by Nora Roberts
“I’m sorry if I’m not behaving very well.” She drew together the bed jacket her father had brought her.
“No, I don’t believe you are.”
She had to smile. “Maybe not, but with everyone hovering around me. Dr. Franco, you can’t imagine what it’s like to be scrutinized. If Chris hadn’t convinced my father to go back to Houston, I’d have gone crazy. He was wonderful, of course. Everyone has been. The children have been drawing me pictures. Dorian smuggled in a kitten. You’re not supposed to know about that.”
“I will consider it privileged information.”
“Prince Armand has come in every day. He brought me this music box.” She reached over to touch the small hammered silver case on her nightstand. “It was his wife’s. He gave it to her when Alex was born, and he said she would want me to have it.”
“Because each of you gave him his son.”
“Dr. Franco, I don’t feel like a hero.” The tears started up again, as they had so often in the past few days. She hated them, hated being so prone to them. “I feel like a mess. I need to get on with my life, let other people get on with theirs. I have too much time to think lying here.”
“Your thoughts trouble you?”
“Some of them. I need to be busy again.”
“Why don’t we try an experiment?”
“As long as it doesn’t involve another needle.”
“No. You will sleep this afternoon.”
“Doctor—”
“Ah, wait until you hear the bargain before you complain. You will sleep this afternoon,” he repeated. “Then this evening, you will get up and put on your most elegant dress. I suggest a high back for a little while yet. You will go to the theater—” He paused as the light came into her eyes. “As an observer only. You will come directly back to the palace after the play. Perhaps we could allow a light supper. Then, like Cinderella, you will be back in bed by midnight.”
“Deal.” She stuck out her hand. As they sealed the bargain, she promised herself she would be back to work before the week was out.
* * *
Both Chris and Gabriella helped her dress. Eve conducted her own experiment and asked herself if the process tired her. It didn’t. She felt exhilarated. After studying the result with the white tube dress and beaded jacket, she decided she looked better than she had before the incident. She was rested, her color was up, her eyes were clear. She drew her hair back with silver combs, added a cloud of scent and felt like a woman again.
“You’re beautiful.” Alexander took both of her hands as he came to lead her downstairs. He was dressed in formal black and carried a small spray of bluebells.
“I wanted you to think so.” With a smile she took the flowers and drew in the scent. Whenever she did so in the future, she knew she would think of him. “This is the first time in days you haven’t looked at me as though I were under a microscope. No, don’t say anything. I feel like a prisoner making good her escape.”
“Then you should make it in style.”
He drew her hand through his arm and led her downstairs. There was a limo waiting outside, its motor already purring. Eve shot Alexander a brilliant smile as she stepped in.
Champagne was chilling. Beethoven was playing softly.
“The perfect getaway car,” she murmured as he released the cork from the bottle.
“I intend for everything to be perfect tonight.”
She touched her glass against his, then her lips against his. “It doesn’t get any better than this.”
“We’ll see.” He reached in a small compartment and drew out a long, slender box. “I wanted to wait until you were recovered to give you this.”
“Alex, I don’t need presents.”
“I need to give you one.” He opened her hand and placed the box in it. “Don’t disappoint me.”
How could she refuse him? Eve opened the lid and stared down at the necklace of diamonds and sapphires. They seemed to hang on threads of silver and dripped down in two layers of teardrops. It was something for a princess, a queen, not an ordinary woman, she thought. Unable to resist, she lifted it up, and the gems glistened in her fingers. Lights from streetlamps rushed over them and caught fire.
“Oh, Alex, it’s wonderful. It takes my breath away.”
“You’ve often had that effect on me. Will you wear it tonight?”
“I—” It almost frightened her, the sheer beauty of it, the elegance. But he’d asked almost as if he’d expected her to refuse. “I’d love to. Help me?”
He unclasped the gold filigree collar she wore and replaced it with his gift. Instinctively Eve brought a hand up to touch the necklace as he draped her neck. It was cool, but already drawing on the warmth of her flesh.
“I’m probably going to pay more attention to this than the play.” She leaned over to kiss him, a kiss he returned with a surprising delicacy. “Thank you, Alexander.”
“Thank me only when the evening is finished.”
She was nervous when she entered the theater. Then she was stunned when she entered the royal box and the crowd below rose to its feet to cheer her.
She found her hand caught in Alexander’s. There was a smile in his eyes as he bent over and kissed it. Though she felt the emotion swirling, she managed to smile in return, and taking his lead, acknowledged the crowd with a curtsy.
Alexander held her chair with great satisfaction. She had yet to realize it, but she had just completed her first official duty.
“It has to be good.” She tried not to squirm as she waited for the curtain to rise. “I wish I could slip backstage for just a minute and see—”
“I have the doctor’s orders, chérie.”
“I know, but—Oh, God, here goes.”
She held his hand tightly throughout the first act. Felt her stomach churn time and time again. Mentally she made a list of every small flaw or break in pacing. She thought of half a dozen changes that would improve it.
But there was laughter. Pride in her troupe, in herself, settled firmly as she heard it. The dialogue was sharp, often acerbic and very American, but the theme of a bumpy romance was international.
When it was over, she counted the curtain calls.
“A dozen.” She turned, laughing to Alexander. “A dozen of them. It was good. It was really, really good. I want to change the blocking just a bit in the second scene, but—”
“You won’t think about blocking tonight.” He took her hand and led her out of the box. Three guards stood at attention. She tried not to notice them, to think only of the play.
“I don’t know if I can stand to wait until the reviews come in. Alex, couldn’t we go backstage for just a minute so that I can—”
“Not this time.” With the guards flanking them, he led her down the side steps. There were reporters, and cameras flashed, but security held the media in check. Before Eve had blinked the lights out of her eyes, they were back in the limo.
“It went too quickly.” She leaned back, trying to absorb it all. “I wanted it to last and last, yet I was so nervous. It seemed like everyone was looking at us.”
“It made you uncomfortable.”
“Only a little.” That was already past. “I’m going to convince Franco to let me watch from the wings tomorrow.”
“You’re not tired?”
“No. Honestly.” She smiled as she drew in a deep breath. “I feel incredible. I suppose Cinderella felt the same five minutes before midnight.”
“You have an hour yet. I’d like you to spend it with me.”
“Down to the last minute,” she promised.
The palace was quiet when they returned. He led her upstairs, but instead of taking her to her rooms, he turned to his own.
There was a table set for two, with candles flickering in crystal holders. This time the music was violins, as sensuous as it was romantic.
“Now I really do feel like Cinderella.”
“I had planned to do this before, on the night—the night I was
to meet you at the theater.”
She’d walked over to touch the petals of the flowers spread in a low bowl on the table. “You had?” Surprise and nerves mixed together as she turned. Did a man set such a scene to break off an affair? She didn’t think so, not even if the man was a prince. “Why?”
“It seems I’ve given you too little romance, since you are so stunned by it. It’s something I intend to make up for.” He came to her, gathered her close and kissed her as he had longed to for days. “I thought I might have lost you.” His voice roughened with emotion as he took both her hands and buried his face in them. “I’ve made so many mistakes with you, but that one—”
“Alex, don’t. If you wouldn’t let me blame myself for bringing Russ here, how can you blame yourself for what he did?”
“And what you did.” He moved his hands from hers, to her face. “As long as I live I’ll remember that instant you stepped in front of me. I’ll relive it, but each time I do, I’ll have pushed you aside in time.”
There was such suffering in his voice, such bitterness, that the truth came out without a thought to pride. “If he had killed you, do you think I would have wanted to live? You’re all that matters. I’ve loved you since long before I understood what love meant.”
His breath came out like a prayer. No more mistakes, he promised himself. He would do this right. She had not only given him life, but a reason to live it.
“Would you sit?” he asked her.
“Please, don’t thank me again. I just can’t bear it.”
“Eve, sit down.” Impatience shimmered in his voice. Because she was more comfortable with that, she obliged.
“All right, I’m sitting. But I’m not being fed over here.”
“You’ll have all the dinner you want after I get through this.” Nerves were eating at him. He waited a moment until he had them under some kind of control. When he knelt at her feet, Eve’s eyes widened.
“I said I wouldn’t kneel for you. This one time it seems appropriate.” When he drew a box out of his pocket, her hand closed into a fist.
“Alex, you’ve already given me a gift tonight.” Her voice, usually so rich and smooth, shook.
“This isn’t a gift. It’s a request, the biggest one I could ask of you. I’ve wanted to ask you before, but it seemed too much to expect.”
Her heart was thudding, but she kept her fingers curled together. “You don’t know what to expect unless you ask.”
He laughed and, taking her hand, spread her fingers open. “You always show me something new. Eve, I’m going to ask you for more than I could ever give. I can only tell you that if you agree, I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”
He placed the box in her hand and waited.
First she had to draw a breath, a long one. She was not an aristocrat; she was not of royal blood. Equal terms. She remembered her own demand and realized she had the chance to make it all real.
She opened it and saw a ring with the same design of sapphires and diamonds as the necklace she was wearing. Not a gift, she thought, but a request.
“It was my mother’s. When I told my father I intended to ask you to marry me, he asked that I give you this. It’s more than a ring, Eve. I think you know some of the duties, the expectations that go with it, not just to me, but to the country that would have to be yours, as well. Please, don’t say anything yet.”
There were nerves in his voice, something she’d never heard before. It made her want to reach out and soothe him, but she stayed still.
“There are so many things I would have to ask you to leave behind. Houston would be only a place to visit. Your troupe—there is the theater here and the opportunity to build a new troupe in Cordina, but the rest would be over. There is your writing—perhaps in some ways that would make up for what you would have to leave behind. Your freedom would be limited in a way you can’t imagine. Responsibilities, some of them vital, others incredibly boring. What you do, what you say, will be common knowledge almost before it’s done. And as long as Deboque remains alive, there is a very real danger. We’ve begun something, but it will be a long, long time before Deboque is no longer a threat. These are things you have to know, to consider.”
She looked at him, then at the ring still in its bed of velvet. “It seems you’re trying to convince me to refuse.”
“I only want you to know what I’m asking of you.”
“You’re a fair and practical man, Alexander.” As she took a deep breath, something beyond his shoulder caught her attention and imagination. She didn’t smile, not yet. “Let’s consider this then in a fair and practical manner.” Reaching over, she drew the scales closer. “Let’s see, we have the duties and responsibilities of state.” There were some glass balls in a jar. She took a handful and placed two on one of the scales. “Then there’s the lack of privacy.” She added another ball.
“Eve, this is no game.”
“Please, I’m trying to think this through. There’s the fact that I would no longer live in my own country.” Three balls were added. “And the fact that I would very possibly be bored to tears by some of those functions I know Brie has to attend. There’s the press, the paperwork—I believe you left that out—and the traditions I’d have to learn.” Plus the new ones she’d do her best to begin. “Then there’s Deboque.”
She looked back at Alexander. “I won’t add any pretty colored balls for Deboque. Whether I agree or refuse, he remains who he is. Now, Alex, I have to ask you one question. Why do you want me to take this ring and the responsibilities that go with it? Why are you asking me to marry you?”
“Because I love you.”
Now she did smile. The rest of the weights went in the empty scale and brought it down. “That seems to more than even things out, doesn’t it?”
He looked at them in a kind of wonder. “I had to say nothing else?”
“That’s all you’ve ever had to say.” Throwing her arms around him, she brought him to her for a kiss, a bargain sealed, a life begun. She laughed and pressed her lips to his throat. “Fairy tales,” she said, half to herself. “I’d stopped believing in them.”
“And I.” His lips found hers again. “But no more. Tonight you’ve given me even that.”
“Oh, listen.” The clock in the hall outside began to chime. “Put the ring on, Alex, before it strikes twelve.”
He slipped it on, then kissed the delicate skin just above the jewels. “Tomorrow we’ll tell the world, but tonight this is only for us.” He rose then and drew her to her feet. “I haven’t fed you, and it’s after midnight.”
“I could eat in bed, Alex.” She rested her cheek against his chest, holding on to the magic. “Franco didn’t say I had to get into bed alone.”
He laughed as he swept her up. “Cordina is in for many surprises.”
“So are you,” she murmured.
If you liked Command Performance, look for the other novels in the Cordina’s Royal Family series: Affaire Royale, The Playboy Prince, and Cordina’s Crown Jewel, available as eBooks from InterMix.
Keep reading for an excerpt from the newest novel by Nora Roberts
The Witness
Available April 2012 in hardcover from G. P. Putnam’s Sons
June 2000
Elizabeth Fitch’s short-lived teenage rebellion began with L’Oreal Pure Black, a pair of scissors and a fake ID. It ended in blood.
For nearly the whole of her sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days she’d dutifully followed her mother’s directives. Dr. Susan L. Fitch issued directives, not orders. Elizabeth had adhered to the schedules her mother created, ate the meals designed by her mother’s nutritionist and prepared by her mother’s cook, wore the clothes selected by her mother’s personal shopper.
Dr. Susan L. Fitch dressed conservatively, as suited—in her opinion—her position as Chief of Surgery at Chicago’s Silva Memorial Hospital. She expected, and directed, her daughter to do the same.
Elizabeth studie
d diligently, accepting and excelling in the academic programs her mother outlined. In the fall, she’d return to Harvard in pursuit of her medical degree. So she could become a doctor, like her mother; a surgeon, like her mother.
Elizabeth—never Liz or Lizzie or Beth—spoke fluent Spanish, French, Italian, passable Russian and rudimentary Japanese. She played both piano and violin. She’d traveled to Europe, to Africa. She could name all the bones, nerves and muscles in the human body and play Chopin’s Piano Concerto—both One and Two—by rote.
She’d never been on a date or kissed a boy. She’d never roamed the mall with a pack of girls, attended a slumber party or giggled with friends over pizza or hot fudge sundaes.
She was, at sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days, a product of her mother’s meticulous and detailed agenda.
That was about to change.
She watched her mother pack. Susan, her rich brown hair already coiled in her signature French twist, neatly hung another suit in the organized garment bag, then checked off the printout with each day of the week’s medical conference broken into subgroups. The printout included a spreadsheet listing every event, appointment, meeting and meal scheduled with the selected outfit, shoes, bag and accessories.
Designer suits and Italian shoes, of course, Elizabeth thought. One must wear good cut, good cloth. But not one rich or bright color among the blacks, grays, taupes. She wondered how her mother could be so beautiful and deliberately wear the dull.
After two accelerated semesters of college, Elizabeth thought she’d begun—maybe—to develop her own fashion sense. She had, in fact, bought jeans and a hoodie and some chunky heeled boots in Cambridge.
She’d paid in cash, so the purchase wouldn’t show up on her credit card bill in case her mother or their accountant checked and questioned the items, which were currently hidden in her room.
She’d felt like a different person wearing them, so different that she’d walked straight into a McDonald’s and ordered her first Big Mac with large fries and a chocolate shake.
