The Prince's Playbook

by Pamela DuMond

  “Baby?” I followed on his heels, practically breathing down his neck. “Since when have you called her baby?”

  “Long time, Max.”

  “Like in the last five minutes long?”

  “Fucking A,” Vivian said.

  Chapter 15

  VIVIAN

  I spent the majority of the night tossing and turning, checking my phone for texts and e-mails, waiting for a reply from Mr. Cartwright or Zara on how I should best handle this Prince Leopold engagement debacle. I was told to keep him interested in Catherine. Flirt with him. Getting engaged to him hadn’t been included in the job description.

  I felt parched and drank from the crystal glass of water on the nightstand next to my bed. But Bellèno’s water had a funny acidy taste. Note to self: buy bottled water.

  But the bigger question remained: should I say yes to Leopold’s proposal? Or no? Hold out? Delay? What did Catherine want me to do? This was, after all, her life. Not mine. I was a stand-in. It was too much for a real Lady to figure out, let alone an imposter from the Southside of Chicago. This part-time job was not going according to plan. I finally fell asleep in the darkest of night only to be yanked out of a weird dream when someone shook my arm roughly. “What?” I asked.

  “The incredibly handsome Mr. Cartwright is on the line for you. He says is urgent.” Helga thrust the landline phone into my face. “That I must wakes you up.”

  I took the phone. “Thank you.”

  She cleared the water that I’d barely touched from the side table and replaced it with a steaming mug of coffee. “Drink.”

  “Nice of you to finally call, Mr. Cartwright. I could be dead, you know. At the very least I have a sizable lump on my head.”

  “Page fifty-four in the contract, paragraph three, states that we provide medical expenses for job-related injuries. I’ve been trying to get through to you for hours. Your cell isn’t accepting any texts. You need to reset it to factory mode and start over.”

  “Factory mode? My last job was in a bar, not a factory.”

  “You said you could improvise.”

  “I can improvise with people and situations, not electronic devices. Did you know Cici once danced topless at a nightclub on the Algarve? What’s an Algarve?” I pulled back the bed covers. “Is that like Rush Street in Chicago? Freaking kill me now.”

  “We bought that footage and destroyed it. Who told you about that?”

  “The Ladies. Esmeralda, who seems to know Cici’s darkest secrets. Beatrix Hapfligher who is fond of tequila. And Joan Brady who rocks a sassy, red hairdo.”

  “Aah, yes, apparently you’ve met the rest of Cici’s Ladies-in-Waiting.”

  “What do you mean, ‘The rest?’”

  “You already know Zara.”

  “The ‘Say Yes, Vivian’ tight-ass make-over queen? Do you think you should have told me about the Ladies and more importantly that Prince Leopold was ready to pop the question before I traveled to Bellèno? And you sent Max to help when you couldn’t show up. Do you think that was smart?”

  “Do you really think I’ve been running this show the whole time?” Mr. Cartwright asked.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m a foot soldier, darling. I’m not the general in The Crown Affair. I provide advice, training, assistance. At the end of the day, I’m not the one signing off on the crucial decisions.”

  “Oh.” I frowned. “So you didn’t send him to help me?”

  “Prince Maximillian Cristoph of Bellèno sent himself to help you. He has the power to do that.”

  “I see.”

  What did this mean?

  “I saw the footage of Max on the tarmac with you. For my own clarification – purely as a helper, a minor player in this whole mission—”

  “Spit it out, Cartwright.”

  “Did anything of a… delicate nature happen between the two of you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Right,” he said. “Chicago?”

  “Yes. But that’s not high on my worry list right now. Prince Leo keeps proposing to Cici. What am I supposed to say? Yes? No? Is she going to marry him?”

  I got out of bed and looked out of the window. There were camera crews and vans parked below. There were too many cameras angled toward my window. Ugh. I felt a touch violated and my skin crawled.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Dammit!” I dropped onto the floor. “Does she even want to marry him?”

  “As far as I know, yes. But Catherine had no idea he’d propose so quickly. She thought you’d take her place for a few weeks—”

  “Yes, heard this one already. ‘I promise, honey, I’m only putting in the tip.’ It was supposed to be ten days tops.”

  “Does it matter? She’ll pay you more each day you’re in Bellèno. She thought you’d attend several state dinners and flirt. Draw his eye away from the other girls who want to nail the heir to the throne. That she’d be back in plenty of time to accept Leopold’s proposal and prepare a proper, albeit prompt royal wedding.”

  Helga walked into the adjoining bathroom. “Running warm tub for you, Stinkzys.”

  “Thank you.” I made my way toward the nightstand and turned my attention back to the phone. “I’m not dumb you know, Mr. Cartwright. If I accept Leo’s proposal, the shit’s going to hit Bellèno’s fan. Did you even see the local media coverage of The Royal Engagement Debacle? Bellèno News Network featured my panties and a half hour news special on the making of the lace. I was humiliated!” I grabbed the mug and slugged back coffee.

  “Actually,” Mr. Cartwright said. “Catherine was humiliated. Because Vivian DeRose has never been to Bellèno, never passed out on a tarmac, and not one single camera ever filmed up her pretty skirts. At least not one in Bellèno.”

  “You did not just say that.”

  “Catherine has never held down a full-time job, let alone a part-time engagement.”

  “Your tub awaits. I have new loofah.” Helga waved it about, then disappeared into the bathroom.

  “Perfect.” I said. “Look Mr. Cartwright. If I say yes to Leo, I’ll be enduring even more media scrutiny. I’m great at improvising but this feels dicey. When are any of you showing up in Bellèno?”

  “A week, tops. We didn’t expect this turn of events, but this is also why we hired you. We trained you, gave you the makeover, and paid you decent wages. Every detail—including this possibility—is covered in your contract.”

  “There was nothing in my contract that said I had to handle this alone.”

  “I didn’t plan on undergoing disc surgery tomorrow.”

  I winced. “Crap, Cartwright, I’m sorry. Are you going to be okay?”

  “I should be able to travel in a week, ten days. Zara is with Catherine but has assured me that she will be winging her way to Bellèno in approximately seventy two hours. Can you hold tight for four days?”

  “I think so. But what if all hell breaks loose and I can’t? Is there anyone here who can help?”

  “Prince Max—”

  “Come on, Cartwright. Someone safe.”

  “The Ladies-in-Waiting,” he said. “They’re opinionated but they’re also incredibly loyal—to Catherine. Ask the Ladies for assistance until we get there. But don’t tell them you’re not Catherine. Except for Zara, the Ladies are not privy to our secret business arrangement. The last thing you want is for them to turn against you.”

  “They seem so nice.”

  “They are fierce. And Vivian, I know that Max’s charms are sizeable. He might be the spare to the throne but he’s no slouch, as you’ve undoubtedly realized. He’s a man you don’t want to cross.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  But the line went dead.

  * * *

  I soaked in the deep, lavender-infused bath waters and allowed Helga to scrub me, head to toe, and then dry me off. It felt awkward to let someone give me a bath but I caved because she was so determined. Afterwards she slapped moist
urizer on me. I might be bruised tomorrow but my skin would be hydrated and smooth as a baby’s ass. She helped me into one of Cici’s soft robes.

  I was losing what little remained of my mind. I had to blow out of this penthouse prison, work out, burn some steam, and get a grip. If someone called me on it, I’d just say Cici had taken up exercising when she was in the States.

  Helga had lined up my designer suitcases against the bedroom wall like soldiers in formation. I walked the few feet toward them, kneeled on the plush carpet, and dove in. I tossed Gucci, Pucci and Dior garments into heaps, prowling for workout clothes. I found no active wear and realized with a sinking heart I’d forgotten to bring my cross-trainers.

  I yanked open the door to Cici’s huge walk-in-closet, tiptoed inside, and gasped at the sheer enormity of the place. This room was a shopaholic’s dream, quite possibly a shrine to the Patron Saint of Women’s Fine Clothing. I rifled through full-length designer gowns, cocktail dresses, business suits, and upscale everyday attire. My hands lingered on the designer fabrics, perfect cuts, and gorgeous designs. I forced myself away from these delectables because I was looking for mental salvation and that came in the form of exercise, not a tea party. That said, I was prepared to jog around the park in a cocktail dress if I had to, when I discovered a stash of exercise gear in the closet’s back corner.

  I shrugged out of Cici’s robe, pulled on yoga capris, a stretchy top, a cute hoodie, and even scored brand spanking new cross-trainers resting in a shoebox. I bolted into the bathroom and stared into the mirror. I no longer was a doppelganger for Cici, but a shoe in for the Crypt Keeper. I dabbed on eye concealer, swiped on a coat of mascara, and tinted lip balm. I tied my hair back in a ponytail and squinted at my reflection again. Better. I now resembled a slightly hung-over chick, someone who could fit in with the masses of post-Saturday night bar-hopping, fitness girls in just about any city.

  Was the paparazzi still lurking below? If so, how would I escape their cameras? I grabbed Cici’s sunglasses off the bathroom sink and slipped them on. There had to be a back exit out of this place. I walked to the bedroom windows, peered out, and watched as the news vans pulled away from the curb. Most likely some real news had come up. Hopefully nothing horrible.

  I left the bedroom, and strode down the condo’s hallways, turning right and left. This place was practically a labyrinth. I finally spotted the foyer leading to the front door. Holy mother of Toledo, freedom was in sight. I crossed the marble floors and reached for the doorknob only to realize I had no key. I could assume the doormen stationed below would recognize me and let me return, but I was the kind of girl who preferred to err on the side of ‘Better safe than sorry.’

  I turned and spotted Helga schlepping a load of fresh towels in one arm flush against her chest, an empty laundry basket dangling from her hand.

  “I’ll help you with that,” I said, and unloaded half the towels. “Do you have a spare key to the condo? I seem to have misplaced mine.”

  “No Lady Catherine.” She froze in her tracks and shifted her substantial body weight from foot to foot, her upper lip quivering.

  “Are you okay?”

  She backed away, her eyes widening. “You never offered to help me before. Is it the head-hitting thing?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m offering now.”

  “Oh, Lady,” she sighed. “This is not your job.”

  “You’d be surprised what my job entails.”

  “The key is in the top drawer of the hat rack. That has not changed. Let’s not change anything else, either.”

  * * *

  My first trip jogging around St. Luce’s majestic Tiefencastle Park I heard squeaks emanating from towering tree branches overhead. Fat squirrels were perched on branches nibbling on acorns. I ran past a pretty pond with well fed, quacking ducks.

  My second lap circling the park I thought about Lola, my BFF, and wondered how Uncle Florio was doing at Winterpark Assisted Living. I needed to text them and check in. My third time sprinting on the dirt path in this outdoor wonderland I heard the revs of a motorcycle in the near distance, which made me think of when I met Max outside of MadDog biker bar.

  I fantasized about him kissing me, his mouth lingering on my breasts, making my nipples hard, before his lips headed down my abdomen. Sex was out of the question in Bellèno, but exercising was a great idea. My stress was melting away, endorphins building in my body, and reminiscing about getting laid by a gorgeous ginger prince was the icing the cake.

  My fourth time around Tiefencastle Park I realized I hadn’t worked out in two weeks, which is why my heart was pounding like a drum and my legs felt like noodles. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath and spotted two spit-shiny black Mercedes SUVs surrounded by a few beefy, suited up bodyguards. News crews were camped out next to them, several hundred yards in front of me. The same pretty female reporter with ducklips was in a van with a satellite dish on the roof, a cameraman and a driver. Ducklips batted her eyelashes at one handsome brunette guy in a perfectly fitted suit.

  Prince Leopold of Bellèno was a persistent man. He cradled a bouquet of orchids in the crook of one arm and held a black velvet box in his other hand. A string quartet played “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You” by Elvis Presley, in the background. His bodyguards stationed around them in a tight circle.

  I doubted they’d spotted me—yet.

  Where could one go to be alone in Bellèno? Why didn’t anyone clue me in on this job’s lack of privacy? I dodged into a thick hedge surrounded by pine trees, and dropped onto the ground to catch a much needed break. Suddenly, my sexy ginger prince pulled the thicket open and smiled. “Make room for me.” He ducked his head and squeezed into my hiding place.

  I scooted over. “I remember the last time you said something like that.”

  “Me too. Seared into my memory, love.”

  “How did you find me? Did you secretively implant a car-jack device on me?”

  “Nah. I splurged for the princess-jack device. More expensive but obviously worth it.”

  “That sounds a bit pervy.”

  “According to the gossip rags almost everything I say sounds a bit pervy.” He plunked down next to me on the ground. “I phoned your place and talked to Helga. She said you were out exercising. Had to be the park.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Watching the next step in The Crown Affair play out.”

  “How so?”

  “The player has lined up all the pieces. While anxious for the game to continue, he suddenly regrets sacrificing the pawn.”

  “Once again, you assume I’m the pawn.”

  “You will be today. Leo’s setting up his next go at asking Cici to marry him right here in Tiefencastle Park. My father proposed to my mother at this park. It makes for a lovely puff piece story.”

  “That’s why the news vans left the condo,” I said.

  He nodded. “It’s going to be a media feeding frenzy. I thought you should know if you wanted to run a brush through your hair, or apply lipstick—you know—like you girls do.”

  “You wanted me to be here, Max. You hired me to take Cici’s place. You don’t get to be reluctant about this job now that I’m doing it. This isn’t going to last forever, you know.”

  “And yet, my brother is suddenly so into it. Why?”

  “I don’t know your brother. Your guess is better than mine.”

  “Look, Vivian, Leo’s a charmer.”

  “Runs in the family,” I said.

  “He’s stepped up to the plate. I thought he’d be kicking and screaming at the thought of marrying Cici. He’s on board in a big way and I don’t know why. And I don’t trust it.”

  “Stop thinking, Max.” I took his hand and squeezed it. “You’re always thinking. Plotting. Planning. On to the next step before the current one plays out. That must be exhausting.”

  He brushed the moist tendrils sticking to my forehead and my neck back from my face. “You ever think about that n
ight?” he asked.

  “There you go thinking again.”

  He lifted the skinny strap of my yoga top and twisted it back and forth between his fingers.

  Goosebumps raised on my arms.

  “I regret we only had one night.”

  “That’s not going to change here and now,” I said. “Unless you fire me.”

  “I’m not firing you, Vivian.”

  “You’re not supposed to even call me by my name. You’re supposed to call me Cici.”

  “You don’t make the rules, Vivian. I do.”

  He smelled like sage mixed with cedar. Not really a cologne, more like an expensive soap. I wanted to bury my face in his shoulder. But I drew on my willpower and said, “Then you might want to think about making a rule that you can’t keep.”

  “I’m dying to fuck you again, Vivian. I’m dying to strip off your little workout top, palm your gorgeous tits, and slip my hand down your pants. I’m growing hard just thinking about it.”

  “What’s stopping you?” I asked, my heart pounding faster. Warmth was building in the V between my legs.

  “Rules. It’s not part of The Crown Affair’s game plan. It’s too dangerous right now.”

  “You’re scared someone would see us. We’d get found out. End up on the cover of one of these newspapers.”

  “Yes.”

  “If I say yes to your brother’s offer to marry me, do you think he’s going to try and sleep with me?” My arousal grew, warmth flooding into my pelvis. I placed my hand on top of his.

  “Yes.”

  “How will I resist him?” I edged his hand under the waistline of my pants, pushing it lower toward my sex.

  He shook his head, ‘No.’

  I nodded my head. “How will I refuse him, Max? Would Cici turn him down?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Then it will be difficult, won’t it?”

  “You’ll have to think of something else.” His hand traveled lower. “Or someone else.”

  “I wonder who? That flight attendant on Bellèno Air was pretty hot.”

  “Ha!” he said, his fingers reaching my clit, his thumb stroking it, as waves of pleasure shot through me. “You’re a clever girl. You’ll think about that hot flight attendant. You’ll hold off Leo’s advances. Resist.”