Something in the Heir (It's Reigning Men Book 1)

by Jenny Gardiner

  “Ya never know,” Caroline said. “I might just have a thing for crowns.”

  Emma laughed. “A thing for crowns? How does one acquire such an addiction?”

  “Well when they try them on with their wedding gowns on Say Yes to the Dress, I always think I’d like to wear one.”

  “Those are tiaras, not crowns, stupid.”

  “Close enough. I could see wearing that for fun,” she said. “Couldn’t you?”

  “I refuse to dignify that with a response.”

  “For all you know, Emma Davison, a tiara might be just around the corner waiting for you.”

  “More likely it will be a mugger, but one can hope.”

  ~*~

  “Chin up, darling,” Ariana said to Adrian. “Must you look like someone just killed your puppy?” They were sitting in the royal box during intermission at the opera, not one of Adrian’s favorite activities, but one he acceded to as patron of the Royal Opera Society.

  “Of course, Mother. Duty calls. I realize that.”

  “What’s gotten into you? Since you’ve returned you’ve not been yourself one bit!”

  Adrian sighed. “It’s complicated.”

  “I would have thought you’d have been relieved,” she said. “What with your marriage called off and all…” She smiled at him and gently stroked his cheek with the back of her fingertips.

  “Forgive me, Mother. Really. I can assure you I am more than thrilled to have that burden behind me,” he said. “I suppose it’s just that I’ve been thinking about someone I met, someone I grew to like quite a bit.”

  “And this someone is a woman, I’d imagine?”

  Adrian laughed. “That’s a safe bet, yes.”

  “So you’re free now,” she said. “What’s holding you back?”

  Adrian shook his head. “She’s no one you’d embrace, Mother. You scared me enough with that passing out attack you had. I don’t want to steer you to an official heart attack with this one.”

  “Nonsense, Adrian,” she said. “I’m fine. Nothing you do will harm my heart. Besides, you’re the future king of Monaforte, my dear. There’s nothing you can’t have.”

  “Mother, you said yourself that you want me to be with someone who is one of us. Someone with our culture, our background. Someone who can relate to our lifestyle. Emma is not that person.”

  “Emma, eh?” she said. “That’s a pretty name. Tell me about this young lady.”

  “She’s beautiful. And thoughtful. And smart. She never treated me as if I was special. She just acted like I was a normal man.”

  “How dare she!” his mother said, joking. “Doesn’t she know you’re to be on a pedestal at all times?”

  Adrian shrugged. “She never got the royal memo. But I liked that about her. I liked that she kept me on my feet, she kept me wondering. And she kept me interested.”

  “Interested in what?”

  “In her. In her likes and interests. In her mood and temperament. In her happiness. In everything about her.”

  “Sounds like a special young woman.”

  Her son just nodded, a faraway look in his eyes.

  ~*~

  Later, as the royal entourage left the theater, the queen spotted Darcy. She locked arms in his and walked to the waiting car with him.

  “You know I’ve still not forgiven you for playing that trick on me, pretending to be Adrian when my son ran off,” she said. “So you owe me. And now I have a job for you. If you pay that back, I’ll consider us even. Speak of it to no one, do you understand?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  EMMA sat alone in the living room of her house, unopened gifts intended for her parents parked beneath her sagging little Christmas tree. Her parents had long ago made plans to travel to Nashville to the Opryland Hotel for their Christmas extravaganza. Her mother was nothing if not addicted to Very Merry Christmases. Though she failed dismally in recognizing her daughter’s lack thereof. It seemed nothing said Christmas quite like hoop skirts and a down-home twang, as far as her mother was concerned. But Emma had politely declined an offer to join them and swore to her folks that she would be fine, so what were they to do?

  Emma had distracted herself all day long with a holiday filmfest, and had powered her way through several classics already, alternating cheerful with grim. Weird how that Charlie Brown Christmas seemed like a real downer if you weren’t in a Christmas state of mind, what with the lame tree, the kids being mean to Charlie Brown and the subdued music. A House Without a Christmas Tree left her bawling, being that the girl’s mother was dead and the dad had shut himself off emotionally. She’d already sat through White Christmas but had to turn it off when everyone ended up happily ever after. That was a foreign concept, thanks. Now she was engrossed in the more emotionally neutral A Christmas Story. Ralphie had just gotten his Red Ryder BB Gun. Clearly eye-damaging weaponry was much more her speed at the moment.

  As Ralphie’s family dined on Chinese duck following the demise of their turkey, Emma started thinking about her own lacking Christmas dinner, hoping she could find a Chinese restaurant open to satisfy her now-grumbling stomach.

  She’d just pulled her phone out to see if Peking Gourmet was open when she received a text from Caroline.

  “Pack your bags for a week. We’ve got last-minute plans. Bring something dressy. Remember your winter coat, and you’ll need a scarf and gloves. I’ll be at your place in fifteen minutes. Oh, and you might need your passport.”

  Huh?

  She told Caroline: “Sorry, I’m about to run out to Peking Gourmet to get dinner. Nothing says lonely Christmas like Chinese food.”

  Her friend replied: “No worries. Duck can be arranged. Just be ready or you’ll go in your pajamas. And trust me, you don’t want to go in your pajamas.”

  Emma tried to ask for details but her friend didn’t reply.

  Without having a clue as to what to pack, she threw together a haphazard collection of clothes and shoes and toiletries and hoped for the best.

  “I guess winter coat means I don’t need sunscreen or a bathing suit,” she mumbled. But the passport thing had her stymied. Maybe they were off for a rollicking week in Newfoundland. She always did like those dogs. Maybe they could seek out polar bears while they were there. But no, why would she need nice clothes for a polar bear trek? Unless it was a Save the Polar Bears cocktail party, in which case it might make more sense. She wouldn’t put it past Caroline to do something impulsive like that. Besides, no doubt it was a super cheap flight to the barren Canadian north in the dead of winter.

  “You really need to get a life if this is the extent of your vivid imagination,” she said to herself.

  Caroline arrived out of breath, pounding on the door.

  “Hope you watered your houseplants. Let’s go!” she shouted as Emma opened up the door.

  She grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her toward the awaiting taxi. “You know how hard it is to get a cab on Christmas evening? Come on!” She practically shoved her into the backseat of the thing.

  Emma squinted at her, trying to figure out what was going on. “You’re not going to give me even a clue?”

  Caroline shook her head. “You’ll know soon enough.”

  After a twenty-minute drive, they arrived at Washington Dulles airport.

  “You sure have my curiosity piqued,” Emma said. “I mean I know you’re a good friend and all, but it’s not as if you’d spring for an entire vacation for me. Even for Christmas. Besides, weren’t you going to be visiting your family in Baltimore today?”

  “Honey, been there, done that. Blew out of there early. With what I’ve got planned for you, Bal’more can’t hold a candle.”

  The taxi pulled into the parking lot of a private jet terminal, where a uniformed pilot and two flight attendants were waiting to take their luggage.

  “What the—?” Emma said, dazed.

  “I know, right? Just wait. It gets better.”

  They were led across a tarmac �
� no security line, no screaming kids, no scowling TSA agents, no water dumping, no inspections of mini-bottles of shampoo in small Ziploc bags, no shoe removal, no icky naked private part-revealing X-rays, no nothing that makes commercial air travel demeaning and dehumanizing — and mounted the steps to a gleaming white jet with no apparent identification on it.

  “On the one hand I’d sure love for this to be taking us to, say, the Fiji Islands,” Emma said. “But the winter coat thing throws that right off. I can’t for the life of me imagine how you had the wherewithal to pull this off. And on the other hand, I could care less where this is taking us. Wherever it is, it beats marinating in winter doldrums, which was how I spent my day.”

  The flight attendant gave them a tour of the jet, with reclining white leather seats as soft as kid gloves that converted into beds. Beds! There was a large bar stocked with top-of-the-line liquor and an ice bucket with chilled champagne, and a gargantuan flat-screen HD screen with any and every movie available to watch. Emma planned on finishing up her Christmas movie binge under the improved circumstances. To top it off, dinner, they learned, was to be a catered affair, direct from Peking Gourmet.

  “Can we stay on board this thing for the rest of our lives?” Caroline asked the flight attendant, who laughed politely as if she wasn’t used to low-renters on board.

  “Psst, Caro,” Emma whispered. “Check it out: there’s a shower. On a plane. A shower!”

  “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” her friend said.

  The plane took off a mere ten minutes after boarding. It was as if there was no other plane at this enormous international airport that had needs. Only theirs. And as easy as that, the two women took off into the friendly skies with nary a care in the world, flutes filled with some lovely French champagne bubbling away in their grips. As the plane hugged the Eastern seaboard, the pilot made a custom fly-by over Manhattan, to Emma and Caroline’s great delight.

  Soon after that the flight attendant served them Hong Kong wonton soup, Peking duck and Szechuan beef proper. They ate till they were nearly ill, saving just enough room for the yule log cake that simply needed to be eaten by someone. It was Christmas, after all.

  The girls began to nod off as It’s a Wonderful Life drew to a close.

  “This has been like the best slumber party ever,” Emma said as she drifted off to sleep. “All that was missing was cotton candy and snow cones. But I don’t even like cotton candy or snow cones, so who cares?”

  “Don’t forget the unicorns. The good news is the party’s only just begun,” Caroline said, just out of Emma’s earshot.

  They both awoke with time to shower and refresh themselves. And before they knew it, their plane was touching down in God only knew where. All Emma could tell was it was snowing. Fat chunks of snow gathered strength as the jet slowed down and finally stopped at yet another private terminal.

  The pilot opened the cockpit door and greeted the women.

  “Welcome, ladies. I understand I’m not to disclose where you are, so my lips are sealed,” he said.

  There was a long, black limousine parked near the jet, and a driver with a black cap and crisp leather gloves and long black camelhair coat got out of the car and scurried to collect their bags. The girls were directed to the back of the limo, where fresh pastries awaited them with fresh-squeezed orange juice and yet more champagne.

  “I don’t know why but this good stuff doesn’t give you headaches,” Caroline said.

  “I’m not one to drink at breakfast but considering I have no bloody idea where I am, what have I got to lose?” Emma said.

  “You might just gain something,” her friend said, leaving Emma with a quizzical look on her face.

  “At this rate probably twenty pounds.”

  They drove for about twenty minutes past rolling countryside. Emma couldn’t help but notice all of the adorable cozy farmhouses peppering the fields, with smoke whorling from chimneys, looking straight out of a Christmas card. The snow was falling heavier now, and a layer of white covered the roads and surrounding pastureland. The hillsides were dotted with black and white cows looking decidedly chilled as snow mounted atop their backs.

  Soon the countryside yielded to more dense development, with beautiful old gothic buildings coming into view. Here and there were statues of Greek and Roman gods and war heroes, and for the life of her Emma couldn’t figure out what the hell this was all about. And then the car came upon a mammoth building that looked like a castle, with spires and turrets and crenellations and all sorts of old battlements. No moat, that’s for sure. But there were gorgeous gargoyles, a personal favorite since reading The Hunchback of Notre Dame. She wanted to be sure she wasn’t going to have boiling oil poured on her head, were she to get closer. They drove alongside this large castle-like building, which was surrounded by a tall black wrought-iron fence with gold flourishes, the tops of which were garnished with gold fleurs–de-lis.

  Emma stared out the window at this structure, so regal and palatial, and then the truth dawned on her.

  She gasped. “Impossible,” she said, turning to Caroline.

  Caroline pretended to zip her lips shut and swallow the key.

  “It can’t be. Can it?”

  Caroline shrugged her shoulders and turned to keep looking out the window. Even though it was daytime they could see fairy lights covering the building and even the gorgeous fence surrounding it. The limousine was ushered through two very tall gates, each bearing an enormous crest in gold leaf, in the shape of dueling griffins. The car pulled up the pebbled drive to the front of this palatial estate and came to a halt.

  A few minutes later, two men standing guard in front of a grand marble staircase, wearing military attire that clearly required a whole lot of ironing, polishing and buffing, opened the door and greeted the women.

  “Welcome to Monaforte, madame,” one said to Emma, who became weak at the knees as he spoke the words she dared not ever expect to hear.

  She stared at Caroline. “Monaforte?” she mouthed to her.

  “Yeah, so maybe I told you Darcy made a deal for me to come to a big party here, right?” she said. “Well, I couldn’t do that without my best friend, now could I?”

  Emma deflated for a minute. So it wasn’t for her that she was here. It was her friend, summoned here by Darcy. It had nothing to do with Adrian. Oh well, it is what it is. Might as well make the best of things, enjoy this for what it is. After all, there weren’t many Americans who get to party at a palace in Europe, right?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  EMMA and Caroline were escorted by a footman in a morning suit into the, well, what would it be called? Foyer? Lobby? Front hall? Giant bloody damned space designed for nothing but standing around feeling particularly small and inadequate?

  Before them were two red-carpeted spiral staircases, one to the left and one to the right, the kind you would descend if only for dramatic effect on your wedding day with a fifty-foot embroidered and hand-beaded Belgian lace train held aloft by a team of virginal bridesmaids while small maidens led the way scattering rose petals for your Christian Louboutin-clad feet to tread upon. The railing — a gleaming gold, with an intricate pattern worked throughout — looked like it would be a real bitch to polish.

  The footman, who Emma expected at any moment to launch into a lesson on proper grammar and pronunciation, beginning with the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains, escorted them up the stairs and down a hallway he said was the Corridor of Elders, filled floor to ceiling with historic artwork, and opened a panel in the wall that was actually a door. A secret door!

  A lovely woman with a somber, starched gray dress, a pressed white apron, and one of those poofy white maid’s caps on her head greeted them and then asked them to wait while she disappeared into an inner sanctum. Emma and Caroline stood by nervously for a few minutes until a woman dressed in a stylish crimson satin suit jacket and skirt who looked a bit like Julie Andrews from the Sound of Music, her brown hair cropped
short to her face, with soft blue eyes and a welcoming smile, greeted them. She extended her hands.

  “Emma from America?” she said with just a hint of curiosity as she sized her up and down.

  “Yes, ma’am. Emma Davison,” Emma said a bit hesitantly, sizing her up right back.

  Caroline introduced herself as well.

  “You can call me Ariana,” the woman said in reply, nodding in acknowledgment at the nearby maid, who looked surprised at her informality.

  And Emma’s mouth went dry, and she went even weaker at the knees. "Ariana, as in the queen?” she said, gulping just a little bit.

  “One and the same, I’m afraid.”

  “Nothing to be afraid of with that, ma’am. After all, who doesn’t want to be queen? By that I mean queen of peoples’ hearts. Or princess. Or whatever it was Diana was. Not that I’m looking to be queen, I mean,” Emma said, mentally kicking herself the moment she launched into her jibberish. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit confused. How do you know who I am?”

  “I understand you housed my little boy when he chose to run away from home,” she said with a wink. “Further still I was told you took very good care of him, and for that I am eternally grateful.”

  If she only knew how much she actually failed to meet the man’s needs— make that desires — this lady would be over the moon, might even owe her a steak dinner.

  Emma nodded. “It was nothing, really.”

  “Why, it must have been something, as you seem to have left quite an impression on my son.”

  Which was news to Emma, especially considering she hadn’t heard boo from him since he’d left. Even though she did tell him to not reach out to her, since it would only make it harder. Could it be possible he really did miss her?

  “I just helped him to feel at home.” Emma summoned up the image of Adrian in that Statue of David apron, which made her smile at the thought of how much fun they had together.

  “I assume you’re well aware of what Adrian was running from,” his mother said. “It seems that in so running, he ran right into what he didn’t know he wanted all along.”