The Wedding Party Collection. Кейт Хьюит

in his life—every emotion, every caress, kiss or loving touch—had been faked. How on earth could he expect this to be real?

      He didn’t even know what real was.

      Two hours later they were back in the car, speeding towards their hotel in Mayfair. All around them the lights of the city glittered under a midsummer drizzle, the pavement slick and gleaming with rain. Alyse hadn’t spoken since they’d got into the car and Leo eyed her now, her face averted from him so he could only see the soft, sweet curve of her cheek, the surprising strength of her jaw. He longed to touch her.

      He didn’t.

      This was their life now, he reminded himself. This pretending. No matter what might be developing between them, neither of them could escape the grim reality that every time they stepped outside of the palace they would be pretending to feel something else.

      A simple, emotionless business arrangement would really be easier.

      Yet, even as he told himself that, he couldn’t keep from reaching for her as soon as they were back in their suite. She came willingly, her dress whispering against his legs, but he saw shadows in her eyes and her lip trembled before she bit it. He wanted to banish it all: the party, the pretence, the doubt and fear he felt in her now—and in himself. He wanted to make her smile, and the only way he knew of doing that was to kiss her, so he did.

      Gently at first, but then he felt the softness of her mouth, the surrender of her sigh, and he drove his fingers into her hair, scattering all the diamond-tipped pins, as he pressed her against the wall of the foyer and devoured her with his kiss.

      Alyse responded in kind and he felt a raw desperation in both of their need, a hunger to forget all the play-acting tonight and simply lose themselves in this—perhaps the only real thing they shared.

      And lose himself he did, sliding his hands under the slippery satin of her gown, bunching it heedlessly about her hips as she wrapped her legs around his waist and he drove into her, lost himself inside her, his face buried in the warm curve of her neck as her body shook with pleasure.

      They didn’t speak afterwards and silently Leo led her from the foyer, leaving the hair pins and her shoes scattered on the floor. He peeled the dress from her body and shrugged off his own clothes before he drew her to the bed, wrapped his body around her and tried to shut out the world.

      He woke several hours later, the room still swathed in darkness, and a glance at the clock told him it was an hour or so before dawn. He felt relentlessly awake and silently he slipped from Alyse’s embrace, leaving her sleeping in his bed.

      In the sitting room he powered up his laptop, determined to do a few hours’ work before Alyse woke. They had engagements planned all day today, and they flew to Paris tonight for yet another reception, another full day tomorrow, yet another day of pretending. He pushed the thought away.

      He would focus on work, the one thing that gave him satisfaction, a sense of purpose. He still needed to work on the wording of the bill for parliament regarding improvements to Maldinia’s technological infrastructure, something his father had never remotely cared about.

      He opened an Internet browser on his laptop to check his email and stopped dead when he saw that morning’s news headline blaring across the screen:

      Cinderella’s Secret Lover Tells All.

      Slowly he clicked on the article and scanned the first paragraph.

      Prince Leo and his bride have always been the stuff of a fairy tale, and perhaps that’s all it has been—for Matthew Cray, a student with the new princess at Durham University, has confessed to having a secret love affair with Alyse...

      The game was up, Leo thought numbly. Everyone would know their relationship was fake, just as every relationship he’d ever had was fake. Sickened, he sat back in his chair. His mind spun with the implications of the article, the damage control that would need to be done—and quickly. But underneath the practicalities he felt something he hated to feel, didn’t want to acknowledge now—the pain of hurt, the agonising ache of betrayal. He knew it wasn’t fair; he’d forgiven Alyse, and it had been a long time ago anyway.

      But seeing it all there on the page, knowing she’d convinced herself she loved him when she really hadn’t...why should now be any different?

      There’s no such thing as love, he reminded himself brutally. You’ve been playing at it this last week, but it’s not real. It can’t be. And, swearing under his breath, he clicked on another glaring headline and began to read.

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      ‘LEO?’

      Alyse stood in the doorway of the bedroom, her gaze fastened on her husband and the stricken look on his face. He was staring blankly at the screen of his laptop, but as he heard her call his name he turned to her, his expression ironing out.

      ‘What are you doing awake?’

      ‘What are you?’ She bit her lip. ‘I woke up and wondered where you were.’

      He gestured to his computer. ‘Just getting a little work done. I couldn’t sleep.’

      Alyse took a step closer. Although Leo’s face was implacable and bland now, she sensed the disquiet underneath. Something was wrong. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked quietly.

      ‘Nothing.’

      ‘What were you looking at on the computer?’

      ‘Just work—’ He stopped, raking a hand through his hair. ‘I suppose I’ll have to tell you,’ he said after a moment. ‘We’ll both have to deal with the damage control.’

      Her stomach plunged icily. ‘Damage control?’

      Sighing, he clicked on the mouse and pointed to the screen. Alyse read the headline, everything in her freezing.

      Cinderella’s Secret Lover Tells All.

      ‘Oh no,’ she whispered. ‘Oh no. How could he?’

      ‘I imagine he was offered a great deal of money.’

      ‘But it was years ago.’ She stopped, swallowing hard, nausea rising in a roiling tide within her. She could just glimpse snatches of the awful article, phrases like ‘drunken passion’ and—heaven forbid—‘marriage masquerade’.

      She leaned forward, her eyes darting over the damning words.

      According to Cray, Alyse and Prince Leonardo of Maldinia have simply been pretending to be in love to satisfy the public.

      They knew. The whole world knew the truth about her and Leo. She stumbled back, one fist pressed to her lips, and Leo closed the laptop.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered and he shrugged.

      ‘It was years ago. You have nothing to feel sorry for now.’

      ‘But if I hadn’t—’

      ‘We’ll deal with it,’ he cut her off flatly. ‘You should get dressed. I imagine we’ll have to go back to Maldinia this morning to talk to the press office. We want a united front about how to handle this.’

      He turned away and Alyse felt her insides twist with anxious misery. This was all her fault. And, while she accepted that Leo had forgiven her for her indiscretion from so many years ago, she feared their fragile relationship would not survive this ordeal.

      With an icy pang of dread she remembered Queen Sophia’s words: no use to Leo.

      The worst had happened. She was a liability—to the monarchy and to Leo. And, if he didn’t really feel anything for her, did he even want to stay married to her? What would be the point?

      Miserably she went to shower and dress, her heart like lead inside her, weighing