by Any Hahn
"Come on. Details. I want details. I'm your best friend; therefore, I'm entitled to know everything."
"Who says?” Chloe asked. She stood up and brushed off her jeans, lint and dust and who-knows-what fluttering off and drifting soundlessly to the floor. “Gross. We really have to clean more around this place."
"It's a rule."
"I've never heard of that rule."
"It isn't written down."
Chloe placed her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?"
"It's an unspoken rule that exists between best friends."
Chloe wasn't about to tell Julia the rest of the story: that Prince Maximilian was the man at the Roosevelt Hotel. That bit of news would put Julia into overdrive. She'd really demand details. And Chloe wasn't prepared to give them to her. First, she wanted to hide her feelings about Max for as long as possible. It wouldn't take long for Julia to figure out he'd won her heart. Second, there was something so incredibly sacred about that night. Sure, the sex had been fantastic—but it was more than that. So much more. And Chloe couldn't even begin to explain what that was.
"Spill. Now."
Chloe tossed up her hands. “There's nothing to tell. Can't this wait? I'll have so much more to tell you when I get back."
Julia blanched. “But that's almost two months away. I can't possibly wait that long."
"He's fabulous. Hot. Sexy. Charming. Perfectly adorable,” she finally confessed. She walked over to her dresser, another old battered flea market find with rusted knobs and peeling blue paint, and pulled out a handful of colored Victoria's Secret panties. “Are you satisfied now?"
"Hardly,” Julia snorted. “I think there's something you're not telling me."
"I'm not lying to you, Jules."
"Okay, maybe not lying, but you're keeping something from me. That's not fair."
Chloe flipped open one of the suitcases. “I promise to tell you everything and anything when I get back.” She tossed in the underwear and walked across the room to grab matching bras—she hated wearing underwear and bras that didn't match. “But I don't have time now."
Julia snapped her fingers. “I know what you're not telling me."
Chloe threw the tangle of bras in with the panties. She paused in her packing to stare at her friend. “What?"
"You aren't the hostess. You're one of the girls he gets to choose from,” Julia said excitedly, as if she had just solved some great mystery.
"Way to go, Nancy Drew,” Chloe muttered sarcastically.
"Damn. Not true?"
She slammed her suitcase shut, zipped it, and secured it with the miniature lock. Then she tied a bright green ribbon around the handle. “Nope. Sorry. I don't get a chance at becoming the next Queen of Romalia."
"That blows."
Chloe smiled. “I'd rather be the hostess. Royalty is for the birds. I don't think this guy can pick out a tube of toothpaste on his own. He's got to have approval for everything.” She stuck out her tongue in disgust. “Not the type of life for you or me."
Julia gaped at her. “You've got to be kidding. I'd kill to be a princess. It'd be so cool. All that money and fame and—"
"The grass is always greener on the other side,” Chloe interrupted as she quickly folded a few skirts and shirts, stuffing them into the second suitcase. She grabbed a few pairs of shoes from the floor of her closet.
"Ah, come off it, Chloe. I know you better than you think. You'd love to be a princess, too. Every woman would. That's why we're so fascinated with royalty. We all want to be Cinderella."
"Yeah, look where it got Princess Diana."
"Okay, that's an exception."
"Princess Grace."
Julia stuck out her tongue. “You're morbid."
"Being royal does not guarantee happiness."
"But it does guarantee a few things."
Chloe groaned at Julia's dreamy sigh. “Enough. I'm not going to be a princess, and neither are you. We'll be lucky if we can pay next month's rent."
Julia grinned. “I'm relying on you. I shouldn't have to work after this gig of yours. We'll be set. You'll be famous, and I'll be your assistant."
Chloe reached into the closet and grabbed the carry-on that matched her luggage set. “Don't you want more than that?” Chloe asked as she ducked into the bathroom to pack a few necessities. Julia dreamed of being a model. Her idol was the ageless American beauty Christie Brinkley.
"Don't forget protection,” Julia called.
Chloe stuck out her head and glared at Julia. “Very funny,” she said, ducking back into the tiny bathroom the two of them shared. It connected their bedrooms.
"Well, you never know. Imagine getting laid by a prince."
Chloe walked out of the bathroom and shook a hairbrush at her best friend. “Believe me, I'm not getting anything for the next few weeks. I'm going to work my ass off, and hopefully I'll get noticed and be hired by a soap opera or sitcom or something."
"What about movies?"
"I'm not aiming that high yet. One step at a time,” she said, tossing the hairbrush into her luggage. “I have to get through this first."
Julia grabbed her hand. “You won't forget about little old me, will you?"
"What are you talking about?"
"When you make it big—and I know you will—you won't forget me, find a new BFF?"
"Of course not. How can you think such a thing?"
Julia shrugged. It broke Chloe's heart to see the tears shimmering in her blue eyes. She pulled her into a suffocating hug and kissed the top of her loyal friend's head.
"You're my best friend. I'll never ever forget you. Remember, we're going to live in a huge mansion someday and have fabulous parties and drink champagne and eat the most expensive chocolate we can find and have endless walk-in closets."
Julia giggled. “Sounds great."
It did sound great. They had fantasized about it since the day they met eight years ago at an audition for a shampoo commercial. Neither got the job, but it'd been the start of an incredible friendship.
"And I'm relying on you to slap me silly if I ever get too big-headed for my britches.” Chloe pulled away and checked the time again. Yikes. Her time was up. The limo was probably waiting for her on the street outside their apartment. She bolted off the bed. “I've gotta go, Jules. I'll call you as soon as I can."
Julia grabbed one of the overstuffed suitcases. “You need to learn how to pack.” She moaned as she lifted the navy piece and carried it out the door. “Ever heard of less is more?"
"I hardly had time to pack as perfectly as you do."
Julia's grin stretched from ear to ear. “I'm going to miss you. How am I ever going to survive without you?"
Chloe patted her shoulder. “I'm not going away forever, silly girl.” She slipped her carry-on over one shoulder and hoisted the largest suitcase with a grunt. “Ugh. This is horrible. I really need to get better luggage, the type with wheels."
Julia was struggling to carry her piece of luggage down the stairs. “Is there anything breakable in here?"
"Nope."
"Good.” She glanced over the railing. “No one below.” She gave it a hard shove.
"Julia!” cried out Chloe as the bag catapulted down the stairs to the floor below.
"Well, you said nothing was breakable,” Julia called over her shoulder.
"I still don't appreciate my luggage being thrown like that,” Chloe mumbled.
By the time she reached the first floor, she wished she'd tossed her bag down the stairs too. Her arms ached. Her back was killing her. Her hands throbbed. She had packed too much. But she was going to be gone for almost two months. How did a person pack for that? Her longest vacation had been ten days to Disney World. And after those ten days, she couldn't wait to get home to her own room, away from her annoying siblings and grumpy parents. Okay, she'd loved the Magic Kingdom and the castle, but family vacations were overrated. Really.
"There's a limo out front,” squealed Julia.
“You are soooo incredibly lucky."
Chloe dropped the heavy luggage. “Ask me if I'm lucky in six weeks, okay?"
Julia looked away from the front window. “Okay. I'll ask you then. Promise me you'll tell me everything."
"I promise, Jules."
"One more thing."
"Yes?"
"Would you sleep with him if you had the chance?"
I already have. But she couldn't say that to Julia. Not yet. Later. Much later. When this crazy ordeal was finally over.
But there was no need to lie.
"Oh, yes,” Chloe said softly, remembering the simmering night at the Roosevelt. “If I got the chance."
"He's that handsome?"
"To die for."
"Better than in photos? On TV?"
Chloe nodded.
"Wow."
"Yeah, wow,” agreed Chloe, wondering again how on earth she was going to keep her hands off Prince Charming for the next few weeks. She'd already sampled the goods, the best she'd ever had. How could she possibly return them, him, now?
Julia glanced out the window again. “Is he out there?"
Chloe shook her head. “I don't think so. I'm sure he has his own private limo to pick him up. Antonia and Lester never said anything about us sharing a ride to the airport."
"I think he's here,” Julia whispered.
Chloe's eyes rounded. “What?"
"He's here. At least I think that's him walking up the sidewalk."
"No way."
Julia looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide. “Way,” she repeated softly.
It couldn't be. No. He wasn't picking her up. They weren't sharing a limo. No. This couldn't be happening. No way.
Chloe hurried to the window. She pulled back the curtain, noticing her hands trembled. She looked out into the California sunshine and gasped.
Way.
Prince Maximilian strode up her sidewalk, looking deliciously handsome in washed-out jeans and a white T-shirt. Not at all like a prince, but like a regular American guy.
"That's him, isn't it? I mean, I've seen lots of photos of him and read lots of articles about him, but I've never really seen him."
"Yes, that's him."
"Wow. Hot."
The corners of Chloe's mouth turned up at Julia's amazed voice. “Think he's sexier is person? I don't have much to compare to, considering you're the one obsessed with magazines focused on celebrities and royalty."
Julia rolled her eyes. “Ah, you aren't totally oblivious to People magazine. You just aren't as infatuated as I am."
"True.” Although Chloe did occasionally read the latest gossip about actors and actresses, she had never really been interested in European royalty. She knew about the family Windsor, but that was about it. It was Julia who was enthralled by their comings and goings and romantic interludes.
"How are you going to keep from jumping his bones?"
"I don't know. I just don't know,” Chloe admitted softly. “I've been wondering that all day long."
"I take it back."
"What?"
"You being lucky. You might just be the unluckiest woman I know—or at least the most sexually frustrated."
"Gee, thanks."
"I mean, you're going to be tortured every day, watching him date other women, kiss other women, select another woman to be his bride.” Julia shivered. “Horrible, absolutely horrible. Can't you switch roles with someone?"
Chloe wished she could. Boy, did she ever.
What a fine kettle of fish she'd gotten herself into. What a fine kettle of fish indeed.
* * * *
The door flew open before Max could ring the doorbell.
He grinned. Chloe stood in front of him, her dark hair floating down about her slender shoulders, her chocolate-brown eyes gazing up at him in surprise.
"Hi."
"Hi."
She looked good, deliciously good, dressed in low-rise jeans and a silky camisole of pale green. The scent of apples and cinnamon drifted about him, embracing him.
"I hope you don't mind."
"What?"
"I suggested to Toni and Lester that we could ride to the airport together."
Chloe leaned against the doorframe. She peered over his shoulder at the sleek black limo. “Yours?"
He glanced over his shoulder and then back at her. “Yep. Guilty."
She smiled. “A private plane. Your very own limo. What's it like to be you?"
He shrugged. “It has its perks."
"I bet,” she laughed.
He loved her laughter. She had a beautiful laugh—loud and real and unpretentious. It was a refreshing change from other women he knew. Most were snobs and tended to think laughter and a sense of humor were not attractive feminine qualities.
Max was definitely looking forward to spending some time alone with Miss Chloe Tanner. He wanted to hear more of her laughter and watch the emotions flicker across her expressive face. Her chocolate eyes sparkled. He recalled how they had darkened with passion.
Would he ever forget the night they'd shared? Probably not. She had already lingered in his mind longer than any other woman had. There was something special about Chloe. She affected him. And very few women could affect him.
He inclined his head towards the two large navy suitcases at her feet. “Can I help?"
"That would be great. Thanks."
He reached for the piece of luggage and noticed for the first time the girl standing at Chloe's right shoulder. Her brilliant blue eyes, as wide as an owl's, gazed into his. He groaned inwardly. He knew the look. It was the star-struck look women always seemed to get when they were around him. He was used to it, but he still didn't like it. They looked at him as if he were a god to worship instead of just a man.
"And you are?” he asked politely, offering the tongue-tied woman his famous dimpled smile. It was automatic. It was the smile he used at all social functions, at royal ceremonies, at charity fundraisers, and for magazine covers.
Chloe looked mortified. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. Max, this is Julia. Julia, this is Prince Maximilian of Romalia.” She blushed. “I'm sorry, but I don't remember your entire name."
"It's a mouthful,” he agreed. “Even I forget. I prefer Max. A pleasure to meet you, Julia."
"Prince Maximilian Alexander Henry Tarleton Radborne of Romalia,” Julia sighed dreamily.
Yep, she was completely star-struck. Any woman who actually knew his complete name was head over heels infatuated with him. There was no saving her now. Her eyes glazed over, and her mouth curved open in an astonished O.
"You actually know his complete name?” Chloe asked. When Julia didn't answer, still staring in awe at Max, she turned to Max and apologized. “I'm really sorry. I had no idea she would act this way."
Max chuckled.
Chloe elbowed her astonished friend. “Knock it off, Jules. He's just a guy."
Max gaped at her in pleased surprise. No one had ever referred to him as “just a guy.” That was all he'd ever wanted to be—just an average guy who could fall in love with an average gal and have a normal, average life. But that was impossible. He knew that. He would always be a prince; therefore, his life would never be normal. He'd searched the world over for a woman who loved him as a man and not as a prince. But he had failed.
He had failed until now. And now it was too late.
Chloe elbowed Julia again, rolling her eyes when she received no response. “I guess I'll have to apologize for my friend."
"No need."
"Used to it?"
He nodded. “Very."
Chloe leaned close and whispered, “Is this how they always react to you?"
He could hardly concentrate. Her cinnamon and apple fragrance sent his senses into a tailspin. “You mean women?"
"Yes."
"Yeah."
Chloe wrinkled her nose and pulled back. “How awful for you."
"Well, I wouldn't exactly put it that way. It's not such a bad thing h
aving that effect on women."
One eyebrow jutted upwards. “Oh?"
He smiled sheepishly. “I'd be lying if I said it wasn't flattering."
The other eyebrow arched delicately. “I guess so.” She gave a low whistle. “Wow."
"Wow what?"
"I just can't imagine."
"I've been putting up with it for years. All part of the job."
"Amazing.” She shook her head, and her glossy hair fluttered about her shoulders. Max fought the temptation to reach out and entwine his fingers in the flowing mass. He remembered the soft texture, the feel of the coffee tresses fanned across his chest, the caress of the curls against his face.
"You better get used to it."
"Why is that?"
"Because you're going to be famous, Chloe. This show is going to turn you into a star."
Chloe glanced back at Julia. Her friend still stood in flabbergasted silence. She shook her head and snapped her fingers in front of Julia's eyes. There was no response, no indication Julia even noticed her. Chloe turned back to Max. “Let's hope not."
Max glanced at his watch. “We should go."
"Agreed.” Chloe reached behind her and pulled out another suitcase.
"Let me.” Max grabbed the suitcase from her. His fingers brushed against the back of her hand, and heat charged through him at the contact. His eyes caught hers, held her gaze. He didn't move. Neither did she. They simply stared into each other's eyes, their hands touching.
"Thanks, but I can manage,” she finally said, her voice barely an octave above a whisper. “Really. I can carry it."
He could tell it was heavy, too heavy for her. Why did women always insist on taking their entire closet with them when they traveled? Of course, he owned many pieces of luggage because his station in life required him to dress appropriately. However, he had an entire entourage of employees to organize and pack for him and deliver the luggage wherever it needed to be. Personally, he preferred one duffel bag. It was the only way to travel.
"It's no trouble."
She jutted her chin out and tugged the bag from under his grasp. Her fingers slid from his, and Max immediately missed the feeling of her skin against his.
"I can manage. Don't you know about American girls, Prince Max?"
