by Scott, Lisa
Back in his country, the press had dubbed him Prince Swoon. Women waited outside the castle for a glimpse of him. Truthfully, he hadn’t been kind to many of them. They were pretty playthings, and the line of willing women stretched miles long. For Maxim hadn’t just been a prince, but a handsome prince. The thing of fairy tales, the press liked to remind its readers.
How things change, he thought, sitting there in the shadows. Now, he couldn’t even tolerate to glance at himself in the mirror. He’d taken care of that problem by painting them all black. Even Nicholas couldn’t look him in the face. Maxim was a freak now, and he’d never be able to return home. Even cloistered here in his apartment, he was powerless to approach just one woman downstairs, let alone face millions of his loyal subjects again. They knew he was a disfigured recluse living in America. He wouldn’t subject himself to their horrified looks and pity. Belle was sure to have the same reaction when she saw his scars. He swore to himself. In the end, his ex-girlfriend had taken away so much more than his looks; she’d cursed him to be alone for the rest of his life. Vivian had told him he didn’t know how to love. She’d been right. But now, he’d never have the chance to learn.
He stalked back to his chambers and kicked his desk chair out of the way. It toppled over onto the floor. The balcony doors beckoned, covered in heavy, damask drapes. Occasionally, on moonlit nights, he’d stand out there and look over the city, enjoying the cool breeze on his skin. He never dared go out in the daytime; night was the only safe time for him. But usually the memory of Vivian and what happened on that horrible night out there on the balcony chased him back inside.
With one finger, he parted the curtains ever so slightly, the sunlight stinging his eyes. He closed the tiny gap and crossed the room, sitting on his bed. He hadn’t felt torment like this in a long time. Belle. Then again, there hadn’t been a woman in his apartment save for the servants since the disaster with Vivian.
No, he wouldn’t be meeting this woman. Only dreaming of her. He lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. His dark room soothed him. It was here he conducted his business, handling his investments and the occasional correspondence required as a member of the royal family. From here, he still could make his mark on the world—without ever having to be part of it. His title was only ceremonial; there was no one back home he was letting down in his absence. Except of course his parents, who had begged him not to go to America when he’d met the beautiful woman who’d upended his life.
He ran his fingers across the rough edges of the skin on his cheek, over his nose and down to his mouth. The pain she’d caused was etched in his brain and on his face. His mother had warned him that Vivian was ‘not the right kind of girl’ for him. But what warm-blooded male would’ve thought ‘run’ after finding a swimsuit model clad only in a fur coating waiting for him in his backyard?
If only he had run. He certainly wouldn’t have moved to America with her. And he wouldn’t be the shell of a man he was now, living in the dark, dreaming of what had been. He could never go back to his country now. Never. He’d live out his days waiting for moments of surprise. Like the one downstairs right now.
He needed to know more about Belle. He logged onto the Internet and searched for what information he could find about the daughter of Leo Foster. He wanted a picture to put to her voice; fact to fill in the fantasy he’d weave. But nothing turned up. He called Nicholas. “Get me all the information you have on the girl.”
“I already have.”
The prince paused, trying to keep anger from creeping into his voice. “Then bring it to me.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”
“And I want to see her appropriately dressed for dinner.”
“You’ll be joining us?” Nicholas asked, surprised.
“Of course not. But I do want to see her.”
Nicholas nodded and left the room.
***
Nicholas led Belle to the library, where she’d be working. The sight of her father’s tools made her gasp. “Oh, Dad,” she whispered.
Nicholas heard her. “Your father did good work. We hope you can continue with the project in the same quality fashion.”
“Of course I can. He taught me everything I know.” She ran her fingers across the ornate bookshelves he’d been building. “I’m a furniture designer, but I can totally continue the finishing work my father started.” She grinned at him. “Detail work is my specialty.”
“Good. Then I’ll let you get to it. I’ll send someone for you when lunch is ready.”
“Can you just bring it to me? I don’t want to stop working.” She wanted to finish this job as quickly as she could. She’d only been here for an hour, but the quiet rooms, the closed doors, and the overall somber feeling were getting to her already.
“Very well. But I’m certain the staff will insist you join us for dinner at six-thirty. Which means you’ll want to stop work at six to freshen up first.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” Belle waited until he left before she grabbed her father’s hammer. Feeling foolish, she reached for his tool belt and held it against her chest, feeling him there with her. But then she pushed aside her sentimentality and got to work. “The sooner I finish this, the sooner I can get back to you,” she whispered.
The beautiful mahogany finials and trim she needed to complete the shelves were neatly stacked in the corner of the room. She spotted a sketch for the complex crown molding he was planning to install, and realized the job was going to be a bit more involved than she’d thought. Two or three weeks, depending on how things unfolded. In an old building like this, there were bound to be a few surprises that popped up. Every project had its delays. A month tops, that’s what she’d tell Nicholas. Then she’d get back to her father and hopefully he’d be ready for rehabilitation. The nurses had her number and were to call her if his condition changed. She knew what she was doing here was for the best.
She started trimming the bookcases, enjoying the smell of the wood, the warmth of the sunlight streaming through the window, and the thrill that came with a new project. The morning flew by, and she paused briefly to devour a delicious Caesar salad for lunch. She was proud of her work, and hoped her father would be, too. There’d be no pleasing her ex-boyfriend, Stewart. He’d been impatient for her to lose her interest in her silly furniture-making hobby. When she rented space to work on her custom furniture, he realized she was serious and left her. A woman who worked with her hands wasn’t the right prop for a guy hoping to make partner in a law firm he wasn’t even working in yet.
But still, Stewart had had goals and dreams and plans while he toiled away in law school, and Belle had realized far too late, hers were much different. Belle wasn’t one to waste time, and she’d wasted two good years on Stewart. She frowned. If a future lawyer disapproved of a female carpenter, what would a sitting prince think? she wondered.
Apparently, it didn’t matter, since she wouldn’t be meeting him. She finished her salad, got back to work and by the time six o’clock came, she’d completed two bookcases. With twenty more to go—and the crown molding, she’d be a busy woman the next few weeks. Hard work always left her hungrier than she realized, and she was hoping another delicious meal was on its way. That’s another thing a prince wouldn’t be impressed with—her incredible appetite.
She went back to her room and found three beautiful evening dresses hanging on the door, with a note from Mrs. Downing. “I doubted very much that you’d brought appropriate dinner attire. I took the liberty of purchasing a few things. See you at dinner.”
That was another thing she and Stewart had fought about. She hated going to his charity functions, playing dress up and making happy talk with people who were busy scanning the room for someone more important to talk to. A prince would probably be even worse like that.
She took the dresses off the door and sighed. They were beautiful. But why did she need to dress up for dinner with the staff? She showered and changed into a pale blue coc
ktail dress that skimmed her knees and showed off her toned arms. Her job kept her in good shape, but never before required her to don eveningwear. This was a first. Building bookshelves for Prince Maxim would definitely be remembered as her strangest job ever.
The staff was dressed in formal serving clothes, and stood waiting by the table as she walked into the dining room. She wondered if someone else was going to be joining them. The dining table looked as if it could seat fifty, but it was set for six. Lush flower arrangements lined the length of the table. A huge candelabrum was lit with dozens of glowing tapers.
“This is just for us?”
Courtney rolled her eyes. “We’ve never had the chance to throw a dinner party here. And Nicholas takes my meals up to the Prince. I don’t even get to see the look of pleasure on his face when he tastes my exquisite lamb roast. Just indulge us.” She gestured to the table. “Please, be our guest.”
Reginald pulled out her chair, and the indulging was all on their end: appetizers, a soup and salad course, a fresh lemon sorbet to cleanse her palate. At least, that’s what they told her it was for. She’d thought dinner was finished and they were having sherbet for dessert. That led to a few strained laughs until Belle almost busted a gut when she found out what the little lemon scoop was really for. “The last time anyone washed my mouth out it was for experimenting with a certain foul word when I was six, not to make way for more food.” They’d laughed so hard at that, she feared they’d bother the prince.
Belle was full after the fish course, enjoying the conversation with the staff, while Courtney flitted to and from the kitchen, stopping to taste her creations and ask Belle what she thought, before popping back up to bring out the next course.
Mrs. Downing turned on light classical music, and more laughter soon filled the air. Even the dogs joined the party, bounding into the room, rewarded with scraps from the table.
Then Courtney came out with the main course. “Crab-stuffed filet mignon,” she announced.
Belle settled her hands over her stomach. “I couldn’t.”
Courtney pointed the serving fork at her. “You must.”
Belle dropped her head back. Was there such a thing as a food hangover? She was sure to find out the next day. They’d been eating and talking for hours.
“You’re such an amazing cook. And you threw together such a beautiful dinner party. Why are you guys working here, when you can only share your talents with a client you never even see?”
Courtney set down the serving platter and dished out the meat. Her smile disappeared. “I want to open my own restaurant some day. The Prince pays me double what I’d make anywhere else right now, plus free room and board. I’d be crazy to quit.” She didn’t sound entirely convincing.
“I couldn’t leave the prince,” Mrs. Downing said, setting her hand over her heart. “I’ve been with him since he moved to America eight years ago.”
“Same here,” said Rory.
Reginald pursed his lips. “I’ll be with the prince until I die.”
“Enough, already.” Courtney forced a smile. “This is a party. Let’s celebrate the arrival of our new guest. Eat up!”
The dogs stared at the table mournfully, hoping for a few more bits of food, while Belle regaled them with a tale about the time she worked with a man who’d cut off two fingers with a circular saw. “And he was still able to….” Her words trailed off as she watched four sets of eyes shift to the hall. She followed their gaze, and saw a figure dash away. “Was that the prince?”
Reginald rose from the table. “Yes. We’ve upset him.” He left the table and hurried out the door.
Mrs. Downing flicked off the music. “He was such a lovely man before…” She stopped herself, as if she’d said too much.
“Before?” Belle asked.
Nervous looks flashed between the four staff members still in the room.
Courtney sighed. “Before his crazy girlfriend killed herself and ruined his life.”
Belle gasped.
“Quiet! We are not to speak of it!” Rory said, covering the ears of the dog sitting at his feet.
Courtney shrugged. “He loves my lasagna too much to fire me.”
“What did his girlfriend do?” Belle asked quietly.
This time, Mrs. Downing spoke up. “His girlfriend Vivian was … intense. She wanted to get married, so of course, he decided it was time to break up.” She sighed, like an old radiator.
“What happened?”
Courtney picked up the story with a hushed voice. “She lured him out to the balcony where she jumped to her death. After throwing acid in his face.”
Shaking her head, Belle covered her mouth to keep the scream in her throat.
“She said if he wouldn’t love her, she was going to be sure no one would ever love him. And then she jumped.” Mrs. Downing’s voice cracked.
Belle felt tears in her eyes. “What did the acid do to him?”
“It left him grotesquely disfigured. Or so his doctor said. I’ve never seen him,” Courtney said.
Mrs. Downing pulled a small picture from her apron pocket and handed it to Belle. She took the picture, fingering its frayed corners as she studied it. A dark-haired young man in uniform looked up at her. He appeared grim, as if he’d known what was to come. But he was handsome; undeniably, the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, with chiseled features, light blue, deep-set eyes and a lock of thick curls that fell over his forehead. Basically, exactly what you’d expect a prince to look like. “He’s so handsome.” She gazed at him a little longer before handing the picture back to Mrs. Downing.
“He was. He hasn’t let any of us see him since. He’s stayed in his chambers since he left the hospital six years ago.” Mrs. Downing slipped the photo back in her apron and started gathering the dirty plates from the table.
Belle struggled to swallow. Mrs. Downing set her hand on Belle’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have told you. We’re not to speak of it, but it’s a sadness we all carry with us. And now you do, too.”
Belle nodded, disappointed their fun evening was ending on such a sad note. “Can I help you clean up?”
“No, we’ve got everything covered,” Courtney said.
“I’m going to turn in. Thanks for a lovely dinner.” Belle trudged to her room and had a hard time sleeping that night, imagining what the rugged face of the prince looked like now.
***
“No more parties!” shouted the prince, slamming his fist on his desk.
Nicholas spread his hands apart. “It wasn’t a party. It was dinner with our new guest. She’s going to be staying here for a while. We want her to feel comfortable, so she’s relaxed to finish her job.
“Even my dogs abandoned me!” The prince ran his hand through his hair. It was getting long, and he was due for another cut. He buzzed it to his scalp every six months; he wouldn’t let anyone come in to cut it. Life could be difficult when you spent it locked away. And here he’d thought it would be the simplest solution—hiding. It was surely easier than facing the world again.
“You could always join us, your highness.”
The prince laughed, though he wasn’t amused. They both knew Nicholas called him your highness when he was trying to sway Max. “You can’t even bear to look at me, you think the rest of the staff could? You think Belle wouldn’t recoil at the sight of me?” He spat out the words.
Nicholas raised his eyes to him. “I don’t look at you, your highness, because I know it makes you uncomfortable when I do. But when I do catch a glimpse of you, I see the same man I’ve always served.”
Maxim turned from him; he was uncomfortable with Nicholas’ gaze. “That’s enough from you tonight, Nicholas.” He was feeling calmer, though his heart rate wasn’t slowing. He was still thinking about Belle. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she wouldn’t gape in horror at him. Someone with such a pleasant laugh couldn’t be cruel, could they?
He’d had all day to look over the research and photos. Belle Foste
r was training to be a master carpenter, she won a spelling bee when she was twelve, enjoyed reading in her spare time, and she photographed very well. Which made him even angrier to hear her laughing and enjoying herself downstairs while he had lingered at the tops of the stairs eavesdropping like an outcast, imaging he’d been part of the fun.
Nicholas let himself out of the room. The prince sighed. He wasn’t angry about the party. He was angry he hadn’t been brave enough to be part of it. He was angry Vivian had been right; no woman would ever love him again.
From time to time, Nicholas asked him why he didn’t try more reconstructive surgery. He’d undergone three rounds. But doctors had told him they wouldn’t be able to totally repair the damage. He’d never be the same, and anything less than what he had been wasn’t acceptable.
His three dogs had slunk back to his room, and slumbered at the foot of his bed in a shaft of moonlight that shone through a gap in the curtains. He reached down and scratched Duke behind the ear. His leg twitched in response. He liked the feel of the dogs’ wiry fur against his skin. Max hadn’t felt the touch of a human in six years, since he’d holed up in this room.
Three Sea Goddess muffins remained in the box. He broke one in half and tossed it to the dog closest to him. King’s head popped up and he snatched the muffin midair. When Nicholas had brought up samples from a new bakery, he thought they’d be the perfect treat for his dogs. He wasn’t concerned about healthy foods for himself. He ate what he wanted; it was one of the few pleasures left.
His days started with a shower and breakfast in the morning. The next few hours were devoted to reviewing the news from around the world. He broke for lunch and did some reading for enjoyment. Then he attended to whatever business was at hand for the day—reviewing correspondence from his country, checking his investments. He spent a few hours each afternoon lifting weights and running on his treadmill. He was in good shape for a hermit. Dinner followed his workout, and then he faced the long, long evenings. The nights were the worst. Once upon a time, it had been his favorite time of day, filled with drinks and dancing and beautiful women.