by Leslie Kelly
“And I greatly enjoy the entertainment provided by television.”
Oh, geez, had he ever noticed that. After their wild interlude in the shower, Olivia had gone back to treating him with friendly cordiality, as if he hadn’t had his hand between her legs that morning. Just like a visiting buddy, she’d harassed him into sitting down and watching the idiot box with her for most of the afternoon.
Wherever this country of hers was, they obviously had never gotten reruns of NYPD Blue. Olivia hadn’t been able to get enough of the show, seeming fascinated by the tough female cops depicted on it.
She’d been like a kid, almost bouncing in her seat, leaning forward to yell at the flat-screen, gobbling handfuls of popcorn. It was like she’d never seen a TV show before. Somehow he hadn’t minded wasting an entire beautiful Sunday afternoon explaining all about the NYPD and why the good guys couldn’t just shoot the bad guys dead when they caught them in the act.
Tough woman.
Tough woman who was also incredibly soft, sexy and, though she’d never want to admit it, vulnerable. Emotionally, anyway.
He’d been raised by a single mom whose outer shell had been hard as steel. Trying to prove to the world that Rafe’s father’s abandonment hadn’t determined the course of her life, she’d never showed weakness. Yet she’d missed her ex, who’d remarried and had another family, for years. Rafe knew it. As he grew older and saw she was driven by loneliness and regret, not toughness and anger, he began to understand how hard it would be to love someone who didn’t want you. Eventually, in the last few years, she had told him more than once that it was better to not even let that emotion creep into your heart if you were going to end up alone and broken.
Maybe that’s why he’d never allowed himself to fall completely in love. In like, yes. In lust, oh, certainly. But love? Hadn’t happened.
In that respect, he imagined he and Olivia were a lot alike. Both used to wearing a facade, not letting anyone get too close, never showing any emotion, even if they felt it.
Now, though, he suspected they both were feeling something. Desire, and maybe more. She definitely felt it, and so did he. He just didn’t know what they were going to do about it.
“This place is, indeed, merry,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “Better than the one last night.”
He looked around, seeing the laughing clientele, and realized she was right. Last night’s performance had been at a meat market. The atmosphere here was decidedly more… “Merry?”
“Yes. As you said last night. It’s a very gay club.”
Closing his eyes, he shook his head, wondering yet again if she was for real.
“Here you go,” a voice said. Their waiter set down two large glasses of beer, which Rafe had ordered.
Nodding her thanks, Olivia lifted one to her mouth and downed half of its contents in a long, deep gulp.
“Guess I don’t have to worry about you ordering froufrou chick drinks,” Rafe said with a grin, liking that she was so earthy, without an ounce of superficiality about her. Unlike any woman he’d ever met.
“That’ll be eight-fifty, unless you want to run a tab,” said the waiter, watching Olivia with shock and amusement.
Rafe reached for his wallet. Before he’d pulled it out, though, Olivia dug something out of the leather bag she’d insisted on tying around her wrist, and slapped it down onto the table.
The waiter picked the coin up and stared at it, puzzled. “What’s this? Some kind of Disney dollar?”
“Here,” Rafe said, handing the guy a ten and taking the coin back. Once the waiter had gone, he looked at the thing himself.
It was heavy, thick and a brackish-gold. Old and well-used, the coin had passed through many hands. None, he would venture, in this country. Not even at Disneyland.
“You act as if you have never seen money,” Olivia said.
“Not this type of coin, I haven’t.”
“You have coins here, though,” she insisted with a frown. “An unpleasant little man on one of your extremely large public conveyances demanded that I provide him with something called ‘exact change’ which, judging by what I saw other passengers use, I took to be some type of coinage.”
He slowly lowered the coin to the table, unable to do anything but stare at her, so serious, not wavering one inch from her story. So far, this whole adventure had seemed a bit nutty, but he’d always figured there was some rational explanation. Like she was from a teeny country that he’d never heard of, one that hadn’t entered the Internet age. Or even that this whole thing was a big, convoluted practical joke…one that included some seriously sexy side benefits.
Rational. Logical. Something he’d get to the bottom of sooner or later.
But he had begun to wonder. She was so unusual, everything about her, from her manner to her dress, to her speech, to the descriptions of her life. Olivia sometimes seemed to be from an entirely different world.
Or century.
He’d never been a big science fiction fan, but for a brief moment, he began to wonder about that whole time travel thing.
“Is the program about to begin?” she asked, interrupting his pensive thoughts.
Realizing the emcee had taken the stage, he replied, “Yeah. Let me know if it’s Ruprecht when he comes on, okay?”
“Very well.”
They fell silent, watching the first few performers. Olivia seemed fascinated by them, the brightly colored gowns, the wigs, and she clapped for one particularly good rendition of a Cher song performed by some guy calling himself Cher-ry.
“And now, one of our most popular newcomers to the San Francisco stage,” said the emcee, revving up the crowd. “Please give a warm welcome to that super-sexy royal, who gets down with the crown, it’s that wastrel from the castle…Prince Rupie!”
They both watched as a spotlight appeared on the center seam of the black curtain. The music started, some old torchy song, and a stockinged leg wearing a high-heeled shoe appeared in the pool of light.
“What is this?” Olivia asked, appearing confused.
“Shh,” someone hissed.
Stepping out from behind the curtain as he sang the first few notes of the song, “Prince Rupie” immediately wowed the crowd. He wore a silky purple gown, glittering gold shoes and a big, dark wig. His every move was over the top and grandiose.
If people thought he looked like this guy, Rafe really needed to join a gang and get some tattoos and scars or something. Then he forced himself to remember the dude was in full makeup, and costume. He suspected the state’s own intimidating governator could put on a dress and not be recognized immediately.
“I don’t understand,” Olivia whispered, looking at the stage. “Why is this woman calling herself Prince Rupie?”
That was when he realized she had no idea they were at a drag show. Or that all the other performers had been men, too.
“He’s playing a woman,” Rafe told her, keeping his voice low. “Pretending.”
She didn’t react at first, then her eyes grew hugely round. “Great Athena’s ghost, you’re saying that’s a man?”
“Quiet,” a voice snapped.
She turned her head and glared, her hand dropping to the sheathed knife at her hip. “Guard your tongue,” she ordered.
“Whoa there, warrior woman.” Rafe scooted his chair closer and put a hand over hers. “Relax. People just want to hear because they’re enjoying the show. And yes, the performers are all men.”
“All…you mean everyone who’s gone before?”
“Uh-huh. Like Prince Ruprecht there.”
“The devil you say!”
“I don’t know for sure. Do you recognize him?”
She forced her attention back toward the performer. “I do not know.”
“It’s okay. Let’s watch for a while, see if it comes to you.”
Falling silent, she did as he asked, never taking her eyes off the stage. Rafe had to admit, the guy was pretty good. He got the crowd worked up with his song. But it wa
sn’t until he finished singing and began to do a comedy schtick that he really got them rolling in the aisles.
“No,” she said, her mouth hanging open. “He’s…That’s…”
“Prince Ruprecht?”
She shook her head. “That’s Queen Verona. Only, it’s not, of course, it’s like a royal fool mimicking her!” Appearing bemused, she added, “And doing a good job of it.”
Rupie continued to crack jokes, doing an entire routine based on this vain, awful woman. Every word he said made Rafe glad she lived far away and he would never have to meet her. And the audience ate it up, hanging on his every word, bursting into loud peals of laughter several times.
Which apparently displeased the royal guard.
Murmuring a low curse, Olivia said, “It’s truly him, and they’re mocking him.” Her body had tensed and her chair squealed as she pushed it back from the table. “This cannot be tolerated.”
He grabbed her hand again. “Don’t do anything,” he insisted, knowing she was about to go all warrior bad-ass because the audience was roaring with laughter. She hadn’t realized they were doing it with her prince, not at him. “They love him.”
She looked around the room, not believing it.
“Trust me on this. We’ll go backstage and talk to him when he’s finished,” Rafe insisted. “Just don’t do anything to upset him now. Otherwise your job convincing him to go back with you is going to be a whole lot harder.”
“Very well,” she said, crossing her arms on the table in front of her, and leaning over it to stare at the stage. “But as soon as this is over, we go find Ruprecht.”
“All right,” he murmured, trying to keep her calm.
“He’d better be in a traveling mood,” she added. “And he’d better not be wearing a dress.”
* * *
“I WON’T GO!”
Prince Ruprecht swept his big wig off his big head, throwing it onto a table overflowing with cosmetics, perfumes and powders, and literally stomped one high-heel-clad foot. “I won’t. Do you hear me? And you can’t make me, Olivia Vanderbrook!”
“I’m going to kill him,” she muttered, taking a threatening step toward her prince, who’d started to whine the moment he’d seen her.
Rafe put a restraining hand on her arm and squeezed, holding her back before she did something foolish. “No, you’re not.”
“Fine. Get some rope.” She scowled at her monarch. “I’ll tie him up and drag him back.”
Ruprecht darted behind a chair, clutching it tightly and glaring right back at her. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would. Your mother is frantic.”
The man rolled his eyes. “She’s a drama queen.”
“Takes one to know one,” she snapped.
“Olivia, calm down, sweetheart. Why don’t we try sitting down and talking,” Rafe said, moving between her and Ruprecht, as if afraid she would do violence to the man.
She wouldn’t sit and talk, despite the nice term of endearment her handsome companion had uttered. She didn’t have time for talk. She merely wanted to tap Ruprecht in the jaw with her fist, knock him unconscious, dump him in a bag and go.
“Who are you?” Ruprecht asked, finally noticing the other man in the room. When Rafe turned around, the prince gasped in surprise. He stared into a face that looked just like his own—at least, when it wasn’t covered with that awful powder and paste, saying, “It’s you, isn’t it. You’re the one people think is me!”
“Vice versa, princey,” Rafe said, obviously not liking the comparison. Especially given the prince’s current appearance, complete with sparkling jewels on his ears, and what looked like thick, imitation hairs that clung to his half-lowered eyelids.
“My, you are a handsome fellow.” Ruprecht grinned, amused by his own wit. “One of the handsomest I’ve ever seen.”
“You have to come with me, Ruprecht,” Olivia said, gritting her back teeth, trying to sound placating rather than bossy. “Don’t you understand what’s at stake?”
“Don’t you?” Ruprecht asked, finally turning his attention back to Olivia. He blinked his eyes rapidly as if to prevent tears. That made one set of the silly false hairs flop halfway down to dangle in one eye.
“Oh, for Athena’s sake,” she groaned.
Ruprecht reached up and yanked the miniature hairpiece off. “I’m finally happy, the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”
She hesitated, believing him. Strange as it seemed to her, she knew this man, and she knew he meant it.
“I have friends—real ones. I love performing. I am even in the running for Amateur Drag Queen of the Year. In a few weeks’ time, I will be singing in front of hundreds of people and if I win that round, and go on to the state finals, I may actually get to perform on that marvelous invention they call television!”
Olivia had to concede, that was a little impressive.
“I could even go to nationals and become renowned across this whole, great land.”
Her lip curled. “For dressing up like a woman?”
“It’s a respected tradition here. There are entire movies—oh, mercy, Olivia, have you seen films yet? In a theater? It’s heaven!” he said, appearing rapturous. “There are classic ones starring the most brilliant performers of the age dressed up as women—like Robin Williams. And…and John Travolta.”
“You really enjoy this?”
“I do.” The prince’s eyebrows wagged up and down and he grinned. “And I’m good, aren’t I?”
She didn’t reply. No need to add to his already swelled head. Because despite the fact that he’d shocked her, and she hadn’t liked the whole concept, she had to admit, his performance had been quite entertaining.
His bottom lip pooched out. “If I go back now, and miss my chance, I’ll just die.”
Staring at the man, she saw he was entirely serious. He looked more passionate than she’d ever seen him.
About singing in public. To peasants. While wearing a dress. And impersonating his mother.
His mother.
“My prince, your mother sent me for your own good. If you do not return by your birthday, which is mere days away, you will lose your throne.”
Ruprecht must have heard the seriousness in her voice, because he finally came out from behind the chair and lowered himself onto it. “Truly?”
“Yes. I had it from the queen’s own mouth. If you are not crowned by your thirtieth birthday, your throne—and the entire kingdom—go to a distant cousin.” Knowing he had always enjoyed the cushy life, she added, “You will lose everything. The wealth, the palaces, the clothes, the stables.”
“My cape made of gold?”
“Midas himself couldn’t keep it from your successor.”
“And Lucy? My goose?”
“Along with all her golden eggs.”
He nibbled his bottom lip, and she knew she was reaching him. “I understand your position. It can be difficult to do one’s duty,” she said. “Coming here, leaving my troop, wasn’t easy for me. Yet I had no choice. You know my own family’s position is precarious. They will lose everything, too, should your line fall from power. I fear for them, as the queen fears for you.”
Beside her, she sensed Rafe staring, and realized she’d revealed a little too much about herself.
“I suppose,” Rupurecht murmured.
“I know you are enjoying your time here,” she said, keeping her voice low, calm. “But do you really want it to last forever? If you don’t go back now, you will have nothing to go back to.”
The prince looked at his reflection in the mirror, lit garishly by a number of round globes of light. Saying nothing, he reached for a cloth and began to wipe the cosmetics off, revealing his handsome face, bit by bit.
“I’ve been so happy,” he whispered. “I’ve found out who I really am.” Swallowing, he added, “I’ve even fallen in love.”
“Oh, Rupie,” she said, shaking her head sadly. The prince’s romantic difficulties were stuff of legend.
Everyone knew he’d spent years looking for his one true love. And while there had never been a romantic bone in Olivia’s body, she suddenly did feel deep sympathy for him at this additional woe.
“Jess will never forgive me if I don’t go through with the competition. One of my songs is a duet. If I don’t perform, Jess won’t be able to, either.”
He looked so bereft, so utterly crushed, it was all she could do not to reach out and put a consoling hand on his shoulder. Ruprecht had always been a silly thing, but he’d never been a bad person. Nor, she realized now, had he ever seemed truly happy. Spoiled, petted, yes. But none of that had ever brought the kind of excitement to him that she saw right now.
His one kind, loving parent had died when he was a child. In terms of upbringing, her own family life had been much more rich than his. She’d been cherished, while he’d had to live in Verona’s cold, wicked sphere.
“If only I had more time,” he said, sniffing.
Olivia met his stare in the reflection, seeing Rafe’s, too. He’d been silent throughout much of this conversation, though the frown on his brow said he’d heard—and didn’t understand much.
Now that Ruprecht had unadorned himself, the resemblance truly was uncanny. She noted Ruprecht’s thinner lips, the slightly weaker chin, but otherwise, they could be twins.
Ruprecht apparently noticed, too. He kept staring at his own reflection, then at Rafe’s. Until, suddenly, his mouth fell open, as if he’d been struck by a shocking idea. He quickly snapped it shut, spun around on his chair, rose to his feet and stood nose to nose with his double.
“You could go in my place!”
Her whole body tensing, Olivia frowned at the arrogant prince, so used to controlling the lives of other people.
Rafe, on the other hand, merely started to laugh.
“I mean it,” Ruprecht insisted. “I’ll pay you handsomely. We look so much alike, no one would ever know.”
“Yeah, right,” said Rafe with a snort, not realizing the prince was entirely serious. “Not even your mother?”
“The only way she’d be certain is if she saw you didn’t have my lavender birthmark on your posterior. And it would be a simple enough matter to draw it on.”