A Princess for Christmas

by Jenny Holiday

  “I’ll see what I can do to influence the menu,” Marie said.

  Kai was dispatched to rig up a cart for the hayride, and soon Leo and Marie were waving at the departing group as Marie hung up the phone with Mr. Benz, whom she’d directed to pick up Gabby at the end of the ride and take her back to the palace.

  Which left . . .

  “Hey, Princess, you wanna see my chimney up close?”

  Leo started the snowball fight this time. But he started it with a softball of a snowball, one aimed to get her attention more than anything, she thought.

  As if he hadn’t had enough of that in the last hour they’d spent “examining the chimney.”

  Marie blushed just thinking about it, but she also prepared to retaliate. She did not acknowledge his hit in any way, instead concentrating on quickly forming her own weapons. She fired off two shots—direct hits.

  “Damn, why are you so good at that?” Leo shouted as he bent to gather snow.

  She moved behind a waist-high stone wall that, in the summer, bordered a rose garden. “I told you, I have a talent for winter activities!” She ducked and missed an incoming missile.

  They played for a few minutes, him getting a hit for every half dozen or so of hers. But he was advancing slowly on her. He was indifferent to her hits. They would make him laugh or cry out in mock indignation, but he kept walking toward her. He even stopped launching his own snowballs. He just kept coming, like a superhero immune to a rain of bullets from mere humans.

  Eventually she stopped, too. Stood up straight—she’d been crouching behind the half wall. Waited. He’d been wearing a grin as he approached, but when he got within a few feet of her it slid off his face. She felt her own disappear, like she was his shadow. He looked almost angry, though that couldn’t be right.

  She felt cold and hot at the same time. Like her skin didn’t know what to do. The air was, objectively, cold. But she was heating up from the inside.

  Leo didn’t pause when he reached the half wall. He wasn’t looking at it, but he seemed to know it was there. Without breaking stride, he pressed one hand on the top of it and leapt over it, landing softly on his feet, like a cat. He shook off his gloves, letting them fall to the ground as he took the final step toward her, planted his hands on her cheeks—which did not help with her skin-temperature confusion—and without ceremony, lowered his mouth to hers.

  Marie wobbled. Leo made her knees not work. She grabbed him to bolster herself, winding her arms around his neck as she kissed him. He kept hold of her cheeks and pressed his tongue against the seam of her mouth. She opened. Of course she did. Leo had opened her up already, in so many ways. Would she never not open when he asked?

  He emitted a low growl as he swept inside, licking deep into her mouth. She never wanted it to end. She pulled him tighter, went up higher on her tiptoes, and feasted on him, this man who had grown so familiar to her. Familiar and . . .

  The hair on the back of her neck rose as a prickling sensation overtook her. And it wasn’t a good kind of prickling; it wasn’t Leo-induced prickling. She pulled away, registering how flattering it was that he resisted. Growled again. But when she pulled back harder, he let her go. She turned, feeling like someone was watching them.

  All she saw was the blank facade of the palace. So it was fine. Probably.

  But they needed to be more careful. She liked to think if a staff member had happened to be looking out the window just then, they would keep what they’d seen to themselves, but the fact remained that she shouldn’t be kissing Leo out in the open like this.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I got carried away.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I got carried away. I suddenly realized I can’t be seen kissing you like this.”

  “Right.” He stooped to pick up his gloves, which had landed rather far from them. She smiled to think that this was the first time a man had been so wild to touch her that he had shed his items of clothing so decisively.

  She stopped smiling to think that it would probably be the last. She and Max had agreed that they wouldn’t get in the way of each other’s “discreet social lives,” but the reality was it would be easier for him to carry on in that manner than it would her.

  And she was certain she’d never meet anyone else like Leo.

  He was all business as he stood and started brushing the snow off her coat with one hand and straightening her hat with the other. But, seeming to think better of it, he stopped abruptly and stepped back. “You probably can’t be seen like this, either.”

  Leo was right. There had been an intimacy to the gesture, to the act of putting her to rights—putting her to rights after he’d mussed her up. He’d acted like both were his right, and she liked it way too much.

  She took over the job of fixing herself and started walking toward the palace, overcome with a kind of inexplicable sadness. She told herself to snap out of it. It was Christmas Eve tomorrow. She and Leo and Gabby would attend Cocoa Fest. It was the happiest day of the year in Eldovia. “You’re sure I can’t convince you to attend the ball tomorrow?”

  He sighed. He really didn’t want to go. Which she understood. She didn’t want to go, either. She backpedaled. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop haranguing you.”

  “Is it really going to be that bad?”

  She shrugged. How silly was it that she was dreading a ball? A beautiful, glamorous night filled with wonderful food and endless champagne. Most people would kill for an opportunity like that. “Can I come to your room after?”

  He smiled. “You sure can.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Leo kept his hands off Marie as they made their way back to the palace. It was harder than it should have been. He wanted to . . . Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he wanted to do everything to her, and not just the dirty stuff. He wanted to brush the snow off her coat and stroke her cheek and . . .

  Goddammit.

  So it was just as well that she’d put a stop to their post-snowball-fight make-out session.

  That she’d put him in his place.

  So, yeah, time to go inside, take a cold shower, and remember what this was. And what it wasn’t.

  Remember who he was. And who she was. And the vast gulf between them.

  As if the universe had decided to help him in this quest, they were met in the foyer by the king.

  “Marie.” It was a single word, but it was shellacked with ice. “May I have a moment?”

  “Of course.” She stiffened. It reminded Leo of the way she had done just that in his cab ten days ago—a lifetime ago. She turned the fake dimples on him. “I’ll see you at cocktails, Leo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Ricci.” The king turned his head ever so slightly toward Leo, as if turning it the full amount so he could look Leo straight in the face was too much effort. “If you’re looking for your sister, I believe you will find her in the kitchens, tidying up after having dropped a tray of crystal mugs on the floor.”

  Well, shit. In any other circumstance, he would have felt badly. Would have apologized and offered to pay for the damage. But since the king’s aim here was clearly to make him feel inferior, he wasn’t going to do that.

  “Father!” Marie stage-whispered. “She’s helping with the preparations for tomorrow.”

  “Helping?” the king echoed. “Is that what you call it?”

  “Well,” Leo drawled, turning up his accent as much as he could. “I guess you can take the kid out of the Bronx but . . .” He performed an exaggerated shrug and turned on his heel.

  “Leo!” Marie called after him. He turned. It wasn’t her fault her father was an ass. “I’ll see you at cocktails?” she asked again, like she was worried he wouldn’t show.

  She looked miserable. He shot her a quick smile. “Wouldn’t miss it, Princess.”

  Hopefully her father would think his use of the term “princess” was literal.

  And hopefully she would understand that it wasn’t.

  He was tempted to go to the kitchen
to clean up Gabby’s mess—literally—but he headed for his room instead and FaceTimed Dani. Surprisingly, his need to talk about his goddamn feelings was more urgent than his need to find his sister.

  “What’s up?” Dani said when she picked up.

  “Oh, you know, just showing my working-class roots, defiling the princess, the usual.”

  She laughed. “Are you getting defiled in return now at least?”

  “I am indeed.”

  “So why do you look so annoyed?”

  Because he didn’t want it to end.

  “Anyway, the defiling has to stop.” It did. Things were getting all muddled. He was supposed to be having a fun little fling. Make-believe. Which was aided by the fact that he was in a fucking palace.

  He was not supposed to be losing his head. Which was clearly what had happened to him back there in the middle of their snowball fight. Something had flipped inside him. What had been silly and fun had turned inside out, with no warning, and suddenly he’d needed to kiss her. To touch her. He would have Incredible-Hulked anything that stood in the way of that singular goal.

  “Why does it have to stop?” Dani asked. “Seems to me it’s a major perk of your little vacation. Or maybe it’s even the feature of your vacation.”

  “Because it’s not going to get any easier to stop as time goes on. Tomorrow’s the big ball—and no, I’m still not going,” he said, anticipating her question. “Then it’s Christmas, and then we’re heading home.”

  He didn’t want to go home.

  Well, he did and he didn’t. He didn’t want to go back to sitting on his ass in a cab for twelve hours a day. But he could certainly do without this “Your sister broke the palace crystal, you plebeian” bullshit.

  “But why do you have to stop, period?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why don’t you invite her back to New York? In the spring, maybe.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  Because . . . Well, shit. He couldn’t think of a damn thing.

  “You’re adults. It sounds like you both know this can’t be a long-term thing, but why not extend the fling if you’re both enjoying yourselves and as long as she’s . . . free? What’s the word? Not betrothed. Ha! What is even your life, Leo?”

  “I know. She apparently has to marry ‘strategically,’ whatever that means.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I have no idea, but I’m not it.”

  “Do you want to be it?”

  Did he? Leo always sort of vaguely imagined himself married, but . . . later. After Gabby was grown up and they were less on the edge financially. But anyway, whatever happened, even if he did get married someday, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be to the princess of Eldovia. “No,” he said, in answer to Dani’s question.

  “Want to try that again a little more decisively?”

  “I am decisive.”

  “Okay, you know what? I’m taking back my extend-the-fling advice. You’re in too deep here, and no offense, Leo, but there is no universe in which the heir to the throne of Eldovia is going to entertain being with you in any real way.”

  “I know that.” Shit. That had come out way too defensive-sounding. He tried again. “Look. I’m having fun. I’m not used to that. It’s probably the leisure as much as the fling. It’s been so long since I’ve—” Shit. He suddenly felt like his voice was about to crack.

  “I know,” Dani said softly. “You deserve some fun. Just don’t get yourself hurt in the process, okay?”

  They hung up, and goddamn it, the seed had been planted. He couldn’t stop thinking about Dani’s idea that he invite Marie back to New York. She might not even have to make a special trip if she was taking the UN ambassador gig. He still had that fifteen grand. He could put a chunk of it aside so he could afford to take a week off. If she came when Gabby was in school, they could get up to all sorts of fun during the day. Sexy fun, yes, but also, New York in the springtime could be great. They could rent a boat in Central Park, go to the cherry blossom festival in Brooklyn. And Dani could take them out to her parents’ place on Long Island.

  People did this, right? It wasn’t that different from what he and Giada had had. There was just more distance between Marie and him, both geographic and social, than there had been between Giada and him. But a booty call was a booty call. And Dani was right. They were both enjoying themselves, so what was the harm?

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Marie blinked as she stood in the doorway of the library, where her father had silently led her after so rudely dispatching Leo. Father hadn’t even waited for her to close the door before lashing out.

  She eased the door shut and tried to think what was happening. Had he found out about the cabin somehow? How was that possible? The only people who knew were Leo and Kai, both of whom she trusted absolutely.

  Had Gabby let it slip? She sighed. “Look, I can explain—”

  “Anyone could have seen you. Out in the open like that.”

  Out in the open? Oh.

  “It’s shameful. You’re shameful.”

  Tears rushed to the surface. She had never heard her father like this. He could be cruel, yes, but usually in a passive-aggressive way—like the way he’d treated Leo and Gabby so often the past few days.

  She knew what he was referring to, though. He had been the source of her sense that she and Leo were being watched earlier.

  “The duke, duchess, and their sons will arrive tomorrow morning. What if they’d come today? What if they’d seen you?”

  “Max is coming?” She would be so happy to see him. “But I thought he was in Cambridge for the holidays.”

  “Max has had a change of plans.”

  “But—” Did that mean he wasn’t doing a PhD? She was afraid to ask.

  “I don’t know why I’ve indulged you for so long. It’s time for your guests to leave. Mr. Benz has booked a late-night flight out of Zurich and has arranged a car to take them. They’ll need to be ready by six.” He sat at his desk and opened a newspaper, clearly done with her.

  “No.” Marie had to swallow the gasp she nearly emitted. It was getting easier to say no to him, but still, she had surprised herself there.

  He whipped his head up—he was surprised, too. “I beg your pardon?”

  She had defied him a bit, before, as it related to the goodwill ambassadorship, but this was different. This was personal. But she’d be damned if Gabby went home before Cocoa Fest. Leo had been so kind to Marie in New York, driving her around, buying her treats, opening his home to her when she was alone. She refused to repay that generosity by letting her father run him out. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. They’re not leaving tonight.”

  “Yes, they are,” he said with exaggerated patience, like she was a child.

  She was determined to stand her ground. “The whole point of them being here is to experience an Eldovian Christmas. Gabby’s worked so hard on the festival. They’re staying.” Should she say more? She thought back to her father’s appalling treatment of Gabby the other night at dinner. Yes, in fact, she should. “And what’s more, you will stop insulting them.”

  “That sounds remarkably like a threat,” the king snapped, not even bothering to conceal his anger. “Let me give you a little tip, my girl. Threats are more effective when you clearly state the consequences. I will stop insulting your guests, or what?”

  Marie channeled her mother’s quiet certainty as she lifted her chin. “Or I will stop doing your job for you. I will stop jumping when you issue your orders and leave me to try to execute them without letting me have any meaningful input.”

  She watched a bunch of different emotions go to war on his face. Shock, anger, and, finally, hurt.

  It was the hurt that weakened her resolve. Softened her. “All I’m asking,” she said gently, “is that they stay through Christmas and that you stop harassing them. It’s unkind. They’re alone at Christmas.” J
ust like we are.

  The hurt was gone from his face. That was something at least. But he almost looked like a stranger now. She thought she’d seen the hard version of her father. The man whose grief had changed him into a more austere version of himself. But this version was worse. It was frightening in its blankness.

  “I will make you a deal,” he finally said. He spoke with eerie calmness. “Your friends stay until Boxing Day as planned, and I announce your engagement to Maximillian at the ball.”

  “No.”

  There it was again. How remarkable. Such a little word, but so powerful.

  “I don’t want to marry Max.”

  “You don’t want to marry Max,” he repeated. She would have expected him to revert to the anger he’d displayed a moment ago, but his tone was strangely mild—and then he threw his head back and laughed at her.

  Marie sucked a breath in as tears rose to the surface.

  “Did you have someone else in mind, then?” he said, making her feel like a child. “Someone else lined up?”

  “I—” Of course she didn’t. What had Leo said? There was “no universe” in which he wanted to marry her.

  Father kept looking at her, his eyebrows raised, impatience written on his face.

  “I don’t wish to marry anyone at present,” she finally said, disappointed that she hadn’t managed to hold on to her mother’s commanding tone. That the tears she was trying hard to suppress were so obviously, so mortifyingly, apparent in the quavering of her voice. He sighed. Looked at her for a long time. “I’m sorry, but this is the way of things for us.” He flashed a small, cheerless smile, her sad king. “To hear it told, your mother didn’t want to marry me, either.” The smile widened, but turned false. “And look how that worked out.”

  She wasn’t sure if he meant that it had worked out fine, because they’d been happy, or if he was referring to the wreckage her death left behind.