A Princess for Christmas

by Shirley Jump

  She rose and crossed to the fireplace. Beneath her, logs crackled and burned, releasing a cozy comfort. “Except…to make this resort work, you have to have real estate. In a good location, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  They both knew what that meant. He was a businessman, one who wouldn’t have reached the position of CEO if he hadn’t employed winning strategies.

  “The best location is on the boardwalk,” Mariabella said, praying he’d disagree.

  He didn’t. “Yes.”

  She turned away from the fireplace and looked back at the miniature resort. In it, she saw thought. Caring. A man who had looked around the town she loved—and heard, not just her voice, but those of the other people who lived here.

  “You can still have your gallery, I promise,” Jake said, reaching for her, knowing what she was thinking. “There will be room for local businesses, every one of them who wants to stay, and even new ones who want to come to town. I’ll build you the best and biggest gallery you’ve ever seen, right here. And give you a wonderful place to hang your art, when you’re ready. I’m redesigning the entire complex to have a town-within-a-town feel. I want it to be a community, not just a hotel.”

  She met his gaze, and saw honesty, integrity, in his blue eyes. Jake Lattimore meant what he was saying. Excitement colored his words, and she knew that enthusiasm would spill over into the town, rejuvenating it in a way nothing else ever had. The boardwalk would be preserved, just in a different form. Everyone would win.

  She had done all she could for Harborside, with the events, the Community Development Committee, but there was much more this building could do. With the Lattimore Inn, Harborside could make that jump from nothing to something big. Everyone she cared about would be taken care of financially, while the town’s setting would be preserved.

  “Do you still have those papers?” she said.

  “Mariabella—”

  “Give them to me, Jake. I want to do this.”

  Without a word, he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket. Mariabella took the purchase and sales agreement from Jake, then she swallowed hard and decided for the first time in her life to take a chance and to trust someone other than herself.

  She reached for a pen on the coffee table, then, before she could think twice, signed over ownership of her gallery.

  Because she had fallen in love with Jake Lattimore. With the man who had found out she was a princess, and acted the same, who had listened to her when she’d talked about this town, and shown her that he could bring the dreams she had into a reality.

  And most of all, because he had made her a promise she couldn’t refuse. To take care of everything she loved—and make it even better than it already was.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MARIABELLA rolled over on Christmas Eve morning, and stretched her full length on the double bed. She had plenty of time before she had to go to work, because the gallery was only open half the day, and Carmen had agreed to handle the morning shift, so that Mariabella could get the cooking done for dinner that night. As Mariabella lay in bed, she smiled.

  Had she finally found a man to love?

  One she could trust?

  One who understood her?

  Maybe there was a way to make all of this work after all. Maybe she could live an ordinary life. Live in peace and obscurity here in Harborside, with Jake. She could go on, as she was, without ever telling anyone her real identity.

  Except…

  Was Jake right? Was she hiding from herself?

  But he didn’t understand how the reporters could force her again into the very prison she had escaped. No, she would keep her identity secret for as long as possible.

  Mariabella got to her feet. She drew her robe around her and started to head toward the shower.

  That was when she heard the shouts.

  Her name.

  Rising in volume.

  She halted. Pivoted toward the windows.

  And saw what she’d dreaded all this time crowding onto the cottage’s small driveway.

  Dozens of reporters, their lenses trained on her house. Still cameras, video cameras, television trucks, live feeds—every type of media exposure and kind of media hound—were out there, just waiting to feed on her story.

  She stumbled back and collapsed on the bed. No. How did they—

  And then the realization slammed into her with the force of a hurricane.

  The only one who knew her true identity was Jake.

  The betrayal stung, hitting her as hard as a blow to the gut. She’d given up everything—and now she’d lost her trust, too.

  Overnight, Harborside had quintupled in population. Jake stepped out of the Seaside Inn, and had to navigate past three television trucks and six rental cars before he could get close to the limo. He stopped in the middle of the street, dread sinking in his stomach. “Oh, God, Mariabella.”

  It took less than two minutes to track down the source of the leak about Mariabella’s identity. Jake hadn’t had to search any farther than the small café at the end of the boardwalk. He had to work hard to control the fury rising inside him. “How could you, Darcy?”

  His marketing director stared at him like he had grown two heads. “You of all people should know, Jake. This is business, pure and simple. I can’t believe you didn’t do this. My God, you have a perfect opportunity to exploit here and bring a huge amount of publicity to the project. Think about it. A real, honest-to-God princess? Associated with our hotel? You couldn’t pay for that kind of exposure. The company needs that. When I called New York—”

  “Called who in New York? Exactly?”

  Crimson filled her cheeks. She dropped her hand to the table and toyed with her silverware.

  “What am I missing here?”

  “I…I can’t tell you.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t tell me?”

  Darcy bit her lip, then finally lifted her head. “I don’t work for you. I never really did.”

  And then he knew. The board. Carl Winters showing up, checking on his progress. His father, worried and stressed, mentioning how the board had been pressuring him to hire an outsider. A group of ten men, thinking they could rule the world, simply because they were the board of directors of the corporation.

  No longer. Jake would make sure of that.

  “And now you don’t work for me at all. Darcy, you’re fired.” Jake exploded out of the seat and stalked out of the restaurant. He wanted to hit a wall, to punch out the nearest window, but more, he wanted to drive up to New York and confront every person in the company. Now.

  The minute he hit the street, the reporters leapt on him like dogs on a bone.

  “Mr. Lattimore! Did you know you were dating a princess?”

  “Mr. Lattimore, how does it feel to have a princess as the spokesperson for the newest Lattimore Resort?”

  “Mr. Lattimore, are you going to invite the royal family to the opening of the new hotel?”

  The microphones came at him, fast, furious weapons. He put up his arms, fending them off, and ignored the questions, barreling forward through the crush of reporters. They kept up their assault.

  “Mr. Lattimore, is it true the new architectural design is based on Uccelli Castle?” A reporter stepped in front of him and waved a newspaper in his face. “Do you have a comment on this article about the design?”

  Jake grabbed the paper out of the man’s hand. “No. Get out of my way.”

  “Are you exploiting Princess Mariabella?” another reporter shouted.

  He shoved past all of them, and opened the door of the gallery. The reporters moved to follow him inside, but Jake turned around and gave them a look that said not to even try it. They must have read the menace in his face, because they backed off, hanging outside the door like a pack of hungry dogs.

  Jake vowed to make every member of the board pay for what they had done to Mariabella. If it was this bad here, outside the gallery, he could only imagine the circus outside her ho
use. He’d do what he could to control the damage. If it wasn’t too late.

  “Boy, are your stars out of alignment.” Carmen, Mariabella’s assistant, strode forward, one fist on her slim hip, and shook her head.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve made a mess of this. It was all going well, and then wham, you made it as wrong as wrong can be.”

  “I didn’t—” He let out a breath. Explaining the internal subterfuge in Lattimore Properties to Carmen wouldn’t solve the big problem. He needed to talk to Mariabella. “Is Mariabella here?”

  “She won’t talk to you. I don’t blame her. You’re like a meteor crashing into her planet.”

  “I have to talk to her, Carmen. I…I didn’t do this.” He waved at the throng of media outside. “She has to understand that.”

  Carmen considered him for a long, long moment. Then she let out a sigh, and nodded. “She’s not coming in today, and I can’t say I blame her. But come to dinner at her house. Tonight. A lot of her friends from town will be there. I have to go to my mother’s, but don’t worry,” Carmen said, grinning, “you’ll have a fan club for back up.”

  Mariabella’s house, with the rest of the Harborside residents? All of whom probably blamed him for this mess. Sounded more like a lynch mob to Jake. “I don’t know—”

  “I do know,” Carmen said. “I know this town, and I know Mariabella. And I know what Mariabella’s horoscope said for today.” She leaned forward, as if she were about to whisper a secret to Jake. “It said she should prepare for a surprise visitor at a gathering. You—” she gave Jake a little swat on the shoulder “—are the surprise visitor. And her Christmas Eve dinner is the gathering. See? It’s all in the stars.”

  He didn’t know about stars, or anything being foretold by some newspaper column, but reasoned talking to Mariabella with the crush of reporters outside—and the possibility of them crashing the conversation at any time—made little sense. Better to wait until later. With any luck, even the media would go home for Christmas Eve, and he could find some time alone with Mariabella.

  And find an explanation for what had happened.

  Cletus sat at the head of the table, Zeke at the opposite end. Louisa sat on one side, while Louisa’s dog, George, ran between the legs of the kitchen chairs, hoping for a stray crumb or two. The media onslaught had ebbed slightly, but a good half-dozen dogged reporters still sat outside, determined to talk to Mariabella. She’d finally called the Harborside police chief, and asked him to remind them about the rules of trespassing. That had at least pushed the reporters back, but not sent them away.

  As for Jake—

  She tried not to think about him. If she did, she wouldn’t make it through the day. It was Christmas Eve, and she was going to enjoy her holiday with her friends, even as her heart broke a little more with each passing hour.

  “You sure know how to treat us right,” Cletus said. “You make me think I might want to settle down with a woman someday.”

  Louisa snorted. “You’d have to find a woman who’d take you first.”

  Cletus shot her a grin. “I’m an eligible bachelor, with a unique home. Any woman in her right mind would love to have me.”

  Louisa shook her head and tossed her dog a piece of bread crust.

  Across from them, Zeke shifted in his chair, and fiddled with his napkin. “If no one else is going to talk about the elephant in the room, I’ll do it.”

  “My dog is not fat!” Louisa smacked Zeke’s arm. “He’s…husky.”

  Zeke rolled his eyes. “I meant the princess, Louisa, not George.”

  “Oh. Well, then, fine. It’s just that George is sensitive about his weight.” Louisa soothed the dachshund with a pat on the back and a tidbit of bread.

  Zeke shook his head, then directed his attention toward Mariabella. “I think I speak for everyone when I say I don’t care whether you’re a princess, or the last Romanov, or the forgotten stepchild of the Kennedys. To us, you’re just Mariabella. So, there.”

  Mariabella glanced around the table, taking in the faces of these people who had become her friends, her extended family, who had welcomed her into their hearts, their homes, their lives, and now were accepting her as she was, without reservations. “I…I do not know what to say.”

  “Well then, say grace, for Pete’s sake,” Cletus said. “We want to eat.”

  Mariabella laughed, then dropped her head and whispered a prayer, that included gratitude for her friends and for this town. Everyone around the table issued an Amen, and then they began to pass the platters of food, chatting as they dished up generous helpings of lasagna and roasted root vegetables. Conversations flowed as naturally today as they had on any other day.

  Except for Cletus. He seemed to hang back, a little more reserved than usual. Mariabella handed him a basket of rolls. “Cletus, is something bothering you?”

  He squirmed in his seat. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not today.”

  “If it is about me being the princess of Uccelli—”

  “It’s not.” He scowled. Looked at Zeke, who shook his head, as if warning him not to say what he was going to say. Cletus squirmed some more. “Aw, damn. I was going to let it go, but I can’t. You have to know, Mariabella.”

  Cletus reached into his back pocket and pulled out a page from a Boston newspaper. The article was small, probably inserted at the last minute, among all the holiday stories. But the headline—

  The headline stopped Mariabella’s heart. Froze her blood.

  Lattimore Properties to Build Megahotel in Harborside.

  No. He’d promised. He wouldn’t—

  Would he?

  But the words were there, in black and white. Showing Jake Lattimore to be a liar.

  And Mariabella to be a fool. A fool taken in by a charming smile and a story a mile long. He’d done far worse than just call the media and tell them who she was. He’d betrayed her, on every single level.

  She scanned the article, until the words began to swim in her vision. “Fifteen stories…richly appointed…similar to properties in New York and Miami…offering Jet Ski rental…tiki huts and poolside bar service.”

  Oh, God, how could he? She had believed him, trusted him.

  But worse, she had fallen in love with him. How could she have been so stupid?

  She knew better, oh, how she knew better.

  Mariabella dropped the article to the table, then glanced up at Cletus, and at Zeke. Wishing they would tell her the whole thing was a joke, some kind of ruse planted by the media to get her riled up.

  But the two men nodded slowly. “I checked out the article on the newswires,” Zeke said, “before I came over today. It’s all over the place. They made the announcement late last night. I read the press release, right on the corporate Web site, Mariabella.”

  Her mouth worked, trying to form the words. “Did…did the press release have a time on it?”

  “It was posted just after eleven o’clock.”

  An hour after Jake had left last night. After he had shown her that mock-up of a home-like setting for the resort he would build in Harborside. After he had made all these promises—and she had believed them.

  And after she had signed over her gallery to him.

  She’d thought the hurt couldn’t get worse. Thought the pain she’d felt this morning, when she’d seen the media camped outside her house, couldn’t run any deeper.

  She’d been wrong.

  “He promised me he would not do this,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry,” Zeke said quietly. “I thought he was a good man. I really did.”

  A tear dropped onto the newspaper, blurring the print into a puddle of black letters. “Me, too.”

  Louisa’s dog scrambled to his feet, nails clacking on the wood floors, and started yapping. He ran for the door, tail wagging, a little brown alarm bell ringing before the doorbell did.

  A gust of frustration escaped Mariabella at the sound of the chimes. Just what she didn’t n
eed right now—an intrusion from the media. “I am going to call the police chief again. And have him throw those people in prison.” Throw Jake in there while he was at it, for good measure.

  “I’ll help you,” Cletus grumbled. “Damned idiots keep interrupting my dinner.”

  Mariabella opened the door, a tirade prepared for the rude reporter on her doorstep. But she found instead the last two people she’d expected to see in Harborside.

  Her parents.

  “Mama. Papa. What are you doing here?”

  Behind Mariabella, Cletus, Zeke and Louisa gasped. Louisa whispered something about the king and queen.

  En masse, the reporters swarmed toward the house, questions spewing from their mouths, as rapid fire as machine guns. Mariabella waved her parents inside, then shut and locked the door. The shouting continued for several minutes, then finally died down as the media realized they weren’t going to get an answer. Mariabella double-checked the curtains, ensuring there wasn’t an opening for a stray photograph. “I’m sorry. They found out who I am.”

  Her father’s lips pursed. It gave Franco Santaro, normally a tall, distinguished man with white hair and a trim frame, a pinched, bitter look. “I know. All the more reason to come home. Now.” He spoke in their native language, keeping the conversation between the three of them.

  “I’m sorry you came all the way to America to drag me back, instead of to see me for Christmas,” Mariabella said. Of course her father wouldn’t fly across the world for a holiday visit, but to demand her return. To tell her he didn’t accept her refusal of the crown. Disappointment sunk like a stone in her gut. “It doesn’t matter, Papa. I’m not leaving.”

  “Cara,” her mother said, reaching for her daughter, and shooting her husband a sharp look, “we miss you.”

  “I miss you too, Mama,” Mariabella said, the sentiment tearing her throat as she drew her mother’s generous frame into a short hug, “but I can’t go home and be queen. I’ll never be happy. Here, I’m happy.”