The Prince's Special Bride (Royal Romance #1)

Chapter 1

Marie hadn't seen that much of the world yet, but she was sure of one thing: The Maldives had the most beautiful sunset on earth.

There was something inexplicably magical about the way the countless, unashamedly blazing hues of the sky were reflected by the endless expanse of the sea. No skyscrapers and smog like she remembered it from her early childhood. No sudden, dulled outburst hardly remembered, but a drawn-out concert of colors, the sky flirting with the ocean until it was suffused in its glow. Even the busiest and most hard-hearted of the tourists took a moment to admire the spectacle, to bask in its glory for a fleeting moment of natural bliss.

As the Night Manager, Marie was always on duty shortly after the sun set upon the paradise that was Kuramathi Island in the Rasdhoo Atoll. Yet she never missed these few moments of calm and reverence. She had a favorite spot to watch it, and she knew the path so well she could walk it blindly.

A little away from the hustle and bustle of the hotel, someone had once thought of building a small tree house at the border of the palm grove encircling the resort. Marie suspected hardly anyone knew about it, apart from the occasional lifeguard who perched there during daytime. Nestled among foliage, it was only visible if you knew what to look for, but it provided her with a breathtaking, uninterrupted view of the horizon.

Marie shook some sand off her feet—all the staff were barefoot at this hotel—and reached for a rung of the rickety ladder. A soft sound made her stop in mid-movement.

She cocked her head, listening. Silence. She must have imagined it. Nobody ever came out here. But when she pulled herself up, she heard it again. The faintest sound, like a muffled sob or stifled gasp, barely audible yet somehow slicing deep because it spoke of pain more eloquently than loud words or open crying could have.

Frozen on the ladder, Marie frowned. She'd been working for the resort for years and could safely say there was nothing she hadn't seen or heard before—but this was a first.

Careful not to make a sound, she pulled herself up the rest of the way and inched her head up to gaze into the small tree house, open only on one side.

From where she was, she only thing she could make out was a huddled form shaking with suppressed sobs. A person clad in a white hoodie that was totally out of place amidst the sweltering heat of the Maldives, legs drawn up, arms wrapped around them, a brown-haired head buried in the crook. It was a woman, judging from the small, fair feet that peeked out from beneath the hem of a long, brown skirt.

Recognition flickered through Marie when she looked at the clothes again. Wasn't this the mysterious guest that had checked in yesterday? The recluse permanently hiding behind a hoodie and huge black sunglasses? She'd heard about this new guest taking all meals in one of the beach villas hidden within the luxuriant vegetation, facing the lagoon side of the island and including semi-open air bathrooms with an outdoor rainfall shower.

It was common among the staff—as with all luxury hotels around the globe—to subtly observe and glean information about the guests, and some were easily labeled as well as easily pleased or gossiped about. Not this woman, whose age and nationality couldn't be guessed and who kept lurking in corners without swimming in the ocean or the pool, relaxing in the spa or wining and dining in the restaurant on the beach. It seemed fitting somehow that this guest of all had found her secret lookout.

Curiosity peaked, Marie debated with herself how to react. Should she leave the woman to her grief because it was her job to serve and help and not to pry? Or should she try and end her misery?

Her heart winning over her head, Marie cleared her throat softly. The woman froze. Breathless silence prevailed for an instant, and she braced herself for what she'd get to see and hear. The next moment, the head snapped up, and wide, red-rimmed eyes stared at her. The woman's face was puffy from crying, yet strikingly beautiful. The symmetry of it, the delicate bone structure and porcelain skin, the big, startlingly green eyes and the Cupid 's bow mouth all fused together to create something a painter would sell his left hand for to portray.