CHAPTER ONE

      IN THE END it was surprisingly easy to escape. Abdul, the royal bodyguard posted by the hotel suite’s door, dozed off around ten o’clock, his head nodding onto his chest, and Halina Amari, Princess of Abkar, slipped by him on her tiptoes, holding her breath.

      She’d never done anything like this before, never once tried to escape whatever narrow confines she’d been put in—although she’d certainly tested the boundaries and stretched her wings as much as she could, which was very little indeed. But tonight she wanted to fly.

      This might be her last chance. The world was closing in, getting smaller and smaller thanks to her father—and Prince Zayed al bin Nur, her fiancé. The realisation of how close she’d come to being even more of a prisoner than she already was made her heart leap into her throat. And as for Olivia...

      But she couldn’t think about Olivia, not now, during her one bid for an evening’s freedom. Halina hurried down the hall of the elegant luxury hotel in Rome towards the lift. Abdul stirred and she pressed herself against the wall. She could hardly believe it had been so easy, but why not? The door to their suite had been locked from the inside, the guard posted outside as a matter of form. Her mother had been trying to keep people out, not in. No one had expected her to escape. She could barely believe it herself.

      The doors whooshed open and Halina stepped into the lift, her heart pounding, her palms slick. What was she doing? She’d spent every one of her twenty-two years hidden behind high walls—the palace, the convent school in Italy and then the palace again. Waiting, always waiting, for the fiancé she’d never met to regain his throne and become a suitable suitor. Waiting for her life to begin, or at least something to happen.

      Three days ago, Zayed al bin Nur had mistakenly kidnapped Olivia Taylor, her sisters’ governess and her school friend, thinking she was Halina herself.

      Rumour was he’d married Olivia out in the desert before realising his grievous error. Zayed had sent a message to her father, assuring him that he had not in any way harmed Olivia, for which Halina was heartily relieved. But the whole episode had made her realise how precarious her own position was. How limited her own freedom. And it had infuriated her father, Sultan Hassan, who had sent Halina to Italy with her mother, away from Zayed’s clutches.

      Halina was glad for the escape; she’d never wanted to marry Zayed, a man she’d never even met, and she certainly didn’t want to be kidnapped—although she doubted her fiancé was fool enough to try the same trick twice. But the walls around her were closing in.

      After this, her father would make sure she was even more restricted, more guarded, than she already was. And that was something Halina could not stand. After twenty-two years of waiting, she wanted to live...even if just for a night.

      The lift doors opened and from the hotel’s opulent ballroom she heard the tinkling sound of piano music and crystal, the low murmur of cultured voices. When she and her mother had arrived that afternoon, she’d seen the notice in the hotel’s lobby about the private party, a charity function hosted by some CEO, a glittering event for all of Italy’s richest and finest. Her mother had given Halina a sympathetic smile.

      ‘One day, such parties will be for you,’ she’d said, steering Halina towards the lift. ‘When you are wed. But as for tonight, a quiet night in while we wait for your father’s further instructions.’

      Halina had never been to a proper party. Since she’d turned eighteen she’d attended a few dire state functions, endless banquets with fussy old dignitaries, but never a party. She’d never worn a cocktail dress, flirted or drunk champagne. And that was what she wanted to do tonight—to be normal just for a little while, a young woman having fun, enjoying life.

      Of course, there were a few obstacles to be overcome. She’d managed the first—escaping her room. She’d pleaded a headache and hidden in her room until her mother had gone to have a bath before making her getaway.

      The second obstacle was clothes. She didn’t have anything appropriate to wear. Fortunately the hotel had an upscale boutique, and after hurrying across the lobby Halina slipped into the elegant shop and picked the first suitable dress she saw—a knee-length sheath in black satin, simple, stark and very sexy. She found sheer stockings and high heels as well, and charged it all to her hotel room. She’d think about the repercussions later. Hopefully her mother would never look at the bill.

      Holding the elegant bag with its embossed silver logo and thick cord handles, Halina snuck into the bathroom off the hotel’s foyer and changed in a stall, her hands shaking as she stuffed her plain shift dress into the bag from the boutique. Was she really doing this? Was she crazy?

      She’d always enjoyed pranks and dares, and had forever got into good-natured trouble at school. But this...this was something else entirely. If her mother discovered her...if her father found out... Halina trembled to think of their disappointment and wrath. Her parents were both genial, but they’d never had to deal with such direct defiance from her or her sisters. Still, she had to try. She’d just have to live with the potential consequences, whatever they were.

      The door to the bathroom opened and Halina held her breath, one hand on the latch of her stall, fingers near to trembling. She couldn’t be discovered now, not when her evening was just about to begin.

      She heard the click of heels and from beneath the stall she saw the stiletto-shod feet of two women as they stood in front of the bank of sinks.

      ‘Did you see him?’ one of the women asked in Italian, in which Halina was fluent, as the other unzipped her make-up bag. Halina peered through the crack in the stall’s door and saw the women, sleek and elegant, their lips pursed and eyes narrowed as they gazed at their glossy reflections.

      ‘Falcone? Yes, he’s just arrived,’ the other woman answered with a toss of her head. ‘The man’s cold. Sexy as anything, but with a heart of ice. He’s finished with his latest mistress, you know. Gave her the usual diamond bracelet as a payoff and now he’s completely blanking her. She was crying her eyes out by the buffet.’

      ‘That French supermodel? She didn’t last more than a week.’

      ‘They never do.’ The other woman capped her lipstick in one decisive movement. ‘Would you fancy him?’

      ‘Everyone fancies him. But would I go for him?’ The woman tilted her head, considering. ‘He must be fabulous in bed, based on everything I’ve heard, but I don’t think I could warm up to someone that cold. One of his mistresses said that afterwards he always asks the woman to leave. And I mean, right afterwards. He’s booting them out only seconds later.’

      ‘There could be worse things.’

      ‘And he insists on no personal questions at all.