Ruling the Princess

by Christi Barth

  Recognizing it didn’t mean Theo regretted a single word, though.

  “Bloody hell,” Simon murmured. He shoved back his chair abruptly and stood. Then he thrust his hand forward. “I’m Simon Brunner, Your Highness. Pleasure to meet you.”

  Simon was always the peacekeeper. He once spent his allowance for the month bribing their entire floor at boarding school into not fighting for a week about the Six Nations rugby championship.

  The expected move for the princess was to limply offer the back of her hand to be kissed. So when she returned a firm shake, it caught Theo off guard.

  As did the fact that she switched to flawless English after noticing Simon’s accent. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Brunner. We’re always happy to entertain visitors from Great Britain. I think you’ll find our pubs good enough to rival any in London.”

  The charming smile she lavished on him turned the brilliant economist into a pile of goo with zero pride. And zero attempt at hating her in solidarity with Theo’s lifelong vendetta.

  No, Simon jammed his hands into his pants pockets, hunched his shoulders, and basically turned into a lapdog right before their eyes. “Oh, I think I’ll have fun merely giving them all an equal go. No point in starting an international incident over who has the better draughts.”

  “Too late.” Genevieve shook her finger. Her violet eyes twinkled as if sharing secrets in a salon with her BFF. “My brother did that two years ago. Christian was in a pub in Dublin and turned down a pint of Guinness, saying he preferred Boddington’s.”

  Simon let out a hoot. “He said that in Ireland? How many teeth did he get knocked out? How did they not shut down all diplomatic relations with Moncriano?”

  “His aides paid the bill of the entire pub. For the entire night. Huge cover-up. You didn’t hear it from me.” She finished by laying that pink-tipped finger against her lips in a shushing gesture.

  It was adorable.

  It was no doubt calculated to make Simon feel at ease chatting with a vaunted member of a European royal family. It was disgraceful, how she manipulated him.

  Also? It worked.

  Simon let out a hearty chuckle that made Theo roll his eyes. “Don’t you worry, Your Highness. Mum’s the word!”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, you’re not in a Noel Coward play,” Theo snapped. “And you’re not ninety. Stop using that phrase.”

  Still in thrall to the princess, Simon said calmly, “You can’t make me, you wanker. Gin runs in my veins, and there’s a Union Jack wrapped around my heart. So I’ll just take my British self away and leave you two locals to conduct your business.”

  The princess put her hand on his forearm. “Ask Otto, my bodyguard, for the name of his favorite pub. That’ll be a good place for you to start.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.” With a half nod, half bow, Simon left, shutting the door behind him.

  Traitor.

  Fine. Theo could be alone with the princess. Without letting a little thing like lust derail him.

  Simple fact: he was right. Other fact? She was wrong.

  He patted the tips of his triple-peaked white pocket square. “Now that you’ve thoroughly interrupted my meeting and driven away my colleague, you may as well tell me why you’re here.”

  That pleasant façade dropped from her face like ice sliding off a glacier. “This so-called interruption could have been avoided had you simply responded to my summons. You, Lord Theo, should be the one apologizing for upending my schedule.”

  There she was. The princess, the self-centered, spoiled princess he’d anticipated. Theo was shocked it had taken five whole minutes for her true self to pop out. “Did you read my letter?”

  “Yes. Although I wouldn’t call it a letter so much as a list of demands.”

  “Then, as I told your secretary, we have nothing further to discuss.” Theo deliberately looked down at his laptop.

  Ignoring the princess, to her face, was something he’d dreamed of doing. Satisfaction pumped through him. Almost as much as when he’d summited his first fourteen-thousand-foot mountain in Switzerland. Almost as much as the first time he’d removed a girl’s bra with one hand.

  Because it was thanks to the frostily furious woman in front of him that Theo had been evicted from his country at age ten. Ostracized from his family, at first at a boarding school in England, and then university in America. She was the reason he’d been yanked away from everything and everyone he knew.

  So no, Theo didn’t give a rat’s ass about the princess’s wants or needs. And it gave him a ridiculous amount of pleasure to upend both her day and her mood.

  Not to mention her wasteful, over-the-top spending habits.

  He heard the scrape of a chair against the floor. Huh. She was sitting down? Theo damned his curiosity and glanced up.

  The princess stroked the thick mass of gold chains and green stones that filled the neckline of her blouse. “You might have heard that my sister, Princess Kelsey, has recently rejoined us at the palace.”

  Theo doubted that any news outlet in any country, let alone here in Moncriano, had yet to stop playing clips about the missing princess who’d been found after twenty-four years. “Indeed. I’m very pleased for your family.”

  Which was true. He wasn’t a monster. He could set aside his own deep-seated personal grudges against the House of Villani to recognize what a tremendous relief it must be to have her back.

  “Well, Kelsey hasn’t entirely come around to the many protocol aspects of being a princess. A keen observer might even say that she’s doing her best to not just buck, but break the system. Bring her notions of equality and democracy into a centuries old monarchy.”

  Theo shook his head, looking up at the stuccoed ceiling. Mostly to get away from the pull of those striking violet eyes. “Oh, those pesky Americans, polluting the world like missionaries of freedom.”

  “All subjects are free in Moncriano,” the princess snapped back. “Kelsey just prefers that we not go around rubbing our royal status, wealth, and privilege in people’s faces.”

  That sentence smelled as American as the hot dog street cart on the corner of 45th and Broadway. “Is that a direct quote?”

  “Definitely. So you can thank her influence that I’m not still standing, insisting that you pay proper, due deference to a princess royal. Not demanding that you bow to me, kiss my hand, and profusely apologize for your utter contempt.”

  What would she do next—threaten to make him stand at attention? Although, to some extent, the damned beautiful woman was right.

  He should have acknowledged her royal status properly when she entered his office. Should’ve stood, nodded his head, and only then proceeded to snap at her. Respected the office, if not the person in it. As the son of a duke, he knew the rules of protocol inside and out.

  Fuck.

  Her Royal Hotness was right. He’d let his many years of banked fury get the best of him and erupt at finally being in the same room again with his nemesis.

  He’d lost the high ground in this battle.

  That left two options: surrender or fight twice as hard.

  Which really meant there was only one option.

  So Theo snorted. “You want to talk about contempt? Because that’s exactly what you dished out to me.”

  “You’re either petty or pouting.” She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. Much more gracefully than Simon had. “Because I’ve done nothing of the kind.”

  “Maybe you’re just so used to it that you don’t realize how high-handed you are.” Theo splayed his palms on the desk and half-stood to lean over. To force her to look up at him. “I’m not a dog to be summoned at your whim. I’m a person. A professional. My time is valuable. Your time is consumed with shopping. Getting your hair done. Collecting bouquets and compliments. So tell me, Your Highness, which one of us sounds more inconvenie
nced by this unscheduled meeting?”

  That pair of perfectly pink lips dropped open. Genuine shock blanked out her eyes. “You think that’s all the royal family amounts to? Standing around, looking pretty?”

  “I didn’t call you pretty.” That had slipped out. And it sounded hurtful, even if unintentional.

  Theo wouldn’t call her pretty. Not to wound her, but because it was a gross understatement. International headlines didn’t exaggerate. The princess was stunning. Breathtaking in her perfection.

  Even her name flowed lyrically off the tongue. Genevieve.

  What was wrong with him? He’d dated actual models in New York. Theo was a player. He took pride in it. Not in using women. Nobody got hurt.

  But it seemed far more practical, more of a cost to benefit ratio, to…appreciate as many fun, beautiful, interesting women as possible. There wasn’t just one flavor of gelato. Not just a single sauce for pasta. Women were best enjoyed like food—in a wide variety. And he had a big appetite.

  So why the hell was this woman getting to him? Distracting him from his loathing? Turning him into a bad imitation of a romantic poet?

  He did know, however, not to lash out against a woman’s appearance—or even seem to. That’d been an accidentally low blow. As he took in a breath to, God help him, apologize, the princess laughed.

  Laughed!

  “I don’t need you to tell me what the mirror—and millions of people around the world—do. My ego isn’t bruised, Lord Theo, because you and your opinions don’t matter to me. Not one bit.”

  Damn it, he respected her spine. Her sense of self-worth. The way she hadn’t burst into tears at his seeming insult.

  That was no way for him to win this battle.

  Theo stood. He came around to casually sit on the corner of the desk. It crowded her crossed legs.

  It was supposed to.

  He tucked away the feelings that had precipitated his outburst as easily as tucking his summer-sky blue shirt into his pants. “Actually, they do. My opinions—when it comes to the state of your finances—matter to the Parliament, the prime minister, and the entire European Union. Ergo, get on board, Your Highness. My opinions matter quite a lot to you.”

  Her hands fisted around the wooden arms of the chair. “You presume to tell me what to do? How to spend my money?”

  “I do, indeed. My demands were clear—or are you as bad at vocabulary as you are at finances?”

  The princess popped out of the chair in a most un-royal fashion. Now she crowded up in front of him. Close enough Theo caught the sweet scent of her perfume—some tantalizing mix of nectarines, flowers, and honey. It gave him the urge to bury his lips in her neck.

  She heaved in a breath that brushed the tips of her breasts against his jacket lapels. “Your demands were clearly based in ignorance of the requirements of my station. Not to mention a lack of understanding about women in general.”

  “Oh, I know women, Your Highness.” She was right there. In his space. What sort of idiot wouldn’t act on that? Theo skimmed his knuckles down her cheek, bent over just enough to feel the softness of her hair against his lips as he whispered into her ear. “I’m intimately acquainted with everything about your fair sex.”

  Her indrawn breath was deeper, more ragged this time. As though she was affected by his nearness.

  Served her right.

  Theo took one more sniff of her perfume before easing back. Just a step. “I was hired to review your finances. Reboot them if necessary. I’ve only got two months to shape up your spending.”

  “Or what? It isn’t as if I’ll run out of money,” she taunted. Without taking another step back. Without doing anything to create more space between them. Interesting… “You can’t threaten to cut me off from my own inheritance.”

  Did she really think he couldn’t back up his threat? That, as a princess, she was above all consequences for her actions?

  Theo circled back around behind his desk, just in case the very proper princess turned out to be quick with a slap or a kick to the shins when displeased. And he knew that his words would greatly displease her.

  “Or your current level of absurd expenditures will be released in line-item detail to the entire European Union. Believe me when I say it would be a huge embarrassment to both you and the entire royal family.”

  Fire lit up her violet eyes, like licks of lightning at dusk. “You wouldn’t.”

  Not only would he, Theo would throw a party right after to celebrate.

  No need to let her know that, though. In his most business-appropriate, solemn voice, Theo intoned, “This isn’t a matter of vindictiveness, Your Highness. It is my job. The House of Villani needs to put its best foot forward to the European Union.”

  “If the country votes to join,” she countered.

  “Yes. But if they do, then the EU would proceed to vote on allowing you in. A profligate royal family would not be a check mark in the plus column. Rather, it would be a black mark.”

  “I won’t let that happen.” The deep seriousness in her tone proved that something he’d said had finally gotten through to her.

  “Good to hear. And it’s possible to get your books in shape, with my help. It’s solely my call to either sign you off as reformed or a regal mess. Therefore, I intend to be all over you for the next two months.”

  Weird how that threat came off as more of a sexy promise…

  Chapter Three

  Genevieve had learned early on that the best way to solve a problem was to go straight to the top. In her case, her father was the king, so it was easy. And she adored him, thought he was wise and wonderful, and always trusted that he’d point her in the right direction.

  Until…recently.

  Until the shock of having Kelsey return…and then almost losing her again to an assassination attempt had, well, not exactly broken him. Beaten him down?

  He barely left his suite of rooms. He’d stopped joining the family for meals. Christian was scrambling to cover his own official duties and sub in for their father, without letting anyone discover exactly why. Or so they hoped.

  It was a complicated time in Alcarsa Palace. Genevieve didn’t want to burden her father any more. On the other hand, she thought this absurd demand from Lord Theo would be a good distraction for him. Give him the chance to make an easy decision and hit Lord Theo with the kingly version of take a hike.

  The good news was that he’d left his rooms today. The less good news was that he was in the gardens with both her aunt, Duchess Mathilde, and her grandmother, the Grand Duchess Agathe.

  Mathilde couldn’t bear conflict. She tried to change the topic when you disagreed over who should take the last slice of toast at breakfast. And the Grand Duchess was…scary. Genevieve worked quite hard to not complain about anything in front of her or else there’d be a lecture.

  But this was a big enough problem to risk it.

  She cut past the pond with its spurting fountain of some long-ago courtier forever bent in marble homage to the Villanis. The crunch of the crushed oyster shells on the path beneath her sandals made all three family members look up long before she was ready.

  “Genny, darling, how nice of you to join us.” All that was visible beneath the floppy straw sunhat was her aunt’s beaming smile. “We thought it enough of a treat for your father to help Agathe with her daily walk. She’s been so unsteady on her weak ankle lately.”

  Utter rot. The Grand Duchess was the picture of health. She rode every other day. Swam twice a week. Tended her own portion of a garden in the conservatory, barely allowing for help with the heavy bags of dirt and compost necessary.

  She was also savvy enough to know that her son-in-law’s bone-deep gallantry would push him to help her.

  Genevieve dipped beneath the hat to press a kiss to her aunt’s cheek then a similar greeting to her grandmother as she
bit back a smile at the yellow diamond honeybee pinned to the lapel of her black suit. Gran wore still black in mourning for her dead husband and daughter, even after more than twenty years. Probably out of sheer stubbornness at this point.

  “Where is your hat?” Of course, Gran didn’t bother with a greeting. She preferred to get all the scolding out of the way first. “You’ll look like a lobster. Which then someone will take a picture of, and the whole world will talk about how our family doesn’t believe in sunscreen or care about preventing skin cancer in our country.”

  Ah, Gran. Always capable of spoiling a beautiful summer afternoon. While simultaneously making Genny feel about six again. “I’m not setting up camp out here. I just popped out to have a few words with Papa.”

  Her father smiled at her. But it was a shadow of his real smiles. Fleeting. And that was more than a shadow of stubble across his jaw. There had to be at least three days’ growth of blond and white fuzz. In a very casual lavender Oxford cloth shirt and khaki trousers, Papa barely resembled the man on the postage stamps, the money, and the portrait hanging in the reception room.

  It worried her.

  It worried Christian. It’d worry Kelsey, too, if they didn’t mostly hide it from her.

  But at least he’d left his rooms. It was a good sign. Enough so that Genny felt safe coming to him for help.

  She gave a hint of a curtsey then took his free arm. “Papa, do you think we could park Gran on that bench for a few minutes and you and I could have a private chat?” Yes, it was petty. But if those two old women insisted on making up an injury, then she’d play along to the hilt. Perhaps next time they’d stick to the truth.

  It was a wonder the fountain behind her didn’t freeze over from the icy glare Gran shot her way. “Nonsense. We have no secrets in this family.”

  “Three heads are always better than one, dear,” Aunt Mathilde added.

  Gran liked to know everything. Mathilde gobbled up gossip faster than a child snuck cookies.

  …and her father still hadn’t said anything.

  Genny considered herself a strong woman. But all of her inner fortitude—and stubbornness—didn’t measure up to the amount in her gran’s left arm. The woman railroaded people into bending to her will all day, every day. And, since everything she did was in the spirit of what was best for Moncriano…her course of action was almost always the best.