The Princess Bride

by Rebecca Winters

  ‘Asked nicely if you would both like to be present for this event.’ Rik jumped in with the words that were almost defensive.

  Mel thought about her rabbit hole and the sparkly shoes and how out of place she’d felt when she arrived here, and how different this world was from anything she had ever known. And she looked at three big, brave men who had hovered at the edge of a grove of trees and refused to shift until…

  ‘A magic truffle hog unlocks the key to safe passage, and perhaps to the granting of your wishes?’ The words came with the start of a smile that spread until it almost cracked her face in half.

  She could have laughed aloud. Mel could have done a lot of things. But then she looked properly at the grove of trees and thought about age and history. Three princes had all come to participate in this ritual. Rufusina had lifted her nose and sniffed three times and then trotted over here with purpose. Mel sobered. ‘How old is the legend? Are there bad aspects attached if you don’t do things the right way?’

  ‘Centuries. None of us have ever come near the harvesting of these truffles until now. It’s usually left to our staff, but I wanted to oversee it this time.’ Rik didn’t seem offended by her initial amusement. He did seem a little uncomfortable having to explain the situation. ‘The legend is more to do with prosperous lives, and making the right choice of marriages and so on. But I am only concerned with getting good truffles for my overseas buyers.’

  ‘Yes. That is no doubt the priority.’ Mel bit back any further smiles. She turned to the others and said to all three of them, ‘I’m grateful to have the chance to see this, and I hope to get a good look at the truffles themselves when they’re harvested.’

  Winnow approached as Mel made this statement.

  The three princes were all about business after that. It was strange to stand back and watch these three privileged men go about digging bits of fungus out from beneath beds of rotting leaves. Rufusina did her thing, and Rik praised her for being a good hog, at which the pig sort of…preened, Mel thought fancifully, and checked her own feet to make sure they hadn’t sprouted those sparkly shoes while she was daydreaming.

  ‘This one looks good, brother. And smell the pungent odour.’ Anrai handed a truffle to Rik.

  Rik examined the truffle. ‘It is good. Take a look at it, Melanie.’

  Before Mel could blink, the truffle had been dumped into her hands. She didn’t know much about truffles. Not in this state, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to cook with them, to discover if they were indeed as fine as it was claimed, to revere the opportunity to hold this piece of life and privilege and history. ‘Will they be enough for your marketing plans, Rik?’

  She didn’t notice the softness in her tone, didn’t see the look exchanged between Rik’s brothers as Rik bent his shoulders to protect her from the wind that had sprung up as he answered her question.

  ‘I hope so, Mel. I very much hope so.’

  They gathered the truffles. Some were sent with Winnow to be prepared for travel. Rik placed the others in a basket, thanked his brothers for their presence and saw them on their way, and then turned to Mel. ‘Shall we have that peek at the kitchen that you mentioned?’

  ‘Y-yes. I’d like that.’ Mel liked it even more that Rik had remembered that small comment of hers from days ago.

  They made their way to the kitchens. Rik introduced Mel to the staff and somehow, even though she’d always been on the other side of things in this environment, he made it comfortable and easy. Enough that when he had to excuse himself to attend to other matters, Mel accepted the invitation to remain behind and observe as the staff prepared the midday meals.

  * * *

  ‘I’m almost afraid to taste,’ Melanie murmured as Rik removed the cover from the last dish.

  They were in his suite. He’d asked for their meal to be sent here, and wasn’t that what people would expect of a newly engaged couple—to want every moment alone? Yet Rik knew that he’d chosen to dine with Melanie here because he wanted to keep her to himself more than he perhaps should.

  The legend talked of sharing the first meal prepared with the truffles, that the prince must share the tasting process…

  He pushed the fanciful thoughts aside. This was a matter of practicality. And perhaps of giving Melanie a moment that she might not otherwise experience. ‘Each of the dishes have been enhanced with the addition of the truffles.’

  ‘The kitchen staff said there are different opinions about actually cooking the truffles.’ Mel had listened with interest to the discussion about that in the kitchens earlier. She’d learned so much! ‘The risotto and the duck dishes both smell divine.’

  ‘Before we start on those, I would like to give you the chance to sample the first truffle in very simple form.’ Rik lifted a single truffle from a salver. His fingers shook slightly. He steadied them and lifted his gaze to hers.

  It was just a legend. Foolish stuff.

  The prince prepares the truffle and offers it to his bride.

  Mel drew a shaky breath as though she perhaps, too, felt the air change around them, almost as though it filled with anticipation as she yielded her palate to his ministration…

  He shaved transparent slices of truffle onto the pristine white plate. The butter knife slid through creamy butter. Just the right smear on each sliver, a sprinkle of salt crystals.

  Rik held the first slice out to her. Soft pink lips closed over it, just touched the tips of his fingers as her eyelids drifted closed and she experience her first taste of…a legend.

  ‘It’s almost intoxicating.’ Her words whispered through her lips. ‘The permeation of the scent, the beautiful texture. I can’t even describe how amazing…I feel as though I’ve tasted something sacred.’

  She couldn’t have rehearsed those words if she’d tried. Rik took his own slice of truffle, unbelievably pleased in the face of her pleasure.

  They moved on to eat the other dishes. Melanie experienced each new taste with curiosity and perhaps with a little awe. Rik shared her pleasure and knew that it renewed his own. He couldn’t take his gaze from her mouth. He wanted to lean forward and taste the flavour of the truffle, of salt and butter, from the inside of her lips.

  It was just a legend.

  But Melanie Watson was not a legend. She was a very real woman, and Rik…desired her in this moment, far too much.

  * * *

  They left for France that afternoon. Mel settled into her seat on the family’s private plane and observed, with some wonder, Rik’s calm face. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’

  ‘Do what?’ He glanced out of the window at the scudding clouds beneath the plane’s belly before he turned his gaze to her and gave her all of his attention.

  ‘Remain so calm in the face of being chased all the way to the plane by a wedding planner waving colour swatches and bits of lace and begging for fittings and a decision on the choices for the table settings.’

  ‘We gave her the answers she needed.’ A slight smile twitched at the corners of Rik’s mouth. ‘And perhaps next time she won’t wear those kinds of heels for running.’

  ‘I could learn a thing or two.’ Melanie had taken to the wedding planner. ‘She’s doing her best to make things easy for us while we fly all over Europe showing buyers what they’ll be missing out on if they don’t make an order this year for Braston truffles.’

  ‘In truth we’re only going to Paris.’ There was a pause while Rik looked into her eyes, and while he registered how committed she had sounded to his country’s industry as she spoke those words.

  ‘It’s still more exciting than almost anything I’ve done.’ Melanie returned his glance.

  How did he do that? Make it seem as though the whole rest of the world suddenly faded away and it were just the two of them? Mel would be hopeless at truly being married to him. There’d b
e photos through the tabloids all the time of her making goo-goo eyes at him when she didn’t realise she was doing it.

  Um, where was she?

  She would not, anyway. An unguarded thought here or there, or coming to realise that he was a good man and one she could admire, hardly equated to a Rufusina-like devotion to the man.

  And you just compared yourself to a truffle hog, Mel. I don’t think pigs wear magic slippers. ‘Magic trotters, maybe,’ Mel muttered, and snapped her teeth together before anything even sillier could come out.

  ‘I hope the marketing trip is successful.’ For a moment Rik dropped his guard and let her see the concern beneath the surface. ‘There’s no room for failure in my plans, but I still…’

  Worry?

  ‘All the kitchen staff said the truffles were the best ever. I have nothing to compare to, but I thought they were stunning.’ Mel was glad she’d spent the time in the kitchen while Rik finalised plans for their trip.

  He’d sprung it on her just as though they were taking a walk around the corner. “Oh, and by the way we’re leaving for Paris this afternoon, I’ll have the staff pack for you.”

  She’d let that happen, too, and hadn’t even tried to oversee what got put in the suitcases. Melanie Watson, cook, had stayed clear and let the palace staff pack her things for a trip to Paris.

  ‘I’ll help you in any way I can, with the marketing efforts.’ Mel didn’t know if she could do anything. Did being his fiancée count?

  Her glance dropped to the ring on her finger. Every time she looked at it, it seemed to belong there more than the last time. It had seemed to be made for her from the moment Rik lifted it from a bed of black velvet and placed it on her finger.

  What was happening to her? She was losing the battle to keep her emotional distance from him, that was what. There was no point saying she only cared about the people of Braston, or only admired him because he cared about their futures. Mel did feel all those things, but they were only part of what she felt for him.

  Face it, Mel. Somehow you got caught in your own feelings towards him and, instead of getting them under control or stopping them altogether, they’ve grown more and more with each passing day.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘I AM interested, you understand. Braston black truffles have been a high-standard product.’ The owner of the group of elite Parisian restaurants spoke the words to Rik with a hint of regret, but as much with the glint of good business in his eyes. ‘It is just with your truffles being totally off the market for two years I have found other supply sources.’

  This was the fourth restaurant owner they’d seen since they arrived in Paris. The others had come on board, but something told Mel this one might be a harder sell.

  They were inside the man’s home, seated at a carved wooden dining setting. At the end of the table, a wide glass vase held a bunch of mixed flowers. The moment they walked into the room, Rik’s gaze had examined the arrangement.

  He’d been checking for gardenias, Mel had realised, and her heart had been ridiculously warmed by the gesture on his part. There were none, but that bunch of flowers looked particularly pretty to her now.

  ‘The blight to our crops was tragic, but we are back on our feet and, as you can see, the commercial truffles are the same high standard.’ Rik lifted one of the truffles he had placed on an oval plate in the centre of the table, took up a stainless-steel shaver and shaved thin slices from the black shape.

  As the older man examined the truffle slices, and Mel recalled the almost spiritual moment of trying her first truffle with Rik, he went on.

  ‘I know at this time of year you would be sourcing truffles. I’d like to see Braston truffles back on the menu at your restaurants.’

  At his feet was a travel carrier containing more truffles, and from which he had unpacked the plates and shaver as well as a beautiful small kitchen knife with a gold inlaid handle.

  ‘And I’d like to put them there, but—’

  ‘I have an added incentive that may sweeten the deal for you, Carel.’ Rik spoke the words quietly.

  ‘And that is?’ Carel was the last on their list.

  It was almost nine p.m. now and they had been fortunate that the man rarely worked in any of his kitchens these days, preferring to visit as suited him, so he’d been more than happy to meet with Rik at his home.

  The incentive of the truffles harvested from royal grounds had worked well with the other restaurant owners. They’d all placed orders for commercial truffles so they could also obtain some of the other truffles. Mel wondered if Carel would be as willing to be convinced. Middle-aged, and ruthlessly business focused, this man was much harder to read than the others.

  A surge of protectiveness of Rik rose in Mel’s breast. He shouldn’t have to beg for anything. He was, well, he was a prince! And yet that description was not the first one that had come to Mel’s mind. Rik was good and fair and hardworking and dedicated and his care for the people of his country ran so deep that she knew it would never leave him. He deserved to be respected because of what was inside him.

  Carel tipped his head slightly to the side. ‘We have already discussed pricing and you certainly do not plan to give away—’

  ‘Braston’s truffle crops at a price that won’t help my people get back on their feet?’ Rik said it softly. ‘No. And deep down I know you would not respect such a gesture if I made it.’

  The older man was silent for a moment before he dipped his head. ‘You are correct.’

  ‘How would you feel about a complimentary gift of some of the truffles grown on the palace grounds?’ Rik watched Carel’s face for his reaction. ‘To go with your order, of course.’

  Mel watched both their faces.

  ‘There are legends surrounding those truffles.’ The older man’s glance moved to Mel before it returned to Rik and he asked with the hint of a smile, ‘Do I need to ask whether you harvested the truffles yourself? I am assuming you have brought them with you to show?’

  ‘You do not need to ask, and I have brought them.’ Rik’s answer was ironic and guarded all at once.

  Before Mel could try to understand that, Rik drew another white rectangular plate out and placed just one truffle on it.

  Carel leaned forward to look.

  Rik shaved the truffle, allowing the wafer thin slices to fall onto the plate and the pungent aroma to rise.

  What exactly did that legend stand for? Mel made a note to find out when they got back to the palace.

  ‘The aroma is muscular with a particular rich spiciness I have never encountered.’ Carel lifted one of the slices to examine the texture, and colour.

  He looked, he inhaled, and after a long moment he put the truffle slice down. ‘I do not know. I’m not convinced that the royal truffles will equate to anything exciting enough on the plate. If I agreed to your offer, I would want to be sure that the truffles were a good enough selling point in terms of taste, not only legend.’

  ‘And yet they are the stuff of legends,’ Rik said with a hint of the same spark.

  This was the business dance, and both men were doing it well.

  ‘Indeed.’ The older man dipped his head. ‘That is undeniable and an excellent marketing point. But I would be using them at my restaurants for the most expensive dishes only on a very limited basis. They would have to live up to and beyond expectation in all ways.’

  ‘They do. They would!’ The words burst out of Mel. She touched the edge of one truffle slice with the tip of her finger and caught and held Carel’s gaze. ‘These truffles have a flavour and scent you’ll never find anywhere else. The texture is beautiful. They provide the most stunning enhancement to the dishes they’re used in or when eaten by themselves.’

  ‘This is quite true.’ Rik’s gaze softened as he glanced at Melanie’s face. She wanted
so desperately for this trip to be successful, for him to obtain all the markets for his truffles that he had set out to recapture. ‘But I understand Carel’s point, too.’

  Rik appreciated Mel for that investment in him. It seemed a bland way to describe the warm feeling that spread through his chest as he acknowledged Melanie’s fierce support of his efforts. It was a bland description, but Rik wasn’t at all sure he wanted to allow himself to examine that warmth, or try to know exactly what it might mean.

  ‘For me, I do not have the evidence of this truth.’ Carel again smelled and examined the truffle and its slices. ‘I am sure my chefs would like to try cooking with these, but they are busy at the restaurants—’

  ‘I’ll cook them for you!’ Melanie got out of her chair. ‘Right here and now.’

  If Carel had given any indication that he wouldn’t allow it, no doubt Melanie would have immediately stopped. But the older man simply watched with a hint of appreciation on his face as Melanie fired up on Rik’s behalf. Carel waved a hand as though to say: By all means go ahead.

  Rik had to push back a bite of possessive jealousy as he realised the older man was…aware of his fiancée as a woman.

  Surely this doesn’t surprise you, Rik? Every man would notice her beauty. How could they not?

  Melanie stepped into Carel’s open-plan kitchen. It was immediately apparent that she was at home in this environment. A chopping board sat on the bench.

  She glanced towards the refrigerator. ‘May I use anything, monsieur?’

  Carel smiled. ‘Yes. Anything.’

  Mel took chicken breast, salad greens and dried raspberries, and then selected a bottle of red wine. Finally she retrieved salt and pepper and cashews and a long thin loaf of bread from Carel’s pantry.

  Rather than the kitchen knives available to her, Mel walked back to where Rik sat at the table. She took the gold-handled knife from where it rested near Rik’s right hand.

  As she did so she touched his shoulder briefly with her other hand. ‘For luck.’