Читать книгу: «The Park's Empire: Handsome Strangers...: The Prince's Bride»

Chapter One

“Brenda, do you think the newspaper stories about Father are true?” Emily Parks cradled a delicate teacup, warming her chilled fingers against the heated china. Despite the seventy-six-degree temperature outside, the kitchen of Walter Parks’s San Francisco mansion was shady and cool. The windows in the dining alcove stood open and a slight breeze blew in off the Pacific, carrying the faint tang of salt and sea.

“Hard to say how much of the news reports a person can believe.” The older woman’s voice held doubt.

“I’ve always known Father was completely ruthless in business, but it’s hard to believe that he’d be involved in anything criminal.”

“Impossible to believe that he might do something illegal?” Brenda’s eyes were shrewd behind her glasses. “Or difficult for you to accept that a member of your family might have done something outside the law.”

Emily frowned, considering the question. “Maybe it’s more that I simply don’t want to believe that my father is capable of being involved in illegal business deals. Heaven knows he wasn’t much of a father, but he’s the only parent I’ve ever known.” She glanced up at Brenda. Seated across the small walnut table, her plump, five-foot tall body encased in a soft blue uniform dress, the Parks’s family housekeeper exuded concern and maternal affection. Brenda wasn’t Emily’s birth mother, but in all the ways that counted, she’d earned the right to be called “‘Mom.” “‘If it wasn’t for you, I would probably have grown up with a revolving group of nannies.”

“Hmmph.” Brenda sniffed, her teacup clicking against the matching blue Wedgwood saucer as she lowered it with a snap. “Your father never had any sense when it came to hiring household help. How he managed to build that jewelry store of his into such a powerhouse is a constant puzzle to me.”

Emily laughed. “That ‘jewelry store’ is San Francisco’s version of New York’s Tiffany’s, Brenda. I’m sure Father has razor-sharp judgment when it comes to hiring employees for the business, but I’ve always thought the only intelligent thing he ever did for his personal life was to hire you to take care of us all those years ago.”

Brenda’s eyes twinkled. “Now that was a winwin situation. I was free to spoil you four children with no interference from your father. And in addition, he paid me a good salary.” She patted her short gray hair and winked at Emily. “I was able to save enough to go traveling this year.”

“How did you like Paris?” Emily loved hearing Brenda’s tales of her travels. She longed to travel but for the moment, her growing business demanded every hour of her time.

“I loved it—the Champs Elysée, the Eiffel Tower, the Seine, the Monet paintings in the Louvre’s Orangerie…” Her voice trailed off, a reminiscent smile curving her mouth. “I think I’d like to go back there for my honeymoon.”

Emily’s tea choked her in midswallow. She gasped and coughed, her eyes watering. It took a moment before she could speak coherently. “Honeymoon? What honeymoon? I didn’t even know you were dating someone!”

“I’m not.” Brenda said, her plump face serenely confident. “But I’ve answered a few personal ads and met some very nice men. I’m sure that I’ll eventually find someone that matches my requirements for companionship.”

Emily couldn’t hide her astonishment. “I didn’t know you were interested in finding a husband, Brenda. I’ve always thought you were married to your job.”

“I was,” Brenda agreed. “After my John passed away, you children were a blessing and caring for you filled every moment. I didn’t have the time or the energy to lose myself in grief, thank goodness. But now that you’re all out of the house and don’t need me anymore, I’ve been thinking more and more about finding a male friend to spend the rest of my life with.”

“You’re amazing.” Emily slowly shook her head. “It takes a certain kind of courage to look for love even once, but searching twice in one’s lifetime? You deserve a medal.”

“Courage?” Brenda looked at Emily over the rim of her glasses, a small frown creasing a line between her brows. “Why courage?”

“Because it seems to me that being loved once in a woman’s life is a rare thing.” Emily shrugged and lifted her cup. “The chances of it happening twice have got to be slim to none.”

“Oh, hon.” Brenda’s voice held sympathy and she covered Emily’s free hand with her own atop the table. “Not all men are like your father and the men you’ve dated.”

“Perhaps.” She didn’t bother to hide the skepticism she felt. She didn’t need to—not with Brenda. “But if there are any nice guys in the world—with the exception of my brothers—I’ve never met them.”

“So you’ve given up on finding a prince?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Brenda sighed. She sipped her tea and a smile curved her mouth. “It’s difficult to believe that the little girl who loved fairy tales has grown up to be a woman who doesn’t believe in love. Remember how you declared that you were going to marry a prince when you grew up, just like Cinderella?”

“I remember.” Emily’s answering smile faded quickly. “That was a long time ago, Brenda. Unfortunately little girls grow up and have to live in the real world. Much as I would love to have a real family, with a husband who would love me and cherish our children—I’ve given up on finding my prince.”

“I’m afraid your father has a lot to answer for.” Brenda frowned, concern chasing away her smile. “He’s ruined your faith in men. But all men aren’t like Walter Parks. And someday, somewhere, the right man will come along and you’ll have the family you’ve always wanted.”

“I hope you’re right, Brenda,” Emily’s voice held a deep well of sadness. “It would be lovely to believe in fairy tales again.”

“Hmmph.” Brenda shook her finger at her. “Just be sure you’re paying attention so you can recognize him when he arrives. Not all princes ride a white horse and wear a crown, you know.”

Emily laughed. “Yes, ma’am. I know. But while I’m waiting for him to ride up to my door, I think I’ll spend my time building my company, since I suspect that dream has a much better chance of coming true.”

Lazhar Eban was on his way to Walter Parks’s library on the first floor of the sprawling mansion. Distracted by the contract he scanned while he walked, he turned left instead of right at the foot of the stairs, moved down a hallway and found himself standing just outside the kitchen, frozen by the conversation he’d accidentally overheard. The gold framed mirror hanging on the wall opposite him reflected the kitchen interior. On the far side of the room, tucked into a bay window looking out on the kitchen garden, was a comfortable dining nook where two women sat. The older woman was the housekeeper who’d shown him to his room late the night before. Lazhar instantly recognized the stunningly beautiful younger woman. Her thick mane of glossy hair was golden-brown, her eyes a bright green, and dimples flashed beside her lush mouth when she smiled. Emily Parks, Walter Parks’s daughter, was the reason Lazhar had abruptly changed his busy schedule and flown to San Francisco.

Her photo had accompanied an addendum to a business proposal from her father, received at Lazhar’s office only three days before.

Walter had approached him months earlier with a business proposal that had the potential to be lucrative for his country. He’d been on the verge of signing but had had second thoughts when the San Francisco newspapers publicly accused the American gem trader of questionable business practices. When he told Walter that he was reconsidering, Walter sweetened the deal by offering his daughter, Emily, as the bride Lazhar needed. The investigative report faxed to him from his security force as he flew over the Atlantic reflected an image of a sophisticated woman from a rich family, educated in private schools, who had built a thriving wedding consultant business in the years since graduation from college. His investigator could find no indication that Emily was currently involved with anyone, nor that she had been so since a canceled engagement some three years before. Emily appeared to be focused on her career, with her social life existing only as an extension of her work.

Given the fact that she was one of the most beautiful women Lazhar had ever seen, he found it nearly impossible to believe that she wasn’t involved with someone, but it appeared that she was not.

Which was all the better for him, he’d thought with satisfaction.

But in person, Emily Parks wasn’t quite what he’d expected.

The beautiful face in the photo had fascinated him with the faint vulnerability behind the cool green gaze and the hint of passion in the sulky mouth. But the fleeting expression of stark loneliness that he glimpsed on Emily’s face as she spoke with Brenda struck a powerful chord within him, calling to him on a level far deeper than her surface beauty.

She wanted to believe in fairy tales again.

A woman who once believed in fairy tales is a romantic, he thought, she’ll never agree to a business merger marriage. His eyes narrowed as Emily pushed her hair back from her face and smiled warmly at Brenda. Even that small, graceful gesture from her was enough to send his blood pounding a little harder.

To hell with it. He wanted her. And he was going to have her, he vowed. It was good fortune that his need for a wife coincided with finding a woman that he wanted to bed.

But after overhearing Emily and Brenda’s conversation, he knew he needed a change of plan. He was convinced there was no chance that she’d meekly agree to marry where her father commanded. Lazhar turned away from the mirror’s reflection of the two women in the kitchen, moved silently back down the hallway, crossed the marble floor of the entry to the library and tapped on the heavy door.

“Come in.”

Walter Parks looked up as Lazhar entered, a distracted frown quickly replaced by an affable smile of welcome.

“Lazhar, come in, come in.” He gestured at the leather-covered chairs facing his desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Lazhar dropped into the chair, his gaze flicking to the single sheet of paper in Walter’s hand. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“No, not at all.” Walter’s fingers closed, slightly crumpling the sheet of paper before he dropped it atop his desk. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve changed my mind about Emily.”

Walter’s tanned, lined face flushed, his cold brown eyes narrowing. “Why? Has she done something to offend you? Because if she has, I’ll talk to her—”

Lazhar gestured abruptly, cutting off the older man’s comments. “No, she’s done nothing. In fact, I haven’t even been introduced to her. I’ve simply rethought our original plan and decided that I don’t want her to know about our business arrangement. I’ll introduce myself and let matters take a more natural course.”

“Ah, I see.” Beneath his salt and pepper hair, Walter’s eyebrows rose, deepening the cynical expression on his leathered face. “I take it that you’re agreeing to my proposition, then?”

“If Emily agrees to become my bride, I’ll sign the contract,” Lazhar said. Walter’s swift satisfaction was easy to read. “But not until,” Lazhar added.

Walter’s mouth twisted in displeasure before the older man nodded his agreement.

“Excellent.” Lazhar stood. “I want your assurance that you won’t mention anything about our arrangement to your daughter.”

“You have it.” Walter rose and held out his hand.

The two shook hands, sealing the bargain.

“I’ll be staying at the Fairmont Hotel on Nob Hill and driving there immediately. Since I don’t want Emily to know about our plans, I think it’s best that we aren’t seen together before I have a chance to speak with her.”

“Very well.”

Lazhar strode out of the office, glancing back briefly. Walter was already focused on the sheet of paper he’d been studying when Lazhar first entered the room. He wondered briefly what had so riveted the businessman’s attention but quickly forgot the incident as he crossed the entryway and moved swiftly up the stairs to one of the spacious guest rooms on the second floor.

“Your Highness?” A small man, hanging a snowy-white shirt in the closet, looked around with surprise.

“We’re leaving, Pierre.” Lazhar crossed the room to the desk and closed the lid on his laptop.

“Very well.” The unflappable valet removed the shirt from its hanger and began to fold it.

Ten minutes later, his luggage tucked into the spacious trunk and Pierre sharing the front seat with the driver, Lazhar left the Parks estate and headed for downtown San Francisco and a luxurious Tower suite waiting for him at the historic Fairmont Hotel.

Meanwhile, Emily and Brenda were finishing their tea, unaware that they’d been observed by Walter’s guest.

“I wonder if Father…” The back door burst open, startling Emily into silence. She didn’t recognize the uniformed security guard who halted abruptly when he saw them.

“Sorry, ladies.” His gaze swept the room. “We have an intruder on the grounds. Have you seen anyone?”

“No.” Emily glanced at Brenda, who shook her head. “We haven’t. Is this person dangerous?”

“I doubt it, ma’am. I think it’s Maddy Jones, a reporter who’s been trying to get past the gates to interview Mr. Parks.”

“Oh, thank goodness, Andrew.” Brenda’s voice held heartfelt relief. “I was afraid a criminal was on the grounds. A reporter is a nuisance, to be sure, but only an annoyance.”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll find her. If you see anything suspicious, let us know.” The guard touched his hand to his hat and stepped back through the doorway.

“We will,” Brenda called after him.

Emily pushed back her chair and stood. “I’d better get back to work, Brenda. Thanks so much for listening to me.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” Brenda enveloped Emily in a quick hug. “I love having you visit. I don’t see enough of you now that you don’t live at home.”

“I know. Work keeps me so busy.” Emily linked arms with Brenda and they walked out the back door and around the house to the front courtyard, where her sporty little BMW was parked. “Why don’t you meet me for lunch next week? There’s a new French restaurant near my office that I’m sure you’ll love.”

“It’s a date.”

Emily hugged her goodbye and drove away, feeling immeasurably comforted by Brenda’s down-to-earth wisdom and unfailing affection. As always, the older woman was a stable rock of sanity in what was often a dark world surrounding her father.

While Emily was leaving, Walter was frowning at the sheet of paper he’d picked up from his desktop the moment Prince Lazhar left his office. The letter was written by his daughter, Jessica, and addressed to his estranged wife, Anna, at the Switzerland sanitarium where she’d lived for many years. Cryptic though the words were, Jessica clearly stated that her mother’s suffering would soon end and that Anna would be “out of her father’s clutches” very soon.

“What the hell does she mean by that?” Walter muttered to himself, glaring at the sheet. He’d read the letter over and over, but couldn’t decipher precisely what Jessica could be referring to. One thing he did know, he thought grimly, was that he had enough problems without his daughter and wife stirring up more. He wanted Anna to remain in Switzerland, safely tucked away as she had been during all the years since he’d first forced her to go there.

With quick decision, he picked up the phone and punched in the phone number for Sam Fields, an investigator he’d used in the past. He’d have Jessica followed and her movements reported to him. It was the easiest way to learn what she and her mother were up to.

Emily’s office was organized chaos.

“It’s barely nine o’clock and I’m already behind.”

Emily glanced up. Her assistant, Jane, stood in the doorway, the neon-blue pencil tucked above her ear a bright spot of color against the corkscrew blond curls that brushed her shoulders. The bright blue was repeated in the paisley scarf draped artistically over one shoulder of her simple little black dress.

“It’s crazy-busy today,” Emily agreed. “Did you find the lilies for the Everston wedding?”

“Yes.” Jane’s pixie face lit with satisfaction. “It took five calls but I finally located some in Seattle. They’re being flown down this afternoon.”

“Excellent.” Emily sighed with relief and took a sip of her vanilla latte. “How Mrs. Everston could have forgotten to tell us until the day before the wedding that her daughter simply must have lilies at the altar is beyond me.”

Jane shrugged philosophically. “That’s a mother-of-the-bride for you—stressed and forgetful. I’m just thankful she didn’t want something that had to be flown in from South America or China!”

“Good point.” Emily saluted Jane with her logo-stamped paper cup from the espresso stand on the corner. “It could have been worse.”

“Emily?” Natalie, the receptionist in Emily’s three-person office, joined Jane in the doorway. Her air of suppressed excitement was palpable.

Emily eyed her with curiosity. “What is it, Natalie?”

“You’ll never guess who’s on the phone.”

“Who?” Emily and Jane waited expectantly.

“An aide to Prince Lazhar, the Crown Prince of Daniz.”

Emily’s eyes widened and she exchanged a quick, surprised glance with Jane. “Prince Lazhar? Of Daniz? What does he want?”

“He wants to schedule an appointment for the prince to meet with you this afternoon.”

Emily didn’t need to glance at her calendar. She already knew what her day looked like. She shook her head. “I can’t possibly, Natalie. Maybe tomorrow.” She flipped her desk calendar open to the following day.

“Emily, you can’t tell a European prince that he has to go on a waiting list,” Jane said firmly. “Especially not this prince. It’s all over the tabloids that he’s looking for a wife. Maybe he wants you to handle the wedding.”

Emily was unconvinced. “I doubt it, Jane. You’re talking about a royal wedding. I’ve never handled anything of that magnitude…I’m sure he’ll hire a bigger firm, maybe from London or Paris, perhaps New York.”

“You’ll never know unless you talk to him,” Jane urged.

Emily glanced at Natalie and received an eager nod of agreement.

“All right.” She turned the page of her calendar to today’s date and skimmed it quickly. “This is impossible,” she murmured, as she ran her fingertip down the list, shaking her head. “I really don’t have any openings, but…tell his aide that I’ll squeeze the prince in between the Benedict fitting and the Powell catering conference.”

“Excellent.” Natalie grinned. “I’ve always wanted to meet a real prince.” She disappeared down the hall.

“You’re squeezing a royal prince in between an Atlanta socialite and a California movie star?” Jane lifted her eyebrows.

“That’s the best I could do. Katherine Powell is always late so I’m hoping I’ll have a few moments before she makes her entrance. Speaking of which.” Emily glanced at her watch. “I’m already behind.”

“This is where I came in. Back to work for me.” Jane waggled her fingers at Emily and disappeared down the hall. A moment later, Emily heard the murmur of her voice as she spoke on the phone.

“The prince of Daniz.” Emily said softly, staring blankly at the blinking cursor on her computer screen. The news of the king of Daniz’s declining health and his wish to see his son wed had been well chronicled in the press. What reason other than business could possibly have sparked his request for an appointment? Was it possible that the prince might actually be considering hiring her to plan his wedding? The prospect of the assignment and what it would do for the future of Creative Weddings was tantalizing.

She shook her head and yanked her thoughts back to the file open on her desk. She had far too much work to do today. Daydreaming about planning a royal wedding would have to wait.

Fortunately for Emily, the Atlanta socialite had booked a late luncheon and needed to cut her appointment with Emily short. Emily ushered the young bride-to-be and her mother out the door, walked to the ladies’ room to freshen her makeup, and was just slicking color onto her lips when Natalie burst into the room.

“He’s here!” Natalie’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “And he’s just as gorgeous in person as he is in print!”

“Is that possible?” Emily teased.

“Trust me.” Natalie fanned her face with her fingers. “In his case, it’s more than possible. It’s a fact.”

“Now I’m even more curious about the mysterious prince,” Emily commented. She gave her reflection in the mirror one last inspecting glance, smoothed her palm over the scarlet suit jacket and across the hip of her pencil-slim skirt, and satisfied that she was tidy, followed Natalie into the hallway. They reached the reception area and Natalie veered off to her desk near the entry, gesturing significantly across the room. A tall, dark-haired man stood with his back to them, looking at a collection of French Impressionist prints on the wall.

“Your Highness?”

He glanced over his shoulder as Emily approached, then turned to face her.

Oh my goodness, she thought as she met the impact of eyes so dark a brown that they appeared black. Natalie was right, he’s drop-dead gorgeous.

His lashes narrowed, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe and leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

“Miss Parks?”

“Yes, I’m Emily Parks. And you must be Prince Lazhar.” And you, she thought, are a dangerous man. Not only was he handsome, with hair as black and glossy as a crow’s wing, olive skin stretched taut over the planes of high cheekbones, black lashes so long and thick that it seemed a crime to waste them on a man, and a powerful body that was six feet four inches of toned muscle and hard angles, but he fairly oozed testosterone and radiated sex appeal. She wasn’t sure what protocol required when greeting a royal prince, but held out her hand and managed a polite smile.

“Please, call me Lazhar.” He smiled and took her hand in his. His fingers and palm were slightly rough against her own smooth skin.

“Very well…Lazhar.” Realizing that her hand was still enclosed in his warm, much larger one, she took a step back, the small, evasive movement slipping her hand from his. She gestured to the archway leading to the hall and the offices that opened off it. “Won’t you come into my office?” She glanced at Natalie and found her pretending to read a file while slanting sideways, fascinated looks at the prince. “Natalie, will you bring us coffee, please.”

“Right away.”

Emily’s skin prickled with awareness as Lazhar walking behind her out of the reception area and down the short hallway to her office. Something about him had set all of Emily’s female instincts shrieking a warning. This was no tame, civilized male. Lazhar Eban threatened her feminine independence on a very basic level. It took all her composure to keep from canceling their appointment and finding an excuse to ask him to leave. Relieved that she could put some distance between them, she gestured to the two damask-covered armchairs arranged before her desk.

“Won’t you have a seat.” She rounded her desk and dropped into her chair, upholstered in a soft blue that echoed the damask of the armchairs, and folded her hands together atop the desk. “What can I do for you, Your Highness?”

Emily had handpicked the chairs facing her desk specifically because they were large enough to accommodate husbands-to-be and small enough not to overwhelm the more slender forms of their brides. But Lazhar made the chair he sat in seem small and his muscled, broad-shouldered body, combined with the sheer force of his presence, seemed to dominate the room.

“I’m getting married,” he said, his gaze fastened on hers. “And I want you to organize the wedding.”

Emily was speechless. She’d wondered whether this might be the reason for his appointment, but his statement still staggered her. She gathered her composure and nodded. “Very well.” She flipped open her notebook and picked up her gold pen. “I’ll need some parameters. What date have you scheduled for the wedding?” Pen poised, she looked at him, waiting.

“As soon as possible.”

“You and your fiancée haven’t picked a date?”

“No. Is that a problem?”

Carefully Emily placed her pen on the gleaming cherrywood desktop. “Perhaps not a ‘problem,’ exactly, but certainly a concern since it’s impossible to begin planning without a time frame in mind. And I’m afraid our calendar is booked several months, sometimes more than a year, in advance.”

“What’s the earliest date that you’re available?”

Emily wondered briefly if he was thinking of a small, private wedding. Surely a royal affair would be scheduled by the palace and the date set in stone? “Before I look at dates, perhaps we should discuss what sort of a wedding you wish to have. Depending on the preparations needed, we may be able to schedule your event sooner, rather than later.”

Lazhar shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of latitude in the wedding ceremony. Royal weddings in Daniz are ruled by tradition and our customs require that the celebration is a week-long affair.”

Emily blinked, startled. “So,” she said slowly, “you’re asking me to plan a week-long celebration, including a royal ceremony, within as little time as possible?”

“The palace has event coordinators that will assist you. What I need is someone to plan, organize and delegate. And I’m willing to pay whatever is necessary to have you devote your time exclusively to the event in order to speed the process.”

Emily was stunned. A royal wedding on her resume would open doors in Europe and the Middle East and had the potential to gain worldwide recognition for Creative Weddings. But it would mean working with the prince, and she wasn’t sure that was wise. On the other hand, in her experience the groom rarely spent a great deal of time with the wedding consultant. The husbands-to-be were always more than happy to leave the details to their prospective brides. “I assume that the wedding will be held in Daniz?”

“Yes.”

She toyed with her pen, stalling for time while she tried to absorb what he was saying. She glanced up at him through her lashes and found his dark gaze fastened on her, a slight air of tension surrounding him. “May I ask why you chose my firm?”

“You were highly recommended by the Radissons,” he said smoothly. “Their daughter Angela is a good friend of my sister, who was a member of the wedding party.”

“Ah, of course.” Emily instantly made the connection. Angela Radisson was a San Francisco society deb, several years younger than Emily, and wonderfully unspoiled. The wedding party had included several of Angela’s college friends, one of whom had been a beautiful dark-haired young woman named Jenna. Gazing at Lazhar, sprawled casually across from her, she immediately saw the family resemblance. “I wasn’t aware that Jenna Eban was a princess.”