Chapter Twelve
The one good thing about the Global Learning Preparatory Academy, aside from their generous catering budgets on teacher workdays, was the copious amounts of school breaks. GLPA took every holiday off, and that included all religious and cultural observances. The powers that be at the school were overly cautious as to not offend any of their enrolled families who happily forked over the high-priced admission fees and tuition.
This long weekend of a Thursday and Fridday off were courtesy of United Nations Day. Though not a National American holiday, it was instituted by the UN which asked its member countries to celebrate. The United States did the courtesy of putting the day on the calendar but didn’t upgrade it to the federal level.
Banks would be open. Parking meters would still tick. Most public schools would be open, but not GLPA. The students and staff would take those two days to celebrate the diversity of its school population by staying home. Surprisingly, the working parents at GLPA weren’t pleased.
“Miss Picket.”
Esme took a deep, calming breath at the grating sound of Principal Clarke’s voice. She glanced over her shoulder, only offering her profile and not her full attention. The move cranked the nape of her neck.
“Are you sure you can’t work during the break?” he asked walking toward her.
This year, one of the parents, Aubrey Thomas’s mother, had suggested that during some of the breaks, like this one, the school offer supplementary learning programs for their students. The new program came with a nice bonus check for those teachers who offered their services. Esme had considered it, but that was before … the thing.
“Most of our staff have husbands and children,” Principal Clarke continued. “They’ll be celebrating their own unions. And you …” He cleared his throat and looked down.
The pain in her neck increased in the unnatural twist, but she didn’t turn to face him. She was headed out the door and not looking back. She needed these extra days to recuperate.
Esme had gotten herself a stack of books, loaded up her Amazon Prime video shelf with Jane Austen movie adaptations, and was prepared for a girls’ weekend with Jan.
Along with pie. There would be lots of pie. It was just what she needed to get over the thing that would never be with a king that was beyond her realm.
Starting this weekend when, whenever she saw Colin Firth’s face or Hugh Grant’s face, she would picture Leo’s dark, good looks. When the movies faded to black after a proper happily ever after, she’d likely cry. But at least she could press rewind and experience the feelings all over again on repeat.
That would not be happening in real life as the king of her dreams was likely on a plane to a faraway land. He hadn’t run after her as she entered the elevator. He hadn’t been standing outside her door this morning. He hadn’t come to the pie shop at lunch. It was over.
“I’m afraid I’m unavailable, Principal Clarke. I’ll see you next week.” And with that, Esme untwisted herself and reached for the door. Unfortunately, the pain in her neck didn’t cease.
“Before I forget,” he called after her, “this was just sent over this morning.”
The envelope he handed her had the mark of Cordoba; a regal lion with its claws extended that had the lower body of a fish. Esme’s heart skipped a beat. Maybe it wasn’t a dream after all. Maybe it was her invitation to the ball this weekend at Cordoba’s Union Day. It was a fat envelope. A goodbye, just like a college rejection letter, would be thin.
She stepped outside and carefully peeled at the corners of the delicate envelope. She wanted to keep it as a memento of how their love story began. But little tears heeded her progress. Until finally, she tore the expensive paper apart.
A short note tumbled out. When she opened it, she saw the neat script.
Thank you for the math and cooking lesson, HRH Penelope Antoinette Marguerite Almeria.
A cookie tumbled out of the envelope as well. Nothing else.
Esme flipped the note over. Nothing.
She turned the torn envelope inside out. Nothing.
She peered again at the neat, grammatically perfect script. Could a five-year-old write this? Penelope was exceptional for her age. Maybe her father had helped her? Maybe he had written it? But wouldn’t he have signed it too?
But he hadn’t. She was back at square one. Literally. She’d walked the two blocks from the school to the pie shop and now stood on the street where she and Leo had first met.
She waited for the walk sign, looking up and down at the cars stopped at the light. There were no dragon cleaning trucks in sight. No royal town cars, either. It was safe to cross.
Esme pushed through the pie shop doors. She needed a savory treat and fast. But she came up short once inside.
A familiar dark head leaned his body against the counter. His dark hair lay in haphazard waves on his regal head. His hazel eyes sparkled with delight, but also a hint of mischief. He turned and gave Esme a brilliant smile that would’ve dazzled the common woman. Esme was unfazed.
“Your majesty.” Esme stopped before the royal figure and executed an awkward bow.
“No,” said Prince Alexander. “I’m not majestic. Just highness. But please, don’t call me that out in public here in America. It’s just Alex amongst friends.”
Friends? When had that happened? He’d barely spoken a few sentences to her.
“What are you doing here, Alex?” Esme looked around. But there was no dark haired king tucked away in any of the pie shop’s booths.
“I’m trying to convince our other friend here to enter a pie making contest.”
“Pie making contest?” Esme looked to Jan and couldn’t help but smile.
The two women stood before a real live prince, a charming one at that. But neither of them were swooning. Not Esme, because she had other interests. Not Jan, because she had no interest.
With Jan’s history, Esme seriously doubted the pie maker would ever find herself in another relationship that didn’t involve blended butter and dough. If Prince Alex was looking to get Jan’s help by using something other than his magnetic personality, it wouldn’t hold, because Jan was not attracted.
“As you know, bisteeva is the national dish of Cordoba,” he laid out the facts. “There’s an annual pie making contest happening this weekend. It comes with major bragging rights for the winner.”
“You want me to give you my recipe?” asked Jan.
“No, no,” Alex laughed. “I can’t cook in the competition.”
“Why not?” asked Jan. Her right eyebrow tilted up in suspicion as though she smelled something foul. Since being left at the altar a couple years ago, Jan had developed a truly infallible bologna meter.
“I …” The Prince of Cordoba faltered, looking unsure of himself probably for the first time in his life.
“From the five-minute conversation we just had,” said Jan, “you seem to certainly know your way around food.”
“I do.” He smiled, almost sheepishly. And in the same instant, the sheep went home, and the roguish wolf came back out to play. “But I can’t enter the contest. I’m a prince. So each year, I scour the globe to find the best pastry chef to enter this competition. I had Joseph Hayden lined up but—”
“Joseph Hayden?” Jan’s skeptical facade slipped, and her eyes went as wide as a pie tin. “James Beard award-winning chef Joseph Hayden?”
Like a fisherman who knew he had hooked something on his line, Alex leaned closer and tugged. “After tasting your pie the other day, I called and told him I’d found my ringer.”
“Me?” Jan pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m your ringer?”
“But of course, if you don’t feel up to it …” Alex leaned back and shoved his hands in his pockets. His eyes fell to Esme. “And of course, your friend can come too.”
Oh, he was good. He was very good. So good that Esme danced on his string and pulled Jan aside.
“You know we’re going,” she said.
“I
can’t leave the country,” said Jan. “I have a business to run. Besides, neither of us can afford it.”
“Did I mention it’s at no expense to either of you,” said Alex. “I’ll fly you out for the weekend. You can stay in the castle as my guest.”
In the castle? With the king?
“Oh,“ Alex continued. “I should also make you aware that there is a monetary prize for winning the competition. It’s small. I believe just five grand or so.”
Jan truly resembled a fish out of water. Her mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. Esme knew her friend needed the money. Despite how much customers loved her pies, she just didn’t have enough business these days.
“You’d retain it all,” said Alex. “I just want the bragging rights. The Duke of Mondego and I have a bit of a rivalry, you see.”
“Duke?” said Esme. “There are kings, princes, and dukes in Cordoba?”
“Dukes, marquises, earls, viscounts, barons, lords and ladies we have them all. And, I know a certain princess would be delighted if a certain kindergarten teacher came.”
Alex turned his attention to Esme as if she needed more convincing. She was already planning her wardrobe.
“You’ve made quite the impression on Pea,” he said. “Those cookies were the best math I’ve ever tasted. What do you two say?”
Esme looked to Jan. She pleaded with her eyes. When Jan still hesitated, Esme pressed her hands together in prayer.
Finally, Jan sighed. “Two tickets to paradise.”
“Pack your bags, we leave tonight,” said Alex. “You’ve got about six hours before wheels up on the royal jet. Plenty of time to get your affairs in order.”
The two women looked at each other in horror, true doubt finally crossing both of their faces. Plenty of time for a man to pack, maybe. But two single women going overseas to a land filled with royalty? This was a crisis fit for a fairy godmother. Unfortunately, neither Esme nor Jan had one.
Chapter Thirteen
“Here, let me help you with that.”
Leo reached for Lady Teresa’s designer luggage. He considered himself a strong man. He had never been the type of monarch to simply sit on a throne. He was an active man and visited the gym every day. Sure, the gym was an actual gymnasium in the west wing of his castle. So, there should be no trouble with him lifting a woman’s suitcase.
He gripped the handle of the suitcase and gave a tug. It did not budge. He gave it a shove in an attempt to tilt it onto its rolling wheels. It stayed upright. Before he could wonder if the future Duchess of Almodovar had made off with an American bronzed statue, she stayed his hand.
“No need,” she said. “My father’s valet’s got it.”
The valet in question, a strapping man with muscles bulging out of his dark jacket, used two fingers to tip the case over on its side. Then he picked it up, one handed, and carried both it and Lady Teresa’s slightly smaller carry-on away.
Leo rubbed at his arms. He may have given the muscles there a squeeze just to make sure they were still there. Luckily, Teresa had missed that display, or lack thereof, of royal masculinity. Her nose was in her handheld, tapping away.
“Are you sure I can’t give you a ride across the pond?” Leo chucked his thumb toward his private jet. Spain was just a hop, skip, and a jump from Cordoba.
“No need,” said Teresa, without looking up. “I’ve got my own family jet.” She chucked her own thumb at the jet next to his. Then she tapped a few more keys on her phone. “And I’ve got to stop over in London for an afternoon meeting with Sir Jorge Barry.”
“Ah, Jorgey. I know him. We went to school together.”
“I know him too. We dated a few years back or so.” With a few more taps on her phone, she finally slid the device in her purse and looked up. Her head tilted to the side like an inquisitive bird. “Don’t tell me you’re the jealous type?”
“No, I’m not.”
He wasn’t. Not jealous, anyway. He struggled to understand what he was feeling.
Perhaps annoyance. But why?
Leo glanced up at the valet handing the luggage into the aircraft. One handed. He looked down at the highly successful, highly connected woman he was considering making his wife.
Did she even need him at all? What exactly was he bringing into this merger? Other than his title, lands, and waterways?
“I’m very excited about our venture,” she said. “I look forward to getting to know you better, your majesty.”
“You can call me Leo.”
“I will now that I have your permission. Leo.”
Lady Teresa grinned. It was a lovely grin. She was a lovely woman.
They were still strangers. It would take time for them to become comfortable with one another. Leo had had years with his first wife. He needed to give this new courtship a few weeks, maybe even months.
“So, I’ll see you in a couple of days for the gala,” she said, pulling her phone from her purse and tapping buttons once more.
“I’ll be the one in the crown,” he said.
Lady Teresa looked up. She tilted her head to the side again and blinked.
“It was a joke,” he said.
“I know,” she smiled. “I just assumed you were a serious man.”
“I let my hair down every once in a while.”
She laughed at that causing Leo to grin. Thank goodness she had a sense of humor. Not that Leo cracked a lot of jokes. But he did want a different relationship this time, a warm one.
Maybe it wouldn’t take as long as he thought for them to become comfortable with one another. Maybe they could even start right now. When they’d said goodnight last night it had been with a curtsey on her part and a kiss to the knuckles on his. Maybe this time, it could be more.
Leo leaned in.
Lady Teresa blinked. Her head straightened. Then tilted.
Leo tilted his head to the opposite side so that when he landed, his lips would perfectly align with hers. But at the same moment, Lady Teresa straightened her head.
It was a slow descent. And just like a plane coming in for a rocky landing and needing air traffic control to guide their wings, Leo and Teresa spent a little bit of time with their heads tilting slightly left, then right, until …
How could their teeth meet before their lips? Then their noses mashed. All before their lips even met. It had to have been the worst kiss in history.
It was too late to adjust. Leo pulled back as she leaned forward. Now they both were leaning back. At least the crash landing had left no casualties.
“That was awkward,” Lady Teresa said.
“Yeah,” he grimaced.
“But better than my first kiss with Jorgey.”
It lightened the mood, but Leo was still horrified. “I shouldn’t have assumed I even could kiss you,” he said. “A ride to the airport isn’t exactly a first date.”
“In our world, a limo ride to my jet is the high point of courtship.”
“Now we’re going promenading around the park, but we’ll be in international airspace.”
Lady Teresa smiled at that. She did have a lovely smile. She leaned in again. This time, Leo held his ground, uncertain exactly where this was going.
Teresa pressed her lips just to the side of his mouth. Leo breathed her in. There was that pleasant scent again, of warm cinnamon. He could easily get used to it. He could be content to spend the rest of his days breathing it in. He could look forward to feeling her slightly firm lips pressed just off to the side of his. They would have a good life, a comfortable partnership.
“Safe travels, Leonidas.”
“You too, Teresa.”
He watched her walk away and into her jet. The belly of the gray beast swallowed her up and began its taxi. His possible betrothed was traveling on her own steel horse. Leo turned to his.
But not before giving America one last look. The sky was a riot of purples and pinks as day turned to night. The sun was fast setting on this adventure. It was time to get back to
his real world, tucked away on an island paradise filled with royal responsibilities.
He nodded to the pilot as he boarded the plane. His support staff always sat at the front of the plane while he and his family occupied the back. He hadn’t traveled with much staff on this venture, just Giles, a few security personnel, and an aide to help with Penelope. Most of them were already on board and inclined their heads as he passed.
As he made his way back to his section, the aisle was blocked with a huge piece of luggage that would never fit into the overhead compartment. A woman with a shapely figure struggled with another case that was of similar size, trying to shove it in.
As Leo reached up to help her, her case fell. Instead of reaching for the case, he reached for her, pulling her out of harm’s way and into his arms. The moment his skin touched hers, warmth spread through him at the contact, like the sun dawning on a new day.
“Esme?”
“Hey, Leo.”
Chapter Fourteen
Esme saw stars. Tiny little bits of fireworks rained down before her eyes like those handheld sparkles on the Fourth of July. Little, blue songbirds chirped a lulling love song in her ears. Her entire body tingled with electricity. All from being back inside Leo’s embrace.
He gazed down at her. In his hazel eyes, she saw sparkles reflecting back at her. He let out a tiny sigh that sounded every bit like a bird’s song. The touch of his finger pads on her bare skin made her wonder if they were flying too close to the sun.
Esme hadn’t imagined it. There it was, standing between them. The thing.
Leo’s gaze dipped to her lips in the universal language of I desperately want to kiss you.
But he didn’t kiss her. He blinked. Then he righted her, placing her feet firmly back on the ground. He took a step back until he was on the opposite side of the aisle from her.
Behind him in the window, Esme saw that night had fallen. Lights of other planes taking off and descending lit up the sky. Chirps and beeps came from the pilots preparing in the cockpit. The air had come on in the private plane producing the goosebumps on her arm.
The King And The Kindergarten Teacher (The Rebel Royals Series Book 1) Page 7