Page 47 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

‘You don’t seem unhappy about that revelation,’ he said.

She lifted one slender shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. Everything about her was so measured and perfect. How he’d love to be the one to mess her up, if only a little, to see the princess wild and unrestrained. Since his brother’s death, it had been his mission to take every adventure and keep the promise he’d made on the day Michel had died. Princess Anastacia looked as if she needed a few adventures of her own, not an arranged marriage to some stranger, prince though he may be.

The princess looked out over the crowd to couples on the dance floor, almost in yearning. He followed her gaze. Santori was there, dancing with a woman in a glittering frost-blue ball gown. Was Anastacia wishing she were there in his arms, rather than here, perhaps rueing the loss of the prince to another? If she regularly hit the ‘world’s most beautiful’ lists, being passed over must sting. All he knew was that Santori was a fool if he couldn’t see the worth of the woman before him.

‘Since you’re not about to be swept away into some fairy tale, would you care to dance?’ he asked.

If a prince was happy enough to pass up his chance to get this woman into his arms, Aston would take it instead, for the next few moments at least. He held out his elbow. She took it, her touch light and delicate, her fingers tipped in shell-pink polish.

The princess looked up at him and smiled. ‘Who’s to say the fairy tale isn’t what we make of it, Mr Lane?’

It was as if he’d been flung into the lava flow of the last volcano he’d trekked up. Heburned. He couldn’t wait for their bodies to be aligned, moving in synchronicity, even if it was only on a dance floor. Aston led her through the crowd as people turned, watching them—the bad boy of champagne and the perfect princess.

On the dance floor, couples drifted to the rhythm of a string quartet playing something slow and sultry. He took her into his arms, his hand spanning her narrow waist. The warmth of her seeped into his palm. Her scent was sweet and fresh, like a flower garden.

Sweet. He must not forget.

Virginal. Shouldn’t forget that either.

As he looked down at her then, into her azure eyes framed by the mask of tiny butterflies, the reasons for that seemed hazy.

‘You should call me Aston.’

‘Should I?’

Her lips parted and he drew her closer as they moved in perfect step to the music. She didn’t hesitate, instead melting into him. Who’d have guessed that Princess Anastacia would be the perfect fit? The crowd seemed to fade, as if it were only the two of them, and the music with its seductive lilt.

‘What should I call you?’

He craved to hear her say his own name, breathily, gasping in his ear as he made love to her for hours. Her lips parted. Could she tell what he was thinking?

‘“Your Highness” would be proper.’

‘What if you didn’t want to be proper?’

Even in the low light her cheeks darkened. The beautiful flush of colour made her glow. ‘I always am.’

The words sounded bitter in her mouth. Poor princess. Did she feel trapped in her cage, gilded and beautiful though it was? He swung her out. She executed a perfect turn and came back into his arms in a rush, even closer now, if that were possible.

‘Lucky for you, I’m not. For tonight, I’ll call youma déesse...’

Her mask shifted, the little butterfly wings fluttering as she raised her eyebrows. ‘“My goddess”?’

‘Oui. Bien sûr.’He pitched his voice lower, softer, as if the words he was about to impart were a secret between them. ‘Of earthy delights.’

‘Don’t you mean “earthly”?’

‘No. I know exactly what I said.’

He might have imagined it, but he was sure she let out a sigh. Even part-hidden behind her mask her gaze pinned him as they simply moved together, lost to everything bar the music, in the same rhythm as his heartbeat. Then the music began to slow, a coda to his time with her, even though he didn’t want the dance to end. The string quartet stopped playing and, whilst he loosened his hold, she didn’t move from his arms. Another song started. Keep moving? Let her go? Take her to a darkened corner, press her against the wall and kiss her?

So many choices...only one of them a good one.

‘May I cut in?’

Aston wheeled round and almost shouted,No!Yet the voice was from the man to whom Princess Anastacia was supposed to become betrothed tonight. Perhaps Santori had seen the light and wanted an engagement after all? It was more than he could ever give this woman.

‘Of course,’ he responded, almost through gritted teeth, but he still handed her off, watching as she was swung away from him into the crowd of dancers. Though, as the couple came into view once more, Anastacia wasn’t looking at her prince.

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