through the countryside, Alandra was swept away by the beauty of the tiny island country. Located in a northern area of the Mediterranean, it was postcard perfect, with a clear azure sky, rolling emerald hills, and the sprawling blue-green of the sea visible in the distance.
Even what she assumed to be the center of the capital seemed more quaint and clean than anywhere she’d traveled in America or Europe. The buildings were tall, but not mammoth. The streets were busy, but not crowded and harried.
Things seemed more tranquil here, and for the first time since scrawling her name across the bottom of that employment contract, she thought she might actually be glad she’d agreed to come.
Her family had supported the decision wholeheartedly, wanting her to be happy and get away from the scandal they knew was causing her such pain. She had accepted the position in order to protect them from a part of her life that had gotten ugly, in hope it would not spill over onto them.
The limousine slowed and waited for a tall, antique iron gate to slide open. They drove up a long, winding lane that ran among pristine, well-manicured lawns and gardens.
The house— palace was a better word—was somewhat historical in design, but looked updated and modern. Eggshell-white, with pillars and balconies and a myriad of floor-to-ceiling windows, it stood atop a small rise overlooking the splashing waves of the Mediterranean.
As the driver opened the door and helped her out of the vehicle, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the breathtaking view. Alandra continued to gawk while the driver removed her bags from the trunk and escorted her to the front door.
A butler opened it and invited her inside, where a handful of maids dressed in matching gray uniforms collected her luggage and trotted off with it.
The butler said, “The prince has requested you be brought to him immediately upon your arrival, Miss Sanchez. If you’ll follow me.”
Feeling as though she’d just stepped into a fairy tale, Alandra did just that, taking in every detail of the foyer as they passed.
The floor was of highly polished marble in squares of black and a mottled gray-white. A chandelier the size of a small bus hung overhead, with thousands of dangling crystals twinkling in the natural light. Directly across from the front entrance stood a wide staircase leading halfway to the second level before branching off to either side.
The butler led her to the right of the foyer and down a carpeted corridor lined with priceless artwork. He paused at one of the closed doors and knocked. When a low, muffled voice bade him enter, he stepped inside, announced Alandra’s presence and then moved aside for her to pass.
The personal office was decidedly masculine, with a dark area rug, built-in bookshelves lining three of the four walls, and a large cherrywood desk taking up a good portion of the room.
Dragging her gaze from the impressive surroundings, Alandra turned her attention to the man sitting behind that desk…only to feel her eyes go wide and her mouth fall open.
“You.”
“Miss Sanchez.” He rose and regally rounded the desk until he stood directly in front of her. “How good of you to accept my offer and come to work for our family.”
“ You’re Prince Stephan—”
“Nicolas Braedon of Glendovia, yes. You may call me Nicolas.”
Nicolas. The same Nicolas who had asked her over for a glass of champagne and then invited her to sleep with him.
Her mouth went dry with shock, her stomach clenching and her pulse kicking as though she’d just run a marathon.
How could this be happening?
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice faint as she struggled to put her thoughts into words. “Why would you invite me to work for you after the way we parted? All you wanted from me then was…”
Realization dawned.
“You did this on purpose. You lured me here under false pretenses so that I would sleep with you.”
“My
Even what she assumed to be the center of the capital seemed more quaint and clean than anywhere she’d traveled in America or Europe. The buildings were tall, but not mammoth. The streets were busy, but not crowded and harried.
Things seemed more tranquil here, and for the first time since scrawling her name across the bottom of that employment contract, she thought she might actually be glad she’d agreed to come.
Her family had supported the decision wholeheartedly, wanting her to be happy and get away from the scandal they knew was causing her such pain. She had accepted the position in order to protect them from a part of her life that had gotten ugly, in hope it would not spill over onto them.
The limousine slowed and waited for a tall, antique iron gate to slide open. They drove up a long, winding lane that ran among pristine, well-manicured lawns and gardens.
The house— palace was a better word—was somewhat historical in design, but looked updated and modern. Eggshell-white, with pillars and balconies and a myriad of floor-to-ceiling windows, it stood atop a small rise overlooking the splashing waves of the Mediterranean.
As the driver opened the door and helped her out of the vehicle, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the breathtaking view. Alandra continued to gawk while the driver removed her bags from the trunk and escorted her to the front door.
A butler opened it and invited her inside, where a handful of maids dressed in matching gray uniforms collected her luggage and trotted off with it.
The butler said, “The prince has requested you be brought to him immediately upon your arrival, Miss Sanchez. If you’ll follow me.”
Feeling as though she’d just stepped into a fairy tale, Alandra did just that, taking in every detail of the foyer as they passed.
The floor was of highly polished marble in squares of black and a mottled gray-white. A chandelier the size of a small bus hung overhead, with thousands of dangling crystals twinkling in the natural light. Directly across from the front entrance stood a wide staircase leading halfway to the second level before branching off to either side.
The butler led her to the right of the foyer and down a carpeted corridor lined with priceless artwork. He paused at one of the closed doors and knocked. When a low, muffled voice bade him enter, he stepped inside, announced Alandra’s presence and then moved aside for her to pass.
The personal office was decidedly masculine, with a dark area rug, built-in bookshelves lining three of the four walls, and a large cherrywood desk taking up a good portion of the room.
Dragging her gaze from the impressive surroundings, Alandra turned her attention to the man sitting behind that desk…only to feel her eyes go wide and her mouth fall open.
“You.”
“Miss Sanchez.” He rose and regally rounded the desk until he stood directly in front of her. “How good of you to accept my offer and come to work for our family.”
“ You’re Prince Stephan—”
“Nicolas Braedon of Glendovia, yes. You may call me Nicolas.”
Nicolas. The same Nicolas who had asked her over for a glass of champagne and then invited her to sleep with him.
Her mouth went dry with shock, her stomach clenching and her pulse kicking as though she’d just run a marathon.
How could this be happening?
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice faint as she struggled to put her thoughts into words. “Why would you invite me to work for you after the way we parted? All you wanted from me then was…”
Realization dawned.
“You did this on purpose. You lured me here under false pretenses so that I would sleep with you.”
“My
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