A Royal Wedding(109)

She looked away, biting her lip. He was right. Without Popov, her plans were down the drain. Now what was she going to do?

“Sorry about that,” he added, and she felt a shiver of outrage at his attitude. He could at least try to understand her point of view. But she had to admit his taunting tone put a different light on things. And now she was going to need some clothes, just to survive.

But only a few. Looking back at the rack, she began to pick through all the things she’d loved at first sight, rejecting one after another and reaching for some simpler items—a pair of jeans, a jersey pullover, and of course a basic nightgown. It was time to have a more honest romance with fashion.

Andre showed her the room she could use for the night. It was fairly plain, but the queen-sized bed looked like luxury to a young woman who was used to the thin, firm sleeping arrangements at the convent.

He looked at her thoughtfully as she stowed her new clothes away in a drawer in the bureau.

“We really should have a chaperone,” he noted, almost to himself.

She thought he was nuts. “Of course,” she responded with a hint of sarcasm. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with mock innocence. “Maybe you can call one of your lady-friends from the casino? I’m sure either one would be happy to come and be my pal for the evening.”

He knew she was needling him, but he grinned. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I see. Perfect companions for you, but not for me.”

“Exactly.”

She shook her head. “Don’t you have staff with you?”

“No. I prefer to be alone.”

“But …”

“I have Rolfo, my valet, and a couple of bodyguards available at a moment’s notice. But they are very discreet. You won’t even know it when you see them.” He hesitated over the term valet. After all, Rolfo was a lot more than that to him. Still, that wasn’t something he could explain to her right now.

“They tell me you spend a lot of time gracing the pages of the tabloids. But, since I’m not allowed to read the papers until they’re censored, I don’t know that first-hand.”

His mouth twisted. What could he say? He was perfectly happy that someone was keeping his lurid image and all the make-believe stories away from her. It was all garbage anyway.

“Let’s talk about your wedding,” Andre said suddenly.

“It’s your wedding,” she responded crisply, rising and going to the expanse of glass overlooking the lake. The lights of the city were reflected in the inky black water. “You’re the one who planned it.”

“Most women love to talk about weddings,” he said, slightly exasperated. “Why don’t you want to talk about yours?”

Turning to face him, she put her hands on her hips. “I’m not having a wedding, Andre. I don’t want to marry Alphonso.”

“Prince Alphonso,” he corrected sharply.

“Prince Alphonso,” she repeated dutifully. “Or, as I prefer to call him, Prince Dweeb.”

He frowned. “Enough of that. He’s a perfectly decent and respectable young man.”

“That may be, but I don’t love him.”

“Love?”

He had to bite back his original response. She was still so young. She had no idea how naive she sounded. Love had nothing to do with this. He searched her wide, innocent eyes, wondering how to explain that to her.

“No one is asking you to love him,” he said carefully at last. “But you have to marry him. Everyone expects it. The two of you were betrothed years ago. It’s too late to change your mind. If you two don’t marry, all hell will break loose.” He shook his head impatiently. “The wedding will go forward as planned.”

He waited for anger, or at least tears. That was the way most of the women of his acquaintance usually fought their battles. But Julienne was gazing at him levelly, as though searching for the chink in his armor, the weak spot she could use in her attack. Walking over to the couch, she flounced down not far from him.

“Just how well do you know Alphonso?” she asked him at last.

He blinked at her, nonplussed. “I know his mother.”

“There you go. You don’t know him at all, do you?”

“I’ve seen him. I’ve met him.” He avoided her gaze. Actually, now that he thought about it, he knew where she was coming from. The young man had been no paragon of manliness the last time they’d been together. But he was young. He would grow into his role quickly enough. He turned back and looked at her.