The Prince's Playbook

by Pamela DuMond

  “So-so. The physical therapists are making me walk and stand on my tippy toes. The hospital food is tedious. I just want to return to Bellèno.”

  “I can’t wait for you....” I frowned. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Forget about me. My problems are tiny compared to yours.”

  “You’re a sweet girl, Vivian.”

  “Thanks. Say, have you talked to Max?”

  “My PT is here. Talk later.” He hung up.

  * * *

  The pristine palace loomed through the front window of the royal limo. It looked like it had been lifted from a fairy tale and dropped into a bustling metropolitan city. A thick fence, manned by guards wearing uniforms sporting Bellèno’s royal colors.

  We arrived at the security post and waited as the guards made a call.

  “Why all the precaution?” I asked.

  “Death threat,” the driver said as the guard waved us through.

  “Death threat?”

  The gates hummed and opened.

  “Quite common, actually,” he said. “I wouldn’t worry your pretty head about it.”

  “Death threats have never sounded all that comforting to me.”

  “Standard fare, par for the course,” he said.

  We motored down a lane toward the castle. Royal flags waved from poles embedded into the walls. There were turrets, a large tower, and a few cannons positioned on the fortress’s roof. We drove to the front of the castle and the driver slipped the limo into park. The bodyguard hopped out the passenger side and opened my door. From what I could see outside the tinted windows, there were no paparazzi on the premises.

  “Hang on.” I raked my hand through my purse, found my lipstick, and swiped it across my lips, then stepped out of the car.

  A palace guard bowed, and opened the front entrance.

  * * *

  I stood, head high, shoulders back, with Leo at my side in a long hallway. Marble busts of former kings and queens sat on pedestals and oil paintings lined the corridor’s walls.

  Leo wore casual pants and a white buttoned down shirt. His coloring was darker than Max but they had the same smoldering eyes.

  “The hall of the Bellèno’s kings and queens,” Leo said. “We might be up there some day. See that rather stout fellow on that wall?”

  “The man with the magnificent curly hair and velvet cap with the feathers?”

  “King Andrew George Winston of the House of Bellèno. A pain in the ass that one.”

  “How so?”

  “He stole the monarchy from his half brother after he poisoned him.”

  “Why?”

  “Why does anyone steal? Follow the money.”

  “He probably lived out his life surrounded by glamour and fine things,” I said.

  “His followers staged a coupe and turned on him like the skivey rat he was. He was deposed by his nephew, taken away in chains. He died alone in a tower somewhere overlooking the sea. By the way, did I tell you that you look gorgeous? I used to think red suited you best. I’ve changed my mind. I think pink is your new signature color.”

  “Thanks.” I bit one manicured nail.

  He took my hand and eased my finger from my mouth. “No nail biting in front of my family. They’ll perceive that as a sign of weakness.”

  “What if they don’t like me?”

  “That’s not going to happen. You already know them. Depending on which relative we’re talking about, you simply haven’t seen them in two, or five, or eight years.” He squeezed my hand. “Besides, they’ll take one look at you all grown up and curvy, and they’ll fall in love with you all over again. Just the way I did.”

  “You think?”

  “I know. Getting through the paparazzi and the magazine photo-shoots, that was the genuine pain in the ass. But you’ve charmed everybody.”

  I nodded.

  “This is the easy part,” he said. “This is cake.” He leaned in and smooched me on the lips.

  His kiss was tender. More than a hint of sexy. He was hotter than hell. I should have been tempted.

  I missed Max.

  He pulled away, swiped the lock of hair off his forehead, and smiled.

  I smiled back. “You’re kind.”

  “I’m practical.”

  “If I didn’t know better Leo, I’d think you’re actually a good man disguised as a bad boy.”

  “Shh,” he said. “Don’t tell anyone, it’ll destroy my wild child image and reputation.”

  “But you’re-I mean-we’re getting married. You don’t need the bad boy reputation anymore.”

  “There’s no fairytale more enchanting than the one about the girl who tamed the bad boy, Cici. The press is eating it up. Your picture is everywhere on cable news and social media. The press has dubbed you ‘The Lady with a Heart.’”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re genuinely nice to everybody. You don’t reserve your kindness for the wealthy or powerful. You’re kind to a cameraman. You’re nice to the tuba player. You’re even nice to Ducklips.”

  “You call her that too?”

  “I overheard you mutter it under your breath when she mentioned a baby bump. Hey.” His hand touched my waist, lingered, and I jumped. “Maybe we should get working on that.”

  “Not yet. Why is being nice such a rare trait?”

  “What happened to you in the States? You’ve grown more idealistic.”

  Thankfully, a uniformed butler pushed open a tall, ornately-carved wooden door, before I had to answer him. He bowed to Leo. “Your family awaits Your Highness.”

  “Thank you,” Leo said. He took my arm and pointed to a row of narrow stone steps inside a darkened chamber.

  “Good luck,” the butler said and closed the creaking door behind us with a thud.

  * * *

  Leo led the way, holding my hand as we descended the long flight of stairs into a skinny, damp, dark passageway lit by flickering torches mounted high on the walls.

  The temperature dropped twenty degrees and I shivered. We walked across cobblestone floors past ancient pens with short, sagging, rotting wooden doors accented with tiny peepholes covered in rusty, chain-linked mesh. Something sticky brushed against my face and I batted it away. I glanced up at thick spider webs on the ceiling. The torches cast funky shadows.

  “This feels like a hazing,” I said.

  “Ha. We gave that up a while back.”

  “It’s still creepy. This used to be a dungeon, right?”

  “Yes. Now we store vegetables here and use it as a passageway of sorts. Even the monarchy is modernizing.”

  We reached the far end of the room. He pushed open a door. I blinked as sunlight streamed into the cellar and we climbed the steps out. I expected to find myself in a large ornate room. I expected a majestic chamber with two thrones. I expected a posh, intimate cocktail party. I did not expect to see Leopold’s family dressed in J. Crew-like attire having a picnic.

  I recognized the man in the chef’s hat stationed at the very large grill: King Frederick Wilhelm Gustave Rochartè the Fourteenth was flipping burgers. We walked the few yards in his direction and then stopped. Leo bowed.

  “Father. I’d like to present my new fiancée, Lady Catherine Theresa Fontaine. We anxiously await your approval of our betrothal.”

  I curtseyed.

  “Someday Leo, my first-born son, you will govern Bellèno. Is this the woman you want to be your queen? To rule by your side?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  King Frederick waved one hand in the air. “You have my approval. No rest for the wicked. It’s back to work for me.”

  “Thank you so very much your Royal Highness,” I said.

  I spotted Esmeralda dressed in a full-length luau themed dress, a flower lei draped around her neck. She sucked on a straw stuck in a tall, festive umbrella drink impaled with chunks of fruit.

  The beautiful Queen Cheree approached us. She wore board shorts and a T-shirt. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a pony
tail. “I remember you from years ago, Catherine.”

  “Your Highness.” I curtseyed.

  “You’ve always been a very smart girl. I approve. Congratulations to the two of you!” She placed a hand on my arm. “We need to talk later about your upcoming schedule. Planning these types of things on abrupt notice can be monstrous.”

  “Yes. Totally awful. I agree.”

  What were we planning on abrupt notice?

  “And I have an engagement present that I’m dying to give you,” she said. “A special ‘Welcome to the Rochartè family giftie.’”

  An elderly woman, a lopsided tiara on top her coiffed white hairdo, moved toward us with the aid of a walker, one painful step at a time.

  Queen Cheree placed a hand on her shoulder. “Can I help you with something, Mother?”

  “No, my precious bundle of American joy,” the woman said. “I already surrendered my dream of my eldest son marrying into the British Royal Family. You’ve done enough for one lifetime.”

  “I’m the one who needs help, Cheree.” King Frederick stood next to a huge, glossy BBQ. “I can’t find the tongs.”

  “Hang on,” she said and walked away as a yellow lab bounded across the yard toward her.

  The Queen Mum squinted up at me with her crystal blue eyes. She pinched my cheek. “You have a pretty face, Cici. Do you want to call me Queen Mum or Royal Nana?”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Royal Nana.”

  “She has ample hips, Leo. Good for babies, and ever since the Kardashian debacle, everyone likes a decent tuches.”

  And just like that, the official Bellèno Meet and Greet the Royals turned into a backyard BBQ and party. The family went back to playing chess and badminton while King Fredrick obsessed over his grill. A bartender whipped up drinks at a small outdoor bar. Two uniformed servants refilled drinks and passed around plates of food.

  Suddenly my perfect meet the royals dress felt a little too fancy. So much for getting it just right.

  “How’s the burger, Catherine?” King Frederick fanned smoke from the grill.

  “Perfect,” I said. “This cheese is delicious.”

  “That’s from our goats that feed in the Friedricksburgh pastures next in the foothills of the Alps. Another thing your marriage to Leo will be saving.”

  “What’s he talking about?” I asked Leo.

  “Your Papa told you about the contract. Right?”

  “Right.”

  Not really. I knew that there were business dealings, but I didn’t know particulars.

  Queen Cheree strolled up, the bouncy dog on her heels. “I’m kidnapping Catherine. Go help your father.”

  Leo bussed my cheek and whispered, “You nailed meeting the family, Cici.” He strode off toward his dad holding court at the BBQ.

  “I can’t wait to help you plan your wedding.” Queen Cheree said as we walked toward a gate in a stone wall.

  “My wedding? Doesn’t that take at least six months?”

  “It’s been fast-forwarded, darling. Something about a buyout. Truth be told, I already called a few folks a couple of days ago. I hope you don’t mind if I get involved. It’s the first wedding in our immediate family since mine, and I’m so excited. I want to give you your welcome to the family gift. Have you met Maisey?” She pointed to her Labrador.

  “She’s gorgeous,” I said.

  “I think so too. But I’m partial.” Queen Cheree keyed in a code and hit a button. The door slid open and we entered a small yard covered with a tarp stretched overhead.

  Maisey raced to a medium-sized pen in the yard’s corner, pawed at it and barked. Two blond, fuzzy, fat puppies stretched up against its metal confines and yipped.

  Queen Cheree bent down, unlatched the gate and the fur babies bounded onto the lawn. Maisey pinned one with her front paw, and licked him from head to tail.

  The Queen lifted the second puppy and smooched its face. “Scrumptious! So much easier raising dogs than my own children. Here.” She held the pup out to me. “Your engagement present. Roman von Pumpernickle.”

  “Really?” I took him from her, held him to my face, and inhaled his puppy breath. “Amazing!”

  “No harm, no foul, you can turn down this gift. I don’t want you adopting this dog unless you truly want him.”

  “I want him. Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome. And if you change your mind in twelve weeks or twelve years, give him back to me. Fair?”

  “Fair.” Roman wriggled. I set him on the lawn and watched him trot off.

  “All your puppy supplies are being delivered to your father’s condo even as we speak. Let’s get down to business and plan your wedding, yes? I arranged for bridal dress sketches and the fabric swatches to be brought to my table.”

  No one had trained me to plan a wedding let alone a royal one.

  “Great,” I said. “I have no idea how to plan a wedding.”

  She laughed. “Ha! You and your Ladies have been planning your weddings since elementary school.”

  * * *

  Queen Cheree, Esmeralda, and I sat at an outdoor table piled high with sketches of designer wedding gowns and fabric swatches. The sun was going down and I shaded my eyes as we passed them around.

  “Too old-fashioned. Too tragically hip,” Queen Cheree said.

  “Too over the top fairy princess,” Esmeralda said.

  “Agree.” I tossed the rejects into a pile.

  “Hmm. Definite possibility.” The queen handed me a drawing.

  “That doesn’t look anything like Cici,” a familiar voice said.

  I turned. And just like I’d been issued a royal edict, Max came into view. His hair was messy and he sported a five o’clock shadow. He wore jeans, a fitted T, and held a lager in one hand. A raven-haired young woman, wearing too much makeup, a mini, and sky-high platforms accompanied him. My stomach dropped.

  “Why are you so late?” the Queen asked.

  “Daira and I just arrived in town.” His eyes locked onto mine. “We were delayed by bumpy weather.”

  I knew what that was code for and my heart sank.

  Esmeralda’s attention ping-ponged between Max and me. “Oh, crap.”

  Chapter 18

  MAXIMILLIAN

  Mom frowned. “I didn’t know you were bringing a guest, honey.”

  “You know Daira Ailey, yes?”

  “Your Royal Highness.” Daira curtseyed.

  “Lovely to see you again, dear. It’s been a few months since you graced us with your company.”

  “I’ve been out of the country since Leo and I—”

  “Glad you could put in an appearance, black sheep,” Dad said.

  “I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” I said.

  “Burger, chicken or sausage?” Dad asked. “I remember what Daira wants.”

  Mom and Esmeralda shot each other looks.

  “Daira wants the combo platter,” Dad said.

  “Shocker.” Esmeralda rolled her eyes.

  The shade was thick with this one.

  Leo strode toward me. “This is beneath you, Max.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I shrugged and slugged back my lager.

  “Yes, you do,” Leo said. “This is old-school, family tradition. You showing up here with my—”

  “I’m here with your brother, Leo,” Daira said. “At least Max is a gentleman. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Nice to see you again, Cici,” I said.

  Vivian stared at me, hurt weighing heavy in her eyes.

  A twinge of regret rolled through me because I realized I was being an asshole. Vivian was just playing the part, doing exactly what the job entailed. The problem was, a part of me no longer wanted her to do this.

  After Vivian had accepted Leo’s proposal, I’d journeyed to my friend Vander’s estate. I spent three days drinking, gambling, and partying, which is how I bumped into Leo’s ex, Daira. She was attractive in that cheap, been there done that, fake kind of w
ay. She wasn’t royalty, but she’d been Leo’s on again, off again, hookup for years.

  Daira and I knocked back a few too many glasses of scotch, and she cried on my shoulder, telling me Leo had left her high and dry six weeks ago with barely an explanation. Practically ghosted her. Her revenge fantasy was to show up with me at a family event and show my no-good brother what he was missing. It sounded like a fairly innocent idea at the time, until I brought her here and we played out this game for real.

  Now, I was deep in this shit show, hurting Vivian’s feelings, irritating my mom, and stirring things up with my brother, who was actually doing what I wanted him to do for a change, even if I didn’t know why. I took Daira’s elbow and steered her toward a table at the deep end of the lawn and counted the minutes until I could get out of here.

  My cousin, Esmeralda, all around smart ass and self-proclaimed femme fatale of our family, decided to make matters worse. She held her glass in the air, plucked a knife off the table, and turned toward the crowd. “Leo, your presence is requested.”

  He strode toward Esmeralda and wrapped his arm around Vivian’s waist. She leaned in toward him and whispered. His lips brushing up against her ear made my stomach twist.

  “What do you think she’s saying to him?” Daira asked, leaning in closer to me and kicking off her shoes.

  “Lady Cici is Leo’s new fiancé. She’s probably asking him who you are.”

  “Good.” Daira put her hand on my shoulder and covered a smile. “Do you think he broke it off with me for her?”

  “I have no idea what’s in Leo’s brain these days.”

  “You ever think about you and me, Max?” She ran her bare foot under the table and up my leg. Her toes landed in my crotch and lingered.

  This was the second time she was hitting on me. I should have been flattered. I felt repulsed.

  “Could we ever be a thing?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Esmeralda raised her glass. “I propose a toast to the future rulers of Bellèno. Prince Leopold and his smart, beautiful, and charming fiancée, Lady Catherine Fontaine.”