This explanation passed the girl’s smell test, and Aubrey nodded in approval.
“All right class, the number of the day is five. If I say or show you a number greater than five, you will stand up. If I say or show you a number less than five, you will sit down. Who’s ready?”
There was a loud chorus of meeeees.
“Four,” Esme called out. The entire class sat down.
She held up a sign with the number seven on it. Everyone stood back up.
“Three plus four,” Esme said.
Aubrey and Tracey stayed standing. A few other kids wobbled. Carla Barrow sat down. The stragglers looked between Aubrey and Carla and remained standing.
“Hold up three fingers on one hand,” Esme said to Carla. The little girl did as she was instructed. “Now hold up four fingers on the other hand.”
“Neither is bigger than five,” Carla announced triumphantly.
“True, but I said plus. Count all of your fingers.”
Carla did. When she got to the fingers on the second hand, her lips began to quiver. “I got it wrong?”
“Yes, you did sweetheart. But now you’ll know better for the next time. You just learned a lesson, and that’s what school is all about.”
Carla opened her eyes wide. Instead of the light of understanding Esme was hoping for, her tear ducts opened and spilled. A sorrowful moan escaped her lips.
Esme took a deep breath. As a compassionate person, she wanted to console the girl. But at the same time, she knew there was another lesson to be had in not always being right, not always winning, not having everyone receive a medal for participation.
“Not everyone wins. I don’t expect you to be perfect. I expect you to do your best. If you always do your best, even if you don’t get it right, you’ll always make someone proud, especially me.”
It was the perfect Hallmark moment. Carla’s tears dried up, but there was still no aha moment. “I’m sure that’s wrong, Ms. Pickett.”
Esme sighed.
This was the generation where all children must receive birthday invites. On Valentine’s Day, parents were instructed to send cards to every kid in the class. These kids would know nothing of rejection or unrequited love. They would believe everyone they met would accept and love them equally.
They were all doomed.
“Actually, my father says the same thing to me. He’s a king, so I’m certain it’s right.”
They all turned to the door. What could only be described as a miniature fairy stood in the doorway. She was dressed in pale blue with patent leather shoes. She looked like she was ready for Easter on a fall day. Dark hair was tied into a perfect bun atop her oval-shaped head. There was lace on her dress that looked finer than anything Esme owned, and she wore a white cardigan overtop the ensemble. Bold choice for a five-year-old.
A number of adults stood behind her. One of them was the principal looking green beneath the gills as he peered into Esme’s room. The other adult was a dark haired man with a devastating grin and sparkling hazel eyes that were hauntingly familiar.
“Are you the princess?” asked Kurt.
“She can’t be the princess,” said Aubrey. “She’s not wearing a crown.”
“And she doesn’t have a sword to fight a dragon,” said Tracey.
“Anyone can wear a crown,” said the princess. “It’s your family that makes you noble.”
“Wow,” sighed Esme. “That is so profound.”
The little girl’s hazel eyes found hers. Once again, Esme couldn’t shake the feeling that she was looking into a familiar face. “My father said that, too.”
“He must be a wise king,” said Esme.
The little princess nodded.
“Thank God he’s not here to hear you say that,” said the man behind her who Esme assumed was the prince. “It would make his huge head even huger.”
“Uncle Alex, there’s no such word as huger, and father’s head is entirely proportionate.”
“All right, Penelope,” said the prince, “it’s time to go. We have to get to class. I can’t believe I just said that.”
Prince Alex grimaced as though truly pained. He was quite handsome. Esme waited for her belly to grow butterflies. She was surprised to learn it didn’t.
“So sorry to have disturbed you,” said the prince.
His hazel eyes connected with hers, and she felt a flutter. But not for him. For the color. They were the same color as Leo’s. Esme wondered if all Cordovians had the same gold flecks in their brown eyes?
“No trouble at all,” she said after she realized she’d been staring.
“Can’t I visit this class?” asked Princess Penelope.
Behind her, the principal’s eyes went large, huger than saucers.
Esme stepped forward to save the man from his perfectly planned itinerary for the royals, which would lead them far away from her uncommon class. “Well, sweetie—“
The principal coughed. Esme looked up, unsure what was wrong now? Then she realized her folly.
“I mean, your highness, the other class worked very hard preparing for your visit. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would you?”
“You’re very diplomatic,” said Princess Penelope.
“You know some very big words for a five-year-old.”
“I’m nearly six.”
“Ah, now I see. That explains it.”
The little princess grinned, looking like a child for the first time since she’d stepped up to the threshold of the classroom. “As you said, not everyone wins.”
Esme cringed. That was not an edict that the school liked to put forth even though it was the truth.
“But,” Princess Penelope continued, “if I were trying to do what’s best for everyone, I could invite the other class to yours.”
“Now, look who’s being diplomatic.”
“It’s what I’m going to be when I grow up.”
“A diplomat?”
“I thought she was going to be a dragon slayer?” Kurt whispered behind Esme as quietly as a five-year-old could, which was at full volume.
“May I try your game?” asked the princess.
Such pretty manners. Esme looked up to the prince. He shrugged but was smiling. She looked to Principal Clarke. His shoulders were tense. She was sure she’d get an earful for this display after the school bell rang.
“I’ve never seen learning like that,” said the princess. “My tutors just use pencil and paper.”
“Me too,” said Aubrey. “But Ms. Pickett can be weird sometimes. Fun weird but still weird.”
And so, with Principal Clarke standing guard, Princess Penelope came into Esme’s classroom for a rousing lesson of math movements where she got each and every question right. By the end of the lesson, she wore a huge grin on her pretty face and was somewhat out of breath from all the brain and physical activity.
“That was fun,” she said to Esme, hazel eyes twinkling like stars were hidden in their depths.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” said Esme.
“All right, little pea, it’s time to go,” said Prince Alex from his station at the wall where he’d promptly pulled out and engaged his cell phone for the ten-minute lesson.
“I’d like to see you again,” Princess Penelope said to Esme. “Perhaps we can discuss fractions over dinner?”
“Math at dinner?” asked Esme.
“She’s a strange child,” said the prince. “She actually enjoys school. Meanwhile, I’m getting hives being this close to chalk.”
Esme laughed. She didn’t giggle. The prince was charming as a prince should be. But during their entire encounter, he hadn’t once sent her heart aflutter like a certain knight in his employ.
“My father is having a dinner party tonight,” said Princess Penelope. “I’m sure I can invite a guest.”
Principal Clarke grit his teeth. But this wasn’t his territory. Esme was being asked to dine with royals. Which meant she might get to see Leo again. And besides, w
ho wouldn’t want to have dinner with a princess, even if it was to discuss fractions.
Chapter Seven
“I am so glad you could come tonight, Senator.”
Leo shook the dozenth hand that night. His jaw ached from being stretched wide into a grin for hours that morning after his speech. Then his jovial grin and pumping of hands continued on into the afternoon as he hobnobbed with the world’s most powerful movers and shakers. He’d barely gotten a moment’s rest before opening his own doors to receive more guests.
That was the job. He was the chief spokesperson for Cordoba. The guests he welcomed and schmoozed tonight would help keep Cordoba’s future bright and profitable.
Cordoba had many trade agreements with western countries hungry for oil. The waters around the island had a few reserves that, even after decades of pumping, still showed no sign of running dry. The spices culled from their cumin farms were always in high demand. The fine silk textiles they produced had recently come back in fashion and were presently being walked down high fashion runways.
U.S. Senators, British Parliamentary members, and French officials weren’t the only high-powered players at tonight’s dinner. There were also a few socialites strategically seated around the table. The strategy had not been Leo’s doing, it had been the women’s own.
Alan Atwood was a titan of the hotel industry, and Leo was happy to speak with him about the possibilities of developing a resort off the Cordovian coastline. Atwood hadn’t been on the original guest list. He was likely there at the bequest of his social climbing daughter, Alana.
Luckily, Alana Atwood wasn’t interested in Leo. She had her sights set on Alex. But to have Alex tell it, he’d been there, done that, and gotten the polyester-blend t-shirt.
Hosting is where Leo shined. He was a people person through and through just like his own father. He was able to suss out the needs of those around him and fill them. Unlike his brother who was content to escape to dark corners of the world to try out exotic cuisine while hitting on anything in a skirt. So long as they didn’t ask for a ring, Alex was happy to spend his money on jewelry and fine dining for his victims.
Leo found his brother in the kitchen area of the hotel suite, likely hiding out from the hotel huntress.
“Where did you get this pie?” Alex said around a full mouth of bisteeva. “Did you fly it in from home?”
“That was for dessert,” Leo admonished.
“You know I always have my dessert first.”
“There’s a pie shop in the city. It’s near the school you and Pen visited today. How was that, by the way?”
“Very well. She learned math by standing and sitting, it was quite rousing. And she invited the teacher over for dinner.”
“What?” Leo’s mouth fell open.
“To discuss fractions or something.”
“You let Penelope invite a stranger into our home?”
“This isn’t our home.” Alex waved his fork around the room. “It’s a hotel. And you know Giles had vetted everyone at the school before we even stepped out of the car.”
Leo looked to the back entry way to the kitchen which led to the sleeping quarters. Down the hall, his daughter, who had been offered the chance to see a Broadway play and declined, was entertaining a teacher and the joys of parts of a whole.
“What was this teacher like? Did she seem the social climbing type like our hotel heiress out there?”
Alex looked back into the dining area and cringed. “No, nothing of the sort. I mean she was attractive. That all-American kind of cute. You know, girl-next-door.”
Leo saw where this was going. Alex had likely invited this woman over because he was hot for teacher as the song went. “If you invited this woman over for a fling, just don’t make out in front of my child. Get another room, will you.”
“She’s not my type. Too many brains in her head.”
“Great. Then you can spend the evening entertaining our guests.”
“You mean meet my new sister.” Alex poked his head around the corner as Lady Teresa came in. “She’s quite the looker. I hear she’s smart, accomplished, good breeding record, and royal blue blood. She’s perfect for you.”
“Yes.” Leo nodded as he watched Teresa take off her coat to reveal a perfectly proportioned figure below her brilliant mind. “She’s perfect.”
“Well, don’t make out with her in front of my niece or anything.”
Leo gave his brother a playful shove. They both entered the dining room as the servers placed the food on the table, and the meal began in earnest. With his other business dealings done, Leo sat next to Lady Teresa. She wore the same cinnamon scent as earlier. Her blue eyes held his, showing genuine interest, as he spoke.
“I went to school in the states,” she said. “Harvard.”
“Oxford,” said Leo. “I understand you like water sports?”
“Nearly made the Women’s Olympic Team in sailing. I understand you’re a pretty good fencer?”
“Not good enough to make the Olympic Team.”
Her head tilted back ever so slightly, and she laughed. She hadn’t thrown her head back and giggled. She placed her hand lightly at her chest and didn’t give him a whack on the shoulder. No, she was well raised in the proper decorum of a royal woman.
“We have a lot in common,” Lady Teresa said. “We’re both blue bloods. Our family businesses could benefit the other for industrial purposes. You know what that means?”
It would be the height of ill-breeding for Leo’s mouth to hang open. Which is what his jaw nearly did. But because he was well trained, he clamped his mouth shut and smiled politely.
“It means wedding bells,” she continued.
Leo’s jaw wrenched open, and a series of choking sounds escaped. He reached for his glass and took a sip to help recover.
“Forgive me,” said Lady Teresa. “I’m pretty blunt.”
“No, I appreciate that.” Leo sat his drained glass back on the table.
“Let’s make a pact to be honest with each other,” she said. “I’m an old crow by nobility standards. I’ve sown my oats, as I’m sure you did before your first marriage.”
Leo chose to say nothing. Certainly not that his wife had been his first and only lover.
“I’ve had great accomplishments on my own. I still have goals to meet. I know the value of a good partner in business. I can see the value of a partner in life. A girl can’t do better than a king.”
“I thought all little girls dreamed of princes.”
“I’m a grown woman,” said Teresa. “Being of noble blood, I didn’t grow up believing in fairytales. In fact, my mother banned the books from the castle so that I would only ever imagine my true duties.”
Isabel had done the same when Penelope was born. She’d said she wanted her children to be realistic about royalty. Not have fanciful dreams that the law and tradition would not allow.
“I grew up in a castle with no dragons or witches,” Lady Teresa continued. “I did have two evil stepmothers after my parents’ divorce. But,” and here she paused for emphasis, “I don’t believe in divorce. Once you make a merger, you stick with it and make it work.”
On that, Leo agreed. There had never been a divorce in Cordovian royalty. Infidelity, suspected murder, sure. But not a single divorce decree in all the country’s ancient history.
“True love isn’t afforded people like us,” Teresa was saying. “As I said, I’ve learned to make good partnerships in business. I believe those skills will translate nicely to marriage. I say we have a few more meetings about our families’ needs, we can call a few of them dates, and see if we can’t come to a lifelong agreement.”
It was exactly what Leo knew was the right thing. It was likely how his parents had arranged his first marriage. So, what was holding him back from sealing this deal right on the spot?
Leo looked up and saw a flash of … something. Or someone. He thought he’d seen someone standing in the entry hall way, but all of his g
uests had arrived. In another blink of an eye, the flash was gone.
“This weekend is Cordoba’s Union Day?”
“Yes,” said Leo, coming back to the conversation that could unite the generations in his country. “Why don’t you plan a visit to Cordoba to see the festivities?”
“Sounds lovely.”
They sat for a moment, both grinning politely at each other. Suddenly, Leo’s jaw felt tired. He needed a moment to relax it. “Would you excuse me? I’m going to go check on my daughter and say good night.”
Chapter Eight
Coming into the Waldorf Astoria, the same hotel where a maid played by Jennifer Lopez ran into a billionaire played by Ralph Fiennes in Maid in Manhattan, the same hotel where Al Pacino sniffed out love in Scent of a Woman, the same hotel where Eddie Murphy came to America, Esme realized something. She was woefully underdressed.
She’d worn the very best dress she had. It was a step above a cocktail dress hanging below her knees and brushing her ankles. But it was a step below prom dress with a plunging neckline. Only because she’d had it altered after she’d worn it to prom for a college cocktail party. And then again, for a teacher’s union gala.
The neckline dropped a bit more with each alteration. Plunging might be the wrong word, but the casual onlooker definitely got the message that she was working with a little something-something on her chest. Not that she was actually working with much.
The dress was princess cut with long seams that stitched together to fit her form. It was a deep garnet color. That deep red had always made Esme think of royalty over the traditional blue or purple. Maybe because it was the color of blood and the path to royalty always came with bloodshed. At least in the history books, maybe not the storybooks.
She’d worn her best jewelry. It was mostly of the costume variety, but the necklace she wore was real. That was because there was only one jewel. A garnet the same color as her dress. It was her most expensive look. And it was not enough.
She’d come into the hotel behind a woman dressed in a gown straight out of Cosmopolitan. It was clear her jewels were real. She didn’t smell of floral soap; she smelled of cinnamon. Likely an expensive perfume that wasn’t over the counter. It was probably mixed especially for her.
The King and the Kindergarten Teacher Page 4