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EXPECTING ROYAL TWINS! MELISSA McCLONE

TO DANCE WITH A PRINCE CARA COLTER

www.millsandboon.co.uk

EXPECTING ROYAL TWINS!

MELISSA MCCLONE

About the Author

With a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University, the last thing MELISSA MCCLONE ever thought she would be doing was writing romance novels. But analyzing engines for a major US airline just couldn’t compete with her ‘happily-ever-afters’. When she isn’t writing, caring for her three young children or doing laundry, Melissa loves to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, her cats and a good book. She enjoys watching home decorating shows to get ideas for her house—a 1939 cottage that is slowly being renovated. Melissa lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon, with her own real-life hero husband, two daughters, a son, two loveable but oh-so-spoiled indoor cats and a no-longer-stray outdoor kitty that decided to call the garage home. Melissa loves to her from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 63, Lake Oswego, OR 97034, USA, or contact her via her website: www.melissamcclone.com

Dear Reader,

Ever since my first ‘royal’ romance came out in 2000, I’ve wanted to write another one. But I struggled to find the right cast of characters and plot.

Enter His Royal Highness Crown Prince Nikola Kresimir of Vernonia. When Prince Niko popped into my imagination I knew I’d found my hero and a story would follow. It did!

Duty matters most to Prince Niko. He knows what his country needs to thrive in the future, but he doesn’t have a clue what he needs to be happy. Forget about love. Niko plans to marry to provide Vernonia with a princess bride’s dowry and an heir.

Isabel Poussard is an American car mechanic who dreams of working on a racing team’s pit crew. Izzy hates the colour pink and doesn’t own a dress. NO way does she want to be a princess. No matter what Prince Hottie thinks!

AS Niko and Izzy will learn, sometimes what we want isn’t what we need to find our happily-ever-after. Enjoy!

Melissa

For Tom, Mackenna, Finn, Rose, Smalls, Rocket, Spirit, Chaos and Yoda. The best family a writer could have!

Special thanks to: Elizabeth Boyle, Drew Brayshaw, Roger Carstens, Amy Danicic, John Fenzel, Terri Reed, Robert Williams and Camas Shysical Therapy.

CHAPTER ONE

NIKOLA TOMISLAV KRESIMIR, Crown Prince of Vernonia, strode past his father’s assistant and the two palace guards standing watch. As soon as he entered the king’s office, Niko heard the door close behind him.

He grimaced.

Niko didn’t have time for another impromptu assignment. His in-box was overflowing. The upcoming trade conference was turning into a logistical nightmare. Princess Julianna of Aliestle was patiently waiting to have lunch with him.

He was used to juggling competing demands, thrived on them actually, but the collar of his dress shirt seemed to have shrunk two inches since he’d left his own office three minutes ago. He tugged on his tie.

Not that it lessened his frustration level.

A summons from the king trumped everything else and often messed up Niko’s schedule for the rest of the day, sometimes week. Not to mention the havoc royal protocol played with his priority of turning their provincial country into a modern nation. But he followed his father’s orders out of respect and for the good of the country.

King Dmitar sat behind his large mahogany desk staring at a manila file folder in his hands. His once dark hair was now as white as the snowcapped peaks of the Balkans and Carpathians. His face, like Niko’s own, was as rugged as those same mountain ranges. His wire-rimmed reading glasses rested low on his nose, making him look more like a professor than a soldier or a king who had spent the majority of his rule trying to unite his country against all odds.

Niko stood ten feet away, waiting.

A breeze blew through an open window, carrying the sweet fragrance of flowers from the royal gardens. A vast improvement over the acrid smell of gunpowder and sickening scent of blood that used to taint the air around here.

Five years had passed since the ratification of the peace treaty. Tensions between the two warring factions erupted occasionally, but peace prevailed. Niko intended to ensure it always would. A totally united Vernonia, however, seemed like a far off dream. A fairy tale, really.

Not wanting to waste more time, he cleared his throat.

His father looked up. Dark circles ringed his eyes.

“You sent for me, sir,” Niko said.

The lines on his father’s face seemed deeper, more pronounced, than they used to be. The conflict had aged him; so had grief. But still the corners of his mouth curved upward into a rare smile. “I have good news, my son.”

The best news would be that Vernonia had been accepted into the European Union, but Niko knew they still had too many improvement projects to complete first. He stepped closer to the desk. “I’ve spent the morning wading through the demands of the trade delegations. Good news will be a welcome relief, Father.”

“Your bride box has been located.”

Not located. Found.

The unexpected news sunk in. Niko respected the past, but the fact something as important as his marriage was dependent on such on antiquated custom as presenting his wife a family heirloom on their wedding day irritated him. Traditions could only take his country so far. “You are certain it is mine?”

“As certain as we can be until we have the box in hand.”

His bride box hadn’t been seen in over twenty years. Not since the collapse of the Soviet Union brought turmoil to many Balkan countries. Vernonia had avoided the ethnic strife that ravaged many of its neighbors, but terrorist acts had led to a deadly civil war that tore the country apart and nearly destroyed its economy. “Where is the box?”

“The United States.” His father adjusted his glasses and studied the folder. “Charlotte, North Carolina, to be exact.”

“A long way from home.”

“Yes.”

The location wasn’t really important. Niko would have the box back. Tradition—and his father—would be satisfied. Nothing would stand in the way of Niko’s marriage to Julianna. He could finally fulfill his duty as his parents and people wished him to do. The marriage would give him the means and opportunity to do what he wanted—needed—to do with Vernonia.

Plans formed in his mind, but he couldn’t get too far ahead of himself. Nothing could happen until he had possession of the box. “How was it discovered?”

“The internet.” His father shuffled through papers in the file. “Someone posted on an antiques forum looking for the key. After a few exchanges verifying the seriousness of our interest, we were sent a picture that confirmed our suspicions. The box is yours.”

“Incredible.” Niko considered the number of private investigators and treasure hunters hired to find the heirloom. He laughed at the irony. “Technology to the rescue of an Old World custom.”

“Technology may be useful at times, but our people desire tradition. You must remember that when you wear the crown.”

“Everything I’ve ever done has been for Vernonia.” Niko’s family had ruled for eight centuries. The country was in their blood and hearts. Duty always came first. “But we must modernize if we are to succeed in the twenty-first century.”

“Yet you have agreed to an arranged marriage.”

He shrugged, but the last thing he felt was indifference. His marriage would act as a bridge between the past and the future. He might not be the United Kingdom’s Prince William, but Niko had the attention of royal watchers. The publicity surrounding a royal wedding would be good for his country’s nascent tourist industry. He would use whatever he could to Vernonia’s advantage. “I may not be a stickler for tradition, Father, but I will always do what is best for the country.”

“As will I.” His father placed the folder on his desk. “You have the key.”

“Of course, sir.” Niko always had the key. He had been wearing the damn thing ever since the decree that he could never take it off twenty odd years ago. The only thing that had changed since then was the size of the chain. He pulled the thick silver one from beneath his shirt. A key that looked more like a cross and heart welded together dangled from his fingers. “Can I finally stop wearing the necklace now?”

“No.” The word resonated through the spacious office until the tapestries on the wall swallowed the sound. “You will need the key when you go to North Carolina tomorrow.”

“Send Jovan. I can’t travel to the United States right now. I’m needed here,” Niko countered. “My schedule is full. Princess Julianna is here.”

“The box is yours,” his father said. “You will be the one to bring it home. The travel arrangements have already been made. Your aide will be provided with an itinerary and the necessary information.”

Niko bit his tongue. Further resistance would be futile. The king’s word was final even if it made little sense under the current circumstances. “Fine, but you do realize I have never seen the box.”

“You have seen it. You were a child, so you don’t remember.”

What Niko remembered from his childhood and early adulthood was war, the one thing he wanted and hoped to forget. Keeping peace and modernizing Vernonia were his main goals now. Though the parliament wanted him to provide an heir. Might as well get on with that, now that nothing stood in his way of marrying. Speaking of which …

“Do you wish for me to propose to Julianna before I leave for America or upon my return, Father?”

The king’s face reddened. “There shall be no official proposal.”

“What?” Niko remembered the open window and the people on the other side of the office door. He lowered his voice. “We’ve spent months negotiating with the Council of Elders in Aliestle. Even the Separatists are in favor of the marriage since King Alaric supported them during the conflict. The only obstacle to marriage has been the bride box. A delay will send the wrong—”

“No proposal.”

Frustration mounted. Niko had searched for a suitable bride for almost a year. He didn’t want to have to start over. “You agreed Julianna is an excellent choice for a wife and the future queen of Vernonia. That is why finding the bride box has been a priority.”

“Julianna is more than suitable to be queen, but …” His father removed his glasses and rubbed his tired-looking eyes. “Are you in love with her?”

Love? Niko was surprised his traditional father had broached the subject. His parents’ marriage hadn’t been a love match. Niko had never expected one for himself after his older brother, Stefan, had been killed during the conflict.

“We get along well. She’s beautiful and intelligent. I will be content with her as my wife,” Niko stated honestly. He’d always known as crown prince he would marry for Vernonia’s good, not his own. “The publicity surrounding a royal wedding will increase our visibility to the tourist industry. Most importantly, an alliance with Aliestle will give Vernonia the capital it requires to complete rebuilding. That will help our efforts to join the European Union.”

“You’ve looked at all angles.”

Niko bowed his head. “As you taught me, Father.”

“And Julianna. Are her feelings engaged?”

“She … cares for me,” Niko answered carefully. “As I do for her. She understands what is expected.”

“But is she in love with you?”

Uncomfortable, Niko shifted his weight between his feet. “You’ve never spoken about love before. Only duty and what a state marriage would entail.”

“You are old enough to know whether a woman has feelings for you or not. Answer my question.”

Niko considered his outing with Julianna yesterday afternoon. They’d left their security detail on the shore and sailed on the lake. He’d kissed her for the first time. The kiss had been … pleasant, but Julianna seemed more interested in sailing than kissing him again. “I do not believe she is in love with me. In fact, I’m certain she isn’t.”

“Good.”

“I do not understand what is going on, sir. If something has changed with Vernonia’s relationship to Aliestle—”

“Nothing has changed there.” His father’s drawn out sigh would have made the parliament members’ knees tremble beneath their heavy robes. “But a slight … complication in regards to you marrying Julianna has arisen.”

Niko’s muscles tensed. “What kind of complication?”

Inside Bay #2 at Rowdy’s One Stop Garage in Charlotte, North Carolina, a Brad Paisley song blared from a nearby boom box. Oil, gasoline and grease scented the air. Isabel Poussard bent over a Chevy 350 small block engine. The bolt she needed to remove wouldn’t budge, but she wasn’t giving up or asking for help. She wanted the guys to see her as an equal, not a woman who couldn’t make it on her own.

She adjusted the wrench. “Come on now. Turn for Izzy.”

A swatch of light brown hair fell across her eyes so she couldn’t see.

Darn ponytail. It never stayed put. If she had any extra money, she would get a short hairstyle so she wouldn’t be bothered anymore. She didn’t dare cut it herself. For years her uncle Frank had chopped her hair with whatever was handy, scissors or razor blades. She’d grown up looking more like a boy than a girl. Not that any dresses hung in her closet today.

Izzy tucked the stray strands behind her ear. She struggled to turn the wrench. Her palm sweated. The wrench slipped.

Frustrated, she blew out a puff of air. “No one is going to let you work over the wall in the pits during a race if you can’t loosen a little bolt.”

She imagined the start of the Daytona 500. The roar of the crowd. The heat from the pavement. The smell of burning rubber. The rev of engines.

Excitement surged through her.

Being on a professional pit crew had been Uncle Frank’s dream for as long as Izzy remembered. An aneurysm had cut his life short. Now it was up to her to turn his dream into a reality. He’d spent his life caring for her and sharing his skill and love of cars. More than once he’d had the opportunity to be on a pit crew, but he hadn’t wanted to leave her. This was the least she could do for him.

As soon as she saved enough money, she would enroll in pit crew school. She wanted to put her days at dirt tracks and stock car circuits behind her and take a shot at the big leagues. For Uncle Frank and herself. She had bigger goals than just being on the pit crew. She wanted to be the crew chief. Izzy would show those kids who laughed at her grease-stained hands they were wrong. She would do something with her life. Something big.

She adjusted her grip on the wrench and tried again. The bolt turned. “Yes!”

“Hey, Izzy,” the garage owner’s son and her closest friend, Boyd, shouted to her over the Lady Antebellum song now playing on the radio. “Some folks here to see you.”

Word of mouth about her skills kept spreading. She could not only fix old engines, but the new hybrids, too. Her understanding of the computer and electronics side of things coupled with a gift for diagnostics drew in new clients daily. Her boss, Rowdy, was so happy he’d given Izzy a raise. If this kept up, she could enroll in school in a few months.

With a smile, she placed her wrench and the bolt on the top of her toolbox.

Izzy stepped outside. Fresh air filled her lungs. Sunshine warmed her face. She loved spring days better than the humid ones summer brought with it.

In front of her, a black limousine gleamed beneath the midday sun. The engine idled perfectly. Darkened windows hid the identity of the car’s passengers, but uniformed police officers stood nearby.

Not simply “some folks” wanting to see her. Must be a VIP inside the limo if police escorts were needed.

Izzy couldn’t imagine what they wanted with her since the car sounded like it was running fine.

She wiped her dirty hands on the thighs of her cotton coveralls. Not exactly clean, especially with grease caked under her fingernails, but cleaner.

One of the police officers gave her the once-over, as if sizing up her danger potential. A good thing she’d left the wrench in the garage.

A chauffeur walked around the car and opened the back door. A blond man exited. He wore a designer suit and nicely polished black dress shoes. With a classically handsome face and short clipped hair, he was easy on the eyes. But his good looks seemed a little bland, like a bowl of vanilla ice cream without any hot fudge, whipped cream and candy sprinkles. She preferred men who weren’t quite so pretty, men with a little more … character.

“Isabel Poussard?” the man asked.

She stiffened. The last time anyone used her real name had been during her high school graduation ceremony when she received her diploma. She’d always been Izzy, ever since she was a little girl. Uncle Frank had taught her to be careful and cautious around strangers. He’d worried about her and been very protective. She knew he’d be that way now if he were here.

Izzy raised her chin and stared down her nose. The gesture had sent more than one guy running in the opposite direction. “Who wants to know?”

Warm brown eyes met hers. The guy wasn’t intimidated at all. He looked almost amused for some strange reason. “I am Jovan Novak, aide to His Royal Highness Crown Prince Nikola Tomislav Kresimir.”

Jovan’s accent sounded European. Interesting since this was NASCAR country, not Formula 1 territory. “Never heard of him.”

“He’s from Vernonia.”

“Vernonia.” The name sounded vaguely familiar. Izzy rolled the word over in her mind. Suddenly she remembered. “That’s one of those Balkan countries. Fairy-tale castles and snowcapped mountains. There was a civil war there.”

“Yes.”

“Hey, Izzy,” Boyd shouted from behind her. “You need any help?”

She glanced back at the bear of a man who stood with a mallet in his hands and curiosity in his eyes. A grin tugged at her lips. She appreciated how Boyd treated her like a little sister, especially since she had no family. Of course that made things interesting the few times she had a date pick her up after work. “Not yet, Boyd, but I’ll let you know if I do.”

Jovan looked like he might be in shape, but she could probably take him without Boyd’s help thanks to Uncle Frank. When she was younger, he used to barter his mechanic skills for her martial arts class tuition. Now she worked out every day to get in shape for the work necessary by a pit crew member during a race.

“Isabel. Izzy.” Jovan’s smile reached all the way to his eyes. He bowed. “It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your—”

“Is this about a car repair?” He acted so happy to meet her. That bothered Izzy. Most customers limited their interactions to questions about their cars. Some simply ignored her. The men who went out of their way to talk to her usually ended up propositioning her. “Or do you want something else? I’m in the middle of a job.”

Not exactly the most friendly customer service, but something felt off. No customer would know her real name. And the guy smiled too much to be having car trouble.

“One moment please.” Jovan ducked into the limousine.

Time ticked by. Seconds or minutes, Izzy couldn’t tell since she wasn’t wearing a watch. She used the clock hanging in the garage or her cell phone to keep track of time while she worked.

Izzy tapped her foot. She had to get the Chevy finished so she could work on the Dodge Grand Caravan. Somewhere a frazzled mom with four kids was waiting to get her minivan back. It was up to Izzy to get the job done.

Jovan stepped out of the limo finally.

About time, she thought.

Another man in a dark suit followed. Izzy took a closer look.

Smokin’.

The thought shot from her brain to the tips of her steel-toed boots and ricocheted back to the top of her head.

The guy was at least six feet tall with thick, shoulder-length brown hair and piercing blue-green eyes framed by dark lashes.

She straightened as if an extra inch could bring her closer to his height. Even then the top of her head would barely come to his chin.

But what a chin.

Izzy swallowed a sigh.

A strong nose, chiseled cheekbones, dark brows. Rugged features that made for an interesting—a handsome—combination in spite of a jagged scar on his right cheek.

Talk about character. He had it in spades.

Not that she was interested.

Spending her entire life surrounded by men, car mechanics, gave her an understanding of how the opposite sex thought and operated. The one standing in front of her wearing a nice suit and shiny shoes was trouble. Dangerous, too.

The limo, expensive clothing, personal aide and police escort meant he lived in a completely different world than her, a world where she was seen as nothing more than a servant or wallpaper or worse, a one-night stand. Having to deal with mysterious rich people intimidated her. She wanted nothing to do with him.

But she didn’t mind looking. The man belonged on the cover of a glossy men’s magazine. He moved with the grace and agility of an athlete. The fit of his suit made her wonder what was underneath the fancy fabric.

Everyone else around him seemed to fade into the background. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this kind of reaction to a guy. No doubt the result of working too much overtime. Time to take a night off and have some fun. That would keep her from mooning over the next gorgeous guy who crossed her path.

“You are Isabel Poussard.” His accent, a mix of British and something else, could melt a frozen stick of butter.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

His assessing gaze traveled the length of her. Nothing in his eyes or on his face hinted if he liked what he saw.

Not that she cared. Not much anyway.

A hottie like him would never be interested in a grease monkey like her. Still he was a yummy piece of eye candy. One she could appreciate.

Izzy raised her chin again, but didn’t stare down her nose the way she’d done with Jovan. She wasn’t ready to send this one on his way just yet. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“I am Prince Nikola of Vernonia.”

“A prince?”

“Yes.”

She supposed a prince would have a police escort as well as an aide, but this was just the kind of prank Boyd would pull and kid Izzy about for the rest of her life. She glanced around looking for a camera. “Am I being punk’d?”

Jovan grinned.

Nikola pressed his lips together. “No.”

Yeah, on second thought, she couldn’t imagine the police participating in a joke. But she still had a hard time believing royalty would come to Rowdy’s. This wasn’t the worst part of town, but it wasn’t the best, either. “Am I supposed to call you Your Highness or something?”

“Niko is fine,” he said.

Better than fine, but he probably already knew that. Men as attractive as him usually did. “So Niko, why are you here?”

Jovan started to speak, but Niko held up his hand and silenced his aide.

Nice trick. Maybe he really was a prince. Or maybe he liked being the one to talk.

“You posted on the internet looking to find a key to a box,” Niko said. “The box is mine.”

She stared down her nose. “I don’t think so, dude.”

He winced.

“The box belonged to my mother,” Izzy added. “I’m just looking for the key.”

“I know you want the key, but the box in the picture never belonged to your mother.”

Oh, boy. Rowdy and Boyd had told Izzy if she posted on the internet she would get some strange replies. But she’d received only one email from a person who described the box so perfectly she’d sent him a picture of it. “You’re HRMKDK?”

“That’s my father,” Niko explained. “His Royal Majesty King Dmitar Kresimir.”

Like a king would ever email a total stranger about a wooden box. Sure it was pretty, but it was old. Izzy had thought the only value was sentimental. Maybe she was wrong about its worth. “I did correspond with your, um, dad, but I already told you, the box belongs to me.”

“The box is technically yours, but only because I gave it to you.”

What a ridiculous statement. The box was Izzy’s only connection to her mother who had died when Izzy was a baby. That was why she was desperate to find the missing key and open the bottom portion to see if anything was inside. With Uncle Frank gone, she had no family, no connection to her past. She wanted to know something … anything.

Fighting her disappointment over not finding the key, Izzy squared her shoulders. “I’ve heard of Vernonia, but I’ve never been there. I’m certain we’ve never met. I’ve had the box for as long as I remember.”

“You have had the box for twenty-three years,” Niko said. “I gave it to you when you were a baby.”

“A baby,” she repeated, as if hearing it a second time would make more sense than the first time. It didn’t. The guy wasn’t that much older than her—that would mean he’d been just a kid. Ludicrous.

“Yes,” Niko admitted ruefully. “I must sound crazy.”

If he wasn’t, then she was. “You do.”

“I can assure you I’m not crazy,” Niko stated matter-of-factly. He glanced at his aide standing next to him. “Isn’t that true, Jovan?”

“Not crazy,” Jovan agreed, though he continued to look amused by what was going on.

“I’m guessing you’re paid to agree with him, Jovan,” Izzy said, irritated.

“Yes, but I’m also a lawyer if that adds to my credibility.”

“It doesn’t.” Maybe this was how good-looking, eccentric royals wasted their time and money. She wished they would go bother someone else. “I think you both must be certifiable.”

The two men looked at her with puzzled expressions.

“Insane.” Izzy glanced at the police officers. She couldn’t imagine them wasting their time and tax dollars protecting some mental case claiming to be a prince. Surely they would have checked him out and asked to see his diplomatic papers or passport or something. “Let’s pretend what you say is true—”

“It is true,” Niko said.

She took a deep breath to control her growing temper. “Why would you give a baby the box? Is there some significance to the gesture?”

“It’s customary.”

It was her turn to be confused. “Huh?”

“Tradition,” Niko clarified. “When a Vernonian prince gets married, he presents his wife with a bride box on their wedding day.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you would give the box to me.”

“Because I am your husband.”

CHAPTER TWO

“MY HUSBAND?” Isabel’s voice cracked. Her expression would have been comical if this were not such a serious matter.

“Yes.” Niko understood her shock. He even sympathized. Discovering he had a wife had sent his world spinning off its axis. But her feelings—his feelings—would only delay the annulment needed to remedy this “complication” so he could marry Julianna and help his country. “It is a lot to take in.”

“Take in?” Sharp, brown eyes bore into him. “Okay, Niko or whoever you are, cut the bull and tell me what’s really going on here.”

He stared at Isabel with the dirty, baggy coveralls, lopsided ponytail and grease on her hands and cheek. She might be halfway attractive with her oval face, high cheekbones and expressive eyes, if she weren’t dressed like a man and covered in motor oil.

“Come on, Niko.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Spill.”

He expected her lack of protocol and manners, but the strength in her voice surprised him, as did her take-no-prisoner tone. Most people kowtowed to him. Few ever challenged him. He was … intrigued. “I am speaking the truth. I am your husband.”

She pursued her full, unglossed lips and gave him a long, hard look. He was used to such a frank appraisal, but unlike most women, Isabel did not seem impressed by what she saw. He didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed by this woman who worked at a dilapidated garage fixing other people’s broken-down vehicles.

“I told you. I’ve never seen you before,” she said. “We can’t be married.”

“Indeed we can. You simply do not remember.”

Isabel’s gaze remained steady. “I think I’d remember getting married.”

“Not if you were only a few months old at the time.”

Her mouth formed a perfect O. “What?”

“I was only six years old when we married, and my memories are very vague.”

Almost nonexistent, but he needed to convince Isabel of what had occurred twenty-three years ago, not add to the doubts shining in her pretty hazel eyes.

“Children marrying?” Isabel’s nostrils flared. “There are laws against that kind of thing.”

“Yes, and today it is illegal in Vernonia, but not twenty-three years ago.”

“This is crazy.” Her voice jumped an octave. “I’m an American.”

“Your mother was American, but your father was Vernonian.”

“My father.” Isabel’s glanced toward Jovan as if seeking confirmation. At his nod, her hands balled into fists. “Now I know you’re lying. My father’s name isn’t listed on my birth certificate. I have no idea who he is.”

The hurt and anger in her voice suggested she was telling the truth. There was no reason for her to lie. She had too much to gain by accepting what Niko was telling her. His respect inched up. Opportunists or not, many women would have jumped at the chance to be his wife. “I have proof.”

“You mean the box,” she said.

“The bride box, yes, but also documentation and a photograph.”

Curiosity flashed in Isabel’s eyes. “What kind of documentation?”

Her interest loosened some of the tension in his shoulders. Maybe the paper would convince her of the truth. He motioned to Jovan, who removed a leather pouch from his inside suit pocket with a flourish and handed it over.

As Niko opened the flap, he noticed two tall men in coveralls watching them from the garage.

No doubt the limousine and police cars would attract attention. Niko wanted to avoid the media at all cost. The annulment needed to be handled quietly with no press coverage. Before departing for the United States, he had been upfront with Julianna about the situation, but others from Aliestle might not be as understanding about the sudden appearance of “his wife” on the front page of tabloids. He didn’t want to risk losing her and what she would bring to Vernonia.

He glanced around. “I would prefer a more private place to discuss matters. Inside the limo perhaps?”

Isabel glared at him. “Do I look like the kind of woman who would get into a car with strangers?”

Niko assumed based on her reaction the answer wasn’t yes. “I may be a stranger, but I am your husband.”

“That remains to be seen.”

She wasn’t making this easy, but given her appearance he shouldn’t be surprised. “Perhaps the garage or if there is an office—”

“Here.”

He needed her cooperation. The last thing Niko wanted to do was upset her any more than he already had. He would allow her this much control.

“Fine. We shall remain here.” He removed two folded pieces of paper from the pouch. “I took the liberty of having the marriage certificate translated.”

She eyed him warily. “Marriage certificate, huh?”

He extended the papers toward her. “See for yourself.”

Instead of reaching for the documents as Niko expected, Isabel wiped her hands on the thighs of her oversize coveralls. The same way she had when she’d walked out of the garage.

Not totally without manners, he realized, but a far cry from the grace and style of a woman like Julianna. “These are copies so it doesn’t matter if they get dirty.”

Isabel took the documents and unfolded them. As she read, she flipped back and forth between the two pages.

Niko appreciated her thoroughness. Now all he needed was her compliance. Given how things were proceeding so far, that might take time. Especially since he hadn’t begun to explain the situation to her.

“The certificate actually looks legit,” she said.

“It is.”

“But it’s wrong.” She pointed her oil stained finger to the line with her mother’s name. “My mother was never married.”

He hesitated.

This “complication” went beyond Isabel Poussard being his child bride and standing in the way of him marrying Juliana and obtaining her significant dowry and trade support from Aliestle. Isabel might think she was a full-blooded American, but she wasn’t. She was also Vernonian, the last of the royal Sachestian bloodline. Her family came from Sachestia, a region in the northern part of the country. She was one of his subjects, one who knew nothing of her parents, her homeland or her past. Isabel deserved to know the truth, but a part of him felt awkward about what he had to do, say. He wished it were already over.

“Your mother, Evangeline Poussard, was an American college student. She was backpacking through Europe when she met Prince Aleksander Zvonimir.” Yesterday, Niko’s parents had explained what happened so he could explain it to Isabel today. “The two fell in love and eloped.”

She looked at Niko as if he’d grown horns. “My mother was married to a prince?”

“Yes.”

Isabel’s mouth quirked. She looked as if she was trying hard not to laugh. “So I suppose next you’re going to tell me someone who looks like Julie Andrews is not only my grandmother, but also the queen?”

Niko had no idea what Isabel was talking about. He knew who the actress was, but couldn’t connect to the reference. He looked at Jovan for an explanation.

“The Princess Diaries,” Jovan explained quietly. “A series of books and movies about an American who discovers she’s a princess.”

Niko had never heard of any such Princess Diaries, but at least he understood the context now.

“My mother is the queen,” he said to Isabel. “Though she would be thrilled to be a grandmother, I can assure you she looks and sounds nothing like Mary Poppins.”

Isabel didn’t crack a smile.

So much for his attempt to lighten the mood.

She shook her head. “I just don’t see how any of this can be true.”

“The truth is not always clear, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

As she studied the translated document, two lines formed above the bridge of Isabel’s nose. He found the trait surprisingly endearing. It made her seem less in control and more open to possibility.

“Let’s say my mother was married to this prince, and he’s my father,” Isabel said. “Why would she give birth to me in America?”

“She didn’t,” Niko said. “You were born in Vernonia.”

“My birth certificate says I was born in the United States. I have a copy.” Isabel pursed her lips. “One of the documents is fake. I’m guessing it’s yours.”

“Guess all you would like, but yours is the fake,” he said. “Given the political unrest in Vernonia when you were born, I wouldn’t be surprised if your parents had another birth certificate made omitting both Vernonia and Prince Aleksander’s name.”

“You sound as if you believe all this.” Disbelief dripped from each of her words. “That Prince Aleksander was my father.”

“Yes,” Niko said firmly. “I believe you are Princess Isabel Poussard Zvonimir Kresimir.”

She scrunched her nose. “Do I look like a princess?”

“You look like a car mechanic, but that doesn’t change the facts. You are a princess of Vernonia and my wife.”

Isabel stared at the marriage certificate. “Then how did I wind up here?”

“That’s what we’d all like to know,” Niko admitted. “My father’s staff have been trying to figure that out.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Where did they think I was?”

He didn’t answer.

“Where?” she pressed.

“Buried in your family’s cemetery.”

She gasped. “You thought I was dead?”

“Not me. I was too young to remember you, but all of Vernonia believed you were killed with your parents in a car bombing a month after our wedding.”

Isabel lowered the papers. “A car bombing?”

“By a splinter faction of Loyalists who were nothing more than terrorists.” The way her eyes clouded bothered him. “It was a … troubled time, with two groups aligned to different royal bloodlines. That is in the past now.”

The two little lines above the bridge of her nose returned.

Good, Niko thought. Isabel was thinking about all that he’d told her. She would see she had to believe—

“Look. I get that you’re somebody. Otherwise you wouldn’t have the limo, lawyer aide guy, documents or a police escort. You know my mother’s name, but you have the wrong person. The Evangeline Poussard who was my mother never went to Europe. She never married. She never would have married off her baby. And she died due to complications with childbirth, not in a terrorist attack.”

“What about the box?” Niko asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe there are identical boxes. Yours and hers.” Isabel shoved the papers at him. “I don’t have time to deal with this. I have work to do.”

With her head held high as if she were the Queen of England and not a lowly mechanic, Isabel turned away from him and marched toward the garage.

Niko’s fingers crumpled the edges of the papers. He tried to remember the last person besides his father who had dismissed him so readily. “Isabel.”

She didn’t glance back.

What an infuriating woman. He wanted to slip into the limousine and forget he’d ever heard the name Isabel Poussard, except he couldn’t. They were tied together. Legally. He needed to undo what had been done without their consent. “Wait.”

She quickened her step. Most women ran toward him not away, but he had a feeling Isabel was different from the women he knew.

“Please,” he added.

She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

He forced himself not to clench his jaw. “Before you go, please look at the photograph.”

Isabel glanced over her shoulder. “What photograph?”

She made him feel more like a peasant than a prince. Likening a wife to a ball and chain suddenly made sense to him if said wife happened to be a strong-willed woman like Isabel Zvonimir.

He removed the picture from the pouch. “The wedding photo.”

She didn’t come closer. “Look, I’m on the clock right now. My boss is watching. I can’t afford to have my pay docked so you can pull a prank.”

“This isn’t a prank.” The old garage needed a new roof and paint job. Niko wondered if Isabel’s financial circumstances were similar to those of her place of employment. “I’ll give you one hundred dollars for five minutes of your time.”

She straightened. “Seriously?”

Now he had her attention. With the pouch and picture tucked between his arm and side, he removed his wallet, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and held it up. “Quite serious.”

She hurried toward him with her gaze fixed on the bill.

“You really are crazy, but for that kind of money you can have seven minutes.” Isabel snatched the money from him and shoved it in her coverall pocket. “Hand over the picture.”

Niko gave her the photograph. He didn’t need to look at it again. After examining the picture so many times during the flight to Charlotte he had memorized everything about the twelve people in it. “You are the baby in the white gown with the tiara. Your mother is holding you. Your father is standing on the right of you. Your paternal grandparents are the two next to him.”

Isabel held the photo with both hands. Niko watched her face for some sign of recognition of her mother, but saw nothing.

“This looks more like a picture from a baptism than a wedding,” Isabel said.

“Only because of the baby.” Niko repeated what his mother had said to him. “This is a traditional royal wedding pose with the bride and groom in the center and their families on either side.”

Isabel narrowed her gaze. “You’re the little boy in the suit with the light blue sash across your chest?”

“Yes.”

She glanced up at him. “I don’t see much of a resemblance.”

“That was twenty-three years ago.”

Isabel traced his boyhood image. “You don’t look very happy.”

Niko wasn’t very happy right now. He wanted to be rid of this complication, of her. “I imagine a six-year-old boy would not be too happy about getting married.”

“Who is the other boy?” Isabel asked.

“My older brother.”

“Why didn’t they marry the baby off to him?” she asked.

Niko noticed Isabel said “the baby” not “me.” He took a calming breath to keep his patience under check. “Stefan was the crown prince and already betrothed.”

She looked up. “Was?”

“Stefan was killed during the conflict seven years ago.”

Her eyes grew serious. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Niko didn’t want or need her pity, only her cooperation. “All Vernonians suffered losses during the conflict. I intend to make sure that doesn’t happen again. I want to keep the peace and modernize the country.”

“Worthy goals.” Isabel refocused on the photo. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. My uncle Frank had one picture of my mother that wasn’t destroyed when their parents’ house burned down. She looked nothing like this.”

Niko recalled the dossier containing information about Isabel. She didn’t have any living relatives. Her mother had been an only child and orphaned at nineteen following a train derailment that killed her parents. The Zvonimir side of Isabel’s family tree had been killed during the conflict. Nowhere on either side of her family tree had anyone named Frank appeared.

“Who is Uncle Frank?” Niko asked.

“Frank Miroslav,” Isabel said. “My mom’s older half brother. He raised me after she died.”

Miroslav. Niko recognized the surname, but had no idea how it related to Isabel and her American mother. He glanced at Jovan for clarification.

“The Miroslavs served the Zvonimirs for centuries,” Jovan explained. “There was a deep tie and strong loyalty between the two families even though the relationship was master-servant. Franko Miroslav was Prince Aleksander’s chauffeur, and I would go as far to say his best friend. It is rumored that Franko introduced the prince to Evangeline Poussard.”

Isabel’s mouth dropped open. She closed it.

“That would explain how you escaped out of Vernonia and ended up here,” Niko said. “If they used another driver and a doll for the baby after you left the country—”

“No.” Her lips tightened. “The woman in the photo is not my mother.”

“Are you certain the woman in the picture your uncle Frank showed you is your mother?” Niko watched the range of emotions crossing her face. The vulnerability in her eyes surprisingly pulled at his heart. “I apologize, Isabel. I know this is difficult for you.”

“What you’re saying is impossible. Who would let a Vernonian chauffeur into the U.S. with a baby? Where would they get forged American documents? It’s just not possible.” She looked at the photograph as if trying to discover a secret hidden in it. “Uncle Frank wasn’t a chauffeur. He wasn’t a servant. He was a car mechanic from a little town outside Chicago. The town where he grew up with my mother. His little sister. He was like a father to me. Why would he lie to me about this?”

Niko respected the way she stood up for the man who raised her. Loyalty to one’s family was important and would serve her well. “Perhaps Franko, your Uncle Frank, withheld certain truths for your own protection. You were his princess. A faction in Vernonia would have tried to kill you if they’d known you lived.”

A faction that had been loyal to Niko’s father even if the king hadn’t approved of the group’s methods and violence.

“It’s so unbelievable.”

Niko was not going to convince her with words, but perhaps he could show her. “There is a way to find out if what I say is true or not.”

Her gaze jerked up from the photo to meet his. “How?”

He pulled the chain from beneath his shirt. “We can see if my key fits the lock.”

Please don’t fit. Please don’t fit. Please don’t fit.

The mantra had been running through Izzy’s mind for the last half hour, ever since driving home with Boyd and Jovan to retrieve the box. Now she sat in Rowdy’s office with the wooden box on her lap waiting for the others to join her.

That still doesn’t explain why you would give the box to me.

Because I am your husband.

Her husband. Izzy’s vision blurred. She felt light-headed.

She clutched the wooden box with its mother-of-pearl inlaid design. She didn’t want to drop it onto the hard tile floor. All these years, she’d carted it around, carefully, but not overly so. The value had been sentimental, not monetary.

Now…

Izzy Poussard, a princess and a crown prince’s wife?

No way.

Okay, some women—maybe many women—would be excited to discover they were a long lost princess from some faraway foreign land and married to a handsome prince. But not Izzy. Oh, sure, she wanted a happily ever after, but her fairy tale didn’t involve enchanted castles, sparkling jewelry and Prince Charming. Her dream revolved around wearing a fire suit in team colors, working over the wall on a pit stop, becoming a crew chief and standing in the winner’s circle with champagne being squirted everywhere.

The door to Rowdy’s office opened. Niko, Jovan and her boss entered.

“It’ll be just a few more minutes, Izzy,” Rowdy said. “Duncan Moore is on his way.”

“Thanks.” Izzy had asked Rowdy to call one of their customers who was a big-name attorney in Charlotte. She needed to talk to a lawyer before Niko and Jovan tried to take the box from her. To her surprise, Niko had offered to cover all her legal expenses. Izzy hadn’t wanted to accept the prince’s charity. She hadn’t relied on anyone since Uncle Frank’s death. But she didn’t have extra money lying around to cover surprise legal fees. Duncan Moore wasn’t only one of the best lawyers, he was also one of the most high-priced attorneys in town. Being prideful was one thing. Being stupid was another. “And thank you, Niko, for covering my legal expenses.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I am not here to cause you grief or unwanted expenditures.”

Izzy wanted to believe him. The corners of her lips lifted into a closed-mouth smile.

He smiled back.

Butterflies flapped in her stomach. Uh-oh. She’d better watch it. Being attracted to a man claiming to be her husband would only complicate things and might lead to her losing ownership of the box.

“Duncan’s here,” Rowdy announced.

Thank goodness, Izzy thought.

Duncan Moore, bald, in his late fifties and on his third marriage, strutted into the office. On any other man a polka-dot bow tie would have looked ridiculous with a suit, but it worked well on the successful attorney.

“Sorry for the delay, everyone. Izzy.” Duncan looked at Niko and bowed. “Your Royal Highness.”

Niko acknowledged Duncan with a nod. “This is my aide and lawyer, Jovan Novak.”

Jovan shook Duncan’s hand.

Unease crept down Izzy’s spine. The seriousness of the situation ratcheted up a notch with two lawyers present.

“We may proceed now,” Niko said.

The tension in the office quadrupled. Izzy’s legs shook so much the box on her lap jiggled up and down. She placed the box on Rowdy’s desk and opened the lid. She removed the velvet-covered tray so the keyhole showed. “I didn’t realize the tray came out or there was a keyhole until after Uncle Frank died. He allowed me to look at the box, but never touch it.”

“Did your uncle say the box belonged to your mother?” Duncan asked.

“No, but I assumed so.” Izzy hoped her words wouldn’t give more credence to the prince’s claims. “Uncle Frank just said it was important.”

Niko held the key he’d worn around his neck. “Let us see how important.”

His hand was as steady as a neurosurgeon’s. If it had been her, she would be trembling. Who was she kidding? She was trembling.

He inserted the key in the hole.

Izzy was tempted to close her eyes. She held her breath instead. She wanted to know what was inside the bottom portion of the box, but she didn’t want anything the prince had told her to be true.

He turned the key.

Click.

“The key fits,” Niko announced.

The air whooshed from Izzy’s lungs.

No, this can’t be happening. It can’t be true.

The bottom portion of the box slid out. A hidden drawer.

“Would ya look at that,” Rowdy said with a hint of awe to his deep voice.

Even though she had been waiting for this moment for a few years now, she was afraid to look. All her curiosity had vanished, replaced by trepidation. She didn’t care what was in the box. She only wanted things to go back to the way they’d been before Prince Niko arrived.

“It’s the same tiara,” Jovan said from across the office.

No. Isabel didn’t want to see so she squeezed her eyes shut. Her chest constricted. She shuddered.

Someone touched her shoulder and squeezed gently. Rowdy. Both he and Boyd could be big old teddy bears. She opened her eyes, but saw Niko with his hand on her instead of her boss.

“Isabel.” Concern filled Niko’s voice. “Would you rather wait?”

The tenderness of his gaze brought tears to her eyes. The situation, she rationalized, not him. Still she appreciated his gesture of comfort, drew strength from it, too. “No.”

Straightening, Izzy looked into the drawer past the small diamond tiara to find papers, photographs and jewelry. Her uncle Frank could have found the box or bought it at a garage sale or even stolen it in desperation. Maybe that was why she had no key.

No, she was just being silly now. None of those things would explain the prince knowing her mother’s name or his key fitting the lock. Isabel needed to accept what was in front of her, except.

Niko reached into the drawer.

“Wait, sir,” Duncan shouted.

The prince drew back his hand.

“May I please take a picture of the contents before they are disturbed?” Duncan asked with a camera in hand. “I would like to document everything. For both Izzy’s and your sake.”

“Certainly,” Niko said.

The flash of the camera reminded Izzy of lightning and intensified the emotions warring inside her. She hated storms. Uncle Frank had died during a lightning storm. She swallowed back a tide of grief.

Duncan backed away. “Thank you, sir. Please proceed.”

Niko didn’t. Instead he looked at her. “At one time your parents had a key to the bride box. They placed these contents inside. Only you should remove them.”

Anger flared. She loved Uncle Frank, but he had kept her past a secret. Why? Why hadn’t he trusted her? She wanted to know why this had happened.

“Isabel—”

“I’ll do it.” She couldn’t decide what to do about this until she knew more. “But only because I need to have all the facts.”

Izzy felt four pairs of eyes staring at her. She was used to the attention. Not many people expected a female mechanic to fix their cars. This was different. Unsettling. But Uncle Frank had taught her to always hold her head high, no matter how uncertain she might feel inside. If only he were here now.

She scooted her chair closer to the desk. With a shaky hand, she raised the tiara from the box. “It’s so tiny.”

Niko nodded. “My parents had the tiara commissioned for you to wear at the wedding. The small diamonds represent all the towns and villages. The three larger diamonds symbolize you, me and Vernonia.”

“It’s hard to tell if it’s exactly the same one in the photo,” she said, knowing she was grasping at straws.

“It’s the same one,” Niko countered.

Izzy set the tiara on the desk. Next she removed foreign coins and dollar bills, a diamond pendant, an emerald bracelet and three stunning rings.

Those jewels would be worth a fortune if real. Maybe that was why Niko wanted the box back so badly. Money could make people do almost anything.

She picked up a photograph, a picture of a man and a woman.

“Those were your parents,” Niko said softly.

Her parents. Izzy wasn’t ready to believe it just yet. She stared at the handsome couple. They were smiling and holding hands. They looked happier than they did in the wedding photograph. “The woman is beautiful.”

“You look like her,” Rowdy said.

“I wish.” Izzy’s heart ached for some memory of the two people the prince claimed were her parents.

“You resemble your mother,” Niko said. “But you have your father’s eyes.”

Izzy felt a rush of excitement. No one had ever seen a resemblance between her and Uncle Frank. She removed more photographs. Baby pictures, family portraits, casual snapshots, of people she didn’t know taken in places she didn’t recognize.

Next came an official looking piece of paper with foreign writing. “I don’t know what it says.”

“Allow me,” Niko offered.

She handed it to him.

He glanced over the document. “It’s your birth certificate. Evangaline Poussard Zvonimir is listed as your mother. Aleksander Nicholas Zvonimir is listed as your father. Your place of birth is Sachestia, Vernonia. That is in the northern part of the country.”

Jovan placed the documents they’d shown her earlier on the desk. “In case you are concerned about the translation and wish to compare, ma’am.”

“My name is Izzy,” she corrected. “I would like to see a translation by an impartial person to confirm the document.”

“How can you still not believe?” Niko asked.

“I’m simply being cautious,” she admitted. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to find me. You could’ve just offered to buy the box and be done with it. And me.”

“You are my wife,” Niko said. “I cannot pretend you do not exist and be done with it or you.”

Izzy grimaced. “Too bad there isn’t some birthmark that would prove without a doubt that I’m royalty.”

“Perhaps there is one.” Wicked laughter lit Niko’s eyes. “I would be happy to search for one.”

Her cheeks warmed at the thought.

His faced reddened, too.

She hadn’t been expecting that reaction from Niko, but his embarrassment made him seem less a dark, formal prince and more … human. That made Izzy feel a little more comfortable with him even if her heart pounded like a piston engine each time she noticed him staring at her.

She removed several pieces of paper stapled together. Again, the words were written in a language she couldn’t read. She handed the pages to Niko.

He flipped through them. “This is your father’s will naming you the sole beneficiary of his estate.”

“I will need a copy of the will, sir,” Duncan said.

“Of course.” Niko handed it to the lawyer then turned his attention on Izzy. “Everyone believed you died with your parents so your father’s estate went to—”

“You,” she said without an ounce of doubt.

“As your husband, your inheritance passed directly to me.”

“What kind of estate are we talking about, Your Highness?” Duncan asked.

Niko glanced at Jovan. “What is the approximate net worth?”

“Approximately twenty-five million euros,” Jovan said.

She didn’t know much about foreign currency, but she knew a lot of money was at stake here. “You’re willing to give that to me for some box?”

“The box and an annulment,” Niko clarified.

Rowdy whistled. “It’s like winning the lottery, Izzy.”

Yes, it was. She took a deep breath. That meant it was probably too good to be true.

“Let’s not get too excited,” Duncan cautioned. “We have no idea how the legal system works in Vernonia. Each country has its own laws for estates and inheritance. Something like this could be tied up in the court system for years.”

“I would never keep anything that rightly belongs to Isabel,” Niko stated firmly. “Vernonia might be a small country, but we have a parliamentarian government and a modern justice system. It will not take the High Court years to sort this matter out.”

“Can’t something like this be taken care of in the U.S?” Izzy asked.

“Your father’s property is in Vernonia,” Niko explained. “Besides, the High Court is private. There could be publicity if we used the court here in the United States.”

She glanced at the lawyer. “Duncan?”

“I don’t know anything about Vernonia’s court system, but Prince Niko is correct about the publicity. America loves royalty. The press would have a field day if they found out you were an American princess.”

Izzy frowned. “I’m not—”

“Come to Vernonia with me,” Niko suggested. “We will appear in front of the High Court and have this matter resolved quickly.”

Apprehension washed over her. She never went anywhere. “I don’t have a passport.”