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The silence stretched so long he was forced to abandon his contemplation of the bronze door handle. She was staring right at him. While her face had paled, he saw as he finally met her gaze, she lifted her chin. The burning look in her big eyes curled his stomach like a slug shrivelling to escape salt. For a wild second he wished she’d scour him with the fury she was clearly feeling—that she’d open her damnably beautiful mouth and rip him to shreds. Because that had been low, even for him. But anger always sought an outlet and Alex was always angry.

He waited. Watched. Appalled as Tilly took a deep breath then turned and walked away. So passive. So silently accepting.

Infuriated by her lack of fight, he lunged, grabbing her arm and spinning her back to face him. ‘Tilly—’

‘Screw you, Alex!’ she flashed and he revelled in it. ‘Why are you even here? You never come to the palace unless it’s a large enough state occasion for you to flaunt your latest supermodel in front of us.’

‘I’m running interference.’

‘Against me?’ She recoiled.

Yes. The second he’d seen that video—and received an endless stream of messages about it—he’d jumped in his helicopter to the place he loathed most because he’d known she’d throw herself on the mercy of his sacrificial hero of a younger brother. She always leaned on Erik—had from the moment she’d arrived as a supposedly shy sixteen-year-old.

‘What do you think I could possibly do?’ Her abrupt laugh cracked.

Alex had come home from university—still grieving his mother’s death—to find his father about to remarry and worse, that a flame-haired teen had taken over his sanctuary. He’d banished her from there with some choice words. Then followed on from that bitter basis. Needling. But she’d never given him that fiery response again. He only ever provoked her into quietly cutting zingers and even those were frankly too rare.

He’d left again. Found a better sanctuary—one all of his own. Happily banishing himself. But duty required regular visits. Soon enough she and Erik were friendly. The only time he’d ever seen Tilly laugh was when she’d thought she was alone with Erik. But his brother deserved better than someone so shallow. While Alex had spent his childhood dealing with his father’s cruel demands, Erik had been the unwavering support for their terminally ill mother. Then Erik had taken on the burden of the massive estate their father was too lazy to manage. While Erik’s shoulders were broad from working incredibly hard and putting himself second for years—he deserved personal happiness. Now Tilly had actually admitted concerns about Erik’s engagement but Alex wasn’t letting her cause trouble with her green and bronze eyes and ploys of apparent helplessness. Nor was he ever admitting his private concern that Erik had proposed to Princess Antonella partly to appease their father’s impatience because Alex ruthlessly and relentlessly ruled out ever taking a wife. Yet Erik had insisted he truly wanted Antonella and Alex would ensure that for once his brother’s desire would come first.

‘I only do what I’m told,’ Tilly said with a defiant edge that made him doubt her.

For the first time in years they were alone in a room together and for the first time in years he let himself study her face closely. He took in the sheen of sweat on her forehead and her pallor beneath the delicate layer of make-up. He realised the luminosity of her large eyes was enhanced by liquid distress. Tears. Real ones. He felt her arm beneath his—felt beyond the silky softness of her blouse. Trembling. She was actually upset. Actually afraid.

Almost unconsciously he edged closer. ‘You’re serious about Francesco?’

‘Why would I invent something so repugnant?’

He took a breath and got a lungful of pure Tilly—creamy honey undermined by the faintest scent of vinegar. It suited her perfectly.

If Domenico had actually arranged a groom for her then maybe this was a little more serious than the generic order Alex so frequently ignored. In truth it was the kind of insanely inappropriate thing his father would insist on, but Domenico didn’t usually direct his more maniacal whims to anyone other than Alex. It was an aberration that warranted consideration. And now he perceived his father’s playbook. ‘He’s using the video as leverage to make you agree.’

‘Obviously.’ She compressed her mouth. ‘The marriage is a way to minimise the damage I’ve caused. I should be grateful he’s arranged it for me, and apparently I will be happy.’

Alex was always prepared for trouble, but he’d not anticipated this. Now he locked in. ‘You didn’t say no, did you?’

Her lashes lifted, giving him a view of her huge hazel eyes—currently gleaming more green than he remembered.

‘I didn’t say yes.’

While that might be bold for her, his father wouldn’t appreciate the subtle difference—that the absence of no did not equal yes. ‘You should have said no. Loudly.’

He’d never understood how someone with such a mane of red hair could be so infuriatingly, consistently compliant. How she could remain so meek when he knew she could shoot sparks from her eyes? He’d seen her flare before she’d suppressed it all behind beige clothes and an impenetrable veneer of mousy perfection.

No wonder that awful video was so popular—people were getting off on seeing the put-together Princess in a down and dirty state. Bloodless Tilly all hot and hungry. Now his blood simmered. In truth he hated that she’d been so publicly humiliated. He understood that feeling of shame—and that she’d done nothing to deserve it. Worse were his own deeply inappropriate thoughts—that shame was all his.

Right now Tilly looked so fragile it was as if she were made of the thinnest glass. No wonder Erik always leapt to defend her. But it was a ploy, wasn’t it? Her mother had used vulnerability to bewitch his father. Tilly needed to grow her own damned spine and not rely on someone handing her everything she wanted.

His grip on her tightened. ‘You should have spoken up and stood your ground.’

‘He’s the King.’

‘Then just leave,’ he snapped. He’d wanted her gone for so damned long. ‘It’s not that difficult. Grab a flight. A bus. Ferry. Get on with your life.’

‘Of course, how inept of me not to have thought of that already.’ Her expression pinched. ‘Should I steal some petty cash from the gallery to buy a ticket?’

His jaw dropped. Was she saying she had no money? ‘You work for the palace. In the museum,’ he growled sarcastically.

In the last few years his father had monetised any access he could—from the new ‘museum’ in the main wing, to full palace tours, to trinkets at the new palace shop. While any funds from the enormous Crown estate that Erik managed were ploughed into a charitable foundation to benefit the citizens of Montaurella and thus inaccessible for personal use, the profits from the palace tours and so forth were funnelled into the King’s own ‘maintenance’ coffers. Alex disliked the appearance of greed in skimming money from visitors but according to the online reviews Tilly’s knowledge of amusing historical anecdotes was second to none and surely she was recompensed for it?