Plain-Jane Princess. Karen Templeton

of sparkling, lavishly appointed rooms, until, panting, her chignon disintegrating into a tangled, thumping loop against her back, she tore into her ivory-and-gold bedroom. Ripping off her jacket and blouse, she dived into her room-size closet.

      “Sophie!”

      “I know, I know,” she called out to her grandmother, Princess Ivana, Carpathia’s ruling monarch for the last forty-odd years. “I’m sorry!” Ignoring the array of glittering gowns in their plastic shrouds behind her, Sophie chose instead a simple, long-sleeved, dove-gray silk. Now overheated, she dashed across the Aubusson carpet, tossing the dress onto the bed’s ivory satin comforter. Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie took in her petite grandmother’s heavily beaded gown, the understated diamond tiara sparkling in a cloud of pearlescent white hair.

      The exasperated set to the elder princess’s mouth.

      “The only good thing about being eighty years old is that I can no longer say my grandchildren are driving me to an early grave. The guests have been here for nearly a half hour!”

      Sophie avoided the pair of astute black eyes trained on her. “I’m sorry, Baba,” she repeated, carefully, dutifully, her loose hair hindering her movements as she wriggled into a pair of sheer tights, then a floor-length silk half slip. “The children all had something to show or tell me, it seemed. I just didn’t have the heart to disappoint them. Especially as I won’t be there again for some time.”

      She slipped the dress over her head, reaching around to do up the short zipper on her own as she slipped on a pair of matching silk pumps. A moment later she plunked down at her dressing table, where she glowered at her reflection.

      “All your mother’s beautiful gowns at your disposal,” Princess Ivana said softly behind her, “and still you dress like a little mouse.”

      Concern, more than censure, colored her grandmother’s words, but Sophie still bristled. After all, the elder princess was still a beauty. As had been Sophie’s mother, Princess Ekaterina. And big brother Alek was no slouch, either. On him, the square jaw, the clefted chin, made sense. On her…well, it was hard not to wonder why, considering the genetic odds of her turning out at least reasonably attractive, she should now be facing great-uncle Heinrick’s reflection.

      Sophie took a brush to her dust-colored hair, her overlarge mouth pulled into a grimace underneath a pair of unremarkable gray eyes—not even silver, like Alek’s—half-hidden behind a pair of round, tortoiseshell-framed glasses.

      At least the children didn’t care what she looked like.

      The silver-backed brush clattered to the table as Sophie gathered up her hair, deftly twisted it into a coil at the nape of her neck. “My wearing one of my mother’s gowns,” she said, “would be like putting weeds in a crystal vase.”

      “Oh, honestly, child!” Her grandmother’s vexation crackled more than the flames in the marble fireplace across the room. Though the calendar said late May, evenings tended to be chilly in the mountains of Central Europe. “I do not understand why you put yourself down so! If only you’d wear a little makeup, your contact lenses…”

      There was little point in commenting, so Sophie didn’t. A brittle moment or two passed before Ivana said, “Jason Broadhurst called for you this afternoon, so I invited him to join us, as well.”

      “Jason? What on earth is he doing here?” Sophie inserted a pair of natural pearl studs in her earlobes. “I thought he was in Atlanta, seeing to the new store’s opening.”

      “That was last month.”

      Two princesses watched each other in the mirror for a long moment.

      “He seems very fond of you, my dear.”

      “We’re friends,” Sophie said, slicking a clear gloss—her only concession to makeup—over her lips. “Nothing more.”

      “Since he’s asked you to marry him, one would assume his feelings have…changed.”

      “He only wants a mother for Andy, Baba.”

      “And many a marriage of convenience has led to a love affair.”

      Sophie stared at her reflection, her mouth set, ignoring the burning sensation at the backs of her eyes as she yanked open her jewelry case, grabbed a string of pearls. “And beggars can’t be choosers?”

      “Oh, don’t be perverse! That’s not what I meant!”

      Sophie struggled with the necklace’s clasp for a moment, finally ramming it home. “In any case, marrying Jason would put a severe crimp in my work.”

      “And working for the benefit of everyone else’s children is more important than having children of your own?”

      Every muscle in Sophie’s back clenched. “No,” she said softly after a moment. “Not more important. But you know as well as I do how many of those children have no one else to champion them.”

      And her charity work was the only aspect of her life over which she had at least some control, some choice, where she was respected for her drive, her efficiency, her brain, more than her position. Where her appearance didn’t matter. Once she married, however, she would be expected to not only continue fulfilling her royal obligations, which were onerous enough, but take on the social duties of a wife as well. And for what? A loveless marriage? Jason’s family business interests, including a chain of internationally renowned department stores, would naturally require a wife who was both viable and visible. For heaven’s sake—she barely had any life of her own as it was. Yes, marriage to the handsome widower would give her a child to love and help raise—though the prospect of giving Andy any siblings was apparently a slim one, since Jason had made it quite clear he did not wish a bedmate—but as much as she yearned for motherhood, this was one sacrifice she was loathe to make.

      Sophie suddenly realized her grandmother had come up behind her to lay her almost weightless hands on her shoulders. She very nearly jumped: while she’d never doubted her grandmother’s affection for her or her brother, Alek, the elder princess was not known for her demonstrativeness. “You are very precious to me. You know that, yes?”

      Startled, Sophie could only gawk at their reflections in the mirror. “Of course, Baba—”

      “So it pains me, when you are unhappy.”

      “I’m not—”

      “You are. You and Alek both. You think I do not recognize the signs, that I cannot tell? First Alek, with his gallivanting hither and yon and his women and his race cars…” She sucked in a sharp, worried breath, shook her head. “And you.” Another head shake. “Yes, you do the monarchy proud, with your work. But I am also worried that you are perhaps…hiding behind your speaking engagements and conference calls and committee meetings?”

      Knowing a con job when she heard one, Sophie eyed her grandmother again in the mirror. “And you think my marrying Jason would be a solution?”

      “I think…sometimes you see only problems, instead of opportunities. Love can grow, child. If you give it a chance.”

      “Grandmother—”

      But the princess patted her shoulders, twice, an enormous pear-shaped diamond ring flashing in the light from the small Baccarat lamp on Sophie’s dressing table, then moved away. “We must go down.”

      Despite a heavy weariness that seemed to rob her of even an interest in breathing, Sophie managed to rise from the bench, glared at her mirrored twin one last time, then followed her grandmother down the stairs, to once again do her duty, be where she was supposed to be, make sure she did nothing to upset the apple cart.

      Perhaps her brother’s rebelliousness had been partially to blame for propelling her into her role as the “good” one. Or perhaps wanting to please, to do what was expected of her, was simply part and parcel of her nature, she couldn’t tell. The problem was, the older she got, the more those expectations seemed to be increasing. And whereas at one time she lived for