The Ordinary Princess

by Liz Fielding

  He bent to gently kiss the smile, hesitated, unwilling to risk disturbing her. The only reason to wake her would be to say goodbye. To tell her that she had done everything she’d set out to achieve. That for one afternoon, evening, night, she had shown him what it could be to be an ordinary man.

  But he wasn’t ordinary, and he’d be forced to watch her smile fade as reality seeped back into their lives along with the daylight.

  I’m giving you a week, she’d said.

  But he couldn’t risk a week.

  She had melted the ice around his heart with the heat of her love. Battered down the wall of detachment that had protected him from emotional involvement.

  Now, when it would hurt—really hurt—he had to walk away. Prove to himself that, when it mattered, he could keep his promise never to risk the happiness of a woman he loved.

  As if the pain he was feeling reached out and touched Laura in her sleep, the smooth space between her brows puckered in a frown and she woke, reaching out without hesitation first to touch his face, then to kiss him.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Staying. Holding me while I slept. Loving me. For being an ordinary prince as well as an extraordinary one.’

  His turn to stop her words. To hold her one last time, possess her and give himself, heart and soul without reservation. To tell her, with his body, all the things that he could not say with words.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘I HAVE to go, Laura.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ she said, with absolutely no intention of letting Xander leave her bed in the immediate future. Not until she’d handfed him breakfast, anyway. ‘Obviously it’ll cause a terrific scandal in the servants’ hall if the upstairs maid discovers your bed hasn’t been slept in.’

  ‘Idiot,’ he said, which despite the unflattering sentiment she rather enjoyed, since he accompanied it with a kiss.

  Two days ago he would never have said that.

  ‘You mean it’s such a common occurrence that it won’t provoke gossip?’

  ‘I give up. This is a game I can’t win.’

  ‘Well, hello. I seem to be making headway here.’ Not as much as she’d like, though, since he made a determined effort to disentangle himself and swung himself out of bed, reaching for his jeans.

  For a moment she watched the ripple of golden, well-honed flesh, then she hauled her brain back into action and said, ‘Okay, I’ll give you an hour to go and prove to your security people that you aren’t being held prisoner in a Notting Hill basement. After that I come and get you.’ She grinned. ‘You still need work in the ordinary department.’

  He wasn’t laughing. ‘Laura, I have to tell you something.’

  She kneeled up, wrapping a sheet around her, not quite liking the serious tone, the hard set of his jaw. ‘I’m listening,’ she said. Although she had a sudden premonition that she wouldn’t like what she was going to hear.

  He looked around for his shirt, then remembered that it was outside. She clambered down from the bed and followed him, trailing the sheet, watching him as he buttoned himself into the shirt, reached in his breast pocket, frowning as he checked his pager for messages.

  ‘Xander?’

  He glanced at her. Shook his head. ‘Not now. Later.’

  ‘Look out for photographers on your way out, won’t you?’ she said, hating the way he was already shifting away from her, not physically, but inside his head where it really mattered.

  ‘I should be used to them by now,’ he said dryly. But, tempted as she was to utter the forbidden word, she decided that on this occasion discretion might be the better part of valour since he didn’t look exactly thrilled by her warning.

  Or maybe it was the message dragging him back to his own version of ordinary.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Karl has been trying to reach me.’

  ‘Call him—he could muss up your bed for you.’

  He smiled finally, leaned in to kiss her, hold her for a moment. ‘I have to go.’

  Of course. Affairs of state beckoned. She reached up, took his face in her hands. ‘Okay, Xander. Go deal with whatever crisis demands your personal attention. But don’t forget that I have first call on your time for the next week. And—’ she continued, her voice the only firm thing about her ‘—unless you’ve gone to war overnight, I’ll meet you in the kitchenware department in Claibourne & Farraday at twelve o’clock—’

  ‘Claibourne & Farraday? Whatever happened to “ordinary”?’

  She lifted her shoulders in the merest shrug. Katie wasn’t the only one capable of acting her heart out in a good cause. ‘It’ll be busy,’ she said, banking on the fact that he wanted to talk to her to get him there. She knew he’d stepped way over the line in the sand he’d drawn for himself. She wasn’t about to let him step back without putting up a fight. ‘And I need a part for my food mixer. Don’t speak to me, just follow me when I leave.’

  ‘Very cloak and dagger,’ he said.

  ‘Only in the most ordinary way. Don’t be late.’

  He said nothing, simply reached out, briefly touching her cheek before walking quickly away. She flinched as the front door banged shut behind him.

  Ordinary? How could a day spent with Alexander Orsino be ordinary? She touched her cheek, then her lips, still throbbing from his kisses.

  How could a day without him ever be anything else?

  Laura went back to bed, curling up in the place where Xander had lain, hugging his pillow against her as she relived the past twenty-four hours.

  Every look, every touch, every laugh they’d shared.

  He’d opened up, told her things that she’d never, even in her wildest dreams, expected to hear from his lips. His decision never to marry, for instance.

  She sensed that it wasn’t the whole story, not by a long way, but even as the most useless journalist with an up-to-date press card she knew the value of that piece of information. She could imagine the headlines even as she lay there drowning in the lingering scent of his body. Headlines with her byline.

  Not so useless.

  She had her story, photographs that would earn her a fortune from Celebrity magazine, the European press. She’d been in the right place at the right time and her career was about to lift off into the stratosphere.

  Except—what was that worth set against the fact that Xander trusted her? Really trusted her. Had let down every barrier, surrendering himself to her in every way a man could.

  And it was then that she recognised a truth about herself. Trevor was right; she would never be a journalist. Not in a million years.

  No journalist would even think twice about using what she knew, while there was nothing on earth that would make her surrender the film in her camera to Trevor McCarthy.

  She might be a fool, but she was one who knew the value of integrity, truth, honesty. One who was not about to delude herself with fantasies of some happy-ever-after fairy tale, either.

  She knew what he was going to say to her.

  That this wasn’t his real life. That it couldn’t last.

  As if she hadn’t known that when she’d kissed him.

  But she’d weep later, when he wasn’t around to see. In the meantime she would give him a week out of her life, offer him a brief moment of happiness. It would be enough to know that she would live in his heart as a true friend.

  ‘Hi, Jay—great timing, you can help me decide what to wear.’

  Jay followed Laura into her bedroom and eyed askance the clothes piled up on her bed. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Out.’

  ‘I think I’m going to need a bit more of a clue.’

  ‘Just out. I haven’t decided. Look around some galleries, maybe. Or maybe we’ll take a ride into the country.’

  ‘These are elegant,’ Jay said, picking up a pair of taupe trousers. ‘And I’d wear the cream silk shirt and that linen jacket.’ Then, ‘We?’

  Oh, fig! �
�No one you know.’ Then, quickly, ‘Did you come down for something in particular?’

  ‘Only to ask why you phoned me yesterday. I called back, but got no answer. I knew if it was important you’d come up. But since I was passing—’ She lifted her shoulders in the barest suggestion of a shrug.

  ‘You know why I phoned you, Jay. We spoke about Trevor McCarthy.’

  ‘Your second call. About half an hour later? Maybe a little more.’

  Laura shook her head. ‘It wasn’t me. I unplugged the phone right after I talked to you. I didn’t want Trevor calling me while Xander was here.’

  The name just slipped out.

  ‘Xander? That’s short for Alexander, isn’t it?’ She didn’t wait for confirmation. ‘I was going to ask how the story’s going.’

  ‘But?’ Furious at the look of doubt on Jay’s face, she said, ‘His Serene Highness stayed for supper. In fact, he stayed all night.’

  ‘Oh.’ That wasn’t a surprised or excited ‘oh’. It was one of those flat, oh dear ‘oh’s that can only mean one thing. Trouble.

  ‘Oh? Is that all you can say?’

  ‘Maybe it’s all I should say.’

  ‘And what does that mean? Come on, you’d better tell me.’

  ‘It’s just that my phone rang about half an hour or so after I’d spoken to you. I wasn’t wearing my specs so I couldn’t see the number calling and I answered it with my name, as I always do. Whoever called hung up without speaking and you know how that irritates me, so I fetched my specs to see who it was. The number was yours, Laura.’

  Oh, indeed.

  And without warning her joyful mood shattered into a million pieces as she realised that Xander had been checking up on her.

  She’d dozed off in the sun and he hadn’t wasted a second, apparently. Plugging in the phone, pressing ‘redial’ to find out who she’d called. Just in case she’d been lying to him.

  He hadn’t been jealous. He’d been suspicious. And the moment she’d closed her eyes he’d done a little checking up. And the first place he’d have looked would have been her handbag.

  The camera was neatly hidden from view between the lining and the leather. She could open it with impunity and no one would ever suspect it was there. But it would never fool anyone with his hand in her bag.

  What else was in it? Not her press pass. She’d had the sense to take that out of her wallet. Not that it mattered. A hidden camera was all the evidence he’d need that she was up to no good.

  And that was when he’d plugged in her telephone and used the redial button to find out who she’d called.

  Then he’d allowed her to think she was getting away with it. No wonder he was in such a good mood. He’d doubtless opened up the back of the camera and exposed the film to the light so that it was useless.

  She’d have nothing.

  Unlike His Serene Highness Prince Alexander Michael George Orsino. He’d had everything she promised him. Everything he wanted. Even her begging him to make love to her.

  Gullible?

  One sob sorry, one exquisite night of passionate love-making and she’d been going to throw away the story of a lifetime.

  Gullible wasn’t the word.

  When would she ever learn?

  Her call to Trevor was short and to the point. He wanted to know when he would have his story, his pictures.

  ‘His Serene Highness has invited me to join him as his guest at Ascot. On Ladies’ Day.’

  A formal invitation had arrived in the post that morning, obviously despatched by his efficient staff before he’d discovered who and what she was. ‘His Serene Highness Prince Alexander Orsino requests the pleasure of Miss Laura Varndell’.

  He’d already had the pleasure. Now he was going to pay for it.

  ‘I’ll deliver my story—’ with pictures courtesy of Jay ‘—the same evening.’

  ‘In time for the first edition,’ he warned.

  ‘I guarantee it. I think you’ll want to reserve the banner blurb beneath the masthead, space for a front page picture and the whole of page three.’

  ‘Is that right? And who made you editor when I wasn’t looking?’ She didn’t answer him. ‘Just what have you got, Laura?’

  ‘An exclusive that will make all your rivals green with envy.’

  There was a long, eloquent pause before he said, ‘I must be crazy even listening to you.’

  ‘No, Trevor. You’re fine.’

  She was the crazy one.

  She’d have her scoop. This one time she’d prove to everyone that she wasn’t a complete fool.

  And when she’d done that, she’d look for a job she could live with.

  She bought the spare part for her food mixer, then wandered around the kitchen department of Claibournes, her mind on anything but the beautiful cookware as she checked her watch. He was late.

  Oddly, she never doubted that he’d come. Maybe she was fooling herself, but last night he hadn’t acted like a man totally in control of his emotions. If that was Xander being cynical, she wasn’t sure she would survive a night of no holds barred sincerity.

  She picked up a cast iron skillet; anything to distract her from thinking about last night. Something was bugging her and it wasn’t just the fact that he was late.

  Then she looked up and what she saw drove everything else from her mind. Xander was standing on the other side of the display. How long had he been there, watching her? What had he seen?

  Her face, she was well aware, wore her feelings like a placard.

  She turned away quickly and led the way out through the store, cutting through the food hall to avoid the main entrance and slipping her dark glasses on her nose as she stepped into the street. Grateful that the sunshine gave her the excuse to hide behind them.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked, falling in beside her, threading his fingers through hers. Startled, she jumped, looked up. He just smiled. ‘Relax, I wasn’t followed.’

  ‘What?’ she demanded guiltily. Then she realised he meant by news photographers. ‘Oh, no, of course not.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Um, right. Today we do urban survival. First stop the Underground.’

  ‘What happened to our bus ride into the country? I had my heart set on a quiet lunch in some riverside inn.’

  He did? For a moment she almost succumbed to the temptation to ditch their shadow and make a run for it. Almost. She only had to remind herself what he’d done.

  ‘That’s advanced ordinary. First you have to learn the basics.’ And she paused at the entrance to the Underground and invited him to step inside.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, as he studied the list of destinations. ‘Does it matter where we go?’

  ‘It helps to have a destination in mind. That way you have to use the map. What about Regent’s Park?’ she suggested. ‘You’ll feel right at home there, I should think.’

  That earned her a thoughtful look before he sorted out the fare zone and found sufficient change to purchase two tickets.

  ‘You’d have been better off buying an all-day ticket,’ she said when he’d finished, but not with any real enthusiasm. He’d slipped beneath her empathy barrier and she was finding it very hard to evict him. ‘They’re cheaper and you wouldn’t have had to go through that performance again next time.’

  ‘Well, thanks for telling me.’

  ‘The facts were all there. You just had to look.’

  ‘Maybe I’d be better on my own. You’re something of a distraction.’

  Wordlessly she indicated the barrier, took a ticket from him and demonstrated how it worked. ‘I’m not here to hold your hand, Xander. Simply to show you the way.’

  He took her hand firmly in his, not letting go even when they reached the escalator. Clearly determined to prove her wrong.

  ‘It’s a pity we’ve missed the rush hour,’ she said. ‘This is a lot more fun when there are a thousand other people trying to do it at the same time.’ Of course, holding hands in such a crush would have been
a complete non-starter.

  ‘I’m happy to pass on that delight. So, tell me, what is there to see at Regent’s Park?’

  See? She’d hadn’t given that a thought. Simply been attempting to annoy him a little. If he was irritable with her, she wouldn’t feel so damned guilty about doing this…

  ‘Grass?’ she offered, as he headed for the nearest platform.

  She considered pointing out that they would be going the wrong way, then decided to leave it to him to discover it for himself, the way everyone else did.

  ‘Ordinary grass?’ he enquired, with a hint of a smile.

  ‘Of course ordinary grass. And the simple, everyday freedom of a walk in the park.’

  Which dealt with the smile.

  ‘There’s nothing ordinary or simple about…’ He looked as if he’d say more, biting back the words.

  ‘Tunnel out, Xander,’ she advised him. ‘Abdicate. Declare a republic.’

  ‘You’re a subversive, my love. A rebel. A dangerous revolutionary.’

  ‘Of course. My mother was—’

  ‘I know,’ he said, laughing. Then, more seriously, ‘But I was raised to serve. If I abandoned my responsibilities, my people, what would I do with the rest of my life?’

  About to say that that he wouldn’t have to do a damn thing, she thought better of it. He’d been raised to serve the people of Montorino and would do so until his dying breath. With or without a title. ‘My mistake,’ she said. ‘I’d apologise, but I know your views on kissing in public.’

  The buffeting rush of wind heralding the arrival of a train prevented him from responding. But he looked as if he might have said—or done—a great deal. Instead, he took her arm as they boarded the train and, ignoring the scattered vacant seats, opted to stand by the door so that they could stay close.

  She reached for the safety grip, but he beat her to it, looping his arm about her waist, holding her against his chest to keep her from losing her footing as the train started. Keeping her there as it rattled through the tunnels.

  It felt so solid. So safe.

  Too safe.

  As the train drew into the next station, she said, ‘Let’s go.’