She studied him blandly, the way she did when her temper threatened her good sense. “I think not, Mr. MacGee. I find myself certain that I wouldn’t tolerate having someone hover around me. When I get home—” She stopped, because home was another blank. “When I get home,” she repeated, “I’ll find another way of dealing with it. You may tell my father that I declined your kind offer.”

“The offer isn’t to you, but to your father.” Reeve rose. This time Brie was able to see that for sheer size he was impressive. His leanness didn’t matter, nor did his casually expensive clothes. If he meant to block your way, you’d be blocked. Of that much she was sure.

He made her uneasy. She didn’t know why, or, annoyingly, if she should know. Yet he did, and because of this she wanted nothing to do with him on a day-to-day basis. Her life was jumbled enough at the moment without a man like Reeve MacGee in her way.

She asked if they’d been lovers because the idea both stirred and frightened. When he’d said no, she hadn’t felt relief but the same blank flatness she’d been dealing with for two days. Perhaps she was a woman of little emotion, Brie considered. Perhaps life was simpler that way.

“I’ve been told I’m nearly twenty-five, Mr. MacGee.”

“Must you call me that?” he countered, deliberately using the same tone she had. He saw her smile quickly. The light came on and switched off.

“I am an adult,” she went on. “I make my own decisions about my life.”

“Since you’re a member of the Royal Family of Cordina, some of those decisions aren’t just yours to make.” He walked to the door and, opening it, stood with his hand on the knob. “I’ve got better things to do, Gabriella, than princess-sit.” His smile came quickly, also, and was wry. “But even commoners don’t always have a choice.”

She waited until the door was closed again, then sat up. Dizziness swept over her. For a moment, just a moment, she wanted to lie back until someone came to help, to tend. But she wouldn’t tolerate being tied down any longer. Swinging out of bed, she waited for the weakness to fade. It was something she had to accept for now. Then carefully, slowly, she walked toward the mirror on the far wall.

She’d avoided this. Remembering nothing of her looks, a thousand possibilities had formed in her mind. Who was she? How could she begin to know when she didn’t know the color of her eyes. Taking a steadying breath, she stood in front of the mirror and looked.

Too thin, she thought quickly. Too pale. But not, she added with foolish relief, hideous. Perhaps her eyes were an odd color, but they weren’t crossed or beady. Lifting a hand to her face, she traced it. Thin, she thought again. Delicate, frightened. There was nothing in the reflection that resembled the man who was her father. She’d seen strength in his face. In her own she saw frailty—too much of it.