“Not boastful at all.” She held up her hand, making a circle of her thumb and forefinger, in that symbol for “okay.”
“You know what I mean,” he said. “But that’s not actually a good thing. It’s not as if anyone is interested in me, per se. Rather they’re interested in landing a prince.”
“Or at least bedding one.”
“That too. There was a time when that was all fine and good. I mean, I’d be crazy to turn that down.”
“Yeah, right,” Emma said, shaking her head. “You’re a guy. You’re genetically programmed to take what you can get.”
Adrian paused to look directly at her. “Thanks for that vote of confidence. You do hold my gender in high esteem, don’t you?”
“More like I’m a bit burned out in the men department,” she said. “Been there, done that, suffered the rejection.”
“I’m sorry you haven’t found a man who treasures you. You deserve that and more.”
“Tell me about it. I feel like I’ve been a magnet for the worst of the worst. Surely there must be some guy out there who isn’t just crap on a stick?”
“You have quite a way of describing things,” Adrian said with a chuckle. “I don’t feel qualified to be a defender of all men, but I can assure you we’re not all that bad. Don’t give up yet.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m rather enjoying being a royal rehabilitator instead, anyhow. Much more interesting,” she said. “Might be a whole new career for me. Got any more of your type you can send my way to indoctrinate into Americana?”
“Yeah, I’ll send my brothers over next. If you’re lucky my sister will show up sometime. You’d have a fun time with her.”
“I’m good with that, but whatever you do, please don’t send your mother my way. She terrifies me and I hardly know a thing about her.”
“No worries. I love my mother dearly, but we’re steering clear of her for now. Maybe someday you can meet her and you can find out she’s really a delightful woman. When she’s not matchmaking and imposing her will on others.”
“I’ll take your word on that,” Emma said. She glanced at her watch. “While wearing a bulletproof vest. You ready to head out of here?”
Just then Adrian heard his phone ding, which startled them both. “Hmmm. Let’s hope the natives aren’t getting restless.”
He opened up a text message from Darcy.
“Do you have any idea how persistent your mother can be?” Darcy asked. “She’s got you in her crosshairs, but I’ve been playing her like a violin. So far, so good. I think you’ll have a few days respite from her.”
Adrian typed back. “So she bought your story? Thank God.”
“Don’t think she suspects a thing. Everything good with that photographer?”
“Better than good. This normal thing isn’t half bad.”
“Don’t get too used to it, my friend. Reality is only a few days away. Meanwhile, it might be a good idea if you could give me her number too. I kept trying to reach you but you haven’t been paying attention to your phone. Just in case I need some emergency back-up.”
Adrian leaned over toward Emma. “Would you mind if I shared your number with Darcy? He’s nervous having no alternative contact information for me.”
“By all means. In fact, why don’t we give him Caroline’s number too. Since they’re both in D.C., that might be helpful to him. Caro always knows where to find me.” She showed him her friend’s contact number.
“Perfect. I’ll pass these on.”
“You remember the one who was with Emma at the event?” Adrian typed in his text to Darcy.
“The redhead?”
“I knew you’d remember. So here’s her contact information as well. Maybe you could reach out to her if you can’t get hold of us at all. If you get my drift.”
“I do have a little time on my hands…”
“I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to fill it then. Now if you’ll let me return to my life of anonymity.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, sir.”
“Heaven help us all if I did.”
Chapter Eight
CAROLINE’S phone jarred her awake shortly after she’d drifted off to sleep. After being up far too late the previous night with her new bartender buddy, she needed to catch some decent shut-eye. She fumbled in the dark for her cell phone, knocking over a glass of water in the process.
“Dammit,” she muttered as she turned on the phone.
“Well, hello to you too,” an oddly familiar, accented voice responded. “How are you this fine day?”
Who in the world could that be, sounding like a particularly posh version of Hugh Grant?
“The better question might be who is waking me from my beauty sleep at this ungodly hour?”
“Touché. I know we only met fleetingly, but you didn’t strike me as the type to retire for the night at the ungodly hour of four in the afternoon. If it’s any consolation, I can’t imagine you even need beauty sleep.”
Caroline gave herself a mental dope-slap, being that it was barely approaching dinnertime. “Okay, then. Um,” she muttered in a sleep-graveled voice. “Would you mind telling me who you are?”
“Right. That might be helpful. Name’s Darcy. Squires-Thornton, that is.”
“So do they call you Darcy, or Squires-whatever-you-just-said?”
“Darcy, thanks.”
“And you’re calling me because—”
“Of course. You don’t know that, now do you?” he said. “Calling about my mate. And your mate. Want to find out what you know. Check on her, see if she’s legit. That sort of thing.”
“My mate? I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about but I’m realllllllly tired, so if you can cut to the chase so I can get back to my pillow…”
“You’re the one who works with this Emma woman, right? The photographer? Adrian passed on your phone number, said I could reach out to you if need be. So I’m reaching out to you.”
“Who the hell is Adrian? And can you stop speaking in code?”
“You met him at the reception. His Royal Highness Crown Prince Adrian. Seems he’s on a spontaneous holiday with your friend.”
“Ahhhh,” Emma said, drawing out the sound. “That Adrian. Of course. I should’ve known that already.”
“Because?”
“Because how many Adrians do I know? Precisely none. Well, if you don’t count him, which I don’t, because I don’t even know him.”
“Now that we’re clear on who’s who,” Darcy said. “What say you fill me in on the details. For starters, what’s her story? Why would she agree to pick up my good friend on the spur of the moment like that? Where are they? Do you think one of us needs to go wherever they are to check on them?”
“Excuse me?” Caroline said. “Are you suggesting my friend is somehow not trustworthy?”
“I don’t know what your friend is. I just want to make sure she’s legitimate.”
“Legitimate? How do I know your buddy’s on the up and up? I mean he’s the one who kidnapped my friend!”
“Kidnapped? Hardly,” Darcy said.
“I think that’s debatable,” she said. “He came up to her, covered her mouth, then told her to be quiet. That sounds to me like he accosted her to me.”
Darcy was silent for a moment. “Well, all right. I’ll concede that doesn’t sound great. Truth is, he’s harmless as a puppy dog. And to be fair, he was trying to get away quickly.”
“What, is he a bank robber or something?”
“Ha-ha. No. But he had a brief window of opportunity to slip out. It’s not the easiest thing in the world to go incognito when you’re so recognizable.”
“Yeah I have that problem all the time,” she said, deadpan. “But seriously, Emma is on the up and up. Wouldn’t hurt a flea. She rescues stray cats and volunteers at soup kitchens. Adrian picked a good one to skip town with.”
“Well, that’s reassuring at least,” he said. “You don’t suppose there’s a need fo
r one of us to go down there and check on them?”
“To the beach? In December?” she said loudly. “Who goes to the beach at this time of year, unless you’re hiding out? Thanks, I’ll pass. No sunbathing? No way. Although, on second thought, my skin can’t take the sun these days, so maybe winter at the beach isn’t such a bad idea after all. A little getaway, some relaxation, read a few books…”
“Ah, yes, you’re the redhead, can’t take those damaging rays,” Darcy said.
“Then you remember me?”
“How could I not? Gorgeous, very vivacious.”
“Gorgeous? Vivacious? Why, I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.”
“It was intended as one. So, what do you say the two of us meet up, maybe compare notes, just so we’re all on the same page with this situation?”
“I’m not sure I have to be on any page with this,” Caroline said. “This is between our friends. Why’s it our business?”
“Well it’s certainly my business. I’m responsible for Adrian’s welfare. I’m his right-hand man. I knew he needed to get away, but the more I think about it, the more I’d like to ensure he’s perfectly safe. Not that I have any reason to believe he’s not, but you must understand, I have the queen breathing down my neck and if anything were to go awry…”
“God, I hate it when the queen breathes down my neck,” Caroline said.
“I’ll pretend you’re not completely provincial,” Darcy said.
“Provincial? If that’s not an elitist comment—”
“Elitist? How about your reverse snobbery?”
Caroline took this as a cue to stand up. “I’m not a snob! And sorry if I can’t relate to your rarified world of semi-precious chess pieces you have to maneuver around.”
“Chess pieces? They aren’t any such thing. Besides, I hate chess!”
“Seems to me they are, if old mommy-o is manipulating Adrian into marrying some twit he’s not interested in. Checkmate!”
Darcy sighed. “Fine, you got me there. So she is manipulating things a bit. That’s why Adrian’s escaped for a while, to figure out how best to stop her before this becomes madness. And I’m left to cover up everything like the good boy that I am.”
“Awww, poor widdle royal courtier. It must be rough,” Caroline said in mock baby talk.
“You certainly do have a distinctive wit about you,” Darcy said, grumbling. “Look, enough of this word jockeying. I need to know: if I have to go down there to check on them, will you agree to help me do so?”
Caroline hesitated for a moment, stuck between being annoyed he was trying to railroad her and thinking a road trip with the cute friend of the prince might be just what she needed to knock out those winter doldrums that always kick in around this time of year. “Wellllllll…. I suppose I could help out. But what’s in it for me?”
“You’re a tough nut to crack, you know that? I don’t suppose being a kind host to a foreign guest is enough these days?”
“I tell you what, I help you with this and you invite me to some swanky royal soirée. In your own country. I won’t even make you fly me there. I’ll get there on my own. But you get me the invite, maybe even find a place I can crash, and we can seal the deal.”
“The things I do out of loyalty,” he muttered, sighing. “All right, fine. I’ll ensure that you’ve got an invitation to something. Sometime. Somewhere.”
“Yippee! I’ve always wanted to attend a fancy royal ball. Like Cinderella. Minus the wicked stepmother. Ooooh, this will be divine. Imagine how jealous Emma will be when she finds out!” Caroline danced around her apartment, high-fiving the air.
“Let’s not go there,” Darcy said. “For all we know she’s already lined up her own invitation by now, if she’s anywhere near as mercenary as her friend.”
“I’ll ignore that comment,” Caroline said. “I’m too jazzed about my big debut on the international social scene to allow a snide remark to drag me down. So, what do you need me to do?”
“First things first, we’ll have a meeting of the minds,” Darcy said. “How soon can you be ready?”
“You mean tonight?”
“Of course I mean tonight,” he said. “When and where?”
“You don’t waste any time,” she said, sighing. “I suppose, if you insist. I’m going to have to dive in the shower though. And straighten my hair. Slap on some make-up. The usual. Meet at seven, Mi Piace, in Adams-Morgan.”
“Just to be sure I know who I’m looking for,” Darcy said, jotting down the address. “After all, we met only briefly, and the light was dim. What will you have on?”
“All you need to know is I’m the one with the red hair. And maybe something slinky.”
With that, she hung up the phone, leaving Darcy to wonder what he’d just gotten himself into.
Chapter Nine
“YOU are an exceptional cook,” Adrian said as he pushed his plate away and rubbed his full belly. “I haven’t had a meal that good in forever.”
“I have a hard time imagining my cooking skills are on par with what you’re used to,” Emma replied. “I mean granted I make a mean slice-and-bake cookie, but still.”
“I’ll have to take your word on that until I get to try one myself for dessert.”
“Your wish is my command,” she said, grabbing two bowls from the kitchen cabinet and pulling the ice cream from the freezer. She scooped ice cream and then topped them off with two cookies each. “Voila. Manna from heaven.”
She tipped her bowl against his in a toast.
Adrian took a bite, and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Good God, that’s amazing,” he said, digging into his second bite.
“Aww, it’s nothing. Just me and that little doughboy,” she said, pointing at the slice and bake package on the counter.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“So I was thinking,” Emma said. “What say we get in the car and drive around checking out Christmas lights? You haven’t lived till you’ve seen how Americans can go obscenely overboard on holiday decorations.”
~*~
They embarked along the beach road, checking out illuminated decorations on some of the larger homes first.
“Check this one out,” Emma said, pointing to a beachfront McMansion covered in so many multi-colored lights it was hard to see the cedar shakes that were holding the complicated network of light strands together. “Those homeowners clearly have too much time on their hands.” She snapped a few pictures from her phone to text to Caroline for laughs.
They didn’t have to drive much further along till they came to a yard filled with animated holiday characters, from Santa to baby Jesus, looking as if they were all attending the same Christmas party.
“I sometimes wonder who is rolling in their grave when this stuff gets all muddled together,” she said. “I mean really, the Virgin Mary and Frosty the Snowman, united forever, here?”
Adrian laughed. “Can’t say that I’ve ever seen that exact holiday combination before. We do things a little more subtly back home.”
“Oh really?” she said. “How exactly do you celebrate Christmas?”
“It’s very traditional and not at all commercialized,” he said. “People dress in their regional costumes, and often go door-to-door caroling, and there is dancing in the town squares. Decorations are usually made with traditional materials: pine, fruit, that sort of thing. We use Christmas lights, but mostly small white ones, like fairy lights, and lots of candles.
“We put candles on our trees instead of electric lights. And we do have a lot of bells. Most everyone hangs a bell on their door for Christmas, to call in the good spirits of the season. And there are small Christmas markets in every town and village. But unlike the ones in larger European countries, in which they sell products more likely made in China, all of our products are handmade in Monaforte.”
“Sounds lovely,” Emma said. “Old-fashioned. I like that. We have gotten a bit away from traditional in America. I mean not that
it’s wrong to be so ‘in your face’ with holiday cheer, but I like it to be a little more understated. That said I am the first to get in line to drive around looking at this stuff. I mean it is so over the top, it’s downright hilarious. It’s sort of my holiday entertainment.”
They drove by a house with about a dozen giant blow-up characters, everything from Homer Simpson with a Santa hat onto a seven-foot-tall Rudolph with glowing nose. The figures swayed in the night air, what with large fans beneath forcing air up them for support.
“By dawn these things look like dead soldiers,” she said. “I guess the people go to work and don’t want to run the air pumps all day, so all of the characters are slumped on the ground like the Wicked Witch of the West once she’s melted.”
Adrian nodded. “Even I get that cultural reference,” he said. “I’m almost surprised they don’t have an inflatable witch, now that you mention her. I see there’s even an Easter bunny over there with a Santa hat on, so why not throw in some Wizard of Oz characters, maybe Voldemort from Harry Potter while they’re at it?"
Emma just shook her head in disbelief.
“So tell me more about your family holiday traditions,” Emma said, curious to learn something of his country’s culture.
“Keep in mind that mine is a small country,” he said. “So people know each other. Even as royals, we mingle with fellow countrymen much more so than in other countries with royalty. We open the palace to visitors during the holidays so that people can enjoy the festive decorations. Chef makes a massive gingerbread house, so large that children can wander through it. It takes up much of a ballroom, and kids under a certain age can go and explore it. It’s like an edible play fort.
“Finally on the day after Christmas, which is a special holiday known as Santa Christus Day in Monaforte, invited guests get to eat the gingerbread house down to the ground. Only crumbs are left, and rest assured our dogs take care of them.”
“Really? A massive pig-out with the gingerbread house? That sounds like my kind of holiday. Though I might like it better if it were chocolate chip instead of gingerbread. But I can’t be picky with these things. I’ll take what I can get.”
Something in the Heir (It's Reigning Men Book 1) Page 8
