A Princess for Christmas

by Shirley Jump

  “Don’t worry,” her mother said. “It will all be fine.”

  Easier said than done. She thought of her mother, and how worried Bianca Santaro must be about her husband. The miles between mother and daughter seemed to multiply. “I should come home. Be there for Christmas.”

  “I wish you could, cara. I would like nothing more than to have my daughter with me for Christmas.” Her mother sighed, and Mariabella swore she could hear her mother begin to cry.

  Half a world away, Mariabella’s heart broke, too. Christmas. Her favorite holiday, and Mama’s, too. The castle would already be decorated top to bottom with pine garlands and red bows. Christmas trees in every bedroom, set before every fireplace. None of them would top the giant tree, though, the twenty-five-foot beauty the palace’s landscaper searched far and wide to find, then set in the center hall.

  Every year, her mother personally oversaw the decorating of that tree, draping it in gold ribbons and white angel ornaments. And every year, it had been Mariabella’s job to hang the last ornament on that tree. To be the one to pronounce it finished, and then to turn on the lights, washing the entire hall in a soft golden glow, sending a chorus of appreciation through the audience of onlookers brought in from the city.

  But not this year. Or last year.

  No, she had been here, instead. Leaving her mother to handle Christmas with her sisters. Who had lit the tree? Who had hung that last decoration?

  “We will miss you,” her mother said softly, “but if you come back, you know what will happen.”

  Mariabella let out a sigh. “Yes.”

  She would be expected to step back into her role. To go back to being groomed and primped for a crown she neither wanted nor asked to be given.

  Because her father would not be convinced to let her go a second time. She knew that, as well as she knew her own name.

  “Stay where you are,” her mother said, as if reading her daughter’s mind. “I know what this time, as limited as it is, means to you.” Her mother’s gentle orders were firm.

  “Mama—”

  “Don’t argue with me, Bella. I sent you there. I know your father isn’t happy, but I will deal with him. You deserve a life outside of this…birdcage.”

  That was, indeed, how Mariabella had come to think of life back home. A cage, a gilded one she could look out of, but not escape. People could stare inside, see her and judge her, but never really know her.

  Then she’d come to Harborside and felt free, like a real person for the first time in her life.

  “I’ll call you if anything changes,” her mother said, “but I have to say goodbye now. I’m late for a state dinner.” She sighed. “You know how the prime minister gets. He hates to sit next to the visiting dignitaries from other countries and make small talk. The man has no social graces.”

  Mariabella laughed. She certainly didn’t miss that part of palace life at all. The stuffy meals, the endless dinner parties. “Have a good time. If you can.”

  “Oh, I will. I seated the prime minister beside Carlita.” Her mother let out a little giggle.

  “Mama!”

  “Your little sister will talk his ear off about horses and dressage. The man may just fall asleep before the soup arrives.”

  Mariabella laughed. Oh, how she missed some of those moments. The little fun they’d have behind the scenes, the laughter with her sisters, her mother. “I love you, Mama.”

  Her mother paused, and Mariabella could hear the catch in her voice when Bianca Santaro spoke again. “I love you too, cara.”

  They ended the call, and Mariabella closed her phone, but held tight to the cell for a long time, as if she could hold her parents in the small electronic device. For a moment, she was back there, in her mother’s bedroom, sitting on the chaise lounge, watching her mother get ready for a party. She saw Bianca brushing her hair, heard her humming a tune. Then she’d always turn and open her arms, welcoming her eldest daughter into her embrace. With Mama, there had always been time for a hug, a kiss, one more story before bed.

  How she missed those days.

  Even if she returned to Uccelli, those moments were gone forever. When her father stepped down, Mariabella was expected to fill the king’s shoes. Which meant every day of her life in the palace had been spent grooming her for the throne.

  If she returned, she’d be stepping right back into the middle of the very expectations she’d run from.

  Her role as future queen.

  Mariabella sighed. As much as she missed her parents and her homeland, she couldn’t go back. Returning came at too steep a price.

  Freedom.

  Carmen came bursting through the door. Mariabella slipped her phone into her purse and with that movement, brought her mind back into work mode. She would dwell on the events across the world when she was alone.

  “You will never believe what just happened when I was in Savannah’s shop.” Carmen slammed her hand on the counter in emphasis.

  “An incredibly rude man offered to buy her place, yes?”

  Carmen’s jaw dropped. “How’d you know?”

  “He was here, a few minutes ago. And wanted my gallery, too.”

  “The gallery, too?”

  Mariabella nodded. “He wants the whole block. For some kind of ‘investment.’” She put air quotes and a hint of sarcasm around the last word.

  “In Harborside.” Carmen said it as a statement, not a question. “That same cute guy we saw earlier.”

  Mariabella nodded again. “He is not so cute close-up, you know. Not when he is trying to turn our town into some kind of circus for tourists.”

  “Savannah tried to ask him questions, to find out what his plans are, but he didn’t tell her more than boo.” Carmen moved to the back of the counter and stuffed her purse underneath. “He’s a big mystery man. I still think he’s kind of cute, even if his plans might be diabolical. Or, maybe perfectly harmless. We’d have to find out more to know for sure.”

  “Well, cuteness will not win me over. Or convince me to sell.”

  Carmen shot her a grin. “You’d be surprised, Mariabella. Stronger women than you have been done in by blue eyes and a nice smile.”

  Mariabella glanced out the window again at the town she had come to love, to think of as her home. “Not me. And if this man thinks I will fall apart that easily, he can think again.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then returned her attention to the catalog. “Because he has no idea who he is dealing with.”

  Truly, he had no idea. And neither did anyone in this town.

  When the door of the limo shut, the sights and sounds of Harborside dropped away, leaving Jake alone with his thoughts.

  Never a place he wanted to be.

  He pulled out his PDA and started reading e-mails, at the same time powering up his laptop and scrolling through the reports he’d downloaded earlier about the town. The back of his limo had been his mobile office for as long as he could remember. The automobile had a satellite connection, to give him a link to the Web whenever he needed it, and a small desk installed between the seats for his laptop. Some days, it seemed as if he spent more time in this car than he did at home. If one could call his apartment in New York a home at all.

  The passenger’s side door opened and another man slid in. “Do you ever stop?”

  Jake didn’t look up. “I thought you went to lunch.”

  “I did. I’m done. Unlike you, I took a break from my job. I even made some friends.”

  Jake stopped working to stare at William Mason, his best friend and chauffeur, who had loosened his tie, and looked as relaxed as an out-of-town uncle at Thanksgiving dinner. Today, Will was sporting a red tie featuring reindeer leaping across the front, a glaring contrast to the white dress shirt with green pinstripes.

  No one would call Will conventional. More than once, people had asked Jake why he didn’t insist his chauffeur wear a more traditional dark suit and muted tie. Jake told them that if he wanted a conventional chauf
feur, he would have hired one out of the phone book.

  With Will, he’d gotten something no one else would have brought to the job—

  Honesty. Loyalty. Friendship.

  Three things Jake didn’t seem to have in abundance, not in the vicious world of Lattimore Properties.

  Will grinned at Jake, waiting for an answer. His sandy brown hair had been mussed by the wind, his cheeks reddened. He looked like he’d had…fun.

  “How could you make friends?” Jake asked. “We’ve been in this town less than an hour.”

  “It doesn’t take days to say, ‘Hey, I’m Will, who are you?’”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.” He shrugged. “Well, maybe something close to that. It would do you good to do the same.”

  Jake snorted. He could just see himself going into the local diner and introducing himself to a perfect stranger. Will had the affable personality to pull that off. He always had. Jake…well, Jake didn’t. “Why would I? I’m here to complete a business deal, not win a popularity contest.”

  Will leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Have you ever found it odd that your best friend is a chauffeur? That you spend the last few days before Christmas working obsessively, instead of cuddling by a fire with some hot woman? Which is where I would be, I might add, at home, with my wife, if you weren’t keeping me on the road, working more than Santa does. My wife, by the way, has learned to curse your name in three different languages because of the hours I work.”

  “I pay you well enough.”

  “Sometimes it’s about time, not money, Jake.” Will put his hands up before Jake could voice another objection. “I’m just saying, you might want to try the whole staying-home-with-a-girlfriend thing sometime.”

  “One—” Jake put out a finger “—my best friend is my chauffeur because you have been my best friend since we were kids, and I wanted to hire someone I trusted to drive me around. Especially since I’m going to spend half the day with you. Two—” he put out another finger “—I don’t need more friends—”

  “One friend is just so many you thought you might lose count after that?”

  “And three—” Jake went on, putting out a third finger “—I’m not at home in front of a fire with a hot woman because I’m not dating anyone.”

  “Exactly the problem. You’re going to be thirty this year, Jake. Don’t you ever wonder what life would be like if you had one?”

  “Had one what?”

  “A life. Outside of that.” Will waved at the PDA and laptop. “Inanimate objects aren’t the most affectionate beings on the planet, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Jake scowled and ignored Will. He’d had what Will was talking about once before—had even expected by this age to be going home to a wife, just as his best friend did at the end of the day.

  But fate had another future in mind. And Jake wasn’t about to risk that kind of pain again. Once was enough.

  “All I’m saying,” Will persisted, “is that it’s Christmas and it might be nice if you gave yourself a present this year.”

  “No one buys themselves gifts on Christmas. Or at least they’re not supposed to.”

  “I meant a present. A life outside of work. Someone to wake up to.” Will leaned forward and waited until Jake’s gaze met his. “You had that once. And it sure would be nice to see you that happy again. Real nice.” Will got out of the car and shut the door.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Jake muttered to the closed door. “That kind of happiness doesn’t happen twice.” And he went back to where he found peace.

  In those inanimate objects that didn’t leave him. And didn’t die.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “HE’S back,” Carmen said, tugging on Mariabella’s sleeve.

  Mariabella turned away from the customer she was talking to, and saw the stranger from earlier cross by her front windows. Not him again.

  She’d hoped she’d made her feelings clear this morning. Between that, and Savannah’s refusal to sell, the man should have let by now, realizing his “investments” weren’t welcome in Harborside.

  Apparently, he was a slow learner.

  “Carmen, can you help this lady find a painting for over her sofa?” Mariabella said, gesturing to the middle-aged woman beside her, who had entered the gallery just a few minutes earlier. “She is looking for something with tones of rose and cream.”

  “Certainly. Right this way,” Carmen said, pointing toward the second room of the gallery. “We have some singularly cool sunsets that I think will be perfect for what you want.”

  “Wonderful!” the customer exclaimed. “I have this huge blank wall in the great room just crying out for something spectacular.”

  Carmen grinned. “If you want spectacular, you’ve come to the right place.”

  The woman followed Carmen into the next room, the two of them chatting about the exquisite sunsets each had seen in Harborside, while Mariabella headed out of the gallery and in the direction she’d seen the stranger go earlier.

  She didn’t see him. But she did see a long, black limousine parked across the street, in the public parking lot.

  His, she was sure.

  The driver sat behind the wheel, sedate and patient. Probably bored out of his mind, waiting on Mr. Investment to finish his fruitless quest for real estate.

  “Mariabella!”

  She turned at the sound of the familiar voice. “Miss Louisa. How are things with you?”

  The older lady hurried over to Mariabella, her portly dachshund tottering at her feet, his four legs struggling to walk underneath the thick red Santa coat Louisa Brant had buckled around the long, short-haired dog. “Have you heard the latest? About that man trying to buy up our property?”

  “I have. And I am not selling.”

  “I was thinking about it. You know how I hate the winters here. It sure would be nice to retire in Florida. Take me and my little George here down to a sunny little place for the rest of our days.” She let out a long sigh, and clasped her thick wool coat tighter, as if just the thought had her feeling winter’s chill a little more.

  “If you do, who would head the women’s tea every New Year?”

  Louisa patted Mariabella’s hand. “Now, dear, you know that’s hardly my doing at all. You’re the one who takes care of all of us in this town. Why you’re practically a one-woman organizing dynamo. I don’t know how little Harborside existed before you came along. You’ve got us holding dances, and teas, and summer regattas and all kinds of things. This place has become a regular hotbed of activity.” Louisa laughed. “Or maybe a hot water bottle, considering how tiny we are.”

  Mariabella smiled. “I am not doing this alone. I have a lot of help.”

  “Every spear has a point, you know.” Louisa’s dog gave a tug on the leash, straining toward the park on the other side of the street. “Well, I must be going.”

  “Miss Louisa—”

  The older woman turned back. “Yes, dear?”

  “Promise me you’ll talk to me before you consider selling to that man. We businesses in Harborside have to stick together. Surely, as a group, we’ll be fine.”

  Louisa smiled, but her smile shook a little. “Of course, dear.”

  Then she was gone, the dachshund’s tail wagging happily. He seemed to be the only one pleased with the way the conversation had ended.

  Mariabella redoubled her determination to rid Harborside of this interloper. As long as he was here, people would continue to be upset and worried about their futures. Louisa loved her shop and had never mentioned retiring before today. Once this stranger was gone, everyone would calm down again and business would return to normal. She returned her attention to his limo, and to the license plate.

  Okay, so now she knew two things. He was wealthy. And he was from out of town, but not so far that the distance couldn’t be driven. She hurried down the sidewalk and peered around a telephone pole at the limo’s license plates.

&n
bsp; New York. She started memorizing the numbers, intending to call Reynaldo and have him—

  “Checking me out?”

  Mariabella jumped at the sound of his voice, and pivoted back. The man stood a mere two feet behind her, close enough that she could see the shades of cobalt flecked with gold in his eyes. See the sharp angle of his jaw, catch the woodsy scent of his cologne. Notice him three times more than she had earlier today.

  But not be affected one iota. At all.

  “Yes.” Damn. She hated having to admit that to him. He’d startled her and she couldn’t come up with another excuse.

  “I’m no criminal, I assure you, and I have only the best intentions.”

  “Depends on who you ask, and how you interpret your intentions.”

  A smirk raised one side of his lips. “Touché.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder at the limo, trying again to memorize the numbers on the license plate. If this man wasn’t going to tell her who he was or why he was here, she would find out for herself.

  “Planning on playing detective?” he asked, reading her mind.

  “No.” Mariabella was not much better at lying than she was with idioms, and a flush filled her cheeks.

  “I’ll save you the trouble of bothering the local police chief. Not that he seems to have much to do in a town this size.” The man reached into his suit jacket, withdrew a slim silver case and produced a business card. “Jacob Lattimore, CEO of Lattimore Properties.”

  She took the embossed white linen card. It was simple and clean, giving only a New York address and an office telephone number. Nothing that told her who he was, or why he had picked her town—and she had come to think of Harborside as hers, ever since the little community had welcomed her, without reservation—and what he intended to do here. “What kind of properties?”

  “Resorts. Vacation properties. Condos, hotels.”

  Mariabella’s jaw dropped. “Harborside is not that kind of town.”

  Another smile, the kind she was beginning to hate. “It can be, once the owners of the shops along this boardwalk see how a Lattimore resort can transform this place into a money machine for everyone.” He waved a hand down the length of the boardwalk, as if he were a magician, making all of it disappear, and in its place, creating a gargantuan eyesore of a hotel.