His Princess in the Making by Melissa James Page A

soared above the night sky for an audience of one, the man who loved every single part of her and might never again come closer to her than this, a distant watcher.
    Yet he’d wait the rest of his life for a single chance.
    And then he saw what she was dancing: the first act of Giselle, the innocent girl with her lover, the man she didn’t know was far out of her reach, the man who’d send her mad with love unrequited, unfulfilled.
    But she danced it alone, a lonely Giselle…
    Was he awake or dreaming? His hands took her waist; there was no gasp to break the dream. Natural as breathing, she leaped high and he lifted her above him as he’d practised with her so many times when she’d won the part but there hadn’t been a male dancer tall enough to lift her. He’d joined the troupe for a season: an awkward Loys to exquisite Giselle, the man high above her yet unworthy of her love.
    To the beat of the music, he brought her down against his body, clinging for a moment before she broke away, elusive, a graceful shadow, woman-child, peasant princess. Then her hand stretched back to him and he caught her, spinning her to him, and she leaped away after one perfect moment.
    The ache of inevitability filled him, his chest and throat, as he tried to be worthy of being her partner, to have her in his arms one last time.
    This was their story in reverse.
    Yet when she pirouetted around him, her long-fingered hands touched the sweaty old T-shirt covering his skin, as slow and longing as if the differences did not exist or matter. She came face to face with him and opened her eyes.
    Was it Giselle or his Giulia, with all that sweet yearning, offering her lips to him? He brought her to him with shaking hands and kissed her as Loys would have, swift, fleeting, aching for more. But she fluttered away, a girl in the bloom of life and love, believing there would be tomorrow, there would always be tomorrow.
    There would be no more kisses. Tomorrow she would discover the deceit: Loys would become Albrecht and she’d die of madness. She’d save his life and then go for ever from his reach. Tomorrow Giulia would become a princess, and he…
    Oh, God, it was their story.
    Yet still he stumbled through the motions, awaiting each chance to touch her as she danced amid the stars.
    As they wove harmoniously together in the slow-waning moonlight, another person unable to sleep watched them through the modern miracle of camera.
    After dismissing the amused night guard, Max stood riveted. Such luminous perfection between woman and man; the spotlight of God was on them as they danced. Somehow in the shadows of the past he saw the girl and boy they’d been dancing beside them. It would always be this way for them, no matter what a king willed, no matter what honour or duty demanded.
    No matter whom she married.
    The Grand Duke, currently fourth in line to the throne but who knew himself to be the King’s puppet, watched the second—no, the third—woman who would have been his wife dance away with her heart intact, and wondered what was missing in him.
    Whatever it was, he would not be the one to destroy their final hour together.
    Max switched off the cameras as the music faded. He didn’t want to see the magic vanish and duty return to the eyes of a woman who would never want him. This night, this hour, belonged to Lia and Toby. This was their story alone.
     
    “Thank you, Toby.”
    Her voice was rich and sweet, and quivered in a husky but definite farewell.
    He’d known it would happen. With the return of the woman had come the principles he wouldn’t change if he could; they made her the wonderful person she was. But his lovely Giselle was gone, and he was left feeling like a fool.
    Barely able to stand it, knowing the princess and woman were intertwined so tightly he couldn’t even see between them, he nodded. He wouldn’t look at her.
    “Toby, please.”
    “Don’t. It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault,” he said wearily.