Cinderella's Secret Royal Fling

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘Is there a happy ending?’ For one moment he felt wistful yet hopeful, as if this wasn’t the plot of a film but a true story which promised hope for his own predestined path.

  ‘No, I mean, it’s more bittersweet. She goes back and he turns up at the press junket and she recognises him and thinks her secret escape will be front page news, but he just looks at her—in this absolutely amazing heart-in-his-eyes way—and she looks at him in the same way, only discreetly, so the rest of the journalists don’t guess, and he manages to give her the photos so she knows she’s safe. And when she does her speech it’s all aimed at him, like a love letter wrapped up in the formal part. That’s the film that made me not want to be a princess. It was far more fun to ride with Gregory Peck and drink Prosecco in Rome than deal with dignitaries and probably marry some boring prince.’

  ‘Quite right too. Who would want to marry a prince?’ She glanced at him and he made his expression as guileless as possible. ‘So that’s the end? She goes back to do her duty?’

  ‘I used to imagine a sequel,’ Emilia confessed. ‘Her kingdom had been turned into a republic and she was free to marry whoever she wanted. She meets Gregory Peck again as she’s trying to start a new life and this time they can be together. Not that I’m usually a hopeless romantic. Just in this case.’

  ‘Even princesses in exile are expected to marry into other royal houses. I wouldn’t count on your princess getting the normal life she wanted, even after a revolution.’

  ‘But not today, surely. I mean princes marry actresses and princesses marry personal trainers. The rules have changed.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he allowed. ‘But an heir to the throne or a ruler cannot always follow their heart. Sometimes they have to do what’s right for the whole country. Even in a place like this. Especially in a place like this.’

  And, just like that, they were back to where they’d started. ‘So you think it’s true? The Archduke is going to marry Bella Clayton?’

  ‘I think the Archduke will recognise what economic and business sense it makes to create close ties with a man who can bring such wealth and prosperity into a country which desperately needs something new.’

  ‘That seems harsh on both of them. But maybe we don’t know everything. Maybe they’re head-over-heels in love.’

  ‘Maybe.’ It was definitely time to change the subject. ‘Do you have time for a quick break? Let me introduce you to the puppies. Even if you don’t want to adopt one, you should still meet them.’

  ‘How can I resist a puppy break? Let me just measure out the stage first. Here, take this end of the tape measure and keep walking back until I tell you to stop. Ready? Okay, keep going...further, further. Right there. Great!’

  Walking backwards, Laurent had no idea that anyone else had entered the room until he stopped and heard a voice behind him, his heart sinking as he heard the cultured tones of his mother’s private secretary.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Emilia. Her Royal Highness was hoping for an update. Would you be able to spare five minutes right now?’

  Laurent wanted to keep his back turned, to allow himself another day, another few hours of being Ren the handyman, of being able to spend a few more moments teasing Emilia about old films and listening to her speak with complete candour. But he knew his time had run out and he had barely half turned before the Contessa had sucked in a breath and fallen into a curtsey. ‘Your Highness. I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  Emilia looked across at him, shock and disbelief darkening her eyes. ‘Your Highness?’ The question was so faint the Contessa didn’t pick up on it.

  ‘Of course, if you are busy with the Archduke then I am sure the Dowager Archduchess will not mind a slight delay. I’ll tell her to expect you in, say, half an hour?’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I think we’re done here, aren’t we, Your Highness?’ And Emilia gave him the briefest of curtseys and left with the Contessa before Laurent had a chance to say a word. But what could he have said? His brief trip into normality was at an end. It was probably for the best.

  But he’d enjoyed being treated like a normal human being, found the way Emilia had teased him more than just refreshing; it was like peeping into an alternative world, one where he was free to make his own friendships, his own path. To meet a girl and pursue the attraction.

  Laurent had no idea what would happen after the ball, if he would find himself an engaged man or not—but he did know one thing. He liked the way Emilia made him feel and he wasn’t ready to stop feeling. Not just yet. If there was any way to salvage this new friendship then he had to give it a try. He’d been raised to do his duty by his country and he had every intention of doing so. But he still had three weeks before things potentially changed for ever. What harm was there in spending some of that time with Emilia? He quashed the dutiful voice pointing out his desire to see Emilia again had nothing to do with friendship and far too much to do with how much he was attracted to her. He spent his life dealing with inconvenient truths. He was allowed the odd illusion.

  ‘What do you think, Pomme?’ he asked his dog, who cocked an ear attentively at the sound of his master’s voice. ‘Have I messed up altogether? You’d like to see Emilia again, wouldn’t you?’

  Pomme whined and Laurent gave him a rueful grin. ‘You’re right; it won’t be easy and it’s probably a bad idea, but for once I say let’s not think about all the reasons why not. Deal?’

  Pomme sat down, his tail wagging enthusiastically. It was all the answer Laurent was going to get, but it was enough. He wasn’t giving up on this new acquaintance, not yet. And he knew exactly the way to tempt her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  EMILIA JUMPED AS her phone trilled, startling her out of a daydream. Flustered, she fumbled to answer the call and, as she did so, noticed the name doodled on her notepad.

  Ren...

  God, she was a complete and utter fool.

  ‘Hello?’ She did her best to sound like the competent person she usually was, grabbing a pen and furiously scribbling out the doodled name, cheeks flushing hot as she did so. What on earth was she doing, randomly inserting the names of young men she barely knew into the middle of her to-do list? Acting as if she were some love-struck teenager doodling on her pencil case? She was neither love-struck nor a teenager. She was a professional, and she needed to behave like one.

  ‘Emilia? Hi, it’s me, Harriet. Just checking in. Is everything okay? You sound a little flustered.’

  ‘Flustered? No, not at all. Just deep in thought. There’s a lot to do.’

  ‘How’s it going? Met anyone yet?’

  Emilia looked around, suddenly suspicious. What had Harriet heard? And from who? ‘What do you mean, have I met anyone? Just because you’re all loved-up doesn’t mean everyone has to spend all their time thinking about romance.’

  There was a startled pause at the end of the phone. ‘Em! You know I didn’t mean that. Have I turned into one of those people, the “everyone should get engaged” type, because you know I don’t believe that...’

  Damn it, now she had upset Harriet. ‘No, no, of course you haven’t. Ignore me. I was being silly.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Emilia couldn’t blame Harriet for sounding hurt. The four friends had bonded through loneliness and they all found it hard to let people in, especially potential romantic partners. Harriet, like Emilia, had barely dated before she’d got engaged to Deangelo.

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  ‘I just meant have you spoken to anyone yet. Alex said you were buried alone in a basement office and sleeping in the attic. You should move to a hotel, Em. I’m more than happy to add it to Simone’s gigantic bill. In fact, we’ll get you a suite, champagne every night and fresh flowers and chocolates.’

  ‘It’s almost worth it just to imagine her face, but I’m fine here. Honestly, the office is perfectly adequate. Natural light would be nice, but it
has everything I need, and the bedroom is clean and comfortable and has gorgeous views across to the mountains. It does me very well.’

  ‘If you’re sure...’ Harriet still sounded doubtful and Emilia hurried to reassure her.

  ‘Honestly, being here puts me at the centre of all the action and that’s really important. You know I grew up bilingual, thanks to my mother? I barely use my French nowadays, but it’s returned pretty quickly and I know enough Italian to manage to communicate well enough in dialect which, although everyone speaks English, they really appreciate. I’ve been helping out where I can; the whole palace is being overhauled, and it’s paying off. Much easier to get people to cooperate with me if I’ve done them a favour first.’

  ‘And what have you found out? Any gossip on whether the Archduke is going to propose?’

  Emilia closed her eyes and saw Ren—Laurent—leaning against the wall, arms folded, blue eyes alight with laughter, disreputable old jeans moulded to strong legs like a second skin. He hadn’t acted like an Archduke, nor a man considering marriage, two days ago.

  But he was both.

  ‘No, but everyone seems to think Dad’s interest in moving the business here is a really good thing and they do seem to be taking it for granted that there will be an engagement within the year and Bella seems the most likely candidate. Apparently the Archduke has been to Dad’s estate twice and Dad has visited Armaria, but the ball will be the first time Simone and Bella come here. I haven’t told anyone what my relationship with them is. It’s easier to keep work and complicated family life separate. Besides, everyone thinks Dad has just the one daughter,’ she finished, trying to sound businesslike, but Harriet wasn’t fooled.

  ‘You need to spend some time with your father, Em. It’s his birthday. You have every right to be there.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s entirely true.’ Emilia blinked suddenly hot, heavy eyes. All she wanted, all she’d ever wanted, was her dad to put her first. But he never had. And the more she’d tried to get his attention, the more he’d turned away, pushing her to more and more extreme behaviour. ‘After all, I threw my drink at him on his fiftieth and told him I wished he’d died instead of Maman. And then I walked out of the fancy restaurant, leaving him covered in lemonade. Not my finest hour—you can see why he wouldn’t want me around on this occasion.’

  ‘You were sixteen and hurting.’

  ‘He didn’t come after me though, did he? Not that night—not ever.’ She swallowed, pushing the hurt back down where it belonged. ‘He might be a genius but he has no emotional intelligence whatsoever. I guess that’s why it was so easy for him to just walk out on Maman and me when he met Simone. If Maman hadn’t died I doubt I would have seen him more than twice a year growing up, if that. He was always cancelling my custody weekends because he had to work or he and Simone had plans. Sent expensive presents instead, as if a new laptop made up for him not being there. The truth is neither Simone nor he ever bargained on me actually living with them and when I left it made their lives easier.’

  ‘And yet here you are, on the spot for his birthday and Simone put you there. This is your opportunity, Em, your chance to talk to your father, to tell him how you feel. Okay, I better go. This invoicing won’t do itself, more’s the pity. Call if you need anything, even if it’s just a chat. Especially if it’s just a chat.’

  ‘Will do, thanks, Harriet.’

  Finishing the call, Emilia wished she was the kind of person who could manage a casual ‘love you’ at the end of a sentence. But the words stuck in her throat. They made a person so vulnerable. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d told someone that she loved them—or that someone had said those words to her.

  Pushing the notepad away with a sigh, Emilia allowed herself to slump forward, head in her hands. It was all very well for Harriet to say this was her chance to talk to her father, but what would she say? She could apologise for her anger and behaviour as a teenager, but what if he didn’t reciprocate? Still didn’t see how he had let her down? After all, he hadn’t tried very hard to reconnect with her over the last decade. What if she made herself vulnerable and at the end of it she still was on her own? All the hard work she had done to keep herself safe would be undone.

  But watching Harriet deal with her father’s dementia made Emilia yearn to at least try and put things right while she still had a chance. To be the bigger person, not the out of control teen pulling everyone into her maelstrom of misery. After all, whatever Simone’s reasons for employing her, she had given Emilia the opportunity to show her dad how much she loved him. And, little as she had in common with her stepsister, to give Bella her due, she had always tried, inviting Emilia to lunches she was too busy to make, sending her gifts on her birthday.

  But the thought of Bella brought her back round to Laurent again and Emilia groaned, grabbing her notebook and vowing to not think about anything but work again for the next two hours.

  A rap at her door roused her from her thoughts and she called out for whoever it was to come in, surprised to see one of the pages carrying a silver tray with a brown envelope on it. The page, a boy in his late teens, wore the old-fashioned waistcoat and pin-striped trousers the role demanded with dignified pride.

  ‘This is for you, mademoiselle,’ he said in careful English, proffering the tray.

  ‘Merci.’ She smiled her thanks as she took the envelope, a little puzzled. The palace might have traditions and customs that seemed a thousand years old but behind the scenes it enjoyed the most up-to-date technology; the pages carried smartphones or tablets whilst Emilia had had no problem connecting to the palace’s IT network. Who would be writing to her? Or—her heart speeded up as she felt something hard within the small envelope—sending her an object?

  She began to open the envelope as the page left, tipping out a large wrought iron key. A tag was tied around the middle:

  You are always welcome.

  Putting the key onto the desk carefully as if it might explode, she reread the message, her heart thumping. It must be from Ren—Laurent. But why was he sending her an invitation to his private garden?

  Sending her invitations, misleading her about his identity. What was going on? Emilia opened her top drawer and dropped the key and the message inside, closing it with a decisive bang. The answers to those questions didn’t matter. She was here to do a job, not to speculate about the motivations of the Archduke. So he had sent her a key? She didn’t need to use it. Her situation here was complicated enough. From now on she was steering clear of anything and anyone not related to the ball.

  * * *

  For the next twenty-four hours Emilia stuck to her resolution not to return to the walled garden, although she also didn’t allow herself to speculate why she had retrieved the key from the drawer and stuck it into her bag, reading the note every now and then. Instead she threw herself into an orgy of spreadsheets, Gantt charts and costings, cajoling or bullying her most trusted suppliers to agree to her impossible timeline. Whether it was Simone’s lavish budget or the prospect of supplying the Royal House of Armaria she didn’t know, but most capitulated far more easily than she had anticipated. In fact, they gave in so easily it took half the fun out of her job. Her mood only lifted when the palace head chef said an instant non to the menu she’d put together and they then embarked on a two-hour battle in which they both emerged convinced they’d been victorious. But throughout the feverish hours she was all too aware of the heavy key weighing down her bag.

  By the following evening her head was aching after too much coffee and not enough air and Emilia found herself sent outside for a walk by the stately housekeeper with strict instructions not to return until her colour had gone from corpse to cream. She put up little fight, the need for fresh air almost overwhelming.

  It was a gorgeous evening. Armaria was blessed with long hot summers, crisp snow-filled winters and springs and autumns out of a child’s book o
f seasons and the early June evening was warm enough for Emilia to be out with no coat or jumper, the light not quite as bright as during the day, but still sunny enough to make sunglasses a must. She pulled the bobble out of her hair, allowing it to swing free past her shoulders, and took a deep breath, letting the fresh flower-scented air fill her lungs.

  The castle gardens deserved all the accolades heaped on them. An eighteenth-century designer had created a visual masterpiece of terraces, fountains and colourful flowerbeds, the whole divided by trees and hedges, widening into more informal lawns and woodlands further from the castle. A maze at the foot of the terraces was known as the most fiendishly difficult in Europe, and the gardens were full of hidden nooks and secret corners. But as she wandered through the beautiful rose garden Emilia couldn’t help but think about the walled garden, about how each plant seemed to be there naturally, not because it fitted some overarching vision, how the orchard trees wound and bent around each other, not pruned to unnatural symmetry. The garden was obviously tended, but it wasn’t manicured.

  And she had a key...

  Of course she had told herself that going there would only lead to trouble. She had liked Ren. She might have only met him twice but she’d found him easy to talk to in a way that was unusual for her. In fact she’d been downright chatty. And although her life was a quiet one, she was still a warm-blooded woman. It was impossible not to notice that he was very attractive with his sudden, elusive smile and killer cheekbones. If Ren had sent her the key then, she would have been very tempted to visit the walled garden in the hope of meeting him there and seeing where their acquaintance took them. Tempted. Not that meeting strange young men was something Emilia habitually did. No dating apps for her, no accepting offers of coffee or dinner. Maybe she was a coward, but she knew all too well what could happen when you allowed your happiness to be held by someone else. That love had a toxic side, and not feeling at all was so much less painful than giving your heart only to see it disdainfully discarded. So no, she probably wouldn’t have gone to meet Ren. But it was nice to think that maybe she would have summoned up the courage,