“You’re a creeper.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Okay, just calling it as I see it. The guy’s hot for you, and I’ll say that to infinity so you can’t negate it. Just accept it and move on.”
“Fine. Whatever. On a more immediate note, then, I can’t believe they’re providing clothes for us to wear. I feel like Cinderella or something.”
“Yeah like that Dress Shack dress you packed wasn’t fancy enough or something.”
“It wasn’t from the Dress Shack,” Emma said. “I got that at Klothing Korner.”
“My bad. Much higher-class establishment.”
“Who knew you’d have to wear a ball gown to eat a gingerbread house?” Emma said. “Speaking of, I cannot believe we get to pig out at a party. Is this a great country or what?”
“Champagne, cookies and candy. I could be persuaded to stick around,” her friend said. “Kidding! I know my carriage turns into a pumpkin at midnight. Yours, however...remains to be seen.”
“Seriously, Caro. Things like this don’t happen to girls like me. So don’t start concocting crazy fantasies about this. I’m sure it’ll just be two friends catching up and having fun eating till we throw up.”
“You’re such a romantic.”
~*~
Before she knew it, Emma was practically stitched into a sapphire blue velvet ball gown with a crisscrossing bodice, a sweetheart neckline and coordinating fitted shrug. Her hair had been blown-out and was pulled back in a high ponytail. A lady in waiting or some such thing had even put fake eyelashes on her. Emma was going to ask Caroline if they should expect ten lords a-leaping to show up soon, but she decided not to break the spell with her smart-aleck jokes. She felt as close to a princess as she would ever be. Caroline had chosen a burgundy satin v-neck gown cut on the bias that hugged her curves and flared out below the knee like a Spanish dancer.
“Damn, we sure do clean up nicely,” Caroline said.
“We’re almost like those women I photograph all the time.”
“Just like ’em, if you ask me. Make that better.”
They fist-bumped and slipped into their amazingly comfortable too-tall designer heels, all part of the fairy-tale wardrobe courtesy of the queen. Clearly she could get things done, if she could slap together outfits for the two of them, on a national holiday, no less.
“We’re off to the ball, then,” Emma said, gritting her teeth from nervousness.
“Correction,” her friend said. “We’re off to pig out.”
“That I can relate to. Thanks for the reminder,” she said as they followed their handler to the great ballroom.
~*~
“Cheers, mate,” Darcy said, tipping his highball glass of scotch to clink with Adrian’s. “Here’s to the soon-to-be new year full of freedom.”
Adrian offered a weak smile. “Yeah, to freedom.” He gave his friend a nod as he took a slug of his drink.
“Just think about it. You could have been about to be dragged down the aisle with a ball and chain locked to your ankle. Saved by the bell.”
“Indeed.” Adrian frowned.
“Come on, man,” Darcy said as he chucked him in the bicep. “This is the biggest party of the year. You’ll have your choice of women tonight. Why not suffer through and make the best of a bad situation.”
“Funny,” Adrian said. “I know you’re trying to amuse me, but I’m not in the mood, thanks.”
“You’re still mooning over that American girl?”
“Mooning sounds so pathetic,” he said. “But yes, I miss her. Perhaps more than I even thought I would.”
Darcy shook his head in concern. “You’ve fallen. And hard. Happens to the best of them, or so I hear. But I never thought you’d be so foolhardy. Since when have you been a one-woman man kind of guy?”
“I didn’t say I was,” Adrian said defensively. “I just rather miss Emma. We had a good time together. She was different than your usual fawning royal-sniffer type.”
“Speaking of, to your left,” Darcy said, kicking Adrian.
“Adrian!” Serena said, reaching out to give him a two-cheek kiss. “You’re looking cheerful this evening. Newfound freedom becomes you.”
“And likewise it seems love has left a glow about you,” he said.
“Or is that indigestion?” Darcy said. They all laughed.
“Roberto and I are to be wed in the spring,” she said. “I hope you two will be there. Maybe I can have you as bridesmaids.” She winked at them.
“Count on it,” Adrian said. “I look good in strapless evening wear.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Emma and Caroline were tucked far away from Adrian’s detection as the queen made the announcement to the gathered guests that it was time to deconstruct the gingerbread house. People scattered the minute the trumpets blew to announce it was fair game.
Adrian wasn’t much in the mood for this. He thought about the evening he told Emma about the traditions of Santa Christus, once his favorite holiday. He laughed, remembering how certain she was of a strategy to eat as much of the house as possible, and he decided to follow suit and work his way up from the back.
By the time he got to the far side of the ballroom, there were a couple of ambitious participants making a crumbling mess of things. As he wound around to the farthest corner, he caught a glimpse of someone who looked so much like Emma he felt the need to race over to her, but she’d already turned the corner. Ah, well. He knew it was impossible the woman was Emma. First of all, she’d never be there, and second of all, she’d never be dressed up like that. After all, she tended toward yoga pants and Snuggies.
~*~
Emma caught her breath when she looked out of the corner of her eye and finally saw Adrian, who looked lost in thought just around the corner. He was so handsome in his royal navy military tunic in a snappy scarlet color, gold braided cords on his shoulders, and a royal blue sash draped diagonally across his chest. He wore a forage cap with an eight-pointed star embroidered on it, and a gold waist belt with a sword sling, sans sword, thank goodness.
If she wanted to tease him, she’d tell him he looked a bit like Michael Jackson from back in his heyday. But teasing was the last thing on her mind. Because yowzaaaa, she never knew how much she loved a man in uniform until now.
She reached up above her and broke off a cookie shingle from the low-hanging roof of the house. The snap of the cookie drew Adrian’s attention, and he looked up to see her.
She took a bite of her shingle. "Yum. Chocolate," she said, licking her lips. She extended a piece toward him. “Cookie for your thoughts, sailor.”
Adrian stood there, holding his breath, staring at her, just taking her in. “Emma,” he finally said. “I can’t quite believe it’s you standing before me. Are you actually there, or are you a figment of my very active imagination?”
Emma pinched her arm, her cheek, just to be sure. “I’ve been wondering the very thing about you,” she said. “But I can assure you, I’m me, in all my glory.”
“Glorious, indeed,” he said as he rushed toward her and folded her into his embrace. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. For a moment they had this small corner to themselves, and Adrian took advantage of it, deepening his kiss, his hands roaming over her body as discreetly as possible, considering they were at a relatively public event and he had to maintain the dignity of his stature. Emma was trying hard to find purchase amidst the layers of ceremonial garb Adrian was wearing, and finally was able to tuck her hand up under the tunic and get a solid grasp on his nicely solid behind.
When they came up for air, Adrian peppered her with questions.
“Did Darcy bring you here?” he asked as he held her hands tightly in his. “That would be ridiculous. He’s not the sort of guy to bother with a sentimental plan like that.”
Emma laughed. “Probably the last person you’d ever expect to have sought me out is actually responsible for my being here.”
“Shocking, right?”
“Let me get this straight. My mother — as in my mother — orchestrated bringing you here today. For me?”
Emma nodded. “Seems she was grateful I took good care of you. Maybe she realized you might possibly enjoy my company, though I’m guessing it’s more likely she somehow knew about my weakness for edible gingerbread houses.” She pulled some peanut brittle garnish from a windowsill.
“But what? Why?”
“You’ll have to ask her yourself. If you’re lucky, maybe she’s handing over the reins to you to run your own personal life.”
“But that’s so unlike her,” he said. “She’s always ruled things with an iron fist. Well, maybe an elegantly gloved fist. With a few diamonds involved. But she’s called the shots.”
“Yes, but you’ve taught me a lesson I needed to learn,” he heard a voice nearby say.
The two turned to see Ariana walking toward them, a piece of gingerbread in her hand.
“Mother!”
Emma stood still, resisting the urge to bite her nails, she was so nervous about how she was supposed to act around the queen and how she was supposed to act with Adrian around the queen. This was all new territory for a girl from suburbia.
“You look lovely, dear,” she said to Emma.
“Thank you so much, ma’am,” she said. “Your highness. I mean your majesty, I mean—” She glanced at Adrian, her face bunched up in a scowl. He only laughed at her.
“I told you, remember? Ariana, please.”
Adrian’s eyes grew wide, and he stared at his mother like she’d just stepped out of a flying saucer. He could hardly recall when she’d ever told a complete stranger to address her by her name before. Usually it was on a hospital visit with little children dying of cancer.
“Thank you, Mother,” Adrian said. “You’ve no idea how happy this has made me.”
Ariana looked at Emma and Adrian, hand in hand, and smiled, then affectionately stroked her fingers across her son’s face. “I think I might have an inkling.”
“So I take it to mean you’re not going to throw a million roadblocks in my way?” he asked, pointing at Emma, a hopeful look in his eyes. Just then his father appeared.
“Your mother has sworn to me she will never meddle in your personal affairs again,” Enrico said, wrapping his arm around Ariana.
“Can I get that in writing?” Adrian asked with a wink.
~*~
Soon Darcy and Caroline joined their friends as they ate their way through the gingerbread house till they could ingest no more.
“I hope my seams don’t burst on this dress,” Emma said, stifling a belch, always the lady.
“Fine by me if they do,” Adrian said. “It’ll make quick work of things for me later on.”
“We can’t do that! Here?” she whispered in his ear.
“Oh yes we can,” he said. “Here, there and everywhere.”
Later the two of them went outside to the fairy light and holly garland-festooned courtyard, where a steady snowfall had resulted in several inches of new accumulation.
“I cannot believe I ended my Christmas celebration — or lack thereof — in this fantasy world of yours.”
“Soon to be a fantasy world of yours, as well, my dear,” Adrian said.
“Ha-ha. Nice joke,” she said. “I’ll be heading home in a few days. But I’ll have marvelous memories. Thanks for that, Adrian.”
Adrian turned to her, flicking heavy snowflakes from her hair. “It’s no joke, Emma. I know we haven’t been together very long. But believe me when I say I’ve known many, many women in my life. And I knew the instant you let me kidnap you that there was something very special about you.”
“I knew you’d admit someday that you kidnapped me!”
“Emma, be serious, just for a moment.”
Emma straightened her face, dismissing the smile that wanted to remain permanently etched on her face.
“Yes, sir. Serious, sir.”
“Come here, you,” he said, leaning over her. “I’m going to kiss that smirk right off that gorgeous face of yours.”
He held her closely as his tongue explored her mouth. He planted light kisses on the tip of her nose, across her cheeks, and down her throat.
“Do you suppose you might find it in you to consider spending the rest of your life with the likes of me?”
“Me? Be a part of this?” She spread her arms out around her. She could barely believe her ears.
“Are you suggesting it might take some convincing?”
“Nah, I’m pretty easy,” she said, laughing. “I’ll need to finish that quilt my grandmother started. Plus I might require that gilded pumpkin carriage. A footman or two. And I will insist on your wearing your surfer clothes on our honeymoon. Especially when we do that shark tank dive. Agreed?”
“As long as you agree you’ll never push me away ever again. Even though it was an interesting challenge trying to talk you into wanting me.”
“Who? Me? I’d never be so crazy.”
He grabbed her hand.
“Prove it to me,” he said.
And she did.
~*~
About the Author
Jenny Gardiner is the author of the #1 Kindle Bestseller SLIM TO NONE; the award-winning novel SLEEPING WITH WARD CLEAVER; BITE ME: A parrot, a family, and a whole lot of flesh wounds; Amazon.UK bestseller ANYWHERE BUT HERE, and WHERE THE HEART IS, and is a contributor to the humorous dog anthology, I'M NOT THE BIGGEST BITCH IN THIS RELATIONSHIP. She published ACCIDENTALLY ON PURPOSE and COMPROMISING POSITIONS under the pen name Erin Delany. Her work has been found in Ladies Home Journal, the Washington Post and on NPR’s Day to Day. She likes to say she honed her fiction writing skills while working as a publicist for a US Senator. Other jobs have included: an orthodontic assistant (learning quite readily that she was not cut out for a career in polyester), a waitress (probably her highest-paying job), a TV reporter, a pre-obituary writer, and a photographer (claim to fame: being hired to shoot Prince Charles—with a camera, silly!). She lives in Virginia with her husband, three kids, two dogs, one cat, one rabbit, and a gregarious parrot. In her free time she studies Italian, dreams of traveling to exotic locales, and feels very guilty for rarely attempting to clean the house.
Visit Jenny at her website, http://www.jennygardiner.net , her blog, http://www.jennygardiner.net/blog/ , sign up for newsletters here: mailto:http://www.jennygardiner.net/contact.html , or find her on facebook http://www.facebook.com/jennygardinerbooks, and twitter http://twitter.com/jennygardiner
Stay tuned for more stories from Monaforte, with book two of the IT’S REIGNING MEN series, HEIR TODAY, GONE TOMORROW, coming soon: Here’s a sneak peek:
Heir Today, Gone Tomorrow
By Jenny Gardiner
Chapter One
“It was a dark and story night,” Caroline McKenzie typed into her keyboard. Only her “m” kept sticking, so instead of stormy, it apparently was story. Whatever that meant. That stuck key was pretty much a metaphor for how this embarrassing attempt at figuring out if maybe she could just drop everything in life and be a writer was going.
Ever since Caro’s best friend, Emma Davison jumped ship for the small European principality of Monaforte and the gorgeous prince Adrian who’d lured her there, life had become a distinctly dull shade of gray (and no, not in a way that involved hot men and questionable bondage practices, thank you). Until then, Caro had worked as a photographic assistant for Emma while she was figuring out what she wanted to do with her life, and had enjoyed a perfectly fine time in her off hours flitting from one guy to another like a hummingbird, zipping from flower to flower drinking tasty nectar.
For her that nectar came in the form of mostly charming, usually handsome, and almost always entirely forgettable men. But now without that job, she really had to figure out what she wanted to do with her life, and maybe put a lid on that boy-crazy nonsense in lieu of fi
guring herself out. Considering she was fast approaching thirty with little grand achievement to show for it, it seemed time. At least according to her mother and sister (and father and grandmother anyone else she knew, come to think of it).
She closed out of her document, putting an end to her fledgling writing career. She figured her time was better spent FaceTiming with Emma, who she’d been missing something fierce since she closed up her business, packed up her belongings, and departed for a life most people could only dream of. She opened up the app and dialed through to Emma.
“Caro! What a pleasant surprise!” Emma said.
“What up, bitch?” her friend said, sticking out her tongue and then putting her face so close to the screen Emma could see every pore on her nose.
“Awww, so glad to see you haven’t changed on me,” Emma said. “I’d bitch you back, but I’m trying to pay attention to decorum —”
“— now that you’re going to be a real-life princess.”
Emma laughed. “Honestly I still can’t get used to that whole concept. Me! Of all people! Although I suppose if the media can dub Kim Kardashian American royalty— I mean, come on, now, seriously? — I guess anybody can be.”
“Yeah, well, I’m still waiting on my chance,” Caroline said, forcing her lower lip out in a pout.
“Still haven’t heard anything from Darcy?”
Caroline and Darcy Squires-Thornton, Adrian’s equerry and best friend, had seemed to hit it off, well, royally, when Emma and Adrian were getting to know each other — when Emma helped Adrian flee a forced marriage his mother was trying to impose upon him. Right up until the time Caro hastened Emma off by surprise to Monaforte to be reunited with Adrian. At which point Darcy weirded out and turned into a complete and total jerk.
“The guy’s a complete and total jerk. I don’t want to talk about it any more.”
Only she did. Big time.
“Okay, let’s change the subject then.”
“Have you seen him?”
“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about him!”
Something in the Heir (It's Reigning Men, #1) Page 19
