‘Where are we?’ she asked, her short legs struggling to keep up with his long strides.
‘My very own island paradise,’ he said simply, not bothering to slow down until they’d reached a dirt road at the end of the dock. Roman stopped beside a small, open-sided white Jeep and turned to face her, one hand braced lazily on the mud-spattered door frame as he held it open for her.
‘Jump in, Princess.’ His lips quirked.
That was a challenge if ever she’d heard one. He likely expected her to throw a fit of pique, demanding transportation that better befitted her station.
She smiled sweetly, holding up her white skirt to protect it from the worst of the dirt, and hoisted herself up into the cab without complaint. Within minutes the engine was roaring loudly and a cloud of dust flew around them as they began a steady climb up the cliffs.
‘When you said you could guarantee privacy, I didn’t realise you meant to maroon me on a desert island.’ She forced an easy tone, trying to hide the breathlessness from her voice.
He didn’t immediately respond, so she filled the silence by commenting on the views of the coast below as they drove higher and higher, weaving in and out of the treeline. As they bounced over a particularly rough stretch of terrain her shoulder was jammed hard against the window and she let out a little squeak of alarm.
She turned to see that he was smirking once more. She fought the sudden, irrational urge to punch him in the bicep.
‘Judging by the transportation, am I to expect a rustic mud hut for my stay?’ She gripped her seatbelt with all her might, her resolve slipping fast.
‘I’m not here to act as your tour guide.’ He shrugged, uninterested, his jaw tightening as he shifted gears and the terrain seemed to level out. ‘I’ll be sure to have your tent inspected for cockroaches, at least.’
She had never actually slept in a tent. It would be a drastic change from her usual surroundings, but she rather thought she might enjoy the novelty.
Just as she turned to say this to him she caught sight of something sparkling in the distance. The land began to slope downwards towards the lower terrain again, revealing a spectacular side view of a very large, very sleek, modern villa.
As they descended a short driveway Olivia felt her breath catch at the view that spread out before them. She could see the entire island from this vantage point. The evening sky was tinged pink and orange as the sun sank lower and lower towards the jade-green sea.
‘Wow...’ she breathed, her awestruck brain not quite able to form anything more eloquent after the stunning visual onslaught.
A small white-haired man appeared at the door as they stepped out of the car. He looked immediately to Roman with raised brows.
‘You did not mention a guest, sir,’ he said, his smile forced and pointed.
‘Jorge, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me sir just because we are in company?’ Roman grunted.
‘It’s more professional.’ Jorge shrugged, trying and failing to keep his voice low.
‘You are far from professional.’ Roman smirked, clapping the other man on the shoulder with friendly familiarity. ‘Ridiculously capable and efficient? Of course. But not professional in the least. That’s why I hired you.’
The two men looked back to see Olivia watching the odd exchange with interest.
‘Olivia, this is my right-hand man, Jorge. He travels with me to my homes as housekeeper and chef.’
Roman seemed suddenly preoccupied as he took out his phone and clicked a few buttons.
‘Show her around and set her up in the white guest room.’
Olivia frowned as he began to walk away without another word. ‘You mean you won’t be giving me the grand tour yourself?’ she called, half joking but actually quite shocked at his blatant disregard.
A harsh laugh escaped his lips as he continued to power across the hallway, away from her. ‘I am not in the hospitality business. I thought you would have noticed that by now.’
And with that he disappeared through a doorway at the end of the hall, leaving her alone with his very apologetic housekeeper.
Roman ended the call with a double-click and laid his phone down hard on the marble patio table. In almost ten years of friendship he had never heard his friend curse.
Khal had been stunned at the revelation that the Princess was being strong-armed into their union by her father. But, ever practical, he had asked if there was a chance she might go ahead with it. Roman had answered truthfully—saying that he believed the Princess was just seeking a break from the heightened security measures.
‘Give her time,’ he had said. ‘I will ensure she returns to accept your proposal.’
Khal trusted him to guard his future bride. There wasn’t another person on this earth that Roman would be doing this for. He was not a personal bodyguard. He specialised in hard security. Elite risk assessments, intruder prevention, high-tech electronic systems and such. He did not have the refined people skills that were needed to work one-on-one in this kind of setting.