had been sleeping with Nicolas.

      “Mother,” Nicolas growled.

      His jaw was clenched, and the single word was clearly a warning. One the queen chose to ignore.

      “Princess Lisette arrived less than an hour ago—in tears. She’s crushed, and her parents are furious. Do you have any idea how this indignity will affect your upcoming nuptials? If she backs out of the engagement, our family’s ties with hers will be fractured. The political future of Glendovia could be in peril.”

      “I think you’re overreacting,” Nicolas remarked, but it was obvious from his expression that the entire situation had him concerned.

      Alandra’s brain had gotten stuck on two words that made her heart feel as though it were being squeezed in a vise.

      She turned her head toward Nicolas. “You’re engaged?” she asked.

      “It’s not what you think,” he said shortly. “I can explain.”

      But she didn’t want to hear explanations, excuses, lies or more of the persuasive and creative arguments he seemed only too talented at spinning.

      It was her turn to shake her head as she backed away.

      “I’m sorry,” she murmured shakily, directing her apology to the queen, not Nicolas. She had nothing to apologize to him for.

      “I’m sorry,” she said again, “I didn’t know he was betrothed. I certainly didn’t come here with the intention of getting involved with Nicolas. I would never have knowingly brought any embarrassment or undue attention to your family. I hope you can believe that.”

      The queen’s pinched expression did not change as she turned to look at her son. “I’ll expect the two of you to keep your distance from now on. You will conduct yourselves with the utmost decorum and stay as far from each other as possible while we rectify this situation. Is that understood?”

      Nicolas looked as though he wanted to argue, but Alandra was already nodding. She blinked to hold back tears of humiliation, even as she licked her dry, parched lips.

      “You may go,” Eleanor told her, clearly dismissing her. “And you,” she said to Nicolas, “will speak with Lisette immediately, and do your best to repair whatever damage has been done. Is that understood?”

      Alandra slipped out of the office, closing the doors behind her without waiting to hear Nicolas’s reply, and hurried across the parquet floor for the stairs. All she wanted was to get away, get back to her rooms, where she could be alone. What a fool she’d been. Again.

      Standing in the doorway of her suite, Alandra took one last look around to be sure she hadn’t left anything behind. All had been erased.

      Closing the door quietly behind her, she walked down the hall, pulling her wheeled carry-on behind her. Instead of heading for the front of the palace, where guests would be arriving for the Christmas Eve party, she slipped toward the back, where a car was waiting to take her to the airport.

      Leaving now meant giving up the hefty bonus

      Nicolas had promised for the charity of her choice, but she simply couldn’t stay. She wanted to go home, where she would be surrounded by family. Where she could hopefully hide and start to heal.

      At the moment, the pain in her heart didn’t feel as though it would ever go away, but she was hopeful. Hopeful that the sooner she left Glendovia, the sooner she could put this entire incident behind her. That the farther she could get from Nicolas, the faster she would begin to forget that she’d let herself fall in love with him—and that he’d been lying to her the entire time.

      “Thank you for all of your help,” she said to the woman who had helped her arrange for the car and a flight back to the United States.

      Alandra handed her a stack of thick files and paperwork, with a separate sheet of stationery clipped to the outside. Despite her eagerness to leave, she had taken the time this afternoon to make certain the foundation wouldn’t be left in the lurch.

      “Please see that Prince Nicolas gets this. It should be everything he needs to continue with the Dream a Little Dream project.”

      The woman nodded and offered a small curtsy. “Yes, miss. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

      “Thank you,” Alandra said, swallowing back tears. In only a few short weeks she had grown unaccountably close to the palace staff and was sincerely going to miss them.

      With her throat too clogged to speak another word, she walked to the waiting vehicle and climbed in the back. It was dark outside, and too dark to see much of anything through the tinted rear windows. But even so, as the car rolled slowly away from the palace, Alandra kept her gaze focused straight ahead, not wanting to catch even one final glimpse of the site where she’d experienced both an incredible amount of happiness and an incredible amount of heartache.

      Nicolas kept his expression impassive throughout the night, giving no hint of his dark, foul mood. He was only too relieved when the Christmas party drew to an end and he was able to slip away from his family and their guests.

      He muttered a curse through gritted teeth as he made his way down the long hallway to Alandra’s rooms. This was not the way he’d hoped things would turn out between them, or how he’d intended her visit to Glendovia to draw to a close.

      When he reached her suite, he knocked lightly, then opened the door and entered without waiting for her response.

      The lights were on and he heard noises coming from the bedroom, but something seemed oddly out of place.

      “Alandra?” he called, striding in that direction.

      He pushed open the door, immediately taking in the stripped bed and the lack of Alandra’s personal items, which had been scattered about the first night he’d spent with her. A second later, a maid appeared in the bathroom doorway and gave a little squeak of surprise.

      “Your Highness,” she said, bowing her head.

      “Where is Miss Sanchez?” he asked, frowning in consternation.

      “I’m sorry, sir, but she’s