Invitation to the Prince's Palace Read Free Page A

some kind of plan with this man. That meant Rikardo really was a prince. Of this country! As in, royalty who had made an arrangement with Nicolette.
    Mel, the girl who’d worked in her aunt and uncle’s kitchen for years, was standing here in a foreign country with an heir to the throne, when it was her cousin who should be here for whatever reasons she should be here. How could the prince not realise the mistake? Surely he’d have seen that Mel wasn’t Nicolette, even in dawn light and with Mel affected by allergies? Just how well did this prince know Nicolette?
    Yes, Mel? And how many times has Nicolette become furious when one of her acquaintances mistook you for her when they called at the house?
    ‘Unless we’re in the public eye, please just call me Rik.’ He hustled her into the rear of another waiting car and climbed in beside her. A man in a dark suit climbed into the front, spoke a few words to the prince in French, and set the vehicle in motion.
    The prince added, ‘Or Rikardo.’
    ‘You probably have five given names and are heir to a whole lot of different dukedoms or things like that.’ Mel sucked up a breath. ‘I do watch the news and see the royal families coming and going.’ She just hadn’t seen this particular royal. ‘The most famous ones. What I mean is, I’m not an overt royal-watcher, but I’m also not completely uninformed.’
    Which made her sound like some kind of overawed hick who wouldn’t have a clue how to behave in such august company. Exactly what Mel was! ‘Please…Prince…Rik…I need to speak to you. It’s urgent!’
    ‘We have arrived, Your Highness.’ The words, spoken in careful English, came again from the driver.
    He’d drawn the car to a whisper-quiet halt and now held the door open for them to alight. Rikardo would get out first, of course, because he was, after all, a prince.
    A burst of something a little too close to hysteria rose inside Mel’s breast.
    ‘Thank you, Artor, and also for speaking in English for the benefit of our guest.’ Rikardo helped Mel from the car. He glanced down into her face. ‘I know you may be nervous but once we get inside I will take you to our suite of rooms and you can relax and not feel so pressured.’
    ‘S-straight to the rooms? We won’t see anyone?’ Well, of course they would see people. They were seeing people right now. And what did he mean by their suite? ‘Can we talk when we get there? Please!’
    ‘Yes, we will talk. It shouldn’t be necessary at this late stage, but we will discuss whatever is concerning you.’ He seemed every inch the royal as he said this, and rather forbidding.
    Mel’s stomach sank even further. She hadn’t meant for this to happen. She hadn’t meant to do anything other than take a taxi to the airport. She had to hope it would be relatively easy to fix the mistake that had been made.
    Rik whisked her up an awe-inspiring set of steps that led to a pair of equally stunning studded doors. As they approached the doors were thrown open, as though someone had been watching from within.
    They would have been, wouldn’t they? Mel glanced up, and up again, and still couldn’t see the ending of the outside of this enormous palace. Parts of it were lit, other parts melted into the surrounding darkness. It looked as though it had been birthed here at the dawn of time. Mel shivered as the cold began to register, and then Prince Rik’s hand was at her back to propel her the final steps forward and inside.
    Voices welcomed their prince. Members of the royal retinue of staff stood to attention while others stepped forward to take the prince’s coat, and Mel’s wrap.
    How silly to feel as though the small of her back physically held the imprint of the prince’s fingers. Yet if he hadn’t been supporting her Mel might have fainted from the combination of anxiety and feeling overwhelmed by the opulence.
    The area they entered was large, reaching up three levels with ornate cornicing and inlaid