His American Princess

by Pamela DuMond

  “He’s going to be intimidated by your slender finger?”

  “It will feel like the barrel of a gun.”

  “A very skinny gun.”

  “Fine, I’ll use two fingers. If he puts up a fuss, Esmeralda can deck him.”

  “She doesn’t like physical combat.”

  “Then she can flash her boobs. That’ll cause a ruckus. I’ll scream, ‘Priest Imposter! Marriage Stealer! Don’t get married by this man because you’ll regret it!’ That will force Milton Mertz to take us seriously.”

  “I’ve got a more impressive idea,” he said.

  “What’s more impressive than Esmeralda flashing her boobs?”

  “A paycheck. I’ve been authorized to hand Milton Mertz a tidy sum of Euros for his John Hancock on that document. As much as I adore you, Vivian, this is still palace business. If you’re not unmarried by the time you return to Bellèno, you’ll lose your part-time job as spokes model for Friedricksburgh, you won’t be allowed to legally marry Prince Max, and Royal Nana will have my head.”

  Chapter 10

  VIVIAN

  The luxurious banner hanging from the royal balcony at the theatre’s entrance proclaimed, Amahl and the Night Visitors in vibrant colors. I felt somewhat awestruck. I’d been to my share of concerts. I’d partied at Buddy Guy’s Legends, the classic house of blues, in Chicago. I’d driven up to Alpine Valley in Elkhorn, Wisconsin with my BFF, Lola a few years back to take in a Pearl Jam concert, but this was the first time I had ever attended an opera.

  Duchess Edith’s box was in the front row of the balcony. The air felt different up here. Magical. Rarified. Like the gorgeous chandelier on the ceiling high above us was sprinkling fairy dust into the air above our heads.

  Our posse had two newcomers tonight: Gareth Trent, the British ex-pat fashion designer gazed at Joan like he was a cat and she was a delectable morsel that he wished to play with and conquer. And Lady Shay Montbeliard had forgiven our bad manners this afternoon at the trattoria, and had accepted our invitation to join us in Duchess Edith’s box.

  “I still can’t believe I’m at the opera in Venice, Italy,” I said. “It’s so luxurious.”

  “It’s quaint,” Joan said. “Intimate in scope, but that will make it easier for us to spot Milton Mertz.”

  “If he shows,” Esmeralda said.

  “He’s got to show,” I said. “It’s his brother’s big night.”

  “Not everybody values their family members the way you do, Vivian,” Cartwright said.

  “Don’t rain on my parade. I won’t allow you to ruin this for me.”

  A woman in the box adjacent to us swiveled her large, coiffed head in our direction and frowned. “Please be quiet and don’t ruin it for the rest of us.”

  “Sorry!” Joan and I whispered.

  We settled into our seats and enjoyed the first half hour of Amahl and the Night Visitors. This was a relatively new holiday classic that clocked in at a little under an hour, a perfect length for the children or someone like me who had a short attention span.

  “Andrea Mertzolio’s killing it tonight as King Kaspar,” Joan said. “He’s a talented tenor.”

  “Didn’t he portray Spoletta, the police agent, in Tosca last spring?” Shay asked.

  “I’ll Google it when we’re in a cell friendly zone,” Esmeralda said. “I doubt he ever played a role higher than third spear carrier from the left.”

  I glanced around at our crew. We cleaned up nice. Joan was wearing Gareth’s emerald green ball gown that showed off her complexion. Cartwright shone in his go-to black tuxedo, his crinkly crystal blue eyes sparkling. Shay’s dress was long, fitted, and a smoking tangerine color that brought out the hazel in her eyes. Esmeralda rocked a low cut number in her signature red, her cleavage front and center, worthy of its own zip code.

  And Leo – always the looker. His tux was fitted and showed off his broad shoulders. The fabric had a hint of charcoal which made his eyes sparkle. Leo needed to meet someone who he could share all that deliciousness with.

  I was wearing the rose colored silk frock that Gareth had selected. Soft petals of delicate see-through fabric accentuated the sturdier damask silk of the bust. The waistline was nipped in, and the curves of the gown hugged my hips. The gown slid down my thighs like a caress from a contented lover. Which made me think of Max.

  I’d texted him earlier when we were back at the Princessa hotel preparing for our night out.

  Vivian: In Venice. Thinking of Carnival. Missing you. Horribly.

  He didn’t text back.

  Joan tapped me on the shoulder. “These are the best seats I’ve ever sat in at an opera. We’re close enough to view the expressions on the actors’ faces. The music is divine and the sound system perfecto. Kudos to Duchess Edith on knowing which art house to patronize.”

  “She’s a force to be reckoned with,” Cartwright said. “There’s a reason she’s called the Teflon Dame.”

  The woman in the adjacent opera box again swiveled her head in our direction and pressed a stern finger to her pursed lips.

  “Sorry!” Joan and I whispered.

  Onstage, Amahl’s widowed mother contemplated taking advantage of the visiting Kings. She reasoned that they had so much and she had so little, and besides, how could they ever prove she’d stolen from them?

  I knew what it was like to be down on your luck, but I’d always worked incredibly hard to make an honest living. I rooted for the mother to say ‘No’ to her desires, when it dawned on me I was fighting my own.

  I looked at Leo, so handsome in his evening suit, thick brown hair, and chiseled cheekbones. Sexy as sin and no. No. No, Vivian. Don’t talk. Don’t engage. Don’t wonder what he meant back in Monaco when he asked you if you ever had those kinds of feelings for him. The same kind you have for Max. Ignore and if the gods are in your favor, it will all go away. Sink to the bottom of a pool. Drown. Be unable to dragged up or revived.

  And I knew that this wasn’t about Leo. It wasn’t about a passing fancy. I closed my eyes, and let the music take me away. I let the beauty of the evening swirl around me. And I started crying. This wasn’t about flirtation or sex. This was about need and want and soul mates. This was about what was right with the world. This was about Max.

  I missed his face. His voice. The way he kissed me. It was a crime we weren’t together because a bureaucrat had seen fit to separate us. This was a cell phone free zone and I wanted, no—I needed— to talk to Max. He was my go-to guy, my best friend. I would feel so much safer if I heard his voice. If I couldn’t hear him, a text or an email would do. I dug through my matching silk bag and pulled out my phone.

  Mr. Cartwright glared at me and shook his head.

  “Emotional emergency,” I said, giving into the rush of feelings as I texted.

  Vivian: Are you all right?

  But I received no reassuring reply. I held onto the warm device and silently willed Max to text me back. But it didn’t vibrate or hum. Nothing.

  My brain chattered away, telling me that he was busy on guard duty performing tedious, boring tasks, and quite possibly courageous ones. I shut my eyes and imagined him on the Air Ambulance helicopter rescuing distressed boaters who had capsized in the Mediterranean, or a pair of hikers who had taken a wrong turn on a mountainous trail in the Alps and gotten hopelessly lost.

  And now, here in this gorgeous opera house, it felt like forever since I’d squeezed his arms, gazed into his gorgeous hazel eyes, and run my hand over his tight ass. I closed my eyes and remembered Max’s lips on mine, the scruff of his five o’clock shadow scraping my skin as he kissed my face and worked his way down: my collar bones, my breasts. His mouth on my stomach, one hand on my hip, his lips moving to the V between my legs that I parted willingly for him, threading my fingers through his hair, guiding him to my sex. I felt myself growing wet and wondered if he missed me as much as I missed him.

  “Oh my God!” Joan said.

  Spell broken.

  My ey
es popped open.

  Joan leaned forward with opera glasses held tightly to her face. “I spotted the guy who married you.”

  “Get out!”

  “Milton Mertz is seated two thirds of the way away from the stage. On the far right, and if I squint I can make out the row… number thirty-five.”

  “Hand me the glasses,” Cartwright said. She passed them over. “That is Milton Mertz, priest impersonator in the flesh.”

  “What do we do now?” I asked.

  He glanced at the vintage gold Rolex on his wrist. “The opera’s ending in ten minutes. I have the paperwork in my pocket. Vivian, you and I will discretely leave the box now and position ourselves in a quiet part of the foyer to ‘greet’ Milton Mertz. I’ll flash him the check I’m prepared to hand him in exchange for his signature. I think he’ll say yes. Then we can relocate backstage to a private dressing room to conduct the transaction.”

  “But what if he sees us and tries to escape?”

  “I’m going with you,” Leo said.

  “Shay and I will run interference,” Esmeralda said. “We’ll leave the box a few minutes after you so as not to call attention to our departure and position ourselves in the middle of the room as your backup.”

  “There will be mobs of people milling about, pulling on their coats, preparing to leave,” Joan said.

  “Remember,” I said, “Milton Mertz looks like the nicest man in the world.” I stood up and smoothed my dress down my legs. Leo watched appreciatively. “Kind eyes. Unassuming physique. But I suspect he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I bought his kind words and his generosity of spirit.”

  “You buy everyone’s kind words, Vivian. You’re too nice. Predators take advantage of people like you,” Esmeralda said. “Mertz isn’t an easy study. Something else is going on with that guy. He must have deep dark secrets. What if he slips past you and out an exit door?”

  “Joan and I will be stationed at the exit doors,” Gareth said. “Two of my assistants are in the audience tonight. I’m texting them right now. They’ll help us cover the exits.”

  “Mission Serenissima commences,” Cartwright said. “Let’s go, Vivian.”

  My phone chirped. “Wait a second. That could be Max.”

  “Not now,” Leo said.

  “But it could be important.”

  Leo snatched the phone from me and passed it to Esmeralda.

  “That’s mine. Give it back.”

  Esmeralda eyed the screen. “It’s Max. You need to go. Now!”

  “What if something is wrong with him? What if he’s been hurt—”

  “He’s fine. I’m not giving you the phone.”

  “Read me his text.”

  “He says he too is in Italy, close by—he can’t say where—”

  “Give me my phone.”

  “No.” She shoved it down her cleavage.

  “Esmeralda! It will get hopelessly lost down there.”

  “Snap out of it, Vivian. You’re lovestruck and thinking with your emotions instead of your practical brain,” Esmeralda said.

  Leo held out his hand to me. “Let’s catch the priest imposter. Get the paperwork signed.”

  “I’ll give you your phone back when the mission’s accomplished,” Esmeralda said.

  Chapter 11

  LEOPOLD

  Cartwright’s plan was going exactly as planned. We had positioned ourselves in the lobby relatively close to the exit door as the applause and cries of “Bravo! Bravo!” thundered around us.

  Esmeralda and Joan fanned out behind us on diagonals. Shay, Gareth, and his people manned four of the theatre’s exit doors. People piled out, happy, chatting in Italian saying, “Bellissima,” and “Meraviglioso.”

  Five minutes ticked by. Five long minutes as my mind wandered to places it probably shouldn’t go. Worry covered Vivan’s face as she waited anxiously for the priest to appear, but determination also shone in her eyes. I’d never seen anyone work so hard to accomplish difficult tasks. Even though she was in the middle of a shit storm, she was still so pretty, showing a bit of cleavage, her hair styled in a messy bun, wisps falling down to those soft shoulders that I longed to touch. Her gown hugged her curves and practically begged to be unzipped.

  I knew I was here to help her. I knew I was here to protect her, so why did my brain go to the dirtiest of places? I’d hold out my hand to her as I’d done on so many other occasions and she’d take it, trusting me. ‘Come with me,’ I’d say.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Someplace quiet.’

  ‘But what about—’

  ‘I’ll help you. I promise. But first, do this for me.’

  We’d leave this stupid lobby and find a quiet corridor. A room, or a private niche. No one else around. I’d reach for her hair to tuck an errant wisp behind her ear but then would somehow get lost in the moment. Instead, I’d play with that lock as her breath came quicker, her cheeks flushing.

  ‘Vi,’ I’d say, my face and lips so close to hers. ‘Can I take down your hair?’

  ‘Yes,’ she’d say.

  One by one I’d release the clips, watch her shiny locks fall, bounce off her shoulders, her bodice, my hand. I’d curl a thick strand around my fingers and pull her toward me. We’d be close, just a breath apart. I’d look into her eyes and say, ‘What shall I do with you, my love?’

  ‘Kiss me, Leo,’ she’d say. ‘Kiss me, touch me. I can’t wait any longer. I’ve waited long enough.’

  ‘Oh, Vi. So have I.’ I’d pull her to me and kiss her. Slowly, at first, just feeling the softness of her lips on mine. I’d explore her mouth, our tongues meeting. Tangling.

  ‘Can I undress you Vivian?’ I’d ask.

  ‘Yes, Leo,’ she’d say, running a nervous tongue over her lips, her cheeks flushing.

  I’d reach for her zipper, my fingers grazing the soft, soft skin of her underarm until the stiff bodice fell to her hips. A lacy push-up bra would hold her perfect tits. I’d brush one hand across her breasts. My erection already thick and throbbing against the confines of my pants. I’d flick open the clasp on her bra and palm one gorgeous breast with my hand, kneading its fullness. Her nipple would stiffen under my touch. I’d lean her back against the wall, kiss her harder. Consume her. Claim her mouth.

  I’d pull away and regard her lustfully –half undressed – leaning back against the wall in this private alcove. My dick would throb, consumed by the possibilities.

  ‘Can I see more, love?’ I’d ask.

  ‘Yes,’ she’d say. ‘Please.’

  I would undress her, slide the gown off her body, help her step out of it. Her panties, matching her bra, would be lacy. Pretty. Small. My fingers would skim across her panties. Her breath would hitch. I’d stroke the tender skin of her bare thighs, toy with the thin sides of her lace thong until she squirmed.

  ‘Leo,’ she’d say, a soft moan escaping her lips. ‘I’m wet for you. So wet.’

  I’d smile because this is what I’d dreamed she would say. I’d beat off in my shower imagining her saying this to me. I’d handled the majority of raging morning hard ons with images of her in my head, and my cock in my hand.

  ‘What should we do about that, love?’

  ‘Inside me,’ she’d say. ‘I need you to fuck me.’

  ‘First things first.’ I’d kneel on the floor in front of her and pull her panties down her legs, helping her step out of them. I’d fondle her gorgeous tits and trail kisses down her stomach, my fingers finding their way between her legs.

  ‘Open wider for me, Vi.’

  ‘Yes,’ she’d whimper.

  I’d put my hand in the V between her legs and yes, she would be very wet for me. She’d groan as I swirled my fingers across her folds until I found the sensitive bud of nerves and stroked them.

  ‘Leo,’ she’d moan. ‘Inside me.’

  ‘In a bit, love.’

  My mouth would drop lower on her body, exploring her folds, kissing her folds, my tongue toying with her clit,
then dipping inside her. She’d squirm, gasping. I’d grasp the tops of her hips, my head firmly between her legs to better taste her, better pleasure her.

  Good God, her pussy would be delicious. I wouldn’t be able to get enough of her. Licking, scraping my chin against her sex until her moaning would increase. Her breath would faster. She’d thread her fingers through my hair, gripping it tight.

  ‘Leo, Leo!’ she’d exclaim. ‘I’m coming!’

  I’d feel her orgasm course through me and I’d be a happy man. I would have satisfied Vi in a way I doubted anyone else could have.

  No one.

  “Earth to Leo!” Vivian suddenly stood next to me and snapped her fingers. “What are you dreaming about? The gorgeous music? Do you see the priest imposter? Because I don’t.”

  Reality crashed into my world.

  Vivian chewed on a finger nail, peering over the bustle of the excited audience, the women in their gorgeous gowns, the men wearing their finest cut suits, and the well-dressed children clamoring for attention, food, and sleep.

  “He has to come out, eventually,” Cartwright said, as we were jostled by the crush of the crowd. “Vivian, check in with the ladies.”

  She stood on her tiptoes, waving her hand high in the air. “Seen Mertz?”

  Joan shook her head, no.

  I kept my eagle eye on the door between the auditorium and the foyer as another five minutes ground by.

  Vivian tapped her toe nervously on the marble and glared at Mr. Cartwright. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. From his seat in the theatre, I’d thought he’d be out by now.”

  Vivian glanced at Shay and waved at her. “Seen Mertz?”

  “No,” she shrugged.

  I scratched my head, wondering why Shay hadn’t registered on my radar before now. She was stunning. But my gaze was torn back to Vivian who suddenly looked like she’d downed an espresso doppio. She pushed her way through the well-heeled crowd toward the auditorium.

  “Where are you going?” Cartwright asked.