Hand-Me-Down Princess

by Carol Moncado

  The tears had spilled onto her cheeks, and she rested her forehead on his chest. “I want that, too,” she blurted out, then turned, ran to the bathroom, and slammed the door behind her.

  Malachi sighed, not sure what he could have said or done differently. He went back into the living area and saw his phone buzzing away on the coffee table. It stopped before he reached it but found four calls and half a dozen text messages from his brother telling him to check a particular news site.

  A feeling of dread filled the pit of his stomach as he turned on his tablet. It only took a few clicks to arrive at the correct page. He scanned the article, but the only thing he really needed to see was the accompanying picture.

  Taken near the palace.

  Of his father’s mistress.

  Chapter 24

  Christiana had finally changed into pajamas and locked everyone out. She was not home yet, but she needed time alone. More than anything. Time to rest and recharge. To be out of the public eye.

  One thing she had found since her uncle’s arrest was that the people wanted to see her out and about, doing something to fix the problems he had created. Many of the problems could not be fixed by public appearances. Time and money were required for most of them.

  Her cell phone rang and, even though it was her fiancée, she hesitated before answering. Their time together was so limited. She did not want to miss the chance to talk. “How was your day?” she asked after they exchanged pleasantries. He had too many rough days lately. She offered to look into the new regulations that were affecting him-he had never been specific enough for her to know what to look for on her own-but he was most emphatic that he did not want any special treatment.

  “Another tough one, Chris.” His voice sounded wearier than she had ever heard it. “And all day I had to listen to speculation about you didn’t have a real date with you at the wedding. It was one of the worst days my business has had but all anyone cares about is why you went to the wedding with Will.”

  Will? He had never met William and had no way of knowing how much the prince hated the nickname.

  “You don’t have feelings for him, do you, Chris?”

  That drew her attention. “Feelings for William?” It was not the time to remind him how much she hated the nickname “Chris.” She had told him several times, but he never remembered for long. Her uncle had called her “Chris” most of her life, and, even before she’d know the extent of his betrayal, the name had annoyed her.

  “Yes. You know. The man you’ve gone on dates with for years.”

  “First, they were never dates. We both attended the same function and went together sometimes because neither of us wanted to deal with an actual date. Second, he is the Crown Prince and will be king of Mevendia someday. That means we could not get married even if we wanted to. Malachi or Richard would have been a different situation. Even before either one of them were married, I had no interest in them, and they had no interest in me.”

  The silence on the other end of the line told her he was not sure he believed her.

  Instead, she changed the subject. “Speaking of weddings though, we need to set our date very soon. Alexander needs to begin making the arrangements for security and limiting who will be allowed on the island.”

  “If someone really wanted to get on the island, he could,” he scoffed. “Believe me. If someone wants something badly enough, they’ll get it.”

  Something about the way he said it bothered Christiana, though she could not quite put her finger on what it was.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he went on. “I’ll look at my schedule and tell Alexander when the wedding will be. We’ll get it sorted out, Chris.”

  They talked for another minute or two before he told her he had another call.

  “I love you,” she told him.

  “I know, Chris. I’m so glad you do. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She hung up after he did and climbed under the covers. Her mind refused to quiet down. She tossed and turned, her mind going from the difficulties facing some of her people, to the stress her fiancé was under, and the million details she would need to take care of when planning the wedding. Eventually, she managed to doze off, but the turbulence of her mind meant her sleep was anything but restful.

  * * *

  By the time their flight took off the next morning, Jessabelle knew something was going on. After he’d kissed her, Malachi had gone to the living area of the suite and hadn’t returned until after she’d finally fallen asleep what seemed like hours later.

  Malachi had been solicitous before leaving the hotel, but he and William had been oddly quiet during the ride to and from the church service. They sequestered themselves in the conference room as soon as they boarded.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” Yvette asked her as they taxied to the runway.

  That answered one question. “No. Malachi seemed preoccupied, but he didn’t tell me what about.”

  “Did you ask and he wouldn’t tell you, or did you just not ask?”

  “I didn’t ask. What’s the difference?”

  “If he flat out wouldn’t tell you, what he said when he wouldn’t might tell us something. Instead, they’re not saying anything at all. William refused to tell me why he was in a snit.”

  “I’m sure they have their reasons.” Jessabelle tried to be diplomatic, though she doubted Malachi was inclined to tell her too much, regardless of the feelings behind that kiss. “If it’s something we need to know, they’ll tell us when they need to.”

  Yvette muttered something Jessabelle didn’t catch as the plane lifted into the air. At least it was a short flight. In less than ninety minutes, they’d taken separate vehicles back to the palace, with Malachi and William being whisked away somewhere else. Jessabelle would have unpacked but her suitcase was nowhere to be seen, not that she’d taken much with her. Instead, she flopped into the extra-large, extra comfortable chair Malachi had aquired for her and put in front of the fireplace in their room. She pulled her tablet out to read a book since nothing else would be required of her until evening at best.

  The Internet browser had been open last and before she could change apps, the news site refreshed. Next to the main article about Princess Anastasia’s wedding, something else caught her eye. A picture of a woman who looked familiar. The caption said it was the king’s long-time mistress who hadn’t been seen in twenty years. She wore large sunglasses and seemed not to be trying to draw attention to herself, but someone had spotted her anyway.

  Could that be what occupied Malachi and William? Wondering how to deal with the sudden arrival of their father’s former paramour and what it could mean? It would explain their preoccupation. What could she do to help him? Anything?

  Letting her subconscious work on it for a while, she opened the book she’d been reading and lost herself in it.

  It wasn’t until Malachi stormed into the room that she realized how much time had passed. He ranted in another language - Italian? - as he went into the closet. She understood none of it, except the occasional English word tossed in for good measure.

  She’d never seen him like this. Did she go to him? Offer to help? Or let him burn off steam?

  Jessabelle turned the tablet off and set it on the side table. He reemerged wearing only a pair of loose fitting shorts, still muttering though she thought he’d switched to Spanish. Despite her best intentions, her gaze lingered on his well-formed chest and the six-pack she’d only seen a time or two before.

  Her husband had a very nice physique. She’d noticed his strength but hadn’t really analyzed where it had come from or what it looked like underneath those suits and collared shirts.

  “What?”

  She looked up eighteen inches or so to see barely concealed fury on his face. “Nothing.” Jessabelle fought to keep from retreating into her shell, the one that had protected her from the emotions of so many people over the years, including her own.

  “You’re staring at me.”r />
  Could she hold her ground? “You’re cursing in other languages.”

  “I didn’t curse in any language.”

  She shrugged.

  “How long have you been sitting there?”

  “A while.” The walls started to creep up around her, as though a switch had been flipped.

  “Have you done anything but sit there since we got back?”

  She swallowed and felt herself retreat. “Not really.” Her volume decreased, but he didn’t notice.

  He flung some words her direction, Italian again. She had no idea what they were, but he wasn’t happy. What did he want her to do? She had no gainful employment. There was always shopping, but how would that look if the rest of the royal family was dealing with a crisis? No charity appearances had been scheduled for the day.

  As quickly as he came, he left, a trail of words she couldn’t interpret in his wake.

  Chapter 25

  Lizbeth had texted Malachi when she saw the photo on the news. The woman’s presence wouldn’t go over well with the royal family. She had no doubt the king knew where the woman had been for the last twenty years, but she doubted he’d been aware of the woman’s plans to return. According to her father, who made sure she knew pretty much everything there was to know about the royal family, odd things had happened twenty years earlier. Things no one ever explained. The shake up in the royal court hadn’t gone unnoticed, but whenever asked about it, the palace always gave the same answer.

  No comment.

  Eight hours later, she still hadn’t heard back from Malachi. With precious little to occupy her time, she decided to take a different tact. Not to press for information, per se, but to be the friend he’d asked her to be. A text to Jessabelle was answered in just a few minutes. She didn’t care to go shopping. Lizbeth asked if she’d like to go out to eat instead. Unsurprisingly, Jessabelle didn’t want to go out to dinner, but did invite Lizbeth over. She hesitated, then asked if Malachi would be there. When she learned he wouldn’t, Lizbeth changed and headed to the palace. For the first time, she wouldn’t be there to see Malachi, but perhaps a nice discussion with Jessabelle would open the doors to a true friendship. A tentative bond had been formed on their girls’ day out. Once she got past the whole “Malachi’s wife” thing, Lizbeth thought it might actually be a friendship she wanted to cultivate.

  Her admittance to the palace grounds wasn’t any different than it had been when she came to see Malachi, but this time she was greeted by an aide she didn’t know. Lizbeth had only been to the family residence portion of the palace a few times and, when accepting the invitation, she hadn’t stopped to consider she would be going to the apartment Malachi now shared with his wife.

  This could be awkward.

  She was shown into a vestibule and left alone. The large window overlooked the courtyard in the center of the palace grounds. The ornate wooden door had a keypad next to it. She’d seen the aide punch a code into several others as they walked through the building. Without knowing what else to do, she knocked on the door.

  After just a few seconds, she heard a lock turning. Odd. Why did the door need to be locked in the palace of all places?

  Jessabelle opened the door opened with a timid smile on her face. “Hello, Lizbeth. Please come in.”

  “Thanks.” She looked around a surprisingly comfortable living room. Windows flanked both sides of the room. One set also overlooked the courtyard with the other showing a grand vista of the mountains beyond. Those were the ones she walked toward. “I love your view.”

  “Thanks. Malachi picked it before the wedding.”

  Lizbeth glanced over at her. “You didn’t get to help choose which apartment you’d live in?”

  Jessabelle shrugged. “He said he liked this one and told me why, but that we could go look at the other ones if we wanted to. I liked this view, too.”

  “It’s a great choice.” Lizbeth glanced around. “Is there a place I can set my things?”

  “Of course.” Jessabelle reached for Lizbeth’s purse. “Let me take them for you.”

  She handed it over and shrugged off her jacket. “Thank you.” Did they not have anyone else working for them? She’d expected to see several staff members in various capacities, but so far there had been no sign of anyone within the apartment itself.

  After putting the things on a stand with a small table and coat rack, Jessabelle turned back to Lizbeth. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Just some water, if it’s not too much trouble.” She followed her hostess into the kitchen and accepted a glass of ice water a moment later.

  “I hope sandwiches are okay for dinner.” Jessabelle pulled some rolls out of a cabinet and set them on the island before turning to start removing some cold cuts from the refrigerator.

  “That’s fine.” Lizbeth didn’t mind sandwiches, but it wasn’t quite what she’d expected. She wasn’t sure exactly what she expected, but this certainly wasn’t it. Fifteen minutes later, they were seated at a table in what Jessabelle had called the breakfast nook, but might pass for a formal dining room just about anywhere else. Idle chitchat filled the conversation as they ate. “You know what this meal is missing?” Lizbeth asked.

  The look on Jessabelle’s face turned scared. “No.”

  Was she afraid she’d committed some social faux pas? “Milk and cookies. Or brownies a la mode. That would be perfect.”

  Jessabelle’s expression relaxed. “We can do that. I think I have the supplies for cookies in here already without needing to get them from another kitchen.”

  Lizbeth had never given much thought to the practicalities of being married to Malachi, only the glamorous side of being a princess. “Do you do any of your own grocery shopping?” she asked, genuinely curious but also knowing there would have been pictures if anyone had caught her doing such a mundane task.

  “No. I’m just supposed to enter anything I need into this system, and the kitchen people take care of it. I think they order it to be delivered, but I don’t really know.” She shrugged. “It’s not my favorite thing to do anyway. I would have, but they told me I didn’t need to.”

  “I hate grocery shopping, so I wouldn’t complain about that either.” She laughed. “The only problem would be when you have a three a.m. craving for pickles, blueberry yogurt, and tuna.”

  Something crossed Jessabelle’s face but it disappeared before Lizbeth could analyze it. It was replaced by a wrinkled nose of disgust. “Somehow I don’t think that will be an issue.” She picked up her plate and headed for the kitchen. “Let’s make cookies.”

  * * *

  Malachi regretted the way he’d spoken to Jessabelle, even if he wasn’t sure she understood either Italian or French. The day had been one of the most stressful he could remember since at least the wedding and probably longer. His father refused to talk to them, but rumor around the palace was that he would have a meeting with this woman. The only saving grace was a lack of public appearances for the next few days.

  For everyone but his wife.

  Jessabelle was scheduled for several in the coming days. He needed to go to as many as he could with her or make arrangements for her to be dropped off out of the view of prying eyes. He entered the apartment and heard the welcome sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. Who could she be laughing with?

  A half-smile on his face, he walked into the room, but stopped dead in his tracks. Lizbeth? What was she doing here?

  Jessabelle looked up from where she was mixing something in a bowl. She didn’t smile, but nodded at him. “Hello, Malachi.”

  Lizbeth smiled at him. “Hey, Mal.”

  Had he ever told her she hated that name? “Hello, Lizbeth.” First things first. “Jessabelle, I need to talk to you for a minute. Please?”

  She looked like she wanted to refuse, but after giving Lizbeth a quick glance, she nodded then washed her hands. He followed her into the living area but urged her to go all the way to their room. “I need to apologize, Mia
Belle. I’m sorry I spoke to you the way I did earlier. There was no excuse.”

  Her arms crossed in front of her like a shield protecting herself, much like she had earlier in their marriage. “Apology accepted.” She started to push by him, back out into the hall, but he stopped her.

  “I mean it, Mia Belle. I was angry about a number of things, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have.”

  She still didn’t look at him. “No. You shouldn’t have. You apologized. I accepted. Let me go.”

  “Not yet.” He tipped her chin up to look at him. “I know I hurt you, and I deeply regret it. Will you let me make it up to you?”

  “Sure.” He suspected she didn’t mean it but would say just about anything to get him to release her.

  “Can we talk more after Lizbeth leaves? There are some things we need to discuss about your upcoming public appearances.”

  “Fine.”

  Malachi let her go, knowing he was the reason her walls had been raised again. It had taken her months to get comfortable, but it had only taken a few minutes to rip apart everything they’d worked for. The question was how could he get her to lower them again?

  After he’d come in, changed into shorts, and grabbed a tank top, he’d headed to the gym and pounded out a few miles of frustration on the treadmill. He needed a shower before he’d be good company. It didn’t take long, and he decided slacks and a collared shirt would be the best way to go. He emerged back into the kitchen to see Lizbeth removing a tray of cookies from the oven.

  He didn’t see his wife.

  “Where’s Jessabelle?” he asked.

  Lizbeth shrugged. “I thought she was with you.”