Nine Months to Marry the Princess

Prologue

Emilia de Reyes stared down the long wooden bar. Each seat was occupied, the screams of laughter deafening, the rock and roll competing for space in each patron’s eardrums. She took a deep breath and squeezed between two towering, bulky humans, trying to find enough real estate to flag the bartender down.

Neither gave Emilia a glance. She smiled.

This is amazing. I’m actually invisible.

A bartender materialized.

Whadaya having?

She glanced above him at the menu outlined in chalk—chalk! How truly American!—and thought of her list.

How about the Big Sam and an old-fashioned?

The man nodded and disappeared. He was fully what she expected to find in a hipster bar like the one she’d chosen, with a loose bun piled atop his head and what might pass as a beard smattering his chin.

This whole scene—from the noise to the scent of something fried and delicious to the people casually dressed in off-brand clothing—was exactly what she’d hoped for when she’d chosen Minneapolis, Minnesota, for her obstetrics residency in the United States. When she’d dared to hope, that was.

When her stepmother had stopped seeking fertilization treatments after too many failed pregnancies, Emilia had worried that her let’s-turn-the-princess-into-a-well-rounded-queen-to-the-people trip was off the table, to use an American turn of phrase. In a moment, she’d gone from hopeful that her life could be guided by royal protocol, rather than dictated by it, to resigned.

Her father and stepmother would never have a child of their own. Which meant…

Emilia was the sole heir to the Zephyranthes throne. And her dreams of picking a so-called passion project to follow for two years, as all Zephyranthian nobility did, was likely off the table. Emilia’s health and safety could no longer be risked.

A patron at the bar whooped when some athlete competing in an American football match crossed over a line on a field. Emilia smiled, feigning interest in the television above her. At least one good thing had come from Luis’s betrayal and her biggest mistake being plastered across the front pages of every European newspaper: he’d given her an out.

All that negative media coverage and her sudden disappearance from the limelight would have made it seem as if she were running away. Instead, her situation was rebranded as the start of her queen in training preparation.

It’d worked, too. Especially when the media got wind of what she’d chosen as her passion project. She’d be working toward a medical specialty in obstetrics in America, helping women like the late queen, who’d died in childbirth. She felt moderately guilty for capitalizing on her mother’s death two decades earlier, but Emilia was also healing from a fresh betrayal there as well. There was so much her mother hadn’t told her… So much she’d been blind to since she’d only been seven when her mother passed away. Now, thanks to Luis, all her past was on a world stage for everyone to read about in the scandal pages.

And Luis himself? Well, he was part memory, part heartache, and full regret at this point. He was banished from Zephyranthes, at least.

Her engagement to Luis might’ve left her with a decent heartbreak, but it gave her a chance to pursue more than just a passion project. Much more.

She loved medicine, and in that brief moment after her father had remarried and started trying to have more children, Emilia had allowed herself to imagine what life as a royal physician might have been like. But now she was back to her role as Heir Apparent, Queen-in-Waiting.

At least she had an American hamburger with bacon, not to mention a whiskey drink on the way. Check and check. Two things crossed off her list before she’d even finished unpacking.

This was a good idea, coming here.

The shout from the crowd was louder than the rock music; someone must have done something outrageously stupid or heroic on the TV. Her smile grew.

Emilia’s stay would be short-lived, a mere two years, but she didn’t mind. She loved her country, found honor in her duty, and would appreciate going back to meet the needs of the people counting on her.

But anonymity was a welcome respite. Well, sort of.

She stole glances toward the door. There, leaning against a post, was Chance, her father’s answer to keeping her safe while allowing her to complete her OB residency in America. Without a drink of his own, and in all black, he looked more bar bouncer than patron.

Likely, he thought this assignment beneath him. Still, he could loosen up and try to enjoy being outside the gated walls of the castle. Wasn’t he happy to be out from the stifling duties of her father’s chief adviser?

When a large, male form almost brushed against her at the bar, her smile turned to shock at a stranger being this close to her. With Chance mere feet away. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Chance close the distance, but she shook her head. She was okay. No, she was better than okay.

I’m not in the castle anymore, am I?

Emilia tried to take in the man who’d somehow made the seas part for him, but he was too close and too tall—well over two meters. The gray sweater he wore swept across her skin, tickling it. It was soft, expensive. His broad chest and strong arms pressed against the fabric but didn’t strain it. The sweater had been tailored for him—she’d recognize that kind of craftsmanship anywhere.

How interesting to find it in middle America at a local bar.

The muscles in the man’s torso extended to his neck, his jaw, his cheeks.

But that’s all she could see.

What she felt was another story altogether. She’d never been this close to a man—other than Luis, who hardly earned the right to be called as much. Luis had been attractive in the basic sense of the word, but masculine? Nothing like the man beside her.

She inhaled deeply, the scent of spicy soap overwhelming her senses. Romance had never been, nor wouldn’t ever be, an option, if for no other reason than the crown didn’t allow it. Not in the conventional sense.

Her royal obligations included a marriage of convenience that would benefit her country, which was sort of romantic if she thought about the centuries of tradition that supported the ceremony she’d partake in when she returned to Zephyranthes.

Then again, her father and stepmother hadn’t expressly told her she couldn’t pursue a fling.

In that case, a man as intoxicating as this one might make the top five list of things to do in America. Modern decrees had relinquished outdated policies about a princess’s virtue, which Emilia hadn’t taken advantage of. Yet.

As the velvety voice of the man next to her ordered his drink—something with sour at the end of it—a pooling of heat sank past her abdomen and into the place she longed to be touched.

Apparently, the things she’d learn on this trip wouldn’t all be within the hospital walls.

No sooner was she handed a glass of amber liquid did the hulk of a man back into her, spilling at least a third of it. And he didn’t even bother to turn around.

Desire turned to ice, heavy and cold in her stomach. She tapped his shoulder. Excuse me. He dipped his gaze at her angry words. You spilled my drink.

She raised her chin and was met by a piercing gaze the same slate gray color as his sweater. The full force of his power and nonchalance was something she was all too familiar with in the world she’d left behind.

I apologize. I didn’t realize. Can I replace it? he asked.

No, thank you. This will be plenty, I’m sure. But you could be more careful. Someone might’ve been hurt.

Were you? Hurt? He handed her a napkin but didn’t turn away.

No. Her pulse beat loud in her ears. Not this time.

Good.

Emilia held his gaze. When his brows lifted in appreciation, she swallowed, her throat dry. All moisture in her body had fled south, it seemed.

You’re beautiful, he said.

I know, she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. It wasn’t as if she was unaware of her physicality. She was raised to consider its importance above almost everything else in her life. Yet, to see its effect without thought or care for what being caught gazing at a princess might do to his reputation—his life—was a heady thing indeed.

She also knew she’d chosen wisely when it came to the slinky jade green shirt with thin straps exposing her toned shoulders and her slim-cut black jeans. The former highlighted the jeweled green slivers in her eyes, the latter her figure.

He laughed, then, his stoic demeanor gone. Where are you from?

Why do you assume I’m not from here?

The accent, for one.

She shrugged, conceding to that observation. She’d worked hard to learn American English, but every now and then, even she heard the stray theta from her native Zephyr—similar to Spanish—that slipped through into speech.

That’s fair. And the rest?

His eyes sparkled with recognition, and awareness prickled her skin.

You don’t fit in here, he said with a finality that left no room for an opposing opinion. A stab of something familiar and unwanted pulsed in her chest.

Neither do you, she shot back.

She’d tried for confident and come up short. That was the problem, wasn’t it? She didn’t belong anywhere. Too wild for her royal existence, too proper for much else. If it weren’t for years of training, the worry she couldn’t be the princess Zephyranthes needed would have devoured her a long time ago.

He laughed again. Trust me, it’s a compliment. But yeah, this place isn’t my normal scene. I’m supposed to be meeting a friend in a bit.

A friend? Why did a thread of jealousy tug at her heart? This man—this handsome stranger—didn’t owe her anything.

My buddy, Brian. Unexpected relief cut the thread. But you still didn’t answer my question. Where’re you from?

Europe. She kept her answer simple, alluding to the story she, her parents, and Chance had worked out. It was tenuous, but at least they could count on Luis’s silence from wherever he’d slunk off to. They’d paid handsomely for it.

Spain? he asked.

She shrugged, allowing the common misconception. Their language and culture were similar enough, buying her even more anonymity.

"Encantado, he said, dipping his chin. Me llamo Aiodhán."

The accent and greeting weren’t as fluid as Zephyr, but she didn’t fault him for that. Hearing something close to her native tongue from his lips was thrilling. Whiskey did the job the desire started, and she had the sudden urge to give into the heat building at her core.

When she got bumped from behind this time, she careered into the wall of muscle in front of her. The arms that held her up were strong, warm, and wholly tempting. Kind of like the rest of the man.

Not yet, and not him. Besides the obvious—he was the first American she’d spoken to—she couldn’t escape the feeling wafting off the handsome stranger. Aiodhán was trouble, and until she was sure if it was the good kind or not, she’d best keep her distance.

Emily? the bartender asked, breaking the spell she’d fallen under while under Aiodhán’s gaze. She nodded. The nickname was one more buffer between her and her royal reality. Once someone associated her with the…family obligations she had back home, she would no longer be Emilia, woman and physician. Just Princess Emilia.

The bartender held out a brown bag. Perfect timing. Flirting with the stranger next to her had diverted her attention from the pangs of hunger she felt, but barely.

Emily, huh?

She straightened her shoulders, tossed her hair back.

Yes. Well, nice to meet you, Aiodhán. She held out her hand to bid him good-night, but he ignored it. Fine. She turned to leave despite his breach of etiquette.

You been here long? She stopped short. What would five more minutes of chatter cost her?

I haven’t. This is my first day here, actually.

Welcome to Minneapolis, Aiodhán said. What brought you here?

Work. I start a new job Monday. The less he knew, the better. Only the CEO of the hospital system she was completing her residency at was aware of her real name, her credentials. And it would remain that way for the next twenty-four months.

His eyes narrowed. Have you ever been to Minneapolis before?

She shook her head. It’s a beautiful city, though. Nothing like the centuries-old spires in the center of Cyana, but modern, fresh, new.

I like it. And I’m thinking you need a tour guide.

Is that right? The food bag hung at her side, all but forgotten under the intense gaze of this stranger.

It is. How about after you dive into that burger we get you acclimated? As a resident downtown expert, I’m your guy.

How are you such an expert? she teased. It felt good. Freeing.

I’m doing a project downtown with a new building, so I had to do market research. All boring stuff, but it did give me one gem. The look he sent her was primal, filled with adventure. Her skin prickled with awareness. It’s a fun place with some great music if you’d like to join me.

What about your friend?

He shrugged. He’ll live without me for a night.

Well, I don’t know you, she said, worrying aloud.

His smile didn’t waver.

That’s why people go on dates, generally. To get to know each other.

A thrill whispered through her. Dating. What a wholly American—and ordinary—thing to do. It’d never actually occurred to her.

Didn’t I choose to pursue my residency in the United States so I could learn about other cultures that might impact the way I lead one day?

Not exactly. However, she was there to heal from heartache and take on a passion project. Maybe there was another way to look at those edicts.

Okay, she said, a smile working its way across her face. I’m interested. But only after I’ve devoured this burger. I’m absolutely starving.

Aiodhán’s laugh was throaty and thick.

I’d never dream of keeping a woman from a meal. He swallowed the contents of his drink then placed the empty glass on the bar. The gleam in his eye was positively wicked, with a hint of feral desire she recognized from the men who’d coveted her on their supervised courting outings, men like Luis. Only this man wasn’t aware of the fortune or title she carried like invisible, gilded baggage on her shoulders. He whipped out a credit card and waved at the bartender. I’ll take all this, too.

You don’t have to—

Consider it a welcome drink and dinner. Just sit back and enjoy.

Well, this is a pleasant surprise. For obvious reasons, she was usually left fronting the cost of all dinners out.

Another pleasant surprise? Aiodhán cleared the way for her to dive into her food, which she did with reckless abandon. Not one worry about dabbing her lips with a cloth napkin or if she looked silly crossed her mind. Aiodhán wiped a smudge of ketchup from the corner of her mouth, but otherwise let her eat in peace.

Ready to go, Emily from Europe? He leaned in close enough that the spice from his soap tickled her nose. She inhaled deeply, wanting to remember this scent—the scent of her first American date. Her first real date.

Excitement rolled through her chest, even as she allowed Aiodhán to believe she was someone other than who the world knew her as. She stole a glance at Chance. The plan forming in her mind was almost unfair to the stoic, frowning grump of a man, but that didn’t deter her from putting it into action. After all, hadn’t she slipped his watch countless times in Cyana as a child? She’d learned a few tricks since then.

I’m ready, Aiodhán from Minnesota, Emilia said. Let’s go.

Her heart beat wildly as reality hit her. Yes, she’d been placed back at the top of the line of succession. But she was also free for two whole years. Sudden desperation for adventure beat in her chest. A date with an attractive man she’d met at a local bar seemed just the trick. The rest—her dream of working with new moms and women who needed her help to have the families they craved—was on the horizon. And the sun would rise on it tomorrow.

Right now, she was focused on the man taking her hand in his leading her out of the bar and into the magic of the unknown.

Chapter One

Emilia applied a thin layer of gloss on her lips before appraising her look in the mirror. It reminded her of the last time she’d applied makeup—the night she’d slept with the hot American she met in the bar two weeks prior. She shuddered but smiled, memories of the most delicious night of her life still tingling her lips, no matter how much gloss was painted on.

No time for that now. Even if she couldn’t forget the spectacular way he’d wielded her body like a surgical instrument of pleasure, those memories stood in the way of what mattered. Namely getting ready for her first day of work, acclimating to this new life, and healing while she had the space to do so.

Oh, and finding a decent place to put on her makeup.

She’d moved into her apartment a week ago and still couldn’t figure out the dimmer switch in the bathroom. Had she overdone the blush on