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devastated. Then his posh parents arrived at the resort, looked down their noses at my mother, questioned the legality of my parents’ marriage—it was totally legit, by the way—and paid her to forget she was ever married and to never make a claim on them. They even tried to bar her from the funeral back in England.’ Her voice rose with indignation.
    â€˜You sound angry,’ he said. But what her father’s parents had done was something his parents had done when he and his brother were younger. They would have paid any amount of money to rid the family of an unsuitable woman. Someone who might reflect badly on the throne. A commoner. Someone like Gemma.
    His parents’ actions had slammed home the fact that marriage for a Montovian prince had nothing to do with love or passion. It was about tradition and duty and strategic alliance. When he had discovered the deep hypocrisy of his parents’ relationship, his cynicism about the institution of marriage—or at least how it existed in Montovia—had been born.
    That cynicism had only been reinforced by his brother’s marriage to the daughter of a duke. The castle had trumpeted it as a ‘love match’. Indeed, Carl had been grateful to have found such a pretty, vivacious bride as Sylvie. Only after the splendid wedding in the cathedral had she revealed her true self—venal and avaricious and greedy for the wealth and status that came with being a Montovian princess. She’d cared more for extravagant jewellery than she had for his brother.
    Consequently, Tristan had avoided marriage and any attempts to get him to the altar.
    He schooled his face to appear neutral, not to give Gemma any indication of what he was thinking. Her flushed face made it very clear that she would not be sympathetic to those kind of regal machinations.
    â€˜You’re darn right. I get angry on behalf of my poor mother—young and grieving,’ she said. ‘She wanted to throw the money in their faces, but she was carrying me. She swallowed her pride and took the money—for my sake. I was born in London, then she brought me home to Sydney. She said her biggest revenge for their treatment of her was that they never knew they had a grandchild.’
    Tristan frowned. He was part of a royal family with a lineage that stretched back hundreds of years. Blood meant everything. ‘How did you feel about that?’
    Gemma toyed with the remainder of the grapes. He noticed her hands were nicked with little scars and her nails were cut short and unpolished. There were risks in everything—even cooking.
    â€˜Of course, I’ve always felt curious about my English family,’ she said. ‘I look nothing like my mother or her side of the family. When I was having disagreements with my stepfather, I’d dream of running away to find my other family. I know who they are. But out of loyalty to my mother I’ve never made any attempt to contact my Clifford relatives.’
    â€˜So your name is really Gemma Clifford?’
    She shook her head. ‘My stepfather adopted me. Legally I bear his name. And that’s okay. For all his faults, he gave me a home and supported me.’
    â€˜Until you went to university in Newcastle?’
    â€˜Whatever his other faults, he’s not mean. He kept on paying me an allowance. But I wanted to be independent—free of him and of having to pretend to be someone I was not simply to please him. I talked my way into a part-time kitchen hand’s job at the best restaurant in the area. As luck would have it, the head chef was an incredibly talented young guy. He became a culinary superstar in Europe in the years that followed. Somehow he saw talent in me and offered me an apprenticeship as a chef. I didn’t hesitate to ditch my degree and accept—much to my parents’ horror. But it was what I really wanted to do.’
    â€˜Have you ever regretted it?’
    â€˜Not