Part-time Princess

by Pamela DuMond

  She dragged her itinerary from her purse. “Tomorrow, 1 p.m. Confirmed meeting with King Frederick Timmel, Lord David Billingsley, Princes Cristoph and Nicholas Timmel, Lady Elizabeth Billingsley and her Ladies-in-Waiting, at the Chateaux Chocolat’ in Friedricksburg, Fredonia. Attire: Casual. Please allow ninety minutes of driving time and bring a warm jacket as the temperature can drop precipitously in the mountain foothills. Tour of the chocolate factory. Private late lunch meeting thereafter, catered by Laura DeVries from Cupcakes-A-Go-Go Café. Ooh,” Esmeralda said. “Lunch will be fabulous. That DeVries chef is the bomb.”

  “I can live with a tour of a chocolate factory. Do you think Cheryl and her husband are having fun on their play date?”

  “We made reservations at Sauerhausen’s premiere Supper Club that has a live band and an amazing dance floor. She’s wearing the loaner dress with the lace cut-outs. They will be plied with fine wine, a five star meal and then enjoy the musical stylings of the Florence Belk Band. After an evening of total pleasure and no children, they’ll retire to your suite at the Four Seasons. And strangely enough, they only have movies on their TV—no sports channels are available. Front desk has been alerted that the problem is not fixable.”

  “You mean the front desk as been paid off.”

  “Alerted, paid off, same thing as long as it gets the job done.”

  “What about the hotel bar?”

  “In a strange coincidence, the bartender has been tipped to ix-nay the soccer-nay.”

  “What about the tennis-nay?”

  “All gone. Operation Light My Fire has commenced.”

  “I like how you work, Lady Esmeralda Ilona Castile Hapsburg the Fourth.”

  “You’re making me up my game, Lucy…”

  “Just Lucy for now,” I said.

  “You know I’ll figure out your last name.”

  “I dare you,” I said as we both giggled.

  Early the next morning I received word from the police that the Penthouse had been thoroughly searched, scanned, finger prints lifted and was given the ‘All Clear.’ The Fredonia Secret Service even granted Elizabeth’s family and me permission to return.

  Back in Elizabeth’s closet, Tulip wrestled a high-heeled pump on the floor. “You’d better stop that,” I wriggled into jeans. “She’ll kill you if you eat one of her precious Stewart Weitzman’s.” I slid into a pair of extra fleecy Uggs, a long-sleeved T-shirt covered by a thick, cotton sweater and grabbed a light down jacket should the weather get chilly.

  As much as I wanted to bring Tulip with me on my trip, let’s face it—chocolate was deadly poisonous for dogs. She was a puppy, had her nose in everything and I just knew she’d find some chocolate leftovers somewhere. But who would walk her while I was gone?

  I took Tulip for a quick spin in Centralaski Park, came home and made her a breakfast of organic puppy kibble mixed with wild duck, wet with gravy. I smiled as she gulped down her food like she’d never eaten before and would never eat again.

  When Helga popped into the kitchen and filled up a large bucket with cleaner and water. “You’re spoiling zat dog,” she said. “You’re turning her into a leetle princess.

  “She deserves to be spoiled! Isn’t she darling? Helga—could I pay you extra to take care of Tulip today? We’ve got this meeting at some chocolate factory and I’m not comfortable bringing her with me. Chocolate’s deadly poisonous for dogs.”

  “Dogs are so much work,” Helga scrubbed the kitchen floor. “Just like children. You love them and love them, but in the end they always want more. They always want to be a princess. What’s a mother to do?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I don’t know about children because I’ve never had any, but I hear you. If you can’t or don’t want to take care of Tulip—that’s fine. I’ll find someone else…”

  “No, no.” Helga sighed. “I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you!” I said. “Just take her for a couple of short walks. Don’t let her off her leash. Play with her for a couple of minutes. Don’t let her eat too many treats. I’ll pay you extra. I really appreciate it.”

  “Everyone always appreciates it.”

  “I really do. Thanks!” Maybe I was being a bit paranoid, but something seemed off with Helga.

  The Ladies picked me up in Cheryl’s SUV, outfitted with massive snow tires. We were all dressed pretty much the same. Larry the guard drove as Cheryl sat in the front passenger seat, swiveled toward us in the back and filled us in on her date night with her husband.

  “And then, oh my God, it was crazy. There were no sports channels available on cable in our suite. Not one single sports channel. It was like a miracle! And my husband looked into my eyes, said, ‘You’re still the hottest lady I’ve ever met,’ and one thing led to the next and…”

  “How many times, Cheryl?” Esmeralda asked.

  “Oh.” She smiled. “A Lady doesn’t tell.”

  “I’m betting three,” Joan said.

  “I’ll venture there was fourth encounter the next morning in the shower,” Esmeralda said.

  Cheryl giggled. “I’m instituting a mommy and daddy play date once a month.”

  Esmeralda, Joan and I smiled at each other and fist-bumped.

  “Operation Light my Fire’s a success,” Esmeralda said.

  “Power to the Ladies,” Joan said.

  “And kudos to Luc-I mean- Elizabeth for the superb idea!” Esmeralda said.

  I frowned and then smiled. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you!”

  We exited the freeway and made our way up increasingly winding roads that eventually thinned down to two lanes. We passed farms and pastures with goats and cows in the field. Some places looked prosperous, others poor, as we ascended into the foothills of the Alps. The grass was green but there were small patches of melting snow. We finally arrived at a smallish hamlet with an arched sign that read “Welcome to Friedricksburg: The home of Chateaux Chocolat’”.

  Good thing I’d packed a parka. When the Ladies and I stepped out of the SUV the temperature had dropped at least forty degrees. The town looked like a fairy tale village in a movie. There were cobblestone streets and mom and pop storefronts painted in candy colors with decorated signs advertising what was for sale in each shop.

  “I can’t believe King Frederick was born here,” Joan said. “You’d think Royal Nana would have had him in a hospital in a bigger city like Sauerhausen.”

  “He was a month premature,” Cheryl said. “The family was staying at their lake chateaux several miles from here.”

  “No wonder he wants to keep this town preserved,” I said. “It’s darling. I can even smell the chocolate in the air.”

  Several nuns wearing wimples walked a pack of Labrador Retrievers past us.

  “What’s up with all the Labs?” I asked.

  “Queen Cheree plunked down a small fortune and restored the town’s dilapidated five-hundred-year-old church,” Esmeralda said. “She turned the Saint Francis of Assisi Chapel grounds into a sanctuary for Labrador Retrievers.”

  “Oh, I’d love to see it.”

  “No time,” Esmeralda pointed to her watch. “We’re supposed to meet up with your fiancé and family at the chocolate factory.”

  I’d never been given a tour of a chocolate factory before and I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip through my fingers. The Ladies, King Frederick, Nick, Cristoph, various advisors, guards and I were in the tasting room. Per usual, Nick ignored me.

  Cristoph smiled at me and held out a small chocolate in front of my lips. “Try this.” He said. “Darkest chocolate imaginable with a hint of espresso.”

  I bit into it and almost swooned. “Holy moly! That’s amazing!”

  “It dawned on me you haven’t even seen my new digs since you got back into town and we got engaged. I took the liberty of cancelling the dinner with Duchess Amy Moore tomorrow night because I want to spend that time with you, Elizabeth. No crowds, no photographers. Just you and me. What say you?”
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  What say I? Could I be more nervous? Would this be the royal sack attempt?

  “I couldn’t be more thrilled, Cristoph. What a fabulous idea. Formal or informal?”

  “I think we should be informal,” he said. “Let’s just be ourselves, warts and all, and see how this goes. Yes?”

  “Sounds perfect,” I said. “Can I bring anything?”

  “Just yourself, darling.”

  After a three course meal in a private room at Cupcakes-a-Go-Go Café, we were finally dusting off the crumbs from our fingers and getting down to business. The secret contract that demanded this urgent wedding.

  “So you’re saying that Cristoph and I need to marry by next week so my Papa, Lord David Billingsley, will enter into a joint partnership with the Royal Timmel family of Fredonia,” I said. “He will pay off the deed on this land in order to keep all the acquisitions… royal. And save them from being parceled out to the highest bidder—to some asshat investor like Mark Whitford. Who wants to turn this beautiful town of Friedricksburg into a giant theme park.”

  “Yes,” King Frederick said. “You’ve got a head for business on you, young Lady. Another reason I’m thrilled you are marrying my eldest son Cristoph.”

  “I told you Elizabeth was the one for me,” Prince Cristoph said.

  “It seems my darling daughter has returned from the States not only more beautiful, but financially savvy.” Papa said.

  “How do you know Mark Whitford from the States, Lizzie?” Nick asked.

  “I don’t. I do, however, read the Wall Street Journal.”

  Hah hah! I read it before I picked up Tulip’s dog poop with it when I ran out of scoop bags.

  “It could be Whitford or any scum like him.” I sighed. “But this explains the pressing need for the haste of the marriage contract between The Fredonia royal family and family of Lord Billingsley. It’s almost like a shotgun marriage—but for different reasons.”

  “Lizzie,” Nick said. “As the financial advisor for the Timmel Royal Family, you need to marry Prince Cristoph in five days for the money to pass hands from your father, Lord David Billingsley, to the current lender on this loan. Do you or your family anticipate any impediment happening that could delay this marriage, as well as the financial contraction, that will save the Fredonia royal lands?”

  I attempted to look into his blue eyes but he would not meet my gaze. I coughed, but he would not acknowledge my pathetic attempt at clandestine communication. Fine. I turned and stared at Papa. “What do you think Papa? Because you hold the purse strings and basically this is up to you.”

  “It was your mother’s most cherished wish that someday you would marry into the royal family and become a Princess,” he said. “I will do everything in my power to honor your mother’s memory.” He faced Nick. “Yes, Nicholas. Yes, the money will be transferred the moment my daughter says, ‘I do.’”

  Chapter 28

  Cristoph didn’t live with his parents at the royal castle. He actually lived across the park from Elizabeth’s Papa in a three-story brownstone. A guard, dressed in khakis and a long-sleeve T-shirt with a jean jacket, sat on the step in front of Cristoph’s front door and read on his e-reader.

  Esmeralda and Larry had driven me over a little before eight p.m. I was dressed casual in jeans, a long-sleeve, lacy T-shirt and a light jacket. “Well, here we are,” I said. “Gorgeous brownstone. This looks like something in Hyde Park in Chicago.”

  “Do you miss Chicago, Lady Billingsley?” Larry asked.

  Would a fork miss a knife? Would Christmas miss angels?

  I waved my hand. “Kind of, I guess. I’m mostly just happy to be home.”

  “Larry, go ask that guard what kind of protocol they have to make sure Elizabeth’s safe here.” Esmeralda said.

  “Absolutely, my Spanish flower.” He smiled and hopped out of the driver’s seat.

  She threw a kiss to him. “Gracias mi mejor Conquistador.” She turned and glared at me. “Okay. There’s no way you can sleep with Cristoph, Lucy.”

  “What made you think I’m going to sleep with Cristoph?”

  “One. He’s drop-dead gorgeous. Two. I saw the way he was feeding you chocolates at Chateaux Chocolat’ yesterday. He was undressing you with his eyes.”

  “I think you’re projecting your own love life onto mine. Because mine is quite pathetic.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Cristoph hasn’t earned the nickname ‘The Playboy Prince’ for nothing,” she said. “He’s going to try and seal the deal tonight. I can just feel it. I’m slightly psychic when it comes to love, you know. The pinch of gypsy blood that runs through my veins is speaking to me via the tingle in my private girlie parts.”

  “Perhaps the pinch of your silk thong underwear is speaking to your private girlie parts,” I said, peeved.

  “Don’t get defensive with me, Lucy. I’m just looking out for the greater picture here.”

  “And what is the greater picture?”

  “Frankly at this point—I don’t know? But what I do know is Cristoph’s going to make a move tonight, and when he does? Promise me you’ll keep your phone on you at all times. Text me before it’s too late. I’ve alerted the other Ladies. We’ll be waiting nearby and concoct some fabulous excuse to whisk you away.”

  Larry popped his head in the car. “Prince Cristoph just has the one guard—but they’re stationed around the clock. He does, however, have an extensive security system and Sauerhausen’s entire police force will be here in seconds if alerted. Elizabeth will be in good hands.”

  “Splendid!” I said and stepped out of the car.

  Esmeralda sighed. “And that’s what worries me.”

  Cristoph’s three level townhouse was simply gorgeous. He gave me the tour. Brick walls lined the majority of the space. The first level was furnished with built-in floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with books and knick knacks. Signed lithographs hung on the walls. A bar was tucked into a corner of the room. There was a blackjack table and a billiard table. Three flat screen TVs were mounted high on the wall. French doors opened onto a large walled-in patio accented with tasteful outdoor furniture and a firepit.

  “Can I get you a drink, Elizabeth?” Cristoph asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “How about a Pellegrino?”

  “I thought we’d live it up.” He popped the cork on a chilled bottle of champagne. “I’ve saved this Dom Perignon for a special occasion. Tonight’s the night.” He poured two glasses and handed me one. “A toast,” he said. “To the most beautiful, smart fiancé a guy could ever hope for.”

  We toasted and sipped.

  “Nice,” I said. “I never used to drink champagne before. I think I’m developing a taste for it.”

  “That’s funny,” he said. “I remember that you always liked the bubbly.”

  “Perhaps you were thinking of my fondness for mineral water.” I took another sip.

  “No. You always enjoyed several glasses of expensive champagne.” He reached for and took my free hand. “Let’s continue the tour, shall we?”

  We climbed a tall staircase to the second floor. It had a more than decent kitchen and a gorgeous living room with a huge fireplace, dark, distressed, lustrous wooden floors and large windows that looked out on Centralaski Park. It was nighttime and the city lights twinkled like stars.

  “This view is awesome, but aren’t you worried that people can see inside?” I asked.

  “I had the windows replaced with mirrored, bullet proof glass before I asked you to marry me. I didn’t want you feeling unsafe, or have your privacy be violated. No one can look in here, Elizabeth. No paparazzi can snap a single picture. I want you to feel completely comfortable inside your new home.”

  “That’s sweet of you,” I said.

  Elizabeth’s new home—not mine.

  “You’re welcome,” he said and held out the champagne bottle. “Top you off?

  “Sure. Thank you.”

  He filled my flute with more primo bubbly. �
�Your townhouse is beautiful,” I said.

  “Come see the third floor.”

  “I think I’ve seen enough.”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think you have.”

  The top floor was the bedroom floor. There were three guest bedrooms, baths and the master suite. “So, what do you think? Will you be comfortable moving in after we get married and honeymoon?” Cristoph asked.

  “We’re honeymooning?” I said.

  “Of course,” he said “St. Bart’s. My friends have a private estate. We’re scheduled to leave the day after the wedding. White sands, warm water and balmy weather. I took the liberty of buying you a little pre-wedding gift.” He took a few steps to his bureau, picked up a wrapped package and held it out to me.

  It was a relatively small box adorned with a festive white bow on top.

  “That’s so sweet of you, Cristoph.” I opened it. “Really, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

  I pulled the lid off the box, unfolded the soft, white paper and revealed bikinis. A lot of really teeny tiny bikinis. Most were floral. A few were solid, one was a leopard print. When it dawned on me that while there were many bikini bottoms—there was only one top. “Wow,” I said. “I hope I fit into them. They’re really little.” I held one out in front of me. It was the size of a handkerchief. If your cat used a handkerchief. “There seems to be some confusion—most likely with your personal shopper or whoever helped pick these out.”

  “I picked them out personally, Elizabeth. Right after Father gave us his blessing.”

  Well that was unusual. Most guys hated shopping. I had to give him points for that.

  “You are so sweet,” I said. “There’s just one teensy problem—there are twelve bikini bottoms and only one top.”

  He pulled me to him, stared down into my eyes and grinned. “Isn’t it fabulous! You won’t need them darling. Simply sunscreen. Where we’re staying the beaches are topless! I have one more surprise for you. Hang on!” He raced off into his bathroom. “No peeking!”