“I came for Sunday dinner last weekend,” Amanda reminded her grandmother.
Doing as directed, she picked up the tray and followed the older woman from the stainless steel and granite kitchen to the parlor where light walls and fabrics offset dark wood and heavy furniture. There was nothing dainty about Ingrid Carn.
“I do hope we’ll see you more than the occasional weekend,” Grandmother said tightly. “Your grandfather misses you. Posture, dear.”
Automatically Amanda straightened her shoulders as she sat. Always it was her grandfather’s emotions at risk, never her grandmother’s—an obvious detachment ploy, and to this day it hurt every time she did it.
Especially tonight, since Amanda had given up her date with Xavier to attend her grandmother’s little fête. Not that having a little extra time to consider her decision to see him again was a bad thing. She enjoyed her time with him, perhaps too much. His confidence, the way he listened, his dangerous air of alertness contradicted by his love of family made him fascinating—just as his accent and Old World courtesies made him charming.
A lethal combination for an unsophisticated girl.
What could he possibly see in her?
This is where Michelle would remind Amanda he was only in town long enough to have a good time. That left her with a good news, bad news scenario. The good news was he’d only be here for six weeks so she didn’t have to worry about trust and commitment issues. But what if she really fell for him? The bad news was he’d only be here for a few weeks.
So when Grandmother called this afternoon and demanded Amanda drop everything and join them for a small reception Ingrid was hosting for the Dean of Historical Studies, Amanda accepted in the hope that a little extra time would bring resolution to her internal struggle.
“I’m still getting settled into my new place.” Amanda made the same excuse she’d been using for six months. “Plus it’s a long trip for the middle of the week.”
Which explained why Amanda chose the apartment she did. She loved her grandparents but she craved freedom. Living too close to them would negate the independence she achieved by moving out of their home.
“Yes, I know how distressed you were to move so far away.” Ingrid settled on the couch beside Amanda. “That’s why I’ve invited the Dean here tonight. They’re looking for an assistant to catalog and digitize the History Library.”
Amanda’s heart sank into her stomach. This was an elaborate job interview instigated by her grandmother to get Amanda back in her domain.
No. Please no.
Amanda had spent her whole life under her grandmother’s thumb, subject to her strict standards, always conscious of the stringent scrutiny of being related to not one but two senior professors of the university. Always aware her behavior reflected on them as well as herself. It was a burden she felt acutely.
She’d just gained her freedom, and was revelling in the autonomy of big city life. She loved her little apartment and she wasn’t giving it up now she’d had a taste of liberty.
“Grandmother,” she said gently, because she may be resolute, but she didn’t want to hurt the other woman. “I’m very happy at the children’s museum.”
“I know dear, but this is a wonderful opportunity. You’d be able to move back here.”
“But I like my apartment. I like my job. We’ve talked about this. I’m twenty-five years old. It’s time for me to leave the nest.”
“This is a very prestigious position. I thought of you as soon as I heard about it.”
“Because it’s close to home. not because I’m suited to the position.”
She huffed. “You love to read.”
“Yes, and I enjoy a good library, but I don’t want to work in one.”
“Now, you’re just being difficult.”
“I’m not. I love you, and these were hard choices to make, but they were the right choices for me.”
“You’re too young,” Grandmother snapped. “I’ve said it all along, just as I said your mother was too young for that trip. I was right then, and I’m right now.”
“My mother?” The reference threw Amanda. Grandmother rarely spoke of Haley. Though she’d been on Amanda’s mind a lot after talking with Xavier yesterday and being reminded of the box she’d found with the old diaries.
Xavier had assumed Amanda had them, but she didn’t. Excited by the discovery, she’d asked Grandmother if she could take the box with her. Grandmother had said no, and had refused to discuss the matter further.
“What trip?” Amanda asked her grandmother.
“That year before she had you, some college friends of hers were going on a post-graduation trip to Europe. She had a bee in her bonnet about going with them. I was against it from the beginning. She was too young, too naïve. They all were.”
“Life brings experience.” It was one of her grandfather’s favorite sayings.
Grandmother closed her eyes. “That’s what she said. How could we argue with our own beliefs?”
“You let her go.”
“Yes. And she came back pregnant with you.”
Amanda flinched at the venom in the words. She knew her grandmother’s feelings about her mother’s pregnancy. She knew she was blamed for her mother’s death.
She lived knowing her grandparents would choose her mother over her every time. She understood. And at the same time she didn’t. Haley was their child. But Amanda was here. Why couldn’t they just love her? Isn’t that what Haley would have wanted?
Accepting the futility of fighting what couldn’t be changed, she pushed the ache aside and focused on what grandmother revealed about Haley. Maybe Amanda would learn something about her father after all.
“So she met my father in Europe?” How funny to hear this now, when Xavier had just been asking if she had any relations in Pasadonia.
“Yes.” Grandmother stood to straighten the glasses on the bar, to arrange the wine, open and breathing, precisely next to the bottle of Bourbon. “We never met the man who stole our baby from us.”
“Did she tell you anything about him?” Amanda asked softly, afraid to disturb the moment.
“They flew into England, made it their base. She called often to tell us all about their little jaunts. She did not mention meeting a man. I would have remembered.”
“Yes. So my father is English.”
“Possibly. She was gone for two months. They started out in England but bounced around from there. They also went to Ireland, Paris, Milan, Pasadonia.”
“My mother was in Pasadonia twenty-five years ago?” How was that for coincidence?
“Yes. They spent at least a week there.” Grandmother moved back to the sofa, rearranged the trays on the coffee table. “I don’t care to speak of that time.”
“Of course, I understand,” Amanda said, like she always did. But suddenly it wasn’t true. At what point did her feelings matter? Obviously never, if she didn’t push the issue. “I know it upsets you to talk about Haley. But I long to know her better. I didn’t even know she’d been on this trip, or that my father was European.”
“You don’t need to know anything about him except that he stole our child from us.”
“That’s not good enough anymore. I have questions. Who was he? Why didn’t she tell you anything about him? Did he know about me?”
“Do not take that tone with me, young lady.” Grandmother chastised her in icy tones. “I’ve said I don’t care to talk about it.”
“Then let me read her journals,” she said reasonably. “I can get my answers from them.”
“I said no.”
“Why not?” Amanda worked hard to keep the pleading from her voice. Grandmother would latch onto any sign of weakness.
“They’re private.” She stated stiffly.
“She’s d
ead, Grandmother.” Amanda made it a gentle reminder. “I think she’d want me to have them.”
“It’s out of the question.”
The no give attitude finally spiked Amanda’s temper.
“Now who’s being stubborn?” she demanded. “You won’t tell me about her, but I can’t read the journals. She’s my mother! Would you have wanted her to have no knowledge of you? Can’t you understand that my knowing her doesn’t take anything away from you?”
When there was no answer, Amanda shook her head sadly. “Enjoy your dinner. I’m afraid I can’t stay.” She walked to the closet for her coat and purse.
“Don’t you dare leave,” Grandmother snapped. “My guests are expecting to meet you.”
“Regarding a job I don’t want.” Amanda’s stomach roiled and her voice shook, but she stood up to her grandmother. Stood up for herself. “Just tell them I didn’t care to talk about it. That always works for you.”
CHAPTER THREE
“THIS IS AMAZING.” Amanda stopped next to Xavier. They stood in front of the glass display of the royal crown of Pasadonia. She whispered, otherwise her voice echoed through the cavernous room.
After dinner, he’d brought her here to the museum for a personal after hours tour of the crown jewels. They were alone except for the night security—two guards who stood at opposite ends of the vast room.
She’d like to think her decision to keep their date came from carefully considered deliberation, but the truth was he drew her more than anyone she’d ever met. And it gave her great pleasure knowing Grandmother would heartily disapprove.
It may be petty, but Amanda didn’t care.
And she was having a really good time.
“The jewels are stunning.” Hands behind her back, she leaned forward to study the three crowns on display. “The workmanship is exquisite.”
“Only the highest quality gems are used in the making of the royal crowns. Pasadonia uses the same jeweller and silversmith as the Royal house of Britain. There are over two thousand precious gems in the coronation crown, known as the St. Martin.”
“St. Martin of Tours, patron saint of soldiers.” She strolled on to a display of scepters. At his questioning look she confessed, “I did a Google search.”
“Yes. We are a small country but we have held our own through the centuries.”
“Le Valliant allié.” She read on the shaft of a gleaming gold scepter. “The valiant ally.”
“Our motto, and a way of life. We believe in making friends not enemies.”
“A nice sentiment,” she nodded and moved on to a cabinet of daggers, the decorative knives were as beautiful as they were lethal. “But in my experience politics aren’t that easy. It’s not always possible to be everyone’s friend.”
“Perhaps not, but when you control a neutral port in the Gulf of Lions, it is possible to avoid making enemies.”
“I would think that would make you all the more vulnerable to invasion.”
He inclined his dark head. “As I said, we are small but we held our own. Pasadonia has always had a strong militia. We are fierce fighters.”
“To this day?” she asked curiously. Looking at his profile she saw the pride in him, and when he turned his golden gaze her way, she saw the fierceness he spoke of.
So why had she sensed an underlying tension when he’d talked of his family’s history in the royal guard?
“Yes,” he said simply. “Pasadonia has all the problems of any nation in these days of unrest. Terrorism is a universal issue. Our Prince is a vocal member of the International Security Consortium. Our militia must be ever vigilant.”
“Of course.” How small-minded of her not to associate big world problems with a small principality.
“We protect our Prince. We protect our borders. We protect and aid our citizens.” He gestured to the elaborate exhibit. “We protect our national resources. We stand in the middle of Pasadonia right now. These are my country’s treasures. They are my responsibility. I will protect them with my life as I would if we were in my homeland.”
“I can see you’re very dedicated.” She placed her hand on his, where it rested on the corner of a display case. “Your country has beautiful treasures. Considering the uncertain times, I’m actually surprised your Prince would send the jewels on tour.”
“Tourism is a large part of our economy. With people traveling less these days, our economy was suffering. The tour has generated a large influx of necessary income.”
“Your Prince is smart to use the riches of your history to finance your current and future needs. From what I’ve read the tour has been incredibly successful.”
“It has. My Prince is very pleased with the generosity of your country and its citizens.”
She laughed. “Americans are fascinated by all things royal. Probably because it’s not something we’ve ever known.”
The next turn took them by the tiaras. Diamonds, sapphires, emeralds and rubies looped and swooped in delicate designs, layering gem upon gem so it glittered like fallen stars.
“Oh.” Again she clasped her hands behind her back, an old habit to keep from reaching for something she shouldn’t touch.
He tugged on her fingers. “I am sorry I cannot let you handle the jewels.”
She grinned at him. “I’d love that, but I understand. I used to dream of being a princess when I was little. All little girls do.” She glanced at the brilliant display, sighed. “I never imagined anything this elaborate. This beautiful.”
“Ah, so you are all grown up now? There are no more dreams of tiaras, ballgowns, or finding prince charming?” His expression remained somber, but the words teased.
“Not for a long time. Not for me anyway.” She looked at him, and then away, while heat flowed into her cheeks as she confessed, “My favorite play time princess was Rapunzel until one day I realized I related to her because I also felt trapped.”
“Amanda.” He immediately took her elbow, turned her to face him. “Has someone hurt you?”
His intensity made it clear he was ready to do something about it if someone had.
She shook her head, gently touched his cheek in gratitude for his concern. “No. But my upbringing was very strict. My grandparents are very traditional.”
“And they lost their child.”
“Yes.” She nodded grateful for his understanding. “So they were doubly cautious with me. And we practically lived on the campus of the university. They always made it clear my actions reflected on their reputations. Rapunzel grew up in a hidden tower. I grew up in an ivory tower.”
Hearing the bitterness in her voice, she lifted a shoulder and let it drop in a nonchalant gesture. “It’s fanciful I know. Sorry. I don’t mean to drop this on you. I’m probably not even making sense.”
“Ivory tower, I know what this term means.” He tucked the fall of her hair behind her shoulder, ran his hand down the back of her arm until he reached her hand and laced their fingers together. “You felt restricted by the inhibiting milieu of your grandparents’ world.”
“That’s it exactly.” He was so insightful, so easy to talk to. Though why she was sharing this with him, she couldn’t say. They were feelings she barely acknowledged to herself, but apparently her recent argument with grandmother had allowed stifled emotions to rise to the surface. Perhaps she felt safe with Xavier because their relationship was so finite.
“The six months since I moved into my own apartment have been wonderful.”
“How have your grandparents taken your departure?”
She bit her lip. “I thought they had accepted it, but the dinner I went to the other night was a bid to get me back into their sphere. The History Department is looking for an assistant to catalog and digitize the history library.”
“A prestigious position, I
’m sure.”
The corner of her mouth twitched up. “That’s what Grandmother said.” Which reminded Amanda of what else Grandmother had revealed. Amanda gestured to the tiara. “This is the crown Princess Vivienne is wearing in the portrait, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He led her to the painting of Vivienne. “It was made for her for the Coronation of her husband Prince Louis II in 1852.”
Amanda thought about telling him about her mother’s trip to Europe, to Pasadonia, but hesitated. What if he thought she was trying to claim some type of kinship with the Prince?
She didn’t want their budding relationship—wait, relationship was too strong a word—their budding friendship to be cut short because she made too much of a simple coincidence.
No, she chided herself, she was being silly. Her resemblance to Princess Vivienne wasn’t that strong.
“So guess what?” She wandered a few steps away, pretended an interest in a display she didn’t really see. “I found out my mother took a trip to Europe the summer before I was born. She went with some friends after college. Traveled to several different countries, including Pasadonia.”
He west still, then very deliberately advanced on her. “How interesting.” He trailed a finger down her cheek. “Perhaps there is a relationship to the Princess. Should I address you as Your Highness?”
She graced him with a teasing smile. “Do I get to wear the tiara?”
“Hmm.” He arched a brow as if contemplating her question. “Ah, no.”
“Spoilsport.”
“All part of the job.” He shrugged. “Unless you want to take a DNA test and—”
“Okay, okay.” She glanced at her watch. Time had flown—it was already an hour later than she’d meant to stay out tonight. Time to go.
“Thanks for the private tour. I’ve really enjoyed learning more about your country.” And him. “But it’s getting late and I have to be up early.”
The Making of a Princess Page 3
