Catharine & Edward

T
hank
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places, events, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

P
rincess Catharine
, second in line to Valleria’s throne after her elder twin brother, has been indulged her whole life. A surprise at birth, her parents have doted upon her – until now. Her mother has issued a queen’s edict: become engaged by the time of her elder brother’s wedding – or else. Philip, a Vallerian noble if ever there was one, could be the perfect fiancé, or a perfect fake one, in any case.

Cat could easily pretend to fawn over the handsome man and fool her mother and the press. At least, she could if she wasn’t falling for her bodyguard and Royal Protection agent, Edward Bashiera. One heated kiss between them at the Holiday Ball is hard to forget, and even harder when she learns more about the man underneath the venerable veneer.

When circumstances change, and suddenly Catharine must ensure the family legacy, can she put aside a growing love for duty? And, when a terrible deception comes to light, will Edward be able to protect Cat when she needs it most?

C
atharine watched
as Rebecca’s keen, brown eyes raked over the yards and yards of elegant white satin. Rebecca fingered something on the sparkling bodice, then tossed her chestnut hair over her shoulder and stepped quietly to the back of the dress.

Rebecca always took a close look at her wedding dress before a fitting.

They were standing in the exclusive dress shop of Alberto Bocci, owner of the only real fashion house in Valleria and certainly the only high profile designer. The man himself stood to the side, his haughty air accentuated by his looks. His silvery-white hair was styled high in a pompadour. His face held none of the lines of a sixty-year-old man, but the surgery-aided look of one half that age, and his suit was fashionably tight against his wiry frame. It didn’t help that Bocci’s entire staff – while fashionably dressed themselves – clearly stood in fear, not awe, of the designer.

They were about to find out why.

“Everything all right?” Francine, Rebecca’s mother, asked. Today, Francine was dressed simply, but smartly, in a dress of pale blue, and her blonde hair was twisted atop her head. Francine usually dressed more casually – as the wife of the head groundskeeper for the Vallerian Royal Palace, she didn’t need to dress formally – but she always toned up her graceful style when she was out with her daughter, and she had been to every dress fitting. Indeed, with the wedding only a few months away, Francine was often seen out and about with her daughter.

Rebecca elegantly knelt near the floor, carefully maintaining her balance on her heels, and fingered the delicate beadwork on the train; the embroidered design should be the Vallerian royal crest. “Mama, something’s not right here.”

Francine walked over and mirrored Rebecca’s pose by the dress. “Is something missing?”

“The elements on the shield are mixed up.” Rebecca removed the pin she was wearing, the one she, in fact, wore daily: the Vallerian crest set in gold and jewels. Rebecca’d had the piece custom-made back when she was Catharine’s chief of staff, to show her dedication to the job and commitment to Valleria and the royal family. Of course, once she and Catharine’s elder twin brother, Alex, became a couple, Rebecca had assumed her new role as future princess and queen.

“See, Mama,” Rebecca said as she pointed between the dress and the pin. “The sword should be here, and the laurel leaves here. We’ll have to have this section redone.”

“Redone?” Bocci asked, his affected accent almost comical. “You do not redo a Bocci!”

“Here we go,” Cat muttered and noticed their Royal Protection agents edging closer to the scene. She felt, rather than saw, her own agent, Edward, behind her.

Rebecca and Francine gave each other a look and slowly rose from their perch near the floor. “Now, Alberto,” Rebecca began cautiously, “you know this dress will be seen by millions of people. They’ll scrutinize every aspect of it, including the train. If the royal crest is incorrect, people will notice.”

Bocci’s eyes went wide and manic, and he sucked in a conceited gasp of air. “I am Alberto Bocci,” he said, one of his hands resting defensively on his hips while the other gestured wildly in the air. “People will only notice what I tell them to notice.”

Rebecca spoke as though she were calming a petulant child. “Alberto, you know you can’t control what the entire world looks at.”

Bocci scoffed. “I know nothing of the sort.”

Cat took a deep breath and pushed a lock of her mahogany hair behind her ear. She stepped forward and she again felt Edward following her close behind. “We need to redo the train, Alberto. It’s a small portion and, even with the hand stitching, it shouldn’t take long.”

His lip curled up in a sneer. “You. What do you know about fashion?”

More than you, you ass
. “You know I have degrees in fashion design,” Cat said calmly, though her chocolate eyes flashed with impatience, “and that I’ve worked with some of the biggest brands out there today to create unique pieces for their collections. I know what it takes to make a dress like this, and what it takes to fix one.”
Not to mention, I’m a princess and I could end your career.

“You know nothing.” His hand wove threateningly through the air again. “No one changes a Bocci!”

He snapped his fingers and suddenly a pair of strong, steel fabric shears appeared in his hands.

Everyone gasped.

Their agents closed in tighter and pulled Rebecca and Francine behind them; Cat felt the heat of Edward’s chest at her back, and his hand on her arm nudging her further away from the scene.

“If you don’t like the Bocci, you don’t get the Bocci!”

Bocci lifted the scissors and – despite their cries of protest – with one swift slash, he plunged the scissors straight into the heart of the dress.

Glittering beads and crystals scattered across the floor.

Tufts of soft lace and thin layers of petticoats flew through the air.

Bocci’s grunts of anger interspersed with each new tear in the fabric. When he reached the train, he began cutting through the crest, then ripping the gown apart with his bare hands.

Cat’s eyes flew to Rebecca. Francine was holding her while tears streamed down her face, her anguished eyes unable to tear themselves away from the devastating scene in front of her.

Her wedding dress, destroyed, mere months before the wedding.

Holy shit.

Bocci whirled around, scissors in hand once more, and began walking towards them. “No one questions my work.”

“Step back,” Rebecca’s agent said, his tone low and threatening. “You don’t come any closer.”

Bocci narrowed his eyes, then caught sight of something on the floor: Rebecca’s pin. She must have dropped it when the agents pulled her back.

Bocci’s snarling face morphed into a smug one as he looked past the agent to Rebecca. “You are common. You did not deserve the Bocci. You can take your royal crest and go back to being a pretend princess.”

They all gasped once more as Bocci lifted his foot and slammed the heel of his shoe into the pin. They heard the crush of the delicate clasp, but the pin remained intact.

Thank God for well-made Vallerian jewelry.

The next instant, however, his scissor-laden hands attacked the pin, sending delicate stones flying.

“Oh my God,” Cat muttered, her hand covering her mouth in disbelief.

She felt Edward’s hand on the small of her back. “Stay back, My Lady, and head towards the others,” he murmured, his strong voice calming her.

Edward and another agent rushed forward and subdued Bocci, who screamed and fought the entire time. Cat rushed away from the fray and towards Rebecca and Francine, while the remaining agents surrounded them.

Edward and the agent lifted Bocci, now cuffed, to his feet just as police sirens screamed from outside the shop. Bocci glared as he passed by them, then screamed orders to his assistants that went unheeded. He was dragged from his shop, and the agents handed him over to the local police.

Cat was shaken by the whole incident, though she didn’t show it. She needed to comfort Rebecca, but wanted comfort for herself as well.

She wanted Edward to comfort her.

One night, months ago at the Holiday Ball, she had been a little tipsy, but she knew what she’d been doing when she’d kissed him.

Afterwards, she had tried to ignore Edward whenever he came near.

Ignored his tall, toned body.

Ignored his dark, assessing eyes and thick, black hair.

Ignored the way her own heart fluttered faster and the way her breasts tightened whenever her was near.

And, most importantly, she tried to forget the memory of the kiss they shared.

Tried to forget his full lips and sharp tongue.

Tried to forget the way his scruffy beard tingled her soft skin.

Tried to forget his warm hands as they’d molded the full curves of her bottom.

Tried to forget the searing, white hot need that had flashed through her at his touch.

But it had all been futile.

No, try as she might, she definitely could not forget their kiss. Or him.

So, instead, Cat had taken to kissing him whenever they got the chance to be alone.

And he kissed back, even while he tried to keep his distance.

She couldn’t blame him, she supposed, since secrecy was so much a part of whatever they were to each other. If they were found out, he could lose his job, while Cat could lose her reputation. In the eyes of some – including her family – Edward was not an appropriate man to date, much less kiss.

When her phone buzzed, she used the distraction to pull herself back together.
Philip
. He’d been her date to the Holiday Ball. He was attractive and from a good family, a noble – if such a thing still existed – from the upper echelons of society, and appropriate for a princess to date. Not like Edward.

Duty; a princess’s shoulders was always heavy with the weight of it.

Her mother had issued a ridiculous edict: that Cat must be engaged before Alex and Rebecca married, or else. If that wasn’t duty – to marry for marriage’s sake, rather than love – she didn’t know what was.

She was terrified she’d have to make that choice.

Shaking off those thoughts and her own need for comfort, at least for now, she instead focused on comforting Rebecca.

* * *

R
oyal Protection Agent Edward
“Bash” Bashiera barely kept his anger in check as the police took Bocci away. If he had his way, Catharine – and anyone else – would never go near that lunatic again. he knew that heads would roll once Prince Alexander, and the other royals, heard what happened; Edward only hoped he was spared in the aftermath.

As he headed back inside, he vaguely noticed some paparazzi loitering nearby and spoke to the police to have them removed. Though no one had confirmed Bocci was making the famed wedding dress, it was a fair assumption. However, no one would see the ladies leaving the shop, not if he could help it.

He spotted Catharine walking towards the other women, a box of tissues now in her hand, and her heart-shaped ass shifting side-to-side in her clinging dress. Her long, mahogany hair bounced as she walked, and her subtle scent made its way into his senses, even from across the room, as it always did.

Was it any wonder he sported a hard on every fucking day he worked?

It’d only gotten worse since their first kiss. Now he knew what she tasted like, what her curves felt like under his hands, and the sounds of her soft moans still haunted his dreams.

He had wanted to kiss her again.

He had wanted to do more than kiss her.

He had wanted to fuck her hard and feel her tight heat surrounding him.

But she was a goddamned princess.

And he was just her fucking bodyguard.

Even after two years of protecting her, and the last few months kissing her, he still remained distant. Part of that was his job: to blend in and be invisible until he was needed.

It was hard to be invisible when he cared for the woman he was protecting.

It was only a matter of time before Prince Marcello, Catharine’s brother and his boss as Valleria’s Minister of Security and Defense, got wind of it and fired his ass.

So, Edward didn’t claim her.

And she sure as fuck would never claim him.

Even though she had, more than a month after the Holiday Ball, pushed him against a wall and kissed him again, he knew it was true.

And that kiss was everything he’d remembered from the ball, and more than he’d expected after a month without her.

A month of her taste haunting him.

A month of remembering how her curves fit against him.

A month.

A month.

A really long fucking month.

She didn’t stop with a second kiss. Or a third. Or a fourth. Or a tenth.

He’d tried to keep his hands to himself, but she wanted it.

She wanted him.

He couldn’t figure her out. Did she want his lips or him? Was she just amusing herself? Or was it something more?

Shaking his head free of those thoughts, he focused on the task at hand and walked towards the trio. Though Rebecca had stopped crying, she was still visibly upset. “We’ve arranged to have the car brought around and we’ve secured the area outside. We’ll be leaving momentarily.”

Rebecca sniffled. “Thank you.”

Edward nodded and turned to Catharine. “My Lady? May I speak to you a moment before we go?”

Catharine nodded and gave Rebecca’s arm a quick squeeze before she followed him towards the fitting rooms. All of the cameras in the shop had been disabled, leaving only the body cameras the agents wore as evidence. Edward turned off his body camera just as they stepped inside.

Catharine had just entered when Edward closed the door behind her and pulled her into his arms. “Are you all right?”

She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. “Oh, Edward. I’m all right, though Rebecca’s not. I don’t know what we’re going to do now.”

“You’ll figure it out, My Lady.”

Catharine sighed. “I wished you’d call me Cat, or Catharine at least.”