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“You mean the box,” she said.
“The bride box, yes, but also documentation and a photograph.”
Curiosity flashed in Isabel’s eyes. “What kind of documentation?”
Her interest loosened some of the tension in his shoulders. Maybe the paper would convince her of the truth. He motioned to Jovan, who removed a leather pouch from his inside suit pocket with a flourish and handed it over.
As Niko opened the flap, he noticed two tall men in coveralls watching them from the garage.
No doubt the limousine and police cars would attract attention. Niko wanted to avoid the media at all cost. The annulment needed to be handled quietly with no press coverage. Before departing for the United States, he had been upfront with Julianna about the situation, but others from Aliestle might not be as understanding about the sudden appearance of “his wife” on the front page of tabloids. He didn’t want to risk losing her and what she would bring to Vernonia.
He glanced around. “I would prefer a more private place to discuss matters. Inside the limo perhaps?”
Isabel glared at him. “Do I look like the kind of woman who would get into a car with strangers?”
Niko assumed based on her reaction the answer wasn’t yes. “I may be a stranger, but I am your husband.”
“That remains to be seen.”
She wasn’t making this easy, but given her appearance he shouldn’t be surprised. “Perhaps the garage or if there is an office—”
“Here.”
He needed her cooperation. The last thing Niko wanted to do was upset her any more than he already had. He would allow her this much control.
“Fine. We shall remain here.” He removed two folded pieces of paper from the pouch. “I took the liberty of having the marriage certificate translated.”
She eyed him warily. “Marriage certificate, huh?”
He extended the papers toward her. “See for yourself.”
Instead of reaching for the documents as Niko expected, Isabel wiped her hands on the thighs of her oversize coveralls. The same way she had when she’d walked out of the garage.
Not totally without manners, he realized, but a far cry from the grace and style of a woman like Julianna. “These are copies so it doesn’t matter if they get dirty.”
Isabel took the documents and unfolded them. As she read, she flipped back and forth between the two pages.
Niko appreciated her thoroughness. Now all he needed was her compliance. Given how things were proceeding so far, that might take time. Especially since he hadn’t begun to explain the situation to her.
“The certificate actually looks legit,” she said.
“It is.”
“But it’s wrong.” She pointed her oil stained finger to the line with her mother’s name. “My mother was never married.”
He hesitated.
This “complication” went beyond Isabel Poussard being his child bride and standing in the way of him marrying Juliana and obtaining her significant dowry and trade support from Aliestle. Isabel might think she was a full-blooded American, but she wasn’t. She was also Vernonian, the last of the royal Sachestian bloodline. Her family came from Sachestia, a region in the northern part of the country. She was one of his subjects, one who knew nothing of her parents, her homeland or her past. Isabel deserved to know the truth, but a part of him felt awkward about what he had to do, say. He wished it were already over.
“Your mother, Evangeline Poussard, was an American college student. She was backpacking through Europe when she met Prince Aleksander Zvonimir.” Yesterday, Niko’s parents had explained what happened so he could explain it to Isabel today. “The two fell in love and eloped.”
She looked at Niko as if he’d grown horns. “My mother was married to a prince?”
“Yes.”
Isabel’s mouth quirked. She looked as if she was trying hard not to laugh. “So I suppose next you’re going to tell me someone who looks like Julie Andrews is not only my grandmother, but also the queen?”
Niko had no idea what Isabel was talking about. He knew who the actress was, but couldn’t connect to the reference. He looked at Jovan for an explanation.
“The Princess Diaries,” Jovan explained quietly. “A series of books and movies about an American who discovers she’s a princess.”
Niko had never heard of any such Princess Diaries, but at least he understood the context now.
“My mother is the queen,” he said to Isabel. “Though she would be thrilled to be a grandmother, I can assure you she looks and sounds nothing like Mary Poppins.”
Isabel didn’t crack a smile.
So much for his attempt to lighten the mood.
She shook her head. “I just don’t see how any of this can be true.”
“The truth is not always clear, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
As she studied the translated document, two lines formed above the bridge of Isabel’s nose. He found the trait surprisingly endearing. It made her seem less in control and more open to possibility.
“Let’s say my mother was married to this prince, and he’s my father,” Isabel said. “Why would she give birth to me in America?”
“She didn’t,” Niko said. “You were born in Vernonia.”
“My birth certificate says I was born in the United States. I have a copy.” Isabel pursed her lips. “One of the documents is fake. I’m guessing it’s yours.”
“Guess all you would like, but yours is the fake,” he said. “Given the political unrest in Vernonia when you were born, I wouldn’t be surprised if your parents had another birth certificate made omitting both Vernonia and Prince Aleksander’s name.”
“You sound as if you believe all this.” Disbelief dripped from each of her words. “That Prince Aleksander was my father.”
“Yes,” Niko said firmly. “I believe you are Princess Isabel Poussard Zvonimir Kresimir.”
She scrunched her nose. “Do I look like a princess?”
“You look like a car mechanic, but that doesn’t change the facts. You are a princess of Vernonia and my wife.”
Isabel stared at the marriage certificate. “Then how did I wind up here?”
“That’s what we’d all like to know,” Niko admitted. “My father’s staff have been trying to figure that out.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Where did they think I was?”
He didn’t answer.
“Where?” she pressed.
“Buried in your family’s cemetery.”
She gasped. “You thought I was dead?”
“Not me. I was too young to remember you, but all of Vernonia believed you were killed with your parents in a car bombing a month after our wedding.”
Isabel lowered the papers. “A car bombing?”
“By a splinter faction of Loyalists who were nothing more than terrorists.” The way her eyes clouded bothered him. “It was a … troubled time, with two groups aligned to different royal bloodlines. That is in the past now.”
The two little lines above the bridge of her nose returned.
Good, Niko thought. Isabel was thinking about all that he’d told her. She would see she had to believe—
“Look. I get that you’re somebody. Otherwise you wouldn’t have the limo, lawyer aide guy, documents or a police escort. You know my mother’s name, but you have the wrong person. The Evangeline Poussard who was my mother never went to Europe. She never married. She never would have married off her baby. And she died due to complications with childbirth, not in a terrorist attack.”
“What about the box?” Niko asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe there are identical boxes. Yours and hers.” Isabel shoved the papers at him. “I don’t have time to deal with this. I have work to do.”
With her head held high as if she were the Queen of England and not a lowly mechanic, Isabel turned away from him and marched toward the garage.
Niko’s fingers crumpled the edges of the papers. He tried to remember the last person besides his father who had dismissed him so readily. “Isabel.”
She didn’t glance back.
What an infuriating woman. He wanted to slip into the limousine and forget he’d ever heard the name Isabel Poussard, except he couldn’t. They were tied together. Legally. He needed to undo what had been done without their consent. “Wait.”
She quickened her step. Most women ran toward him not away, but he had a feeling Isabel was different from the women he knew.
“Please,” he added.
She stopped, but didn’t turn around.
He forced himself not to clench his jaw. “Before you go, please look at the photograph.”
Isabel glanced over her shoulder. “What photograph?”
She made him feel more like a peasant than a prince. Likening a wife to a ball and chain suddenly made sense to him if said wife happened to be a strong-willed woman like Isabel Zvonimir.
He removed the picture from the pouch. “The wedding photo.”
She didn’t come closer. “Look, I’m on the clock right now. My boss is watching. I can’t afford to have my pay docked so you can pull a prank.”
“This isn’t a prank.” The old garage needed a new roof and paint job. Niko wondered if Isabel’s financial circumstances were similar to those of her place of employment. “I’ll give you one hundred dollars for five minutes of your time.”
She straightened. “Seriously?”
Now he had her attention. With the pouch and picture tucked between his arm and side, he removed his wallet, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and held it up. “Quite serious.”
She hurried toward him with her gaze fixed on the bill.
“You really are crazy, but for that kind of money you can have seven minutes.” Isabel snatched the money from him and shoved it in her coverall pocket. “Hand over the picture.”
Niko gave her the photograph. He didn’t need to look at it again. After examining the picture so many times during the flight to Charlotte he had memorized everything about the twelve people in it. “You are the baby in the white gown with the tiara. Your mother is holding you. Your father is standing on the right of you. Your paternal grandparents are the two next to him.”
Isabel held the photo with both hands. Niko watched her face for some sign of recognition of her mother, but saw nothing.
“This looks more like a picture from a baptism than a wedding,” Isabel said.
“Only because of the baby.” Niko repeated what his mother had said to him. “This is a traditional royal wedding pose with the bride and groom in the center and their families on either side.”
Isabel narrowed her gaze. “You’re the little boy in the suit with the light blue sash across your chest?”
“Yes.”
She glanced up at him. “I don’t see much of a resemblance.”
“That was twenty-three years ago.”
Isabel traced his boyhood image. “You don’t look very happy.”
Niko wasn’t very happy right now. He wanted to be rid of this complication, of her. “I imagine a six-year-old boy would not be too happy about getting married.”
“Who is the other boy?” Isabel asked.
“My older brother.”
“Why didn’t they marry the baby off to him?” she asked.
Niko noticed Isabel said “the baby” not “me.” He took a calming breath to keep his patience under check. “Stefan was the crown prince and already betrothed.”
She looked up. “Was?”
“Stefan was killed during the conflict seven years ago.”
Her eyes grew serious. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Niko didn’t want or need her pity, only her cooperation. “All Vernonians suffered losses during the conflict. I intend to make sure that doesn’t happen again. I want to keep the peace and modernize the country.”
“Worthy goals.” Isabel refocused on the photo. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. My uncle Frank had one picture of my mother that wasn’t destroyed when their parents’ house burned down. She looked nothing like this.”
Niko recalled the dossier containing information about Isabel. She didn’t have any living relatives. Her mother had been an only child and orphaned at nineteen following a train derailment that killed her parents. The Zvonimir side of Isabel’s family tree had been killed during the conflict. Nowhere on either side of her family tree had anyone named Frank appeared.
“Who is Uncle Frank?” Niko asked.
“Frank Miroslav,” Isabel said. “My mom’s older half brother. He raised me after she died.”
