By the time I reached the client’s address, I was feeling confident and optimistic. I stopped outside an iron gate, not leading to a subdivision but a private road. I had to speak into an intercom, very much like going through the drive-through lane at the bank, and it didn’t surprise me to see a camera mounted near the intercom. When the gate opened I drove through it and down a long circular drive a quarter mile long. The mansion at the end of the drive took my breath away, a large Spanish-style house in white stucco with a red tile roof, with trees, well-shaped shrubs, and colorful flowers blooming all over the landscape. I parked my car at the edge of the circular drive and deeply inhaled the scent-filled air as I alighted. The attractive landscaping reminded me of that at the house I’d inherited in Houston, although this arrangement was spread out over a larger space.
I paused to look at the various species in the flower garden. I would have loved if I could have stood and observed it for a few minutes, but a tough-looking man had come out of the house and stood wearing a rather impatient scowl. I walked briskly in my pumps toward the front door, showing my ID to the scowling security guard before he allowed me to enter.
As soon as I stepped inside the interior of the home, I saw it was an older structure, probably dating back to the nineteen twenties. This was every interior designer’s dream, to inject modern décor into a vintage house while maintaining its period charm. The living room alone measured at least fifteen by twenty-five feet. It clearly needed a decorator’s touch, as the current décor was very eighties. I smiled as I imagined how magnificent it would look by the time I was done with it. Even with the outdated décor, the atmosphere dripped with wealth and class. The notes I’d been handed by the administrative assistant had stated the client wanted only a few rooms redecorated. Just who was this César Hernandez, anyway?
Sitting on one of the rather lumpy floral sofas in the living room as I had been directed, I nervously fiddled with my phone as I waited for the client. After three or four minutes, I heard footsteps in the otherwise quiet mansion. I rose to my feet as the client appeared through the arched doorway and approached me. His name had rung no bells in my mind, but in my time as a designer I had learned there were plenty of anonymous wealthy people, not just celebrities. Whoever he was, he exuded power and class as he strode toward me with confident steps. He wore camel-colored linen slacks and a button-down white shirt. I noticed how wavy and shiny his thick, side-parted jet-black hair was. Everything about him screamed wealth. He had to be at least six feet four inches in height. At five feet four inches in heels, I felt dwarfed next to him.
“Charlotte Rae from Davina Décor.” I introduced myself as soon as he moved closer to me, stretching my hand toward him for a handshake in a businesslike manner.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he stated in an accented, deep baritone voice that vibrated through the living room as he shook my outstretched hand. “And a good morning to you, too.”
My face grew warm as I realized that in my haste to make a good first impression, I had overlooked the basic pleasantries.
“Oh! I’m sorry. Good morning, Mr. Hernandez.” I chuckled. “I, um, guess I’m a little nervous.”
His eyes met mine before his eyes roamed over my entire body. Sliding his eyes back to mine, he gave me an appreciative rakish grin.
“Normally I avoid working with novices, but with you being so beautiful I’ll make an exception, Miss Rae. It is Miss, isn’t it?” he brazenly added.
I felt warmth rush to my cheeks at his open appraisal and flirtatious manner. “Yes, it is Miss,” I managed to respond, adding, “Thank you,” while I looked around the room, wanting to avoid his direct intense stare. What was wrong with me, getting all jittery just because he complimented me?
“Allow me to fully introduce myself as well,” he said. “I am César Hernandez, Hereditary Prince of Girona.”
My mouth dropped open. He’s a prince! I was in the presence of royalty. That explained the affluence that surrounded me, his air of refinement…and his sexy accented speech. Girona, he’d said. I’d heard of it. If I recalled correctly, it was on the Iberian Peninsula, surrounded by Spain. Uber-wealthy Europeans and Americans vacationed there, enjoying the mountains in the winter and the sea in the summer. I took a deep breath to quell my nervousness. “I didn’t know,” I admitted.
“I was deliberately vague when I contacted your firm.”
“Um, how should I address you, sir?” I hadn’t been prepared for this. I wish he’d mentioned this when he called the office asking for a consultation. But of course, if he had, the assignment would have gone to one of the senior designers, not to me. “Your Serene Highness?” I guessed.
He laughed, amused by my discomfort. “I believe in following local customs, whether I’m in Girona or New York.”
“In that case, Mr. Hernandez,” I replied. “Now, about the redecorating,” I prompted, deciding our conversation should return to my reason for being here. “My notes say you are looking for a partial redecoration.”
“Yes, I thought I’d start with the rooms I use the most. I plan to stay in residence while the work is being done.”
“I see.” I put on my best professional voice. “Why don’t we begin by you showing me which rooms you’d like me to redesign?”
“I’d like you to see the entire house, just to get a feel for it.” The Prince waved a hand. “Shall we?”
I nodded my head in agreement, bringing my notepad and pen so I could take notes. It was indeed a vast home, and I found myself glad he had chosen to redecorate only part of it. It would be a massive project for Davina Décor had he wished to have the entire home done, so massive that the budget would call for the supervision of a more senior designer.
I also found myself hoping the rooms to be redecorated included his bedroom.
He took his time as he gave me a tour. By this time, I had felt more at home with him as I asked my standard interview questions: his favorite colors, preferences, dislikes, etc. and delved into light descriptions about my vision for each room. The dining room, bathrooms, and one of the bedrooms were all decorated with rather busy wallpaper designs, which was peeling in spots.
His bedroom was one of the rooms that he wanted redecorated. The furniture, in keeping with the outdated eighties look, was black lacquer, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off the huge king-size bed that dominated it. How many occupants had it known, I wondered.
My tour concluded with the kitchen, which was surprisingly well-equipped and modern, in contrast to the other rooms in the house.
“Your cook must be quite busy,” I said as I took in the large six-burner cooktop with a faucet over a rear burner for filling lobster pots and Dutch ovens, double wall oven, microwave drawer, and other up-to-date conveniences.
“Of course,” he replied. “Abelardo is a great cook. Mi padre, Prince Anselmo, insisted that he travel with me, despite the fact that I usually cook for myself.”
“You cook?” I asked in disbelief. I just couldn’t imagine this broad-shouldered, sexy man fussing about in the kitchen.
He chuckled softly; “Of course I do, and I enjoy it. Although I’ve been reminded several times by mi padre that cooking isn’t for a prince.”
“I can imagine why he would dissuade you from cooking,” I said. “But I’m confused. If you’re the Prince, wouldn’t your father be King?”
“Girona is a principality, hence Prince and Princess. Monaco is also a principality, hence your Grace Kelly became a Princess, not a Queen.”
“Oh. Thank you for explaining that. Well, you have a beautiful home, Mr. Hernandez.”
“Thank you, Charlotte. I hope you don’t object to my calling you Charlotte,” he added, his voice low and intimate.
“Not at all,” I replied, loving how my name rolled off his tongue.
“Then Charlotte it is.” He gave me a charismatic grin that made me shiver. “My father bought the house years ago. My mother’s sister married an American, and my sister and I spen
t a lot of time here with our cousins while growing up. But it hasn’t been lived in a lot in recent years. My father purchased it from a man who made a fortune in home heating oil,” he explained.
“It certainly looks like it belonged to someone with great wealth. And with redecoration and updating, it can be returned to its glory days.” I hesitated. “And I’m just the one to do it, if you hire me.”
“I made up my mind to hire you while showing you the house. I like how you want to keep the old world charm of the house rather than try to make it over into a modern showcase with no personality.” Once again his eyes ran up and down my body as he smiled at me. “I’m looking forward to working with you, and I’m sure I’ll get to see you often during the project.” His eyebrows jutted upward in a hopeful gesture.
“Of course. I’ll be meeting with you to go over fabric swatches, furniture, paint, plumbing fixtures, everything,” I responded. “Plus, there is a budget to discuss and a contract to sign.”
“Spend anything within reason,” he said. “The house is definitely overdue for a remodel.”
I had to agree, but kept it to myself. “I can have the contract faxed or e-mailed to you this afternoon, Mr. Hernandez.”
“Since we are to be working so closely together, and since you have consented to allow me to call you Charlotte, why don’t you call me César?”
Beaming, I held out my hand. “César it is. Goodbye for now.”
“Adios.” He opened the door for me and I walked out into the sunlit day. On an instinct, I turned around, having a feeling he stood watching me.
He was.
CHAPTER 2
The next weeks were very busy ones for me, as I was deeply involved in the interior decoration of César Hernandez’s mansion, redoing all the bathrooms, the living and dining rooms, and his bedroom. I had no time to wallow in regret over my past mistakes. I was doing what I loved, and as always, it made me come alive.
In the course of my assignment, I realized just how wealthy César Hernandez was. He spared no cost in updating his family’s second home, choosing top-of-the-line plumbing fixtures, furniture, and window treatments. At first the house was a mess, with the wallpaper and carpets being removed, as well as the bathroom sinks, toilets, and bathtubs, but by the end of the third week, the rooms had been transformed, and it wore a more exquisite look due to my professionalism.
“I think we should have a little dinner to celebrate the success of this project,” César said to me as I was supervising the workers as they cleaned up. He often checked in, although he mostly stayed out of the way, which I greatly appreciated.
“That’s very nice of you, César. I’m sure the crew would love it,” I suggested innocently. I had enjoyed the Prince’s company over the last several weeks, and the realization that our contact would end now that the project was complete saddened me. I’d gotten to know a little about the man behind the intimidating title, and I liked what I saw.
“Actually, Charlotte, I meant a private dinner with just the two of us. And I would be the chef for the night. It would give me great pleasure to cook for you,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Really!” I replied, excited at the prospect of the two of us having dinner together. “Yes, I would be honored if you cooked for me. What’s on the menu?” Part of me found it hard to believe how relaxed I felt around him, with him being a Prince and all. Something about César invited informality.
“Hmm,” he murmured, tapping his chin with a finger as though lost in deep contemplation. “I think I’ll surprise you. But tell me, are you allergic to any foods?”
“No, but I don’t like surprises,” I said honestly. “Will you at least give me a hint, César?”
“No,” he emphatically stated.
“Not even a hint?”
By this time, I had abandoned the supervision and was deeply engrossed in my conversation with him.
“Ah, you are quite adamant, Charlotte. Let me give you a hint then, I’m going to be treating you to a Spanish delicacy, and I can assure you that by the end of the meal, you will swear no English food is as delicious as what I’ve made,” he said.
“Really?” I asked. “I guess I have to warn you that I am not easily impressed, and I have tasted quite a few Spanish delicacies that I found not to my taste.” Not that I’d ever tasted any such thing, but I just had to brag, too.
“Get ready to be wowed, then,” he said, leaning close to me. “You’re about to get blown away by my culinary expertise.” His whisper made me shiver, and as if he knew the affect he’d had on me, he turned on his heels and arrogantly strode off.
“Whew! If everyone in his principality is like him, then it must be filled with seriously egotistical people,” I mused aloud as I watched him.
“I heard that,” he shouted from across the corridor.
I laughed and added in a louder voice, “And they have impeccable hearing, too.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur, and I was exhausted by the time I finished my final inspection of the job and then, at my office, submitting the paperwork and receipts for billing. I drove home, cheerful at the prospect of having a private dinner with the hot Spanish prince. Although I would never admit it to him, the way he looked at me scorched my flesh, and I couldn’t wait to see him again.
I had parked my car near my apartment building after work and was reaching for my handbag when my phone rang. No name showed in the caller ID window and I didn’t recognize the number, but I did notice it was from the Houston area. Maybe one of my old friends had changed her number. “Hello,” I said.
“Hello, love.” The voice on the other end sent a chill all the way to my bone marrow.
It couldn’t be, but it sounded like him. How had he gotten my cell number? I’d changed it after putting him out of my life. He must have weaseled it out of one of my old friends. “Lane? Is that you?” I said, my voice low with caution. He had already taken nearly every cent I had, and I lived so simply because I was attempting to recover financially. What could he possibly want with me now?
“Miss me that much?” he asked, and I knew for sure it was him. The last I’d heard, he’d been locked up on a minor charge, but this call clearly hadn’t come from a jail.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, my fear turning to anger. I made a mental note to change my number right away. I probably should get a number local to Westchester County anyway.
“Courtesy, love, courtesy,” he said in that familiar slick voice that I was still trying to forget. “Is that any way to greet an old lover, Char?”
“You are no lover of mine,” I said tightly. “Haven’t you ruined me enough as it is?”
“I’m sorry about that, baby. But a man’s gotta do what man’s gotta do.”
I’d had enough. “This conversation is over.”
“You stay in the Crescent Apartments in Port Chester and work at Davina Décor in White Plains, don’t you?” he said.
I gasped involuntarily, my hand freezing on the End button. “How in the world did you know that?” I demanded.
And if he knew where I lived and where I worked, what else did he know about me?
“Easy, baby, easy,” His lazy tone suggested he knew he’d shaken me up. “So, do you wanna see me or not?”
I could imagine him smirking in delight. Then something else occurred to me. See him? But he was in Texas…wasn’t he?
“Hell no, I don’t want to see you,” I said. “Ever. By the way, the last I heard you were in jail. If you ever contact me again, I’m gonna make sure you go back there and rot.” This time I not only ended the call, but I managed to remove the phone’s battery with my shaking hands.
Breathing hard, I pressed the back of my head against the head rest, my palm slapping the steering wheel in frustration. The seconds ticked by, and then I picked up my purse and left the car for my apartment, although I kept looking around as I approached the building, half expecting Lane to jump out of the shadows. Once I h
ad entered my apartment, I locked the door behind me and curled up on my bed.
Lane! He was trouble. I’d met him at a bar in Austin during my junior year in college, and I’d believed he was my soul mate. I trusted in the happily-ever-after back then, and with my dream-like approach to life, I looked forward to spending the rest of my life with my loving boyfriend. We became inseparable, and all our friends envied our relationship. Being an orphan and growing up with my grandparents in Houston, I had an optimistic approach to life and trusted easily…to be completely honest, ‘gullible’ best described the younger me. After my grandparents died in an auto crash just before graduation, I was inconsolable, and it was Lane who stood by me through those dark times, singing me to sleep and clutching me tightly any time I had a nightmare. I saw him as my pillar, and I told him all about the money I inherited from my grandparents, their cash, life insurance proceeds, and property. It wasn’t a whopping sum of money, but it wasn’t chump change, either.
Immediately after graduation from the University of Texas at Austin, I returned to Houston and moved into the comfortable home that had belonged to my grandparents and now belonged to me. I landed a job at a local interior design firm. My career had begun, with my plan being to open my own firm within ten years, after I had garnered enough experience working for someone else. My funding would come from my inheritance. I had my life all planned out in front of me: Lane would propose along the line, then we would get married, and I would insist on us living in the home I’d grown up in, and we would have as many kids as possible. I wanted at least three kids so they wouldn’t lead the lonely life I had lived with my grandparents, with no siblings to play with.
Unknown to me, Lane had other plans for my trust fund. He had come with me to Houston and was having trouble finding a job, and I had gladly accommodated him. Lane had graduated high school but unlike me, hadn’t gone to college. He had been working in the meat department of a supermarket in Austin. In Houston he went on a few interviews but didn’t get hired. He was essentially living off me, which I had no problem whatsoever with. After all, he’d given up his job in Austin to move to Houston with me. When he finally hinted to me about a business that he wanted to venture into but couldn’t due to financial constraints, I gladly offered him money out of my inheritance. I didn’t really understand the details of the business, but he was so excited about it, and he seemed to know all about it. Besides, he was going to pay me back once he got established.
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