She made herself a mug of tea and stepped out onto her little porch in time to catch the dying rays of the sunset over the tops of the palm trees, painting the sky a brilliant red. She put her mug down and watched a while, in awe as the colours intensified, then shifted and softened. God, it was a gorgeous place to live.
She’d come here seeking sanctuary. A hideaway. But the longer she was here, the more she loved this island. Here, she was accepted for herself, not for her association with the royal Montcroix family of Rubanestein. And as much as she loved her European homeland and knew how privileged she was, it was refreshing to be somewhere where she could be known for herself, not just for being a princess.
Lord Howe Island was the perfect place to hide.
Here on this island, nobody grilled her about her accent because it seemed like every second person she’d met was from somewhere else.
Even better, not one person questioned why she was here, because everybody knew the answer. Because who wouldn’t want to be here, on this island paradise?
Izzy smiled to herself as she headed inside to make a fresh mug of tea. Nobody in a million years would pick she was a European princess, and nobody could know, given her passport was safely tucked away in a safety deposit box in Sydney.
Nobody would find her here.
CHAPTER TWO
THE RUNWAY WASlittle more than a short strip of tarmac between the neighbouring hills, the terminal no more than a shed, cows grazing on a nearby field. Theo took a moment at the top of the small flight of stairs to take it all in. The small-town vibe was a world away from the sumptuous palace overlooking the Mediterranean coastline that was Princess Isabella’s home in the smallest principality in Europe, but maybe that was all part of her twisted logic to come here—because who would think to look for a precious princess in a place where luxury appeared to take a back seat?
But twisted logic it was, because now she was trapped, caught in the web of her own making.
He dragged in a breath as he set off down the stairs. The salty air was flavoured with avgas, but all Theo could smell was success.
Hell, forget smelling it, he was so close, he could taste it.
A group of travellers stood at the gate, waiting for the return flight to Sydney. A few families with children, a group of older people in leisure wear and a sprinkling of couples kitted out in hiking gear.
He scanned their faces. He hadn’t come this far to lose her now. But no, there were no princesses that he could see amongst their number.
‘You must be Theo?’ a broad Australian voice said, a sixty-something man with a weather-beaten face approaching, a sign bearing the name of Theo’s accommodation in one hand. ‘Tom Parker’s my name,’ he said, glancing at the leather duffel bag in Theo’s hand. ‘Any more luggage to collect?’
Theo shook his head; he wasn’t planning on staying long. He didn’t need it. ‘No luggage,’ he said.
‘Right-o,’ said Tom, ‘let’s get going.’ And he led Theo through the tiny terminal to a late-model sedan in the car park just beyond.
‘You here on holidays, Mr Mylonakos?’ he said, eying Theo’s suit and tie as he stashed Theo’s carry-on in the boot. ‘Lord Howe Island is the perfect spot to wind down.’
‘A short one,’ Theo said, opening the passenger door and sliding in. ‘I’m meeting a friend.’
‘Oh. Someone staying with us?’ The car engine purred into life.
‘I’m not sure.’
The man looked at him sideways.
‘It’s a surprise,’ Theo said. Because it would be, and then he added a little white lie. ‘It’s her birthday.’
‘Ah,’ the older man said, smiling now, a twinkle lighting his eyes. ‘Well, it shouldn’t take long to find her on this island. Only so many places a person can hide.’
Theo allowed himself his first smile of the day.Exactly what he’d been thinking.
‘What’s her name then?’
‘Erin,’ Theo said, giving the name on the passport she’d swapped with a girl she’d met in Sydney—the name she’d used on the travel documents to Lord Howe Island to try to elude anyone trying to find her. ‘Erin Kowalski.’
The older man’s brow puckered as he slid in behind the steering wheel. ‘Nope, doesn’t ring any bells.’
It was a long shot, he knew, but Theo handed him a photograph, of the Princess in a day dress, minus tiara, at a horse race. It was the most casual likeness he had of her, the wind had ruffled the ends of her blonde hair and the photographer had caught the excitement in her eyes as the horses had neared the finish line. It was the least regal photo he’d been able to find, because if the Princess was altering her appearance to fly under the radar, she wouldn’t be wearing gowns and jewels now.
‘Hmm,’ the man said, his brow knotted as he stroked his chin.
