Reeve nodded, making the adjustments as the sail began luffing. “He has no reason not to.”

“Still, it’s your father he knows well, not you.”

His lips curved. The arrogance was there again, she thought, no matter how elegant, how well groomed he was. It was, unfortunately, one of the most attractive things about him.

“Don’t you trust me, Gabriella?” He made his voice deliberately low, deliberately challenging. He was baiting her; they both knew it. So her answer, when she gave it, left him speechless.

“With my life,” she said simply. She turned into the wind again and let the boat race.

What could he say to her? There’d been no guile in her words, no irony. She meant exactly what she’d said, not merely the phrase but the intent. He should have been pleased. Her trust, theoretically, would simplify his job. So why did he feel uncomfortable with it, wary of it? Of it, he asked himself, or of her?

It came back to him now what he’d realized from the first moment he’d seen her again in the hospital bed. Nothing between them would ever be casual. In the same way, he was all but sure nothing between them could ever be serious. So he was caught, very much as Brie was, in an odd sort of limbo.

They were both, in their own way, beginning a new life. Neither of them had any reason to want the other complicating it. The truth was that Reeve had made himself a promise to simplify his life. Almost as soon as he’d begun, there had been the call from Cordina, and things had become tangled again.

He could have said no, Reeve reminded himself. He hadn’t wanted to. Why? Because Brie, as she’d been at sixteen, had stayed in his mind for too many years.

Since he’d come to Cordina, things had only become more involved. The bogus engagement had the international press kicking up their heels. A royal wedding was always good copy. Already three of the top American magazines were begging for interviews. The paparazzi were there like eager little terriers every time he or Brie stepped out of the palace.

He could have refused Prince Armand’s request that he pretend to be engaged to Brie. The fact that it was a logical solution to a delicate problem was outweighed by the nuisance value. But he hadn’t wanted to. Why? Because Brie, the woman he was coming to know, was threatening to stay in his mind for a lifetime.

Being with her, and not being with her, was like taking a long, slow walk a few inches over very hot coals. The steam was there, the sizzle—but it wasn’t possible to cool off or take the fatal plunge into the heat.

“That little cove.” Brie lifted her hand to point. “It looks quiet.”

Without fuss they began to tack toward the small shelter. She worked with the wind, coaxing it, bowing to it. Once the lines were secure, Brie merely sat staring across the narrow strip of water.