MAID FOR A PRINCE: (Book 1) (Point St. Claire, where true love finds a way) (2 page)

Three weeks ago, when she’d first arrived on the main island, Helene had heard that the Prince exuded charm and grace as easily as the sun gave off light and heat. After meeting him first hand, Helene totally agreed. Darius Vasily wore his air of entitlement as easily as night dressed in shadows or minutes carried time. Now that she was alone again, she couldn’t believe they had spoken, one on one. Definitely something to write home about.

From time to time, Helene’s normally quiet hometown was rocked by some scandal or other. A few years ago, one of Helene’s friends had been involved in a larger than life episode. A pearl and ruby heirloom was stolen from Belinda Slade’s house. It happened only a couple of months after her mom had passed away. Belinda―Billy to her friends―had emailed just the other day to say that, after all these years, she’d stumbled upon a real clue, a chance to right the wrong that would have broken her poor mom’s heart.

Last semester, big news surrounded a doctorate student. After a whirlwind affair with a billionaire best man had ended, nerdy Sophie Gribble had taken off for a life-changing adventure that had landed her halfway around the world. So cool! 

And soon, Point St. Claire would be buzzing about
this
adventure.

How many girls are kicked off a mystical private island by a real life prince? Especially a prince as gorgeous as Darius Vasily.

After cleaning up the spilled paint as best she could, Helene got rid of the rags. Then she rinsed the brushes and her hands with turpentine. Inside the tack room, she got her belongings together. From the wooden table, she scooped up her cell phone and wondered. But the prince had been clear.
He
would contact the appropriate people. She only needed to wait.

Still, a brief text message to Alexio wouldn’t hurt.

Prince arrived early.

I’m fine. Don’t worry.

Talk soon.

HM

After she put down the phone, the smell of turpentine seemed to grow and press in. She could keep an eye out for her lift while she took a final dip in the cove to wash off properly.   

Stripped down to her swimsuit, she sprinted over pebbled sand and splashed into the shallows. When she was thigh deep, she plunged in. She swam beneath the surface until her lungs felt ready to burst. Spearing up, she broke free and gulped back air then dove again, and a third time, to clear the turpentine smell. But nothing could wash away the image of Darius Vasily’s lopsided smile or the way his dark hooded gaze had searched hers, almost intimately.

She wasn’t a virgin, although she wasn’t all that experienced, either. Only a couple of half-serious relationships. One day she hoped to surrender to a passion deeper and stronger than any emotion she’d ever known.

How would it feel to enjoy that kind of bliss with a man like the prince?

Vasily
…

Even his name was hot.

Back on shore, she wrapped a sarong around her hips and thought about returning to the stables. But the span of beach to her right looked so appealing. Sandals in hand, she set off with warm pebbles crunching under her feet and the Mediterranean sun heating her back and bare shoulders. In no time, she’d reached the other side of the cove where sand and pebbles gave way to an outcrop. Exposed rocks glistened with sea-spray.

Balancing, she picked her way over the stretch. When she came to a cliff wall that jutted out into the sea, she turned to head back. Then, at her feet, she spotted a break in the rock.

As a kid she’d loved to climb and explore. Sometimes she’d come home so grubby her parents would say she should have been a boy. That same
let’s see how far I can go
feeling gripped her now. Lowering onto hands and knees, she poked her head and then shoulders through the hole worn in the rock. Wiggling and pushing, she finally popped out the other side.

The sight greeting her took her breath away. 

Back at the villa, Darius cleaned his face and paint-splattered hands as best he could. Then he took off his stained shirt, changed into white drawstring pants, and poured a glass of wine while thinking about the call he needed to make. If Helene Masters was a reporter, here to play him with her young and innocent act, she would have arrived under her own steam. Hopefully she’d be smart enough to shove off now before his posse arrived and rode her out of town. The press had their place, but their thirst for sensationalism, no matter the cost, left him cold.

Out on the balcony, Darius put a call through to Yanni Kostas, his Chief Aide, and passed on the details of the situation. After disconnecting, Darius sipped from his glass as he imagined the computer searches already underway. Should this Alexio’s name be found logged alongside the caretaker’s position, one of Yanni’s men in the city would visit the registered address and learn the truth. Darius estimated fifteen minutes, tops.

Down below, he saw Helene Masters strolling along the beach. Her hair was flying on a sea breeze as she edged her way along a far outcrop of rocks. Sprayed with seawater, the rocks would be slippery. Although she looked nimble—almost graceful—he worried she would slip. But she reached the cliff wall without incident. Now to see if she could make it back without breaking her neck.

The phone rang. As always, Yanni was composed.

“Helene Masters’ story has been verified—to a point,” the Chief Aide said. “She arrived at Tierenias three weeks ago and has since worked in a casual capacity for Alexio Moraitis, a taverna owner and long-standing primary caretaker of our smaller island. I need the name of the educational institution to authenticate her claim of graduating this year. Some journalists build covers over many months. Photographs of you on that island now would be worth the time.” A humble tone came into his voice. “I’ll organize a boat to collect her. When she is here, I will deal with the situation appropriately.”

“Fine,” Darius said. “Good.”

But then, watching Helene exploring in the distance, apparently innocent of any wrong-doing and probably having worked hard all morning in the sun, he hesitated. He eyed his glass and then recalled the intriguing hue of her eyes. The passion in her voice.

“Actually, no,” Darius said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t send a boat just yet.”  Helene was balanced on an elevated rock now, face tilted toward the sky, arms out like a bird, sarong and flaxen hair flying in the breeze. “I’ll call again and let you know when.”

“You’re aware of tradition, Your Highness. This time is to be spent alone.”

“With that tradition already breached, another few hours won’t hurt.”

Setting his phone aside, he sipped again, waiting for Helene Masters to turn about. Instead she crouched—to check out a rock pool or, perhaps, a cut from an oyster shell on her foot. When she remained low, out of sight, his gaze narrowed. Finally he let out a growl.

A freak wave hadn’t swept her out to sea. And she couldn’t have magically passed through that rock wall. There was a way into the ravine that lay on the other side, but its entrance was well-hidden. Still, he couldn’t take a chance on anyone finding out what was concealed beyond that point. If Helene found it—dropped it the way she’d dropped that bucket—

Darius growled, set down his glass and raced out the door.

Several minutes later, out of breath, he stood before the cliff wall where Helen Masters had disappeared. At ground level on this particularly low tide, he saw an area of rock that was eroded right through to the other side. While a man of his build could never struggle through, someone of Helene’s petite size would fit.

Darius strode inland until he came upon a familiar groove in the rock. Using his shoulder, he pushed with all his might. Finally a stone louver grated open barely wide enough for Darius to squeeze through.

On the other side, he sprinted down the pebble-filled corridor until he came to the hidden entrance of a cave. He cupped his mouth and called into the tunnel, “Helene Masters!” then threw a glance to his right. By design that path, too, was blocked by a cliff wall. No one was meant to find this entrance, although dainty footprints marked in wet sand said that Helene had somehow managed it.

Many years ago, he’d ventured inside this cave with his father. Later, together, they’d pored over a map. This place was a maze, and meant to be. He only hoped Helene hadn’t wandered in too far and gotten hopelessly lost.

The scent of moss and salt suffused his senses. All around, dank air pressed in. Farther into the cave, amid misty light, a craggy three-pronged intersection appeared. Following his mental roadmap, he took the left path where domed walls seemed to shrink and crowd in. His surroundings were faintly glowing, the result of a mineral in the rock. The constant eerie trickle of water down limestone echoed all around. He took three more turns and finally a svelte silhouette came into view. Helene. And she was reaching for a waist-high ledge.

Horrified, Darius let out a booming cry.

“
Nooooo!
”

Helene jumped back with a loud yelp. Although these walls, too, gave off a luminous quality, the chamber was draped in near darkness. Now she leaned forward, squinting to see.

“Your Highness, is that you?”

With his bare feet slapping puddles, Darius strode forward. “Helene, what in the name of Zeus are you doing here?”

He could make out the fall of her hair, the sweep of her curves. But this minute his interest lay not in the feminine form—or not the flesh and blood kind.

As he focused on the stone figurine which sat on that ledge, Helene sighed,

“Isn’t it amazing? I think she’s the real deal. I mean thousands of years old.”

When she reached out for the figurine again, Darius lunged and his hand snapped around her wrist. As soon as skin met skin, volts hurled up his arm. From the jump she gave, Helene felt it, too. The sensation was intense. Electric. Obviously a by-product of adrenaline overload.

Her expression was one of dawning understanding. “You knew she was in here all along, didn’t you?” she said. “You knew she was here in this cave.”

Releasing her, Darius turned to the ledge. Outwardly the figurine was a rudimentary piece. Her shape was embellished with heavy breasts and ample hips, thighs, and belly. But she signified a great deal more than that.

“This figurine is integral to my time here,” he replied. “I’ll take her with me when I leave.”

“Why?”

His annoyance spiked. “Ms. Masters… ”

“You called me Helene before.”

Groaning, he conceded. “Helene—this is not a game.”

Carefully, he reached for the figurine. He expected the stone to feel cold and yet her surface was warm. Some thermal activity in the rock, he supposed. He tried to lift her but the base stuck. Gentle rocking didn’t help. Would he need to come back with a pick? His ancestors would roll over in their graves.

“She’s your goddess, isn’t she?” Helene asked. “The one with all those powers to mesmerize. A fertility statue. Lots of people all over the world still believe in these things. There’s a huge market for replicas on eBay.”

Darius had no interest in forgeries.

With his gaze adjusted to the shadows now, he scanned the ancient stone’s curves and a sense of destiny overcame him. Helene needed to appreciate the gravity of her find. She needed to understand that this place must remain secret.

“The eldest Vasily child enters this cave three times in his life,” he explained. “Once as a boy, later to retrieve the figurine in manhood, and a third time when his bloodline is assured, to show his oldest son the route and return the goddess to her home until she is needed again. If the figurine were to be broken, it is said the Vasily line would be broken too. To restore and retain her powers she must return again and again here to this cave. Only kings, their eldest sons, and the most senior palace aide in each generation know of her hiding place and whether, in fact, she is merely myth or truly exists.”

“Except now I know.”

He pinned her with his gaze. “You must tell no one. She doesn’t belong on the black market or in a museum.”

“Of course not. I won’t tell a soul.”

In the trickling quiet, they both studied the goddess for a long solemn moment while the statue’s sightless eyes gazed back.

“When you return to the main island,” Helene said, “where will you put her?”

“In a special vault. The villa here has one, too.”

“Oh.”

She sounded so unimpressed.

He frowned. “What?”

“Nothing… Except, well, it doesn’t seem fair. She finally gets out of this cold dark cave only to be locked up again.”

He was about to state the obvious. This piece was made of stone and wouldn’t know the difference. Instead he stopped. Listened. The sound of water running down limestone had suddenly grown louder.  Beneath the bare soles of his feet, the ground seemed to shift and the echoing trickle swelled more.

At the same time as his muscles locked and his gaze flew toward the tunnel entrance, the walls began to shake. When the ancient ceiling rumbled, Helene Masters jumped and threw her arms around his neck. A heartbeat later, the first boulder fell less than a foot away. With a final agonized glance at the goddess, he swept Helene into his arms and bolted for the exit. At that same instant, the roof buckled and caved in.