Antonio Aussa stood near the window of his hotel suite, staring down at the empty beach below and then out to the ocean and mid-afternoon sun. Everyone here in Miami was tanned, except Kristin. She'd been pale, which would fit in fine in his country where the people were either snow white or olive-skinned. His ancestors clearly hailed from the Italian border.

The ring of his phone pierced the air and he ignored it for a moment. Not more bad news. He still needed his father and wasn't ready to be king.

He headed to the table he’d left his phone charging on by the second ring. Marco, his younger brother, popped on the screen and he knew the call wouldn’t directly be about his father. His mother would have called him if anything had changed. "Hello."

Marco immediately fired off a question. "So, how did meeting your true love go, Antonio?"

True love wasn’t the word he’d use, though Kristin’s sweet kiss tempted him more than he would have thought. If his father was still breathing then he had time to make things right. He collapsed into the nearby chair and kept his eyes closed. He wasn't a total failure. Not yet.

Kristin was the logical choice and he valued logic, even if the meeting hadn’t gone exactly as planned. That kiss replayed in his mind. "Stop. Marco, one day soon, you'll be like Lucio and myself as the clock counts down."

A click of Marco’s tongue told him that his baby brother didn't approve. "I understand that I'll have to marry in two years, but I won't be cold and mechanical as you. I can't believe you hired computer experts to track down exactly what components a spouse should have—getting a wife isn’t like takeout food where if you don't like it, you toss it in the trash."

Computers were good at finding people with skills to do a job—and to be the future Queen of Avce was a very important job. Truthfully, he wasn't ready to be the king so he needed a wife that offset his own flaws, for balance. "I don't have the luxury of time you have.” The unknown law requiring his marriage before his birthday had just been found two months ago, since his parents had reclaimed their throne.

"Two years isn't a luxury," Marco said. "It's a death sentence, but I won't go to my execution like either of my older brothers."

Despite Marco’s title, he’d spent years studying at Interpol. "You’re used to facing your own death because of all the terrorism detection stuff you’ve learned." And execution was a strong word. Kristin's kiss hadn't felt cold, like a computer. She was sweeter than he would have thought based on her 95% aggression score in her personality profile.

At least he had facts to back him up. Lucio's image-driven strategy was sure to backfire. "And my method is nothing like Lucio's."

Marco continued with his censure. "His is slightly better than yours, and I mean that in the narrowest sense possible because his method is stupid, but at least he's face-to-face with his options. Your computer programmers chose your bride."

Silence was all that comment warranted. Besides, his only argument right now was that logic mattered more than anything else, but her kiss made him question if this was such a calculated decision after all.

"So, now that you’ve met her, has anything changed?"

Lust filled his thoughts. Her kiss excited him and made him feel more than the last woman he'd taken to bed. He refused to tell his brother that. He walked to the window overlooking the beach. "Nothing. I need to close the deal and get home."

Marco snorted. "What happened to you as a child?"

"Same thing that happened to you. English boarding school choked my emotions out of me." Antonio watched the beachgoers—kids with pails, parents in the surf with them, laughing. Beautiful women tanning on beach towels next to buff men in lounge chairs. In America, people seemed happy. His own country was ready for a civil war. Nobody smiled. Someone close to his parents stirred controversy around the right of kingship. When Antonio took the throne, if he took the throne, he'd have to find out who the agitator was, fast.

"If you say so,” Marco said like he hadn't a care in the world. “Look, I have to go. I can't wait to meet the soon-to-be queen and give her my condolences."

Right. He and Lucio, as the oldest two males, had to marry by the age of thirty to stay in succession. He teased back, "Marco, I'll have my team find you the perfect woman so you have two years to persuade her. You’ll need it."

"Please don't. Victor Amadeus and I have plans to sweep across Europe and the world to interview women."

The panic in his voice was all Antonio needed to smile and continue, "Oh I’m ordering the workup now. Consider this a birthday present."

"Have you spoken to Mother today?" Marco asked, quickly changing the subject.

His heart banged in his chest. Their mother was at their father's bedside, holding the king’s hand as he lay in a coma. If she called, it wouldn’t be good news. He stilled and stepped into the shadow, away from the sun. "No, has something changed?"

"She asked me to tell you to call. She wants to talk to all of us."

The simple words made his body grow cold. If his father took a turn for the worse, then he needed to be back in Avce right away. He’d promised his father that he'd protect the kingdom from this takeover threat and that he’d find himself a wife as decreed by some ancient law. "Talk to you later."

His stance widened and he closed the blinds. No one needed to see him as less than stoic, the trait that was often commented on as his most admired characteristic. He also cut the light so the only illumination in his suite came from the door of the other room. Satisfied he was alone in his own hotel room, he called the palace. He heard the phone click. "Mother?"

"Antonio, how is this woman you met today?"

His mother sounded stronger than the last time he saw her and she hadn't started with bad news. His gut churned, but he pretended all was normal. "If she says yes, then you'll meet her soon. How are you?"

"I'm holding on, but I need to know you'll keep our kingdom intact. The people are depending on you to lead them now."

The 24 hours, 7 days a week vigil she held at his father's sickbed was admirable, considering his parents had often acted more like partners than lovers. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will." She lowered her voice. "Your father isn't doing well."

The chill in the air grew against his neck and he sank down on the small sofa that wasn't made for a man his size. If something happened to his dad while he was in the states, he’d lose his chance to say goodbye. "What's going on?"

"He hasn't woken from his coma. I don't know how much longer he'll be with us."

One more day for his father to give him advice that he'd usually ignored in the past. This time, if he had the chance, he'd write down every word. He rested his head against the wall behind him. "Mother, I will get on the first flight home."

"No! Don't leave us in a crisis. Come home with a wife. At this point, I don't care if you stop in Vegas and marry a show girl."

Sixty days ago, before the law regarding the inheritance of the crown had been discovered, his mother would have needed to approve. Now that his marriage was a political tool being used to undermine his father's legacy, and a reason for possible civil war, things had changed.

If Kristin said no, then he just might have to marry the first available woman he found. He stood from the couch, and stretched his cramped back and stiff shoulders. "I'm in Florida, not Vegas, Mom."

"We can't lose everything, not now."

Agreed. He'd have to marry. Kristin was the best option. "I have this handled. Let’s talk later."

Once he hung up, he went to his bedroom and took off his hot wool suit. Linen pants would keep him cool in this tropical heat, which he paired with a short-sleeved polo.

A few minutes later, dressed more appropriately for the weather, he returned to the phone and pulled up the map application. Checking the address from Kristin’s file, he plugged in her information.

One way or another, he had to seal the deal with Kristin. He needed a wife and the sooner he was on a plane back to his father's death bed, the better. There was no time to waste.