The sensation of Tom's breath against my bare neck sent shivers down my body.

Trisha, now my official stylist, had pulled my hair back into an elegant looking French twist. She had allowed a few curls to escape her bobby pins to frame my face and gave my make up a simple, natural-looking finish. Yet again, I had requested a dress that was conservative yet trendy, understated yet classy, and—of course—inexpensive. And yet again, she had expertly executed all but the one request.

It was a warm pastel blue color with soft pleats that flowed seamlessly to just below my knees. The top was made of two panels of fabric that appeared to hang effortlessly off-the-shoulder and wrapped tightly across my chest emphasizing my cleavage.

While I normally would have felt uncomfortable with the low cut, I was grateful the taught bosom hid the bulge of my necklace's pendant. I had been unconsciously playing with the chain since first putting it on, but dropped it at the sound of Tom's desirous voice in my ear.

"You know you want to wear it..." he teased in a low whisper.

I fixed a demure smile on my lips, though I refused to turn and face him. "I am wearing it."

"Wear it proper..." he practically sang.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, hoping to steady my breathing.

While I hadn't listed it explicitly as an amendment in our contract, I had insisted to Tom that I should attend all social and charity events I would be expected to attend if we were indeed married for authenticity's sake. I had made my edict over breakfast the day before, and Tom had retorted that if our "trial marriage" were really to be authentic then I'd need a ring.

I'd merely rolled my eyes, steadfastly ignoring him till Tom had gone off to work. Neither of us brought it up again when he came home later that evening, but while getting ready for bed I found a small ring box sitting on my pillow...

I narrowed my eyes then, my smile replaced by a sarcastic smirk as I finally gave in and turned on my stiletto heel to face him.

"If only the box had come with instructions."

Tom's mouth quirked into a smile, but before he could fashion a retort five perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around his bicep.

"I need to talk to you," Cynthia grinned sweetly as her eyes flicked up to her brother's and then around the room, presumably scanning for unwanted onlookers. "It's urgent."

I nodded in understanding. "If you'll excuse me..."

Tom took a deep breath as he, too, affixed a tight smile to his expression and laced his fingers through mine, effectively rooting me to his side.

I looked between him and Cynthia. Her smile twitched, but she didn't fight him on it. Instead, she directed her next statement to the both of us.

"Members of one of our local organizations were arrested for human trafficking a little more than an hour ago."

Tom didn't attempt to hide his scowl. "What the hell happened?"

Cynthia merely shrugged. "There was a refugee boat that capsized in the Mediterranean. They picked up as many passengers as they could and brought them to shore."

"And that amounts to human trafficking?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"It's transporting people across international borders," Cynthia responded in a hushed tone.

I shook my head and lowered my volume to match hers. "But isn't it a part of maritime law that you have to assist a ship in distress?"

"That's the legal loophole we've been using," Tom sighed as he raked his free hand through his hair. "But it's getting more and more difficult to make the case as the incidents have gotten more press."

"We have to get in front of this," Cynthia warned.

Tom nodded in agreement. "Are any of our people in custody?"

Cynthia shook her head, no.

"No one we directly employ," she clarified. "But the organization on the ground says their captain and crew were arrested once they docked."

Tom cursed under his breath.

"Uncle Henry isn't going to be—"

"I know," he cut her off as he pulled at the back of his hair. I squeezed his hand in support, and he briefly grinned down at me before nodding toward Cynthia. "Have our legal team get into it."

"What about the press?" She asked, already taking out her Blackberry.

Tom glanced over at the assembly of reporters milling about the room. While they were all here to supposedly cover the fundraising event, the vast majority were hovering by the kitchen doors or jockeying to speak with the various socialites in attendance.

"Well, we can't lie if they bring it up..."

"'No comment' isn't going to play well either," she countered. "You know the second they hear it, they'll take it as a confirmation."

"You could distract them," I suggested as my fingers began to run up and down the cool metal of my necklace's chain.

Cynthia smiled politely. "There isn't a much juicier story than a human trafficking prince."

She cursed suddenly and pinched the bridge of her petite nose. "I can already imagine the hashtags."

My fingers slid to the nape of my neck and swiftly unhooked the latch.

"I thought royal engagements were their bread and butter..." I offered as I lifted the chain from my neck and allowed the pendant to fall softly into the waiting palm of my outstretched hand.

Cynthia's eyes followed my movements and widened at the sight of the ring I held.

I'd refused to mention my bedside discovery to Tom, only acknowledging it by slipping it onto a long necklace chain I'd found at the bottom of my jewelry box. From my amateur examination, the ring appeared antique and I had been afraid to ask if it was a family heirloom. The stone was a black diamond framed on four sides by much smaller marquis diamonds set in gold.

Cynthia wrapped her fingers around my wrist, pulling my hand closer. "You're engaged?"

"No," I said firmly, not daring a glance up at Tom as I slid the ring onto my right-hand ring finger. "But the press doesn't need to know, not for a few news cycles at least."

"Ems..." I heard Tom breathe from behind me.

"Do you have a better idea?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him before returning my focus to Cynthia. "If we buy enough time for the foundation's lawyers to sort this out, then it'll be a non-story."

Cynthia's tongue ran over her glossed lips as her eyes darted up to Tom's pleadingly.

Tom said nothing, so I took a deep breath and turned, squaring myself to him. I could see he was visibly torn, though whether it was from my offer or my non-acceptance of his I wasn't sure.

I took both his hands in mine and raised them to my chest. "If I'm part of your life, then I'm part of the foundation's, aren't I?"

He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off.

"And this would help the foundation!"

"Immensely," Cynthia added in before catching her brother's glare and retreating half a step back.

I tugged his hands, pulling his attention back to me.

"I've dealt with the press before," I reminded him.

His gaze flickered down to the floor between us. "And you ran off to Kerry..."

"Unrelated," I said, as I squeezed his hands for emphasis. "Let me help, Tom. Please?"

He shook his head. "This won't be the same kind of press you're used to. That'll all have been a walk in the park compared to an engagement."

"A rumored engagement," I corrected.

"It's all the same to them!" His thumbs began to rub the back of my hands as he slowly found the words: "You won't be able to walk away from this as easily. Even if you did go back to Kerry, they'd follow you this time."

I leaned forward to catch his eyes so he could see the promise in mine. "Well, as I said, I'm not going back."

I hesitated before pulling the one card I had left. I felt slightly guilty for taking such a cheap shot, but I reconciled it with the knowledge that it was for his own good. "Please Tom, let me feel useful again."

At that, he closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "Fine," he huffed. "I give in."

"Every girl's dream proposal right there," I quipped dryly.

"You want a proper one?" He countered, his eyes open again in daring. "I'll get down on one knee right here and—"

I rocked forward onto my toes and kissed him firmly on the lips. He quickly stopped talking—as did several of the reporters in the room—and rested his hands at the base of my neck, ardently kissing me back.