Page 27 of A Gentleman's Kiss
His parents arranged a marriage for him with a princess, to align two large, powerful families together. It would create a supreme line for generations to come.
But he did not love his future bride.
The prince took a walk in the gardens of his castle, and stumbled upon an alluring marble statue. She epitomized beauty and strength. Yet there was something else there, a sweet tenderness in her eyes and in the way her hands reached for him.
He walked toward the statue, and laid his head upon her hands. They were cold and hard, as a statue should be. A tear escaped his eyes, as he thought how very similar his future bride’s hands would be, and she was of real flesh and blood.
“If only I could marry for love, and not for politics,” he sobbed to the beautiful statue.
“But you can,” someone whispered.
Warm hands gripped his face, caressing his cheeks, and guiding him to look upward.
There in the flesh was a beautiful woman. She was no longer a statue, but true flesh.
“But I cannot. I have duties to uphold, responsibilities to my family and country.”
“You can rule better with love than with hate.”
“What of the lands and the titles my bride is to bring?”
“You do not need more lands and titles. You will be king. You decide. Your people will follow you.”
“How can I know?”
“You must follow your heart. Trust your instincts. It is better to rule by the hand of your heart and mind, than to rule for greed and power.”
The prince turned his back on the statue, sure he was insane. A small tear escaped her eye, for she was indeed a princess of a faraway land. A spell was placed on her, and only a man who loved her could break it.
As soon as he turned from her, she became stone again.
The prince, having made up his mind to do as his parents instructed started to walk away, but suddenly he whirled around.
Running to the statue he leapt into her strong stone arms, placing a kiss on her lips.
As if by magic she came to life again.
He confessed his love, and his wish for her to be his bride.
They lived happily ever after, and his kingdom flourished under their kind rule.
With lightening shock, Lillian understood the plays meaning. He loved her. He struggled with marrying someone like Tamara, who would bring money and land to his title, and marrying for love. He chose love.
Her heart soared from it. When she took a chance to glance at Dominick, their gazes locked. The deep emotion she saw in the depth of his eyes caused her stomach to flutter and her limbs to tingle. He offered her his hand as he stood. She took it, slipping her slim fingers into his strong ones, amazed at the difference in the feel of his large hands as they enveloped hers.
They walked from the ballroom out into the gardens—a geometric pattern of roses, bluebells, lilies, and trellises with climbing ivy and grapes. Lion shaped fountains sent a soft mist to spray in the air from their roaring mouths. The crowd’s applause was loud behind them.
“Your play was beautiful.”
“Written for an amazing woman,” he said turning her toward him. “Lilly,” he breathed, bending to pick a yellow lily, and slipping it through her hair.
She smiled, her stomach swirling.
“Dom…” she breathed, wanting very much to lean into him, to touch him.
He pulled her close just as she wished, and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. His strong masculine scent wrapped around her senses like a silky blanket, quelling her disappointment at yet another kiss missed.
His voice was gravelly when he spoke, cracking from emotion he was trying to hold back. “I wrote the play for you. You are the statue.”
