by Cathie Linz
Actually, butterflies were not really an accurate description—thundering elephants came closer to the truth. And all because she was going out to dinner with Mark.
It shouldn’t have been a big deal. She told herself a million times in the past hour that it wasn’t a big deal. She had yet to actually convince herself of that, however.
The simple black dress she’d bought on sale fit her well. It was a sleeveless cotton sheath that suited her. She’d used one of those fun temporary color shampoos on her hair so no one would recognize her. After all, she couldn’t wear her baseball cap out to dinner. It didn’t go with her dress.
On the way home this afternoon, she and Mark had stopped at a corner store. While Mark had picked up some more food, she’d picked up the shampoo, a dollar lipstick and a two-dollar eye shadow. Applying her simple makeup, she couldn’t help thinking of the royal perfumer who charged thousands of dollars to blend a unique scent just for her. Vanessa hadn’t selected the scent, her father had.
She stared at herself in the mirror mounted on the back of the bedroom door. She looked good because she looked happy and carefree. And nervous, yes. But happy.
She’d put a CD in the compact stereo on the bedside table. Judging by the CD collection, Mark’s friend had a thing for the Rat Pack singers from the fifties. At the moment Sammy Davis Jr. was singing an old classic about an irresistible force meeting up with an immovable object. Listening to the lyrics, Vanessa decided this one could be a theme song for Mark and her.
Swaying in her bare feet across the hardwood floor, she swirled her way to the corner where she slipped on her new sandals. In addition to her new slipper necklace, she also wore an anklet, a dainty heart with I Love NY etched on it she’d bought at a souvenir store earlier that day. It dangled jauntily, swinging as she danced her way back to the mirror. She felt so decadently… American.
Now Sammy was singing about the best being yet to come. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Vanessa thought. To think the best might be yet to come filled her with a surge of anticipation. The day’s freedom had already gone to her head like a fine wine.
She looked over to the snow globe of the NY skyline that Mark had bought for her on Liberty Island. It sat on top of the dresser, where sunlight from the window shimmered off it, reminding her of how much fun she’d had.
“What are you doing in there?” Mark asked from the other side of the door.
“Making myself beautiful,” she replied.
“That should take all of about two seconds,” he retorted.
Opening the door, she said, “Was that a compliment, Captain?”
He didn’t reply. At least not with words. But his blue eyes spoke directly to her heart, stealing her breath away.
When Sinatra started singing “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” Vanessa knew she was in trouble—not because of Ol’ Blue Eyes crooning but because of Mark. He threw her heightened senses into turmoil. A responsive awareness seemed to have taken hold of every muscle and every nerve in her body. And all because Mark was looking at her as if seeing her, really seeing her, for the very first time. He liked what he saw. Male to female. The sensual message was coming across loud and clear.
She liked what she saw. Wearing dark slacks and a dark shirt, he was the epitome of sexy masculinity.
“I like what you did with your hair. You look great,” he finally said.
“Thanks, so do you.” Her voice was a breathless squeak. Clearing her throat, she added, “I left my tiara behind as you requested.”
“Wise move.” He nodded approvingly.
“I did consider wearing that green foam crown you got for me at the Statue of Liberty, but I decided it clashed with my outfit.”
“We certainly wouldn’t want you clashing,” he said. “The little Italian place around the corner has its standards, you know. They might not let us in if you clashed.”
“That’s what I figured. A place has to have some standards.”
“Are you ready?”
She’d asked him that question when they’d left her hotel suite, was it only yesterday morning? She felt as if it had been a lifetime ago. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” He gallantly offered her his arm. “Shall we go?”
They walked to the restaurant. Strolled, really. It seemed a night made for lovers. Or maybe it was just her, noticing all the couples—the teenagers kissing in a doorway, the elderly couple holding hands at the bus stop.
Her dreamy pleasure continued once they reached Clara’s Restaurant. The small eatery had white paper tablecloths instead of damask linens, but she’d never seen a more delightful place. Candlelight flickered from the two dozen or so tables. She and Mark were seated at a tiny table for two in the corner.
“This probably isn’t the kind of place you’re used to,” Mark began.
She interrupted him. “You’re talking to a woman who likes pizza and fries, remember?”
He smiled. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Then you better guard your dinner plate so I don’t steal anything from it.”
“You’re welcome to try,” he invited her with a grin.
The music playing in the background was soft and romantic. Old classics. “Night and Day.” “I’ve Got the World on a String.”
It was a little eerie having her evening orchestrated as if her life was a sound track in a movie.
She and Mark talked about their day together, about the things they’d seen and heard. They laughed all through the first course, a delicious homemade mine-strone.
They talked about the exhibits they’d seen at the Met. At one point, Vanessa shyly confessed, “I wanted to be an artist. I studied briefly in Paris, but my father needed my help so I returned home and took up my diplomatic duties. I still paint when I can, but it isn’t very often. What about you? Have you always wanted to be a Marine?”
“At one time I kicked around the idea of starting my own security firm,” he admitted.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I already have a full-time job as a Marine.”
“And that’s enough? You haven’t ever wondered if there’s more to life?”
He’d never used to wonder, but lately he’d started. Since meeting her, his rock-firm Marine world had been turned upside down. Where before he’d always thought he had his life squared away, now doubts were creeping in.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. He’d never talked this way with anyone before.
She nibbled on the oven-warm bread she’d dipped in olive oil and grated parmesan cheese before saying, “I’ve definitely got that round-peg-in-a-square-hole feeling. Have had it for years now, in fact. It must be nice to live a life that completes you instead of one that leaves you empty. To be doing something you love, something you believe in with all your heart.” She sounded wistful.
“Sometimes you start out loving something, and then things change.”
“Or maybe we change?”
“Or maybe it’s a bit of both,” he said.
She nodded. “I know what you mean.”
“You do?” Here he wasn’t even sure if what he was articulating was right and yet she seemed to understand.
“Yes, I certainly do. We both have…demanding jobs,” she said, aware of the waiter removing their empty dishes and replacing them with their main courses. “And we both work for strong taskmasters who have a very high standard of excellence. But if you have a dream, you should follow it.”
“What about you? What about your dream job?”
“It would be working with those children I told you about. I’d love to be able to start a special foundation for them. There are reasons I can’t have my dream. As I said, my father has forbidden me from doing more than I already am. What are the reasons you can’t have yours?”
“I already told you. I’ve got a full-time job.”
“So you see yourself as what…rising to be a general?”
The music playing now was “Mack the Knife,” and it matched t
he sudden edge to Mark’s expression. “There’s nothing wrong with being a general.”
“I’m sure there isn’t.”
“It’s all about power, about having the power to make sure the Marine Corps gets what it deserves. We’re constantly fighting for what’s ours because we’re the smallest of the armed services.”
“So what’s your plan? To be the youngest general in Marine history?”
“It’s a good goal.”
“Yes, it is. Funny how goals are different than dreams, though, isn’t it? Your goal is to be the youngest general, but your dream is to have your own security business, to be self-employed.”
“The Marines aren’t big on self or individualism,” Mark said. “In their view, the good of many outweighs the good of the few.”
“Sounds like the way my father thinks. He’s not real big on individualism either. Especially mine.”
“Is your sister as rebellious toward him as you are?”
“My sister is much better at obeying rules than I am or ever could be. She should have been born first so she could be heir to the throne. I’m sure she’d do a better job at it than I ever could.”
“I wouldn’t say that. You’re very good at giving orders.”
“Yes, but as you pointed out, I’m not good at taking them. Anna is.”
“Your sister’s name is Anna?”
“Yes. She looks very much like my mother, petite and dainty, very elegant, always knowing the right thing to say or to wear. Next to her I feel as tall as the Empire State Building. Which reminds me, can we go there tomorrow?”
“You haven’t gotten tired of playing tourist?”
“Absolutely not.” She slid off her sandal beneath the table and rubbed her foot with her fingers. “My feet are a bit sore though.”
“Remind me to give you a foot massage when we get back to the apartment.”
She did remind him as soon as they got inside.
Mark turned on the elaborate stereo in the living room and Sinatra started singing “Too Marvelous for Words.” Which is exactly how she felt when Mark began massaging her bare foot while she sat on the couch. His touch was too marvelous for words as his fingers moved in a slow sensuous circle over the sole of her foot.
“I have big feet,” she said apologetically. “When Prudence and I went to school together as teenagers for that one year, I used to tell her that I had skis for feet, they were so big. Not dainty princess feet at all.”
“And I suppose Anna has dainty princess feet.”
His comment surprised her. “Yes, she does,” Vanessa confirmed. “How did you know that?”
“I know you.” He slid a finger between her toes in a move that felt erotically sensual. “Or I’m starting to.”
“You certainly know how to make me feel good,” she murmured.
He was tempted to say he knew how to make her feel even better, before remembering who she was and why he was there. She was a princess. He was the Marine protecting and deceiving her. It wasn’t something he could afford to forget. Ever.
“It’s been a long day,” he said abruptly, setting her foot back on the couch. “You should get some rest.”
And so Vanessa once again left him alone with his laptop computer to fight his inner battles.
The next two days were a repeat of the last two, filled with sightseeing and fun—the Empire State Building, Times Square, Rockefeller Center. And ending with Mark distancing himself from Vanessa, sending her off to bed alone while he completed his e-mail reports to her father.
As his guilt had increased, the length and detail of his reports had decreased. Mark was supposed to recount everything, but he hadn’t. He’d focused on the facts and omitted sharing Vanessa’s dreams of being an artist or of starting her own charitable foundation to help children or her memories about her mother.
He was betraying her trust. He was following orders. He was trying not to think about it.
Their current surroundings were a good place to forget things. They were in Central Park on a beautiful spring day, surrounded by relatively fresh air and a crowd of people enjoying the sunshine.
“This city’s got two baseball teams, five boroughs, one hundred fifty museums and eighteen thousand restaurants,” Mark noted, reading from a guidebook. “So where would you like to go to dinner tonight?”
“We haven’t even eaten our lunch yet. Where are the fries?” Vanessa asked, peering over his shoulder as he set aside the guidebook to open a large paper bag.
“You wanted a picnic in Central Park. At a picnic you have potato chips,” he told her.
“Actually I wanted to stroll around Central Park,” she corrected him. “At night. The picnic was your idea.”
“An excellent idea,” he declared before popping a potato chip in his mouth.
“Are all Marines so modest?” she teased him.
He retaliated by popping a potato chip in her mouth before saying, “Have I ever told you about Chesty Puller?”
“No.” Vanessa blinked at his change of subject. “Is she a former girlfriend of yours?” she inquired dryly.
“Chesty is a he not a she. He’s a Marine hero.”
“Really? It must have been tough growing up with a name like Chesty.”
“His full title was Lieutenant General Lewis B. Chesty Puller. He was the only Marine to win the Navy Cross five times for heroism and gallantry in combat. He was an enlisted man and an officer for thirty-seven years. The action that brought him the most acclaim occurred during World War II in the Pacific. His battalion was stretched over a mile-long front and was the only thing between a critical airfield and the enemy. General Puller moved up and down the front line, encouraging his men and directing the defense.”
“He sounds like a special hero,” she noted softly, sensing that Mark was telling her this story for a reason. She’d suspected that something was bothering him for the past few days, but she couldn’t get him to talk about whatever it was.
“Those who served with him say he stalked around under enemy fire as though daring anyone to hit him. He was a born leader who thrived on combat and became a legend to his troops. He’s one of the few, the proud. The Marines have plenty to be proud of.”
“I’m sure they do.” She waited for him to continue, but he fell silent. It was a brooding kind of silence that indicated someone in conflict. She recognized the symptoms because she’d been there herself. At war with herself over how to deal with her life. It wasn’t a pleasant place to be.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked him.
“Talk about what?” he countered.
“Whatever it is that’s been bothering you.”
“No.” Bang. That quickly he slammed the emotional door in her face. It seemed he’d only let her so close before pushing her away again. She found his behavior frustrating but understandable. He was a Marine, unaccustomed to sharing emotions. She could relate to that.
She couldn’t force him to open up to her. She could only be there for him, the way he’d been there for her this past week. And pray that he wasn’t regretting sacrificing his vacation time to be with her.
She nervously filled the silence. “Well then, allow me to say that once again you’ve outdone yourself in selecting the menu for this afternoon’s meal. This Reuben sandwich is delicious, but messy,” she added with a laugh as she dabbed at her chin for what felt like the tenth time in as many seconds.
“Picnics are supposed to be messy.”
“Not where I come from,” she murmured, remembering the lawn parties with hundreds of guests dining on the perfectly groomed grounds of the palace in St. Kristoff. Her gown had always been a matter of great discussion, and she’d never seemed to pick the right one.
“You sure you’re not getting homesick yet?” Mark asked, no doubt misinterpreting her melancholy expression.
“Are you kidding?” Turning her face skyward to the sun, she murmured, “I may stay here forever.”
Mark was saved from
having to reply by the sudden appearance of a toddler, a little boy who’d made his way from a nearby picnic blanket to crash their party.
“Hi there,” Vanessa greeted him, curving a protective arm around him as he came to her as if he’d known her all his short life. “You’re a friendly little fellow, aren’t you?”
The little boy grinned up at her.
The impact of Vanessa holding the child hit Mark with the force of a high-explosive round from a 40mm grenade launcher.
Something deep inside him clicked, as if a lock had tumbled into place opening up a trunkful of trouble. He wanted her. He wanted her holding his child.
All his fine talk about his attraction to her being a result of him having gone too long without a woman fell by the wayside. The truth was staring him in the face and yelling at him from his very soul. This was no ordinary attraction, no ordinary woman. This was something powerful and potentially overwhelming.
And because of that it was also something very dangerous, something that had to be kept under lock and key, something that couldn’t be acted upon. Never in his life had he been torn between duty and…love? Was that what this was?
“Joshua, where are you?” A frantic woman’s voice could be heard over the sound of a nearby radio.
As quickly as he’d appeared, the toddler was scooped up and carried away by his mother. The boy gave a forlorn little wave at Vanessa over his mother’s shoulder.
Mark was also waving goodbye to any hope of being able to carry out his orders in a dispassionate manner. He was in a no-win situation here. If he told Vanessa the truth, he’d disobey orders and she’d hate him. If he stopped reporting their activities to her father, he’d be disobeying orders, and she’d be taken from his care and whisked back to Volzemburg. There was no easy way out. There was no way out, period.
Vanessa noticed that Mark was eyeing her strangely. “Something wrong?”
“You like kids.”
“Yes, I do. You already knew that. I told you…”
“I know. About wanting to help kids. I just didn’t realize…”
“Yes?” she prompted him.