by Ellie Hall
She shook her head, shaking off the worst-case scenarios.
Genevieve leaned close to Oliver, speaking in a hushed tone. His gaze floated over to Penny. There was amusement in Prince Oliver’s eyes that had nothing to do with Genevieve’s flirtations. It brought the hint of a smile to Penny’s lips. She’d somehow made her way into the palace proper and was mingling with royalty. With a prince. Not just any prince, the prince of her dreams and he’d approached her first. Not that it meant anything, but well, it sort of did, at least while she lived in the pretend bubble of Penelope’s life as a royal-in-waiting, hoping to win the prince’s hand.
From what she’d gathered, the real Penelope was feisty and she could be too, at least in order to get Genevieve off her back. She could play the role for a night, at least until she figured out another place to stay that wasn’t a boarded-up building in a shady part of town or a fleabag hotel.
Determined, she drew a deep breath and turned to Oliver. He was tall and had an athletic build and she imagined his muscles under his custom-tailored suit. His brown hair was neatly trimmed and streaked with a subtle hint of red. He was clean shaven but he’d look just as good with a thin layer of scruff. But she already knew all of that from photos and she used to follow his social media fan accounts. One thing the images didn’t convey was how relaxed he was, at ease, and charming. The way his lips quirked like he was in on a secret, hopefully not her secret, but still, it caused her heart to race. That alone made her want to linger in his presence for as long as possible. From what she’d gathered so far, he wasn’t as enamored with royal life as she was. He wanted out but that was unlikely as soon as he married one of the royals-in-waiting.
She met Genevieve’s eyes and lifted her lips into her brightest smile. “You wonder about life in the United States? There’s no freedom like it. I could go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted. No one looking over my shoulder, watching my every move. I was accountable to myself and myself alone—no duties or responsibilities other than the ones I’d claimed.”
“But you received your schooling there.” Genevieve folded her arms in front of her chest.
“It was on my terms. No uniforms, no duties, no drudgery.”
Oliver leaned in as though wanting to hear more, but a man wearing a suit jacket with buttons fit to burst, snagged his attention.
Genevieve cocked her hip and lifted an eyebrow. “Then what brought you here?”
Penny searched the room for the queen. “Aunt Beatriz.” She refused to outright lie and it was true, the queen had lassoed her into the situation even if it was a case of mistaken identity.
“Of course. Pair him with her sister’s heir. I should’ve guessed.” Genevieve shook her head with disdain. “Well, Penelope, despite your connection and bloodline, you should know that this is a game. One I intend to win. I warn you not to get in my way.”
Penelope gulped down the last of her pastry as Genevieve stalked away, leaving her feeling exposed and slightly guilty for fabricating stories. She could make a dash for the nearest exit, disappear into the pantry, and regroup. It would be easy enough to get back on track, blend in down in the kitchen. She eyed a footman passing with a tray of biscuits.
“Wilson, Penelope.” The queen waved the footman and her over to the sofa she sat upon. “I appreciate a girl who enjoys a nice treat.” The queen took a biscuit and gestured Penny join her.
She couldn’t dismiss the queen and had no choice but to oblige. While they sat there, Her Majesty introduced Penelope to several royal court officials. Everyone was so refined and elegant. She felt out of place, on display, and foolish in her boots and dress.
She told herself she’d sneak into the kitchen as soon as possible. She’d come clean. Explain what happened. A mix-up. A misunderstanding. She’d figure out a way to spare the queen the embarrassment of not recognizing her own niece. There were other potential matches—probably many girls eager to take her place, lining up outside the palace in carriages. The queen would chalk it up to free-spirited Penelope flitting back to America.
For Penny, it’d be a funny story to tell her grandchildren someday. The time Granny met the prince.
The queen pulled Penny from her worries by placing arthritic but bejeweled fingers on Penny’s arm. “My, I’ve missed my family. You remind me of myself when I was younger. Well, you’re more like your mother, but I had the same spunk until I married James. They trained the rebel right out of me.” She laughed lightly. “Tell me what you’ve been doing all these years.”
Penny’s mouth was dry. She wouldn’t lie. She’d come clean. The light in Beatriz’s eyes brightened with hope then and she felt a pang of guilt. “Actually, why don’t you tell me about when you were young, about your sister and life before the palace.”
Beatriz smiled broadly, delighted. “It’s been a long time since anyone asked me about myself—aside from reporters in interviews, but that’s always superficial fluff. What charity I’m working on, what economic or political changes I’d like to see made...” She dove into revere about her childhood, Amelia, her sister (the real Penelope’s mother), and even a few cute anecdotes about Penelope as a young child.
Penny listened with rapt attention as those in the room filtered out, leaving just the two of them seated together on the sofa as the queen painted stories of a time long since passed, desires unfulfilled, and unexpected adventures. Penny found herself asking questions, eager to hear more. She was living a real-life fairytale, getting a behind the scenes glimpse, and taking a few not-too-scandalous secrets with her—there was a night in the Maldives Beatriz would never forget along with a few little pranks that hopefully, her nanny did forget.
“You know, I disagreed with you going abroad and I’m glad to have you back, but your time away shaped you into a genuine girl with a true heart. I imagine if you’d grown up with heaps of expectations and formalities, you’d be someone else and I’m happy to get to know you again.”
“Likewise, your Royal Majesty Highness.” Penny cringed, unsure how to properly address the queen.
The older woman laughed and smiled warmly. “Well, I suppose we should get you brushed up on things and settled in. You can call me Your Majesty the first time and then Aunt Beatriz will do after that but typically royals don’t have to greet each other using the formal terms. I’ll call for Livingston, the butler. He keeps everything around here running shipshape.” She bid Penny a good afternoon and excused herself to some business.
Hours had passed in the queen’s presence. Penny had no idea what she'd gotten into. She couldn’t fathom how to act like a princess. What it meant to live this life. Or how to get out of it.
Penny waited, alone, for the butler. She’d left her bag in the sewing room, but had her purse. She pulled out her phone and searched for how to be a princess. Then deleted it. The life of a princess. Then she got paranoid, worried they’d somehow monitor her account or could view her searches. She should’ve searched how to escape a difficult situation involving a monarch without insulting her but moments later Livingston, the head butler, appeared.
He led her through a maze of hallways, each one as grand as the last. Of course, there were paintings and antiques at every turn, but even the palace walls, the floors, and the ceilings themselves were works of art with exquisite woodwork, embellishments, and fine detail.
She imagined royalty of all sorts parading down the halls, going to important meetings and fancy dinners. Through the windows she passed she got snapshot after snapshot of the city. Her smile was as broad as the River Thames when she bumped into someone.
She’d walked right passed Livingston who’d stopped in front of the door and smack dab into the prince. Her eyes locked on Oliver’s. They were hazel with flecks of green and gold. Like a kaleidoscope, she felt like she could stare into them for ages and see new depths. She nodded, her mind foggy, torn between reality and the collision with him.
“Miss,” Livingston called. “Your room, the Langdon Suite.”
“My apologies, Penelope.” Oliver placed a hand on his chest and bowed.
She did an awkward curtsy-bow—she really needed to brush up on etiquette—then said, “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“Daydreaming about ponies and prairies?” the prince said with a laugh.
“Something like that.” Princess Penelope’s dream on the open plains was likely Penny’s version of life in the palace.
Livingston waited patiently by the open door of a suite. A young woman poked her head out. “Good afternoon, Miss. May I show you around?” she asked Penny.
“Yes, of course.” With a little wave at the prince, she swept into the room as butterflies danced a lively jig in her belly.
The lady’s maid wore a simple gray dress with sleeves trimmed in white. A line of silk-covered buttons ran down the back. “Welcome. My name is Addie. I’m your lady’s maid aka attendant while you’re visiting. If there’s anything you need, you name it, please let me know and I will do my very best to accommodate you.”
Penny ran her hand over a polished mantle on one side of the room as she stepped toward a wall of windows, leading to a balcony. On the other side was a large canopied bed and a dressing area. The space was double the size of the kitchen closet back in New York and a million times lovelier. If it was a city rental across the pond it would easily cost a million dollars a month.
“Miss, is there anything I can get you? Your belongings seemed not to have arrived but we should have everything you need to freshen up and prepare for tonight.”
Recalling her lost luggage snapped Penny back to the moment. She turned to Addie. She wore her light brown hair in a low bun and everything about her was delicate. She could’ve been a princess.
“What do you make of all this?” Penny asked.
“Of what, Miss?”
“This.” Penny spun in a circle then swept the balcony doors open.
Taken aback, Addie said, “Well, it’s certainly a lot different than the way most people live. Wait, you’re arriving from the States. If you don’t mind me saying, another of the maids mentioned you haven’t been back here in over ten years.”
Penny slumped into a chair.
“Am I correct in understanding you’re not accustomed to royal life since it’s been quite a long time since you've been back here?”
“Exactly,” Penny answered. Well, almost exactly.
“Take a shower and while I help you get ready, I’ll fill you in as best I can.”
The shower was a room unto itself and was quadruple the size of any ordinary shower she’d ever been in. Firstly, it was spotlessly clean and the fixtures gleamed. Secondly, water sprayed from every direction in a pleasant spray. Thirdly, the lavender soap both soothed her and made her feel fresh, clean, and ready to take on the rest of the day.
Addie left a robe on a hook and then proceeded to help Penny get ready: she moisturized her face, dried and styled her hair, and did her makeup, all while outlining the who’s who and various roles at the palace. “You look darling, now which dress?” Addie asked, pointing to several on a rack.
But Penny was still trying to catch up on which valet belonged to which duke. “Why do I need a dress?” she asked.
Addie tilted her head, confused. “Why, for your date with Prince Oliver of course.”
“A date with Oliver?” Heated panic worked its way across her skin.
“It’s sort of like a reverse courting process. Or you could say like that show, the one with the single man and the group of women who he goes on dates with. Do you know the one?”
Watching it was her and Emma’s Monday night ritual. “Um, which dress do you think would be appropriate?”
“You’d look pretty in all of them, but—” Addie pulled a rose-colored knee length dress off the rack. It had beaded straps and an overlay of sheer fabric. “I think this suits you.”
Penny had never worn anything so nice in her life—as a baker, her work attire was a white uniform and when she was at home, she loved nothing more than leggings and a sweater.
“Now, shoes.”
Penny eyed her boots.
“Let’s see. These should fit.” Addie held a nude pair of heels with a little cluster of gems on the toe to complete the outfit.
With her hair swept off her shoulders in a classy updo and tasteful makeup, Penny looked the part of a princess. She smoothed her hands down the dress. Now, how to act like one?
Livingston appeared in the entryway to escort her to meet Oliver.
Penny turned back to Addie. “Any tips?”
“Good luck. You'll need it. You're going to war.”
If Genevieve’s attitude was any indication, Addie was right. Penny was trying to live two lives, one a lie. For now.
Chapter 4
Oliver
Oliver fiddled with his cutlery. He’d eaten so many formal meals with boring small talk, he could calculate the latest stats from his favorite football team while still seeming engaged. The next several dates with the prospective queens-to-be were going to be tedious. The awkwardness, polite laughter in all the right places, and the assessment—because although it was unspoken, the reason for this ridiculous process was for him to see which girl he was most compatible with to marry, have a family, and rule Concordia.
Yes, he was royal so things were different but his parents had fallen in love the old-fashioned way. In fact, they’d met at a museum and debated the merits of a painting. He’d never seen it before and wondered if it was still in London. He started a search on his phone when the doors swept open. The footman announced Penelope’s arrival. Perhaps the queen had noticed he’d gravitated toward her first.
She looked a bit like a lost duckling, but was dressed in the softest rose and just as beautiful as ever. His lips quirked in delight.
As he stood to greet her, his leg hit the table making the dinnerware clang. As the footman adjusted everything the word beautiful stuck in Oliver’s mind. He’d seen plenty of beautiful women but it was her combination of wonder, like she’d woken up in a fairytale, her refreshing authenticity, those boots on her feet earlier as if she’d walked through rain and slush and didn’t mind, and her bright eyes, full lips, and perfect curves that filled that word with true meaning.
“Good evening.” He reached for her hand and kissed the space just above the knuckles lightly. Typically, it was a formality, but for one it was a pleasure.
A visible, full body shudder passed through her as her hand lingered in his before she abruptly drew it back to her side. Her eyes darted around the room as though unsure what to do or where to look.
He caught her gaze and blurted, “You look beautiful.” He cleared his throat as though breaking a spell and sputtered a bit for speaking so plainly. It would’ve been more common or appropriate for him to have said you look lovely this evening but there was nothing common about Penelope.
Even though he participated in the royals-in-waiting process, ultimately, he’d marry the woman who was the best strategic match for their nations. It wasn’t up to him who he’d spend the rest of his life. He couldn’t get out of the palace and live a little. Meet someone in a museum, a park, or someplace real and untouched and uninterested in status, wealth, and the royal life. He wanted someone simple, down to earth, and even though Penelope was beautiful she likely still had an agenda, or at least the queen did and because of that, their relationship wouldn’t be real—not like his parents’ was.
Oliver shuffled around the table and pulled out her chair.
She smiled, bowed, and curtsied.
He chuckled because not only was she beautiful but she was cute too.
“I thought we were meeting at a restaurant."
“We have our own award-winning chefs on staff. No need to get mobbed, as is often the case.” The problem with getting out of the castle and living a little was most of the people he met were more about him being the prince and less about him being a regular person. He’d hated it but over th
e years had found it to be the unfortunate truth.
“But you have so many amazing restaurants in London—one of the global epicenters of culinary variety,” she replied.
Oliver spread his napkin on his lap. “It has been a while since I've dined away from the palace. I'd rather enjoy it, I think. Do you have a favorite restaurant?”
She set her napkin on her lap too. “I’ve only just arrived so no, not at the moment. But in New York…” She went on to list her favorite three restaurants, describing the best dishes at each one.
A footman delivered the first course, laying the fine china on top of a charger. Penelope went to remove the additional plate and the two collided, sending the frisee salad all over the table.
“I’m sorry. I, um—” She fumbled and tried to clean up the lettuce.
“Don’t worry, Miss. I can take care of it,” the footman said.
She tucked her hands in her lap. “I’m not usually so clumsy.”
“Nothing wrong with keeping things lively,” Oliver said.
“I’m so sorry about earlier too. It had been an adventurous morning to say the least.”
“Tell me some more about your adventures.”
The footman brought a new salad and he started eating. All the while, she elaborated on the dreadful neighborhood she’d somehow ended up in.
“I gave some cookies I had to a homeless man but he looked like he could’ve eaten at least ten plates of—” she pointed to the salad and crinkled her nose. “What is this?”
“Lettuce.”
“Right. Of course.” Her eyes shifted to his hand then to her place setting then back to his hand. Her fingers hovered over the series of forks to the left of her plate before selecting the correct one.
She struggled to cut the unruly lettuce but all he could think about was her hand in his. The one he’d kissed, defying the no-touching-allowed rule. But they weren’t in public and unless she blabbed to the other royals-in-waiting no one besides than the footman would know.
