Unforgettable Christmas - Gifts of Love (The Unforgettables Book 3)

by Mimi Barbour

  “As if I could ever forget it.” His autocratic grandfather had insisted they drill the family motto into his brain before teaching him to talk. Nothing had changed...although Paul was almost thirty years old. Bitterness invaded his soul. Now Prince Edward wanted to impose his own choice of a bride on Paul.

  “I am fed up with seeing tabloid gossip featuring your picture with unsuitable women. Understood?” The sick prince spat the last word at the top of his voice then grasped his chest and collapsed back on his chair.

  “Grandpa? Grandpa?” Instantly on alert, Paul scolded himself. He shouldn’t resent his grandfather for trying to shield their country from problems. Prince Edward might not have long to live. “DeBow, call his doctor.”

  “I just did,” the Chief of Security answered.

  “Will you make an effort and meet her?” Edward groaned when his coughing subsided.

  Suppressing his irritation, Paul stared at the old man who had always treated him with love and kindness, if not understanding, and mentally cursed his grandfather’s insistence. “Yes, I will meet the descendant of that princess. Just to please you, Grandpa.” Rensy Island needed him. And his grandfather had the right to die peacefully.

  And then?

  My Duty Before My Right. There was a long way between meeting a prospective bride and marrying her.

  My Duty And My Right, Paul amended with a fierce look at the coats of arms.

  His duty to protect the future of Rensy Island. His right to fall in love and marry a woman who loved him.

  Would it be possible to reconcile the two?

  Chapter One

  The doorbell chime prompted a happy smile on Amy Tyrone’s face. For a change, her boyfriend was five minutes early, rather than his usual ten minutes late. A last glance at the small round table adorned with a vase of three red roses and white baby’s breath reassured her of a fun evening and a happy turning point in her life and Scott’s.

  Oh God the candles. Amy had almost forgotten them. She cracked the lighter and touched the flame to the two wicks. Satisfied by the cozy ambiance and the flowery scent floating in her living room, she strode to the door, and on her way tossed a look at the hallway mirror. All was perfect, hair, lipstick, dress, and of course the dinner and wine.

  Amy opened the door wide, ready to throw herself into Scott’s arms.

  Her smile fell. “Mom?” Rooted in place, she almost blocked the entrance. “How come...?”

  “Hi sweetie. Incredible news.” Puffing with excitement, Heather Tyrone kissed Amy’s cheek and eased inside the living room. “I just couldn’t break it to you on the phone. Listen to this—”

  “Can we talk later?” Amy had trouble keeping her feet from stomping the floor.

  “Just let me tell you about—”

  “Not now. Scott will be here any time.”

  “Ah.” Her mother glanced at the table decked out with a red tablecloth and new fancy blue and yellow plates, and she arched a dubious eyebrow. “Your super-duper Dr. Scott Pratt?”

  “Mom, stop. Scott loves me and I love him.”

  “If you say so. I hope he deserves this romantic dinner. Is he going to propose tonight?”

  “He may.” I hope. “Anyway, tonight we’ll be celebrating the end of my residency in Pediatrics and his new appointment to attending surgeon. For your information, he’s agreed to come to Paris with me for a two-week vacation.”

  “Great. I can’t wait to congratulate you.” Her mother’s plain tone belied her words. Still in her early fifties, Heather Tyrone radiated self-confidence and was not easy to brush aside.

  “Can you leave now? I’ll call you right away with my big news and you’ll tell me about yours.”

  Heather shrugged with an unconvinced look at the table and walked to the door. “If you have big news,” she muttered but stopped short when Amy’s phone chimed.

  “Scott, where are you? Downstairs?”

  “No, still at Mass General. I have great news.”

  Amy’s heart hammered against her ribs. Great news? Why was he still lingering at the hospital? Maybe because Scott never refused to volunteer for difficult cases and always put his work ahead of everything. Not that she blamed him when she herself had worked day and night to fulfill her dream and obtain a highly coveted fellowship in Pediatric Urgent Care at Harvard Medical Center.

  Yet tonight of all nights, he should have been here on time. They hadn’t seen each other for two weeks and she’d sacrificed three precious hours to prepare a special dinner.

  “What news, Scott?” She braced herself for an explanation she might not like.

  Two pieces of great news in ten minutes sounded like too much to swallow for Amy.

  “Dr. Leinshteen who’ll be my new boss at RIUH, I mean Rhode Island University Hospital, twisted his ankle. He can’t go to the American Surgeons Association cruise conference in the Bahamas. So he asked me to replace him and present his talk.”

  “When?” The laconic question painfully squeezed past the lump in her throat.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow for a week. I’ll meet him at his house tonight to receive his papers and discuss the details.”

  “What about our dinner? What about our vacation in Paris?”

  “Amy, I’m talking about the ASA cruise conference. A once-in-a-lifetime chance for a new attending surgeon. I hope you understand this is way more important than a dinner or a trip to Paris.”

  “Yes, but...” A rush of anger erupted in her chest. “You promised you’d come with me and now—”

  “No big deal. We’ll do it later.” His flat tone stabbed her more sharply than a surgical knife. “You should be proud of me and support my career.”

  “I do, Scott. But we’ve been together for four years. We can’t keep on putting our careers ahead of our lives, of...” She swallowed a surge of tears and inhaled. “Of our happiness.”

  “Chill out, Amy, you know I love you. I’ll ask Dr. Leinshteen to find you a fellowship at RIUH. And we’ll get married as soon as you move to my new hospital.”

  “Do you expect me to trade Harvard for Rhode Island?” Her voice rose a notch or two.

  “To be with me, yes.”

  Pain pinched her insides. Yes, she would have followed him if he’d offered a promise and a ring. But he never seemed in a rush to be with her. Would she have to spend her life understanding and putting his career ahead of her life?

  “So your priorities are your conference and then...”

  “My new position of course.”

  “And exactly when will we get married?”

  “First you have to move to Rhode Island. We’ll get engaged and plan accordingly.”

  “How romantic.” She fisted her fingers and took a deep breath to control her frustration. “We’ve talked about this trip to Paris for three years. When can we go?”

  “I don’t know, Amy. It’s not a priority. In a year or two. When we are settled in our new positions.”

  “I see.” What she clearly saw was her future as Mrs. Pratt—a docile wife expected to understand her mighty surgeon husband and his selfish ambition. No sir, she was Dr. Amy Tyrone, a pediatrician in her own right, with ambitious goals to achieve too. “Well, I have news for you. I’ve studied as hard as you and passed the same exams. From now on, I’ll focus on my career, not on yours. Besides, I’m going to Paris as planned in a week.”

  “Amy, stop acting like an immature child.”

  “Goodbye, Scott.” She tapped her phone off and closed her eyes, trying to recover her composure. A few seconds later, she turned toward her beautiful table and caught a glimpse of her mother near the door, watching her with concern.

  “I’m sorry, Amy.” Her mother didn’t add anything else, but came to hug her.

  “Would you like to have dinner with me? I cooked a delicious roast and green beans. And I have a great wine.”

  “I’d love to. Pour the wine, sweetheart. I’ll bring the roast.”

  Amy’s phone rang. She glanced at
the screen. Scott again. “What is it now?”

  “I’m sorry, Amy. The last thing I want to do is upset you. I love you.”

  Typical Scott. “I know. I love you too.”

  Unfortunately, he loved his career more.

  “I have to leave tomorrow. But I’ll see you next week. I promise. Love you, babe.” He ended the call, probably sure he’d convinced her to passively wait for him to return from his cruise conference.

  A moment later, Amy joined her mother at the table and filled their glasses with the white Chablis. Heather raised her glass. “To your Paris trip.”

  “So you think I should go?” She tortured her lip, hardly able to imagine herself ambling through Paris without Scott. Would she jeopardize a four-year relationship with a handsome successful doctor she loved for a two-week trip to Paris?

  “Absolutely.” Mom sipped her wine and smiled. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Seriously? I’d love to have you with me.” She plastered a smile on her lips but averted her gaze. Twenty-eight years old and going on a dream vacation to Paris with her mother because her almost-fiancé had dumped her for a conference. How exciting.

  Her mom gulped a big sip and slowly lowered her glass to the table. “Amy.” Heather’s eyes roved over her. “Remember how Grandma Tyrone used to tell you stories about her grandmother’s island?”

  “Yes, the fairytales about being a princess from a European island.” She shrugged. As if she had time to reminisce about the anecdotes issued from her grandmother’s fertile imagination. “Dad often told me not to believe those crazy stories.”

  “Because Dad wanted you to have a career and count on yourself. And you did. But it was true, Amy. Every word is true.” Heather’s voice cracked with emotion. “Rensy Island exists, off the shores of England and France, in the English Channel. Your father’s ancestor was a real princess who refused to marry the old groom chosen by her father and ran away with her handsome lover. He became a pirate and they ended up in America.”

  “Oh Mom.” Amy snorted. How like Heather to try to cheer her up by diverting the conversation. “You’re as good as Grandmother Tyrone at weaving fabulous tales.”

  Heather tented her fingers on the edge of the table. “Sweetheart, two days ago, the Chief of Security of Rensy Island, Mr. DeBow, came to visit me.”

  “No way.”

  “He informed me that you need to go to his country to claim your inheritance before their hundred-year defect rule applies.” Heather’s serious tone of voice contradicted the craziness of her allegations.

  “What inheritance?” Amy pinned her mother with a challenging look.

  “A mansion and the estate around it.”

  “Mom, have you been drinking?” Amy asked sullenly.

  Heather flipped her hand in dismissal and opened her purse. “Look what he gave me.” She dug out the photo of a splendid mansion surrounded by green acres against the backdrop of the ocean.

  Amy studied the picture and shook her head. “Amazing... Incredible... So that was your big news?”

  Heather nodded. “Turn the card.”

  Amy did and read the elegant script.

  Dear Dr. Amy Tyrone,

  We are expecting you in Charlesburg and hope you will honor us with your presence in the near future.

  Best regards,

  Edward III, Prince of Rensy Island.

  “Oh. My. God.” She blinked a few times and re-read the short missive.

  “Isn’t it fabulous?” Her mother’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I’ll go to Paris with you, and then we’ll continue to Rensy Island to claim your inheritance. Think of it as a well-deserved vacation after all your hard work.”

  “Absolutely crazy but...” Still dazed, Amy chuckled with derision. “What have I got to lose?” Scott would be in the Bahamas, enjoying himself. She might as well do the same.

  Anyway, she needed space and a change of scenery to evaluate her relationship with her elusive boyfriend. A man who expected her to ignore her career and dreams for the sake of his own ambitions. Was he the right man for her?

  ~*~

  His phone in hand, Paul paced the crowded greeting area at Charles de Gaulle Airport and paused every few minutes to peer at the arriving travelers, ready to mentally dissect the woman his grandfather and his Chief of Security were trying to shove down his throat.

  Some fifty yards away, Raymond DeBow stood in the first row of the crowd waiting to welcome the international passengers. His eyes never wavered from the door that would soon open to admit his American guests while he fanned his sweating forehead with a sign reading Dr. Amy Tyrone. To think the snake had refused to show Paul a picture of his intended.

  After combing every Internet site, from Facebook to Twitter and Instagram, and Googling her name a dozen times in vain, Paul had concluded that the woman was terrified of displaying her face on social networks. Not the best reference in the eyes of a man quite accustomed to dating gorgeous women.

  Hidden behind a pillar, Paul glanced at his watch once more. By now, Dr. Tyrone and her mother had had ample time to clear customs and collect their luggage. The huge door swung wide, admitting a throng of travelers dragging carry-ons. Among them, a young woman with a backpack on her shoulders stopped to exchange words with another passenger.

  Dressed in blue jeans and a black turtleneck, her face free of makeup, and a childish golden ponytail swaying as she laughed, the lovely visitor caught Paul’s interest. Too bad she had a male escort. Paul would have loved to meet her.

  His attention returned to DeBow and his eyebrows arched with curiosity. The Chief of Security was conversing with a stunning middle-aged woman. Paul strode around a group and craned his neck to get a better glimpse of her face. Probably the mother. Hoping her daughter might look like her, he scanned the surroundings. Where was she? A few minutes later, the young woman he had previously admired approached DeBow.

  Could the attractive blonde who looked like a teenager starting college be the serious Dr. Tyrone who had no time to spare for social media?

  To verify this pleasant assumption, Paul pulled out his phone and called DeBow. “Are these women our expected guests?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take them to the George V Hotel. I will catch up with you in the lobby.”

  Their gazes met over the crowd. DeBow gave a curt nod and turned to his visitors.

  Relief and delight mingled in Paul’s heart and he flashed a satisfied grin at the thought his duty to his country offered an enjoyable fringe benefit.

  Rubbing his neck to relieve a nervous itch, he called Prince Edward. “Grandpa, rest assured I will do everything in my power to comply with your wishes and serve our principality. I am ready to meet Dr. Amy Tyrone.” And date her.

  Anticipation raced through his blood. For the first time in his life, he had felt a spark of attraction at first sight.

  Paul threw a last glance at the Chief of Security and caught sight of the two men in blue jeans and T-shirts following the little group. DeBow had already assigned secret service protection to the young woman destined to be a spouse to the heir of Rensy Island. Not wasting time, Paul rushed to the garage, with his own bodyguards, Greg and Brad, right behind him.

  Too many unwanted observers to witness his meeting with the pretty Dr. Amy. Talk about a romance killer. Paul exhaled in annoyance, knowing it would not be easy to get rid of his watchdogs.

  As they approached the black Bentley that had arrived on the ferry with them, Greg opened the back door for Paul and settled in the front next to Brad who drove away.

  “Where to, Your Highness?”

  “Straight to the Prince de Galles Hotel where we will check in.”

  Later, Brad dropped him in front of the hotel he frequented when visiting Paris. His black glasses concealing part of his face, he nodded at the concierge who recognized him and bowed with a toothy grin. While waiting for Greg to handle the room reservations and Brad to park the car, Paul paced the sidewalk in front of
the hotel and surveyed the long avenue, checking his phone for any messages.

  “Your room keys, sir,” Greg said. “Please call us when you decide to go out and need the car.”

  “You go rest. I may see you in a couple of hours,” Paul replied evasively and then strolled the few yards separating him from the nearby George V Hotel where his American guests would stay. With a glance over his shoulder, he sighed in frustration. Far from resting, Greg and Brad followed at a decent distance. As he drew near the revolving door of the sumptuous hotel, he noticed a black Bentley similar to his car approaching the curb.

  A text message from the Chief of Security blinked on Paul’s cell.

  Problems. Dr. Amy said she can’t accept our prince’s hospitality. And she can’t afford to pay for it. Advise.

  Paul texted: Just get them out for a drink. I’ll take over. Introduce me as their tour guide.

  Their what!!!!! Too many exclamation points punctuated DeBow’s answer.

  Paul chuckled, but didn’t bother explaining the reasons for his charade in a text message.

  Soon the Chief of Security would understand and remember too many beauties had fallen into the arms of Prince Paul, heir to a prosperous principality. Eager to become a princess, every woman he had taken out had immediately responded to his amorous attentions, or even initiated them. If he was going to marry, Paul wanted to be sure his future wife was in love with him—not with the crown of Rensy Island.

  To keep his promise to Prince Edward, Paul concentrated on his new plan of action and focused an eagle eye on the American guests. The mother stepped out first, turned her head right and left, and smiled ear-to-ear. Dr. Amy slid to the edge of the back seat and lowered her feet to the ground, but remained in place. Paul came forward to better look inside the car and observe her reaction. And what a reaction. Her jaw sagged, her eyes rounded. She shook her head and brought her legs back inside the car.

  Time for him to interfere. He removed his dark glasses, sidled by the Chief of Security and approached the car. “Dr. Tyrone, welcome to Paris.”

  “Hu...who—”