Daddy's Pretty Baby

by Cassandra Dee

  And Henri and Amelie both nodded, showing me the door back to the main cabin.

  “Madame, we hope to see you again,” murmured Amelie as I brushed by her on my way out.

  I smiled at the young girl.

  “I hope so too,” I said before proceeding into the brightly lit space. But it was unlikely. I was a guest of the royal family for two days only and we wouldn’t be crossing paths again.

  So with a sigh, I made my way back to my seat. Candace was snoring lightly, slumped over to the right. Well, hopefully she’d wake up on her own before we landed and down some water before meeting up with her new boyfriend. I was sure he didn’t want to see his beloved red-eyed and hungover.

  And me? That was an open question. Propping my chin in my hand, I looked out the porthole at gauzy clouds, the sky a clear azure.

  “Hello again Slovania,” I whispered softly. I wanted to feel excited, elated even at this all-expenses paid trip. But oddly, a wave of longing washed over my soul. Where were Holt and Hayden right now? My memories of the country were inevitably intertwined with the twins but I had little hope of seeing then again. They hadn’t replied to my emails, my efforts to reach out.

  But was that so unexpected? Hayden and Holt were handsome, virile professionals living full lives. And let’s face it, they were eligible alpha males, women probably flung themselves at them non-stop, desperate for attention.

  In contrast, I was an unsophisticated college girl, almost like a camp counselor who’d merely distracted them during their service abroad. Our little fling had been nothing but that, a brief encounter already forgotten.

  So I stared at the gauzy clouds with a twinge of sadness. The twins were my one and onlys, but it seemed that they’d already forgotten me.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Hayden

  I tapped my foot impatiently at the bar. Halson had asked us to be here at eight sharp, but there was no one in sight.

  “Monsieur, more wine?” asked a server courteously.

  “Naw, no thanks,” I ground out. “Hold up,” I said. “You guys do Moscow Mules here?” Upon her nod, I placed an order. “Then let’s do it.”

  “Slow, brother,” remarked Holt. “You need all that vodka?”

  “Damn straight,” I said. “Where is he anyways?” I asked, indicating Halson, surveying the space.

  We were in a private room at Sant Ambroes, our big bro having rented out the back space. It’s pretty normal actually. When we go out in Slovania we often request a private space otherwise the mobs throng us, well-wishers and haters alike. It’s part of being royal I guess.

  And the venue was nice. The restaurant is named after Saint Ambrose, the patron bishop of Milan, and the kitchen served the best Milanese fair east of Italy, complete with hand-picked tomatoes and creamy, delicate bufala mozzarella.

  “How much do you think this cost?” remarked my twin, looking around. I could see why he was asking. Uncharacteristically, Halson had ordered fresh flowers so the room was overflowing with blooms, the scent heady and vibrant. Plus, he’d booked caterers, white-clad staff milling around with trays of tiny appetizers.

  “I thought it was just going to be the four of us,” I shrugged, tossing back my drink. “Me, you, him, and his new girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” mused my twin. “I wonder what this is all about?”

  That was when Halson finally appeared. I have to admit, our brother looked better than usual. Although he’s a handsome man, he hardly gets any sun so often looks sallow, his skin yellowish and slightly jaundiced. But Halson had put on a made-to-order suit and the dark navy color gave him a healthy cast, the custom tailoring beefing up his spindly frame.

  “Brothers,” he said almost in a whisper. “Glad you could make it.”

  “No prob,” I grunted, “are Mom and Dad coming? Why all the decorations?”

  Halson swallowed visibly.

  “No, they’re not coming,” he rasped. “My intended doesn’t need to meet them.”

  That word caught my ear. Now I’m no expert when it comes to romance but the word “intended” has a certain meaning in royal circles – namely, as was the equivalent of “fiancée.”

  “What do you mean ‘my intended,’?” interrupted Holt. “Don’t you mean something like ‘my girl,’ or ‘my girlfriend,’ not ‘my intended’?”

  Halson coughed uncomfortably, and red crept over his collar.

  “Oh sorry, I meant ‘my beloved,’” he wheezed.

  Holt and I rolled our eyes at each other. Big bro sometimes talked like he was in a fairy tale and not living on Earth with the rest of us. But that was the sad part. Halson really didn’t live a normal life. As Crown Prince, his world was restricted to attending royal functions, greeting foreign dignitaries, and eating rubber-chicken dinners. It sucked balls, and Holt and I were grateful to be second-born.

  Just then, music started playing and Halson rushed over to the front of the room.

  “She’s here!” he breathed, his face lighting up.

  Holt and I shared another puzzled look but shrugged again. Halson wasn’t exactly a Romeo with women, his experience was limited to the in-bred noble girls of Slovania who simpered and giggled whenever he came near. So to see him light up was bizarre, but heck, some excitement was good for the dude.

  Suddenly, the double doors opened and there stood a middle-aged woman in white. Or more accurately, a drunk blonde in a wedding gown.

  She was attractive, sure, but tipsy as hell, leaning heavily on a girl to her right. The woman stumbled a bit before falling to the floor, dragging her helper down with her in a tangle of arms and legs.

  And that’s when our mouths opened in shock. Because the girl supporting Halson’s would-be date was none other than Summer, our locker room fling.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Summer

  Getting my mom off the plane had been a nightmare. I was sure she’d sober up before we landed, she’d been sleeping for the last hour. But that’s the thing about bubbly. It looks fun and light but that stuff is lethal, it knocks you out and leaves you for dead.

  So I’d had to help my mom stumble off the flight, the stewardess and pilot looking at us askance.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled under my breath, steadying Candace when she veered crazily to the left. My face flushed. This was no way to make an entrance as a guest of the Crown Prince.

  Fortunately, a butler appeared from nowhere and offered a hand.

  “May I?” he asked graciously. I felt bad because he was pretty old, probably in his sixties, but there was no way I could manage Candace like this on my own.

  “Yes, please,” I gasped, and together, we slung Mom between us and helped her stumble down the narrow metal steps onto the tarmac. Good thing there was a bellhop handling our bags, otherwise I don’t know what I would have done.

  A little golf cart waited to pick us up, and we loaded Mom into the back along with our belongings. We were just about to zoom off when Henri dashed down the stairs with a huge box in his hands.

  “Mademoiselle! Madame!” he called, rushing over to us. “You almost forgot!”

  I looked at him, puzzled. Then again, glancing over my shoulder at the mountain of luggage my mom had brought, it wasn’t hard to believe something had been forgotten among the various boxes and bags.

  “No, no,” Henri shook his head, following my gaze. “This is a gift for you. From the Crown Prince himself,” he nodded emphatically. “We were supposed to give it to you on the flight, but couldn’t given … ah, Madame’s delicate state,” he said, nodding at my mom. I could see why. Candace was practically passed out, she would have fallen out of the golf cart if it we hadn’t propped her up against a huge piece of luggage.

  So I took the box emblazoned with the royal crest and nodded at him with a smile.

  “Thank you, Henri, and please tell Amelie thank you too,” I called as the cart whizzed us away. “I hope to see you again!”

  And with that, we were s
huttled to a nearby hotel, the George Cinq.

  “Wow, is this really?” I breathed, looking around the luxury suite.

  “Yes mademoiselle, for you and your mother,” assured the concierge. The place was magnificent. Deep pile rugs decorated varnished wood floors, the furnishings subtle and utterly luxurious. Curtain swags of pure silk hung from elegant arched windows and I could see that our suite was at least five rooms – two bedrooms plus a living room, dining room and study area.

  “Wow,” I mumbled to myself again, taking in the vastness of the space. This beat my double in NYU’s dorms by about a thousand points, I was suddenly so glad that I’d agreed to come with Candace. There was no way we could have afforded this by ourselves.

  But right … Candace. Mom was slowly waking up, coming to on the couch.

  “Mom,” I said. “Come on, let me help you get into the bathroom. Shower!” I commanded.

  Candace’s head lolled on the back of the couch.

  “Ummphh,” she groaned, one hand trying to shield her face from the light.

  “Mom,” I said sternly. “Come on, shower!”

  My mom opened her eyes groggily and peered at me through slitted lids.

  “Baby, now?” she protested. “I feel so sick.”

  She did look green, but that only made a shower even more urgent.

  “Come on!” I said urgently, grabbing one of her arms. “We’re supposed to meet Prince Halson at eight. We only have an hour to get ready.”

  “Mmmrrr,” grunted my mom, but at least she got up this time and stumbled to one of the en suites. I heard a thump.

  “Summer, help me with the bath,” she slurred, sprawled on the bathroom floor.

  I sighed. It couldn’t be that hard to turn on the hot water tap, could it? The giant claw foot tub gleamed intimidatingly, its porcelain finish bright white and shiny. But try as I might, the handle was stuck, my face and neck turning red as I strained mightily, the skin on my palms stinging.

  It was then that I heard a discreet knock on the front door followed by a click. A head peered into the bathroom and what do you know, but it was Amelie, Henri’s assistant in the doorway.

  “Mademoiselle, can I help?” she asked gently.

  I huffed a sigh of relief.

  “Please,” I said, gesturing to the silver knob. Amelie came into the bathroom, careful to step around Candace’s prone form, and took the spigot in both hands. Despite her small size, she was strong and with a violent wrench, the hot water began pouring.

  “Thanks you’re a lifesaver,” I said with a smile, and between the two of us, we were able to help my mom into the steaming water.

  “Unnnh,” groaned Candace, resting her head on the white porcelain. “I feel so sick,” she muttered even as we rubbed rose-scented shampoo into her hair.

  But the hot water seemed to revive her and pretty soon, Candace was sitting up on her own, sudsing herself and humming. Amelie and I took that as our cue to step back.

  “Mom, what do you want to wear tonight? Something, um, conservative right?” I asked diplomatically. Candace had a wild streak and maybe with her newly platinum hair she’d want to do it up in leopard print or gold lamé.

  But Amelie cut in gently.

  “I think she’s supposed to wear what’s in the box that Henri gave you,” she said. “It’s a gift from the prince himself.”

  Oh right. That giant box that he’d thrust into my hands at the last minute. I was curious what was in there.

  “Hold on, Mom,” I called. “Amelie and I will be right in with your dress.”

  And the assistant and I retreated to the living room amid the mounds of luggage.

  “Where was it again?” I muttered, looking through the heaps of LV embossed cases. I cursed silently under my breath. Why couldn’t Candace be like a normal person and pack two suitcases like everyone else?

  But Amelie rescued us again.

  “Mademoiselle, here it is,” she said. I straightened and sure enough, there was the big rectangle box in her hands, the royal crest unmistakable.

  “Let’s break that baby open then,” I said. “The sooner Candace gets dressed the better, we don’t want to be late,” I said worriedly, glancing at my watch. For some reason, a fashionably late arrival didn’t seem right for the first time meeting a prince.

  Amelie handed the box wordlessly to me and I didn’t hesitate. Using my nails I ripped open the packaging, pulling aside mounds of flimsy wrapping paper before pulling out the dress underneath.

  And that was when I stopped because the gown in my hands looked like a wedding gown.

  “This can’t be,” I muttered, looking at the heavy white brocade, the demure neckline, the three-quarter length sleeves.

  “Mademoiselle, it is beautiful,” breathed Amelie. “Perfect for a beautiful person like your mother.”

  Sure, Candace would be stunning in it, but that wasn’t the point. This had to be a mistake of some kind.

  “They gave us the wrong box,” I said firmly. “This belongs to someone else.”

  “No, no mistake,” replied Amelie. “This is for Candace from Prince Halson himself.”

  And here, I turned to stare at her. I’d heard of gifts of sexy lingerie, maybe a teddy or a silky night robe, but formal wear? Formal wear that looked like a bridal gown? I wasn’t so sure.

  “Let’s ask Candace,” I said peremptorily. Surely there’d been a mistake, this was too weird.

  But when she wandered into the living area, Mom was nonchalant, taking in the dress all the while twisting her hair into an elegant up-do.

  “That’s my gown alright,” she said with a giggle. “Halson likes me in white, says it suits my coloring.”

  And I just shook my head. Okay, she was catering to the whims of some guy again, but that was just Candace being Candace. A guy says “jump,” and my mom asks “how high?” without thinking of the consequences.

  But she continued to surprise.

  “Honey, why don’t you look inside and see if there’s something for you? I told Halson you were coming, I wouldn’t be surprised if he threw in a gift for you too.”

  My eyebrows shot up. Had the Crown Prince thought to include me? I pulled aside more wrapping paper and sure enough, beneath the white dress was a pink one, made of the most beautiful French lace, knee-length and modest with a sweetheart neckline.

  “Try it on,” urged Amelie with a smile. “It looks just your size.”

  I looked at the dress doubtfully. It was beautiful, obviously hand-sewn and probably cost more than a semester’s tuition. But that’s the thing about being curvy. Not everything fits the way it should and I suspected that this was one of those cases.

  “No, I think I’ll just go in one of my own things,” I mumbled, looking down at my jeans. I’d packed an outfit but suddenly the day dress seemed shabby, the colorful stripes silly and childlike next to this exquisite creation.

  “Forget what you brought, just try it on,” sang my mom from the vanity in the corner. “You won’t regret it,” she encouraged while patting powder on her chin.

  The dress beckoned and with a shrug, I took the outfit with me into the bathroom. What the heck? Couldn’t hurt to try. Slipping it over my head, I tugged once, then twice, and hopped and jumped a bit before squeezing it over my bosom. Without even pulling it down all the way, I could tell where the problem area lay. My boobs.

  I have naturally big gazongas and they’re simultaneously a curse and a blessing at once. Guys stare at them, yeah, like they’re candy to starving men but at the same time, I get too many looks. It’s not good to feel like jailbait 24/7, and again, I can’t buy off-the-rack unless it’s loose sweaters that drape easily.

  So reluctantly, I began trying to get it off.

  “How’s it coming in there?” sang my mom.

  “Not good,” I muttered, pulling at the confection. Unfortunately, it was just as hard to get off as on.

  “Honey, come outside, we want to see!” she singsonged.


  “No,” I grunted, still struggling. But Candace wouldn’t be deterred. She banged open the bathroom door and there I stood, still fully clothed in the dress.

  “Baby, you look wonderful,” Candace complimented. “That color suits you so well.”

  “Ma, it’s not the color I’m worried about,” I said darkly. “It’s the fit. Look,” I said pulling at the bodice. “It’s way too tight, I can’t breathe and I definitely can’t go out like this, it’s indecent.”

  Candace frowned.

  “I’m not so sure,” she said. “I’ve seen lots of girls these days wear things tighter than this, it’s the style,” she coaxed. “She looks wonderful, doesn’t she Amelie?” she asked, shooting a sharp glance at the assistant.

  And the small girl merely nodded.

  “It’s a gift from Prince Halson,” she added unhelpfully.

  Right, whatever the Crown Prince wants. So I sighed. I didn’t really have anything else appropriate and I’d hold off eating dinner to fit into the tight contours.

  “Fine,” I said resignedly, blowing a strand of hair out of my face. At least my hair and make-up were spectacular, the better to match this beautiful gown. “Let’s go, we’re late,” I said with a surly frown.

  And Mom and I got into a waiting limo, which whizzed us to a fancy restaurant. As the maître d’ ushered us to a private room, I looked over again at my mom with concern. I’d thought her drunkenness had passed but suddenly she looked almost giddy again, breathless and ditzy.

  “You’ll love him,” she gushed, smiling vapidly. “You’ll love Halson!”

  And with that the big double doors swung open to reveal … my twin lovers, Hayden and Holt, waiting at the threshold. My head felt light, the world swirled, and suddenly I fell with a thump onto the floor, my high heels tangled in the gauzy pink chiffon.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Holt

  For once, Halson beat us to the punch. It wasn’t hard, since my twin and I were rooted like statues in place, mesmerized by the sight of the beautiful brunette sprawled on the floor.