My job description did not include me getting all hot and bothered over some dude who was a zillion times out of my dating league. He might not have been a Prince, but he obviously hung out in royal circles.
Note to Self-aka-Lucy: I was not here to date.
“I owe you an apology,” he said.
“For what?”
“When I saw you on the plane, all curvy and glowy with gorgeous hair—I kind of over-reacted. I behaved like an entitled asshole. I assumed our past meant that we could just take up where we left off. I’m sorry.”
“Really?” I pushed a skinny tree branch out of my ear but it boomeranged and slapped his face. “Oops, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He tugged a leafy twig out of his right nostril and sneezed. “Really. And that was a stupid move on my part. I didn’t think that you’d grown and moved on during that year-plus-change that we didn’t have contact. But you have done all of those things. You’re a different person, Elizabeth. A better person.”
Wow. I can’t believe he even acknowledged that. “So does that mean you want to, you want to…’” I felt my face as well as other body parts turn warm, then hot, then tingling. I fanned my face and reminded my hand not to fan any other over-heated body parts. “…be with me?”
Chapter 19
“Of course I want to be with you.” Nick lowered his voice. “But everything would have to be on the hush-hush. We’d have to keep it private. We could never speak of it in public. Or acknowledge it—even to our closest friends. But Lizzie?” He reached for and held my hand. Caressed it. Pulled it to his lips and kissed the back of it.
Shivers traveled up and down my spine and the backs of my arms grew goose bumps.
“I could live with that if you could,” Nick said. “It wouldn’t be easy for me, but—”
“Hold on. Wait a second.” I yanked my hand away. “You’re saying that you want to be with me on the QT—like we’d be lovers? Or I’d be your mistress or something?”
He nodded. “Kind of. Yeah. I guess. I’ve always liked you. As crazy as this sounds, my feelings have grown substantially over all this time we’ve spent together.”
“Including the time change,” I glanced at my new designer watch, “that’s been under three days.”
“Three days which feels like three months or quite possibly a year.” He ran his fingers up and down the inside of my forearm. “I always assumed you and I were just slap and tickle. That we were simply sexually drawn to each other. Like salt and pepper. Or cheese and an omelet.”
“Salt and pepper are sexual?”
“No! I just meant that they’re great together.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “Are you saying I’m cheese?”
“No! You’re the omelet. Gorgeous. Fluffy. Tasty. Irresistible.”
I peered down in horror at my quivering thighs. Had two weeks without exercise turned them into… “Pudding’s fluffy. Persian cats are fluffy. Marshmallows are fluffy. What about me screams fluffy?”
And it better not be my thighs.
“Calm down! Jeez, you’re so feisty lately. Although I admit—that’s a total turn-on. Listen—these feelings took me by surprise. You’ve grown from a girl into a woman in less than two years. A woman I think about, dream about and frankly—do other things about. But ultimately, I fear my dearest Lizzie, you’re a woman I cannot officially be with. Because you, by contract, are promised to Cristoph.”
“Hmm,” I said. “You obviously know each other. The other day on the tarmac it seemed like you knew each other pretty well.”
I peeked through the leaves and watched gorgeous, blonde Prince Cristoph pace back and forth in front of the TV reporter lady all the while proclaiming his undying love for Elizabeth.
“Of course we do,” Nick said. “We’re really close and then sometimes we’re not. Wait a minute. Is this the brain trauma talking? You do remember that we’re—”
“Shh!” I pressed my index finger to his lips for a moment. “I need to hear this.”
“I’ve been friends with Elizabeth for years,” Cristoph said. “She’s delightful, funny, smart, gorgeous, educated. We’ve practically grown up together. Our friendship has turned to love. I would be the happiest man in the world if she would consent to be my bride.”
“Blah, blah, blah. Just like most politics—it’s all fucking bullshit,” Nick said. “I on the other hand, am offering you a genuine opportunity.”
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “The opportunity you’re offering me is to be your whore?”
“Good God no! I’m asking you to be my mistress! It’s a time-honored tradition. Look at Diane de Poitiers with King Henry II from France. She was his consort for over twenty-five years.”
“But Prince Cristoph wants to marry me. He intends to make me his wife as well as the Princess of Fredonia. I would be first in line to be the Queen.”
Actually Elizabeth would be first in line. That was part of what my job here entailed. Keep Cristoph happy until Elizabeth got her lady-like toucas back here. And then mine would be tucked in a narrow, coach class seat and shipped back to my less-than-ordinary, jobless life in America.
“Cristoph wants to marry you simply to seal the deal that your parents made almost twenty years ago. It’s a business arrangement for him. He doesn’t have feelings for you. I do.” Nick leaned forward and caressed my forehead, trailed a finger across my cheek. He tugged the elastic band off my ponytail and tossed it into the bushes. My hair escaped its bun, bounced off my shoulders and cascaded onto my upper back.
My heart raced in my chest and contemplated turning traitor to the reasonable thoughts in my head. “Litterer.” I pushed him away. “I could have you arrested.”
“Liberator,” he said. “Let’s do something indecent in a public place and get arrested for that instead. Way more fun—don’t you think?”
“Orange jumpsuits don’t suit me. Not the color or the cut.”
“You’re beautiful. No one gives a rat’s ass what color you wear. You’ve got great hair. I don’t remember your hair being this great.” He rubbed a few locks of it between his thumb and forefinger and pulled me to him. My face toward his face. My lips toward his lips. “What’s your secret?” He whispered.
If only he knew…
“I found a new hairdresser in America. D’Alba was a phat bitch. But he gave me a great cut.” Our lips seemed to be drawn toward each other until they were simply one warm shared breath apart.
Nick wrapped one arm around my waist, pulled me to him and raked his fingers through my hair. “I’m applauding that phat bitch right now.” He kissed me. And he kissed me like he meant it.
And even worse? I let him.
At first his lips on my mouth were soft. Then his kiss grew firmer, his tongue more insistent as he explored my mouth and gently bit my lower lip with his teeth.
Holy spitoli this guy was the best kisser of my entire life! How had I lived twenty-one years without being kissed like this?
When out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Cristoph glancing around the dirt path that circled Centralaski Park and then gazing at his watch hopefully. The Quartet amped up the volume and intensity of their song rehearsal.
What was I doing? What the hell was I doing? A prince wanted to marry me-I-meant-Elizabeth and I was throwing that all away for a handsome, sweet smartass who was the best kisser in the entire world?
“Stop!” I pushed Nick away. “We can’t do this! I can’t be your fool-around girl, or your mistress. Your best friend is waiting there,” I pointed, “just yards away with a freaking wedding proposal on his brain.”
He sighed. “It’s a dilemma.”
And I thought of my uncle back in Assisted Living and realized: I had dilemmas too. This was my job. This was my employment. Kissing Nick was not going to pay the bills. And as much as it pained me, I made my decision.
I pushed myself off the ground, stood up and brushed the dirt and leaves off my behind and T-
shirt. “I wish kissing you was simple, Nick. But it’s not. Maybe in a different lifetime or a different place or a different time.”
“No, Lizzie. Please don’t go. I feel like I just found you.” He looked up at me and frowned. “Don’t do this. I have this awful feeling that if you do this we will lose each other again. But this time it won’t be temporary—it will be forever. This time we’ll lose our Happily-Ever-After.”
“I know for a fact I’m not the person you’re meant to share your Happily-Ever-After with.” I placed two fingers to my lips and then pressed them to his. “You’re a pain in the ass, Nick, and yet you’ve been wonderful. I don’t get it, but I really, really appreciate it. Thanks for everything.” I squeezed back tears and kissed him quickly on his cheek. “Goodbye.” I stumbled out of the bushes toward the newest version of the royal three-ring circus.
Cristoph spotted me, ran a few yards in my direction and dropped down on one knee. The quartet launched into an enthusiastic version of “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You” as a real Prince asked a fake Elizabeth to marry him.
And I blinked back tears that were caused by another man, exclaimed that I was the happiest girl in the world and yes, of course, I would marry Cristoph. He slipped the bunion ring on my oh-so-significant finger on my left hand. We kissed (somewhat awkwardly) and shed a few tears. The cameras captured it all.
I glanced back at the bushes surrounding my secret hiding place, where Nick took my breath away when kissed me just moments before. But I caught no glimpse of him.
He was gone.
I discovered later in that momentous, as well as monotonous, day, that for the first hour following Cristoph and Elizabeth’s official engagement—we, the newly engaged royal Fredonia couple, were featured simply on the local TV news channels.
I wore the sparkly bunion, while Cristoph’s arm encircled my waist and he hugged me—PG rated of course, as well as camera-appropriate distance for official royalty PDA. We posed cheek to cheek as more photographers and news trucks showed up to snap photos, take videos and grab a few interviews.
A few reporters threw out questions that included:
“Prince Cristoph! When did you know Lady Elizabeth Theresa Billingsley was the right girl for you?
He smiled. “In grade school when I stole her doll and she fought back. She’s always been feisty.”
Laughter peeled from the on-lookers and looky-loos that quickly massed in the park.
“Prince Cristoph! Besides Prince Harry, you’ve been the most eligible bachelor on the royal circuit,” a male reporter asked. “Why have you decided to settle down now?”
I overheard Ducklips whisper behind her palm to her cameraman, “Zoom in on her baby-bump.” I sucked in my stomach and held my breath. I would not allow them to obtain cheap shots of my not-so-flat tummy just because I had a passion for Johnny’s Chicago deep-dish pizza.
“Because I was scared my right girl would grow tired of waiting for me.” Cristoph flashed his mesmerizing smile and showed his perfect white teeth. “And I didn’t want to lose her.” He leaned in and kissed me full on my lips.
Technically this was our second kiss, but I tried to make it seem like we’d been kissing forever. Perhaps I tried a bit too hard as applause crescendoed and I fluttered my eyes open. Only to spot Nick glaring daggers at us as he straddled a Harley-Davidson motorcycle idling a hundred plus yards away.
“Lady Elizabeth—you’ve been out of the public eye for over a year now,” Ducklips said. “You’ve been pursuing advanced degrees at Marymount University in the State of Illinois in the United States. Did you know this was happening? Or was it a complete surprise to you upon returning to Fredonia?”
“I’ve always had a sweet spot for Prince Cristoph. Seriously, who hasn’t?” I looked up at him adoringly and batted my eyelashes.
The female reporters giggled.
“But recently we’ve been more in touch: e-mails, phone calls, texting, Skype, even old-fashioned love letters. We’re crazy about each other. I can’t imagine a more perfect match than Cristoph and me. And if I don’t say yes and I don’t try this with someone who could be my best friend…” My gaze drifted toward Nick.
“Yes, Elizabeth?” Cristoph prompted.
My attention darted back to Cristoph and I smiled like I had just won five dollars on a lotto scratcher card. “I will forever wonder if we both missed out on something magical and wonderful. Something that was meant to be. Maybe I would have passed on my Happily-Ever-After. And how many people really get a chance at that?”
“Aw.” The CNN Fredonia reporter wiped a few tears away.
“Yeah,” I wiped a few tears away too. “I mean yes.”
Cristoph regarded me with a curious look in his beautiful eyes. He leaned down and muttered, “Seriously? After all our family bullshit, you’re seriously interested in me?”
“Did you seriously fall in love with me in grade school?” I asked.
“It was either you or your super cool backpack,” he said. “Maybe both.”
I smiled. “I’m willing to give this engagement a shot. But only if you are too,” I whispered. “No scandals from here on out. No sleeping with chambermaids, or flight attendants, or flirty newscasters with too much filler in their upper lips. Or our deal’s off.”
“We’re good.” He put his arm around my waist and squeezed me close to him. “We’re freaking golden.” He kissed me again, and this time our smooch felt a little more genuine. But considering this was my first engagement and I was not-really-but-kind-of engaged to a drop-dead gorgeous Prince? I found it a bit odd that I didn’t have butterflies in my stomach. Only cocoons that felt like lead balloons.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Nick rev the engine on his Harley and speed off. No cameras followed his exit.
Only the sausage dog and his ancient female owner trailed yards behind him. “Come back,” the old lady said. “You look like a dog lover!”
“What are you staring at?” Cristoph whispered.
“Oh. Nothing. Well, just a dog. I’d really like to adopt a dog some day,” I said.
“Show us the ring! Show us the engagement ring that Prince Cristoph gave you!” Ducklips demanded.
I held my left hand demurely out in front of me to thunderous applause as the cameras popped and whirred and two helicopters circled overhead. And I wondered?
Was I bleeding drops of blood into a nest of sharks? Who would be the first to bite? Who would be the first to discover I was an imposter? Who would be the first to destroy me? When I heard the revs of a motorcycle, watched Nick ride out of the park and felt my heart clench—I suspected I already knew the answer to my last question.
Chapter 20
A few days later I stood in front of my enormous bathroom mirror back at Papa’s condo. Lady Cheryl deftly parted my hair with her fingers, rolled and styled sections of it with a large curling iron.
Lady Joan flipped back and forth between five makeup brushes, eight tiny pots of color and three pencils as she micro-managed my makeup. “Look all the way up.” She tapped the underside of my chin.
I dropped my head back and stared at the ceiling.
Joan pulled the bottom of my lower eyelid down and penciled the inner rim. “Stop blinking.”
“Is this necessary? You could poke my eye out,” I said.
“If you shut up that might not happen. The white pencil brings out what’s left of the whites of your eyes. It makes you look refreshed. Trust me, you’re in need of some refreshing.”
“Thank you, all of you,” I said. “But my legs are cramping. We’ve been doing this for almost an hour. It’s not like this is for a photo-shoot. Cristoph and I have already had ten of those.”
“I’m sure you’ll look lovely in Pottery Castle, People More Important-than-You Magazine and Royally Glamorous.” Cheryl held an assortment of earrings up to my ears, eyed them and quickly sorted them into two piles: possible yeses she placed on the marble countertop and she returned the reje
cts into a large three-tiered jewelry box.
“This is a far, far more important occasion than a mere photo-shoot.” Joan broke into a sweat as she blended concealer under my eyes with a makeup brush. “This is your first informal meet and greet with Cristoph’s family since you got engaged. Have you even slept the past couple of nights? Your under eye circles are the size of Cheryl’s former dowry.”
“Which was huge,” Cheryl said. “In olden days it would have been the equivalent of three sacks of gold coins, a few rubies, one hundred pigs, twenty goats and a couple bones from dead men who were declared saints a thousand years prior.”
Joan sighed. “We’re going to have to order concealer in a tub.” She dipped the makeup brush into the little pot and dabbed more under my eyes. “I hope you’re signed up for Amazon Prime for Royals—they have thirty minute free shipping, you know.”
I need to sit down, I thought.
“I need you all to help me pick out the perfect outfit,” I said.
While I sit down and eat, I thought. “I need something to nosh on. Anyone else hungry?”
“Watching my waistline,” Cheryl said.
“Didn’t hit the gym today,” Joan said.
“Got it.” I punched a button on the intercom on the wall. “Helga? Do you have time to whip me up a snackie? Something sweet. Something salty. Maybe healthy?”
“Changed my mind. On sourdough,” Cheryl said.
“With fresh Fredonia sausages. I’ll work out tomorrow,” Joan said.
“Sourdough subs with fresh Fredonia sausages and the works. Gracias-I-mean- thank you. I’ll come down to the kitchen and pick it up. No really. Are you sure? Okay fine—you’re a peach!”
Cheryl lifted her thumb to her mouth, tipped her head back and mimed glugging a drink.
“And can you bring us a bottle of Korbel champagne as well?” I asked.
“Hah!” Joan said. “You’re hilarious. Your Ladies-in-Waiting will work for free but we still need the decent stuff. I’d prefer the Perrier-Jouet Belle Epoque Rose Cuvee if you don’t mind.”
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