My Forbidden Royal Fling by Clare Connelly
PROLOGUE
Ménage à Billionaire!
THEHEADLINESCREAMS at me, right above the way-too-handsome face of Santiago del Almodovár, his eyes looking directly at the camera lens, so it feels as though he’s staring right through me. And, even though we’re separated by several countries, a shiver runs the length of my spine, a rush of apprehension. He’s flanked on either side by beautiful women, one blonde, one with cherry-red hair, different in looks but no doubt interchangeable to a man like Santiago. Derision curls my lips.
‘This is seriously the man you wish to get involved with?’ I can’t help but sniff as I address my country’s Prime Minister, a man I’ve always thought had good judgement.
‘I understand his reputation isn’t particularly savoury, Your Highness...’ An embarrassed laugh comes through the phone line. ‘But he’s well-funded and his investment has the support of the entire parliament.’
‘His reputation isn’t just unsavoury, Prime Minister, it’s disgraceful. From my admittedly brief research, there’s nothing to recommend this man except the fact he’s “well-funded”,’ I say quietly, buying time. His investment has the support of the entire parliament is a sentence that speaks volumes.
I take it as the gentle warning the minister intends. This is a fait accompli. While technically my approval is required to sign off on the deal, I’d be going against my parliament and decades of legal precedent if I refuse. But how the hell can I let this happen? What would my parents think? That’s easy. They might have died many years ago—too many—but I hear my father’s voice loud and clear, his disapproval, his sadness. This is the exact opposite of what he’d want, and I swore I’d always follow in his footsteps.
I drop my head forward, catching it in the palm of my free hand, the other hand tightening my grip on the phone.
‘He’s offering a king’s ransom for the land.’
Bleakness washes through me. There is no King now, no Queen either. There’s just me, a princess, desperately trying to stave off financial ruin for the kingdom without sacrificing the culture of my people, doing everything I can to do justice to my title as my parents would have expected.
‘At what price, though?’ I murmur, sitting straighter, staring straight ahead. A tapestry hangs on the wall across from me, an ancient piece that I loved even as a little girl.
Out of nowhere, I hear my father’s voice. You must remember, we are Marlsdovens and, while the world knocks at our door, we must answer without being trampled. What makes us unique has to be protected at all costs.
‘My assistant will send through the contracts, Your Highness. If you could sign them—’
‘I shall look at them and get back to you,’ I interrupt. I hate the idea of a man like that owning such a prime piece of the city’s real estate, and I loathe his plans for the site—a glitzy, gaudy casino that will turn our ancient, cultural principality into the exact opposite of my father’s vision.
I’m a caretaker for this country—the throne is mine temporarily—and my duty is to look after the people as best I can. What would my father say if he knew I was allowing this to happen? Make it worth it. I hear his advice as surely as if he’d breathed the words into the room. Sitting straighter, I grip the phone in my hands.
‘Prime Minister?’
‘Yes, Your Highness?’
‘I’d like to meet with him.’ Make it worth it. What if I can get him to agree to terms that will truly make this idea worthwhile? And, if he doesn’t like my suggestion, then he can simply walk away. After all, he obviously wants the land badly, so why not barter with him, ensure the deal is as advantageous as it can possibly be?
‘There’s no need for that.’ He’s scandalised by the very idea, and I can understand why. Santiago’s reputation precedes him by about three thousand football fields. He’s a lothario through and through, a man as famous for his hard-core partying lifestyle as for the multiple women he wines, dines, beds then moves on from.
‘Are you worried I won’t be able to handle him, sir?’
The Prime Minister sighs. ‘He is a fierce negotiator.’
‘I’ll cope,’ I murmur crisply, my eyes straying to the screen. ‘Please arrange it as soon as possible. Thank you.’
It’s only a still photo, but his eyes seem to be mocking, taunting... I shut the lid and scrape back my chair. If Santiago wants to buy this land, he can jump through a few hoops first—and, if he’s not willing to do that, he can go to hell.
