Both of those sounded good to me.
* * *
Our limo pulled up in front of a Michelin-starred French restaurant in Central London. The area was amazing—I couldn’t stop staring at the architecture, the lights, and the people. But Nico wasn’t looking out the windows as I was.
“Have I told you how amazing you look tonight?”
“A time or two,” I said, feeling warmth rise to my cheeks. He’d actually mentioned it more times than that, which was both flattering and embarrassing.
Though I hadn’t had anyone do my hair and makeup since Autumn’s wedding, I’d gotten the works today—manicure, pedicure, facial, and hairstyling. Nico had seen me bundled up in jeans and sweaters, but he’d never seen me at my best.
I’d asked the stylist to make me look as elegant as possible. People usually said I was cute or pretty—but tonight I wanted to look refined and classy on Nico’s arm. My hair was swept up in an updo. My makeup was nuanced but tasteful. And my dress—oh, the dress was the best part. It was a pale rose, strapless with a flared skirt. I’d also bought the tallest heels I could find, and a small clutch bag. A delicate lace shawl was the only thing covering my bare shoulders. It was late May and the weather was fairly mild… I didn’t think I’d be too cold.
Though I’d spent all day on my appearance, Nico had simply returned from his meeting and showered, shaved, and put on a suit. Yet when I saw him earlier, I’d almost forgotten how to breathe. The elegant black suit made him look like a fashion model, movie star, or—let’s face it—a Greek god. I’d never, ever seen a man look so incredible. That was one of the reasons I kept studying the view out the window on the ride over—looking directly at him almost made me feel faint.
Thompson got out first, he and one of his men scanning the crowd on the sidewalk before he opened the door. Nico exited the car gracefully and then held his hand out for me. People on the sidewalk gawked as we walked by. I doubt they knew who Nico was, but they could see how gorgeous he looked. A few people pulled out their phones and snapped pictures.
The restaurant was unbelievably good, but the sight of Nico sitting across from me was more tempting than what was on my plate. It was a magical night—at least until Thompson appeared toward the end of the meal and said, “Sir, we’ve got a problem.”
“What is it?”
“There are a dozen photographers out front.”
“Shit,” Nico muttered under his breath. “Why now? I’m out of the limelight—I’m old news.”
“That’s precisely the point, sir. Until two years ago, you were a favorite target of the press, but then you completely disappeared. You’ve been off everyone’s radar, but now that you’re here, they sense a story.”
Nico cursed again. “We’re just having dinner. What’s so newsworthy about that?”
Thompson looked at me, and I could tell he was refraining from speaking freely. Nico knew, too. “Out with it, Thompson.”
“I think the issue is Miss Andrews.”
“Me?” What did I do?
Nico must’ve understood, though, because he put his hand to his temple and closed his eyes.
“Sir, when you lived in the US, you were often photographed with your late wife. Once the paparazzi got a tip that you were here with a woman—well… that definitely counts as newsworthy.”
Nico’s eyes flew open and he slammed his fist on the table, causing other diners to stare. “It’s my life, not a story.”
Thompson looked uncomfortable. “Sir, we talked about this possibility when you first discussed coming to London.”
I reached my hand out to Nico, but he didn’t take it. I didn’t have the slightest clue what to do… this was a world I knew very little about.
“May I suggest that you and Miss Andrews leave separately? At least they won’t get pictures of you together.”
“My wife’s been gone for over two years. All we’re doing is having dinner. What the hell is wrong with that?”
Thompson didn’t flinch at the anger or the pain in Nico’s voice. “You mentioned before about doing everything possible to keep your children out of the spotlight. Might I suggest that you employ the same policy for Miss Andrews?”
Nico sighed, looking defeated. “Yes. Meet her out back with one of the cars. I’ll go out the front and—”
“No.”
Both men looked at me in surprise.
“You’re right,” I told Nico. “We’re just having dinner. There’s nothing wrong with that. If we separate, won’t it look like we’re hiding something?”
“Maybe,” Thompson admitted.
“So let’s go out together. We’re two good friends who had dinner. That’s not exactly an exciting headline.”
Nico’s face was hard. “All right. I’ll be on one side of Cara, and you stay on the other,” he said to Thompson.
“Me? But you’re the prince.”
“Lower your voice,” Nico hissed. Several people were looking in our direction. And someone took a few pictures of the three of us with their phone.
“She’s right, Sir, it’s you we need to—”
“No fucking way. I haven’t forgotten what they can be like. Your men go out first, clear a path. Then you stay on Cara’s right, I’ll be on her left. You don’t leave her side until we’re safely in the suite at the hotel.”
“Yes, sir.” Thompson didn’t look happy, but he agreed.
And me? I didn’t know what the hell to think. Could it really get as bad as Nico said it could? It didn’t seem likely—but the butterflies doing backflips in my stomach implied otherwise.
The sick feeling inside intensified when we were standing in front of the door, ready to plunge into the crowd of reporters on the front walk.
“Just keep going, and it’ll be okay,” Nico said, bending his head to whisper in my ear. His hand was firmly on my left arm.
Thompson was on the other side. His men pushed through the door and there was an explosion of sound and lights. The men propelled me forward, and I was grateful because I seemed to have forgotten how to walk. The shouting, the questions, the flashbulbs… I wanted to run back inside and hide under the table.
“Who’s the girl, Nico?”
“When did you switch to blondes?”
“Do your kids know daddy’s dating?”
It was awful. The voices, the lights were everywhere. “Keep moving!” Nico’s command was only audible over the din because he was right next to me. Thompson pushed against me as we were jostled from all sides.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Where’d you meet?”
“What’s he like in bed, honey?”
Sickened, I kept going, propelled by the men on either side of me. The limo door ahead of us was open, but there was a moment of confusion as the security detail tried to push Nico in first, but he refused, ushering me ahead. I all but fell onto the car seat, landing on my side before straightening up and scooting over to make room for Nico.
The door slammed behind him. The noise and flashes of light were still there, but muted. As the limo glided away, Nico wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close to him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his lips against my hair. “Sorry you had to go through that.”
My hand shook as it sought out his, seeking reassurance, not just that it was over, but that he was okay. Though he was trying to comfort me, I could hear the rage in his voice.
By the time we’d taken the elevator to the penthouse, I’d almost stopped trembling. Nico led me to my room. “I’ll be back in a minute. Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m fine,” I said, my voice calm and collected. The sharp look Nico gave me, however, made me suspect he knew that years of theater training meant I could make my voice sound like anything—even something I wasn’t feeling.
After he left, I stepped out of my heels and took off my earrings, but I didn’t go far. I could hear Nico just outside the door, talking to Thompson. No, not talking—shouti
ng. I could see them through the peephole, but the door was too thick to hear much of what they were saying. One thing was clear though—the prince was really angry.
When Thompson strode off, I waited a minute and then opened the door. “Nico?”
“Sorry about that,” he said.
“You don’t have to apologize. Come in and let’s talk about this.”
He didn’t move. “But I do owe you an apology. It was supposed to be a nice evening out for us.”
“And it was, until the end. Dinner was amazing.”
Nico was staring past me, lost in thought. At last, he gave his head a little shake and focused on me.
“You really did look gorgeous tonight,” Nico murmured, placing his hands on my shoulders and pressing his forehead against mine. A heavy feeling settled in my stomach that had nothing to do with the scary throng of photographers before. It took me a moment to figure out what was wrong, and then I realized—he’d used the past tense. As if our night was over.
I smiled, trying to ease the concern etched on his face. “What happened tonight was upsetting, but we can still salvage the evening. You look so handsome in that suit. Maybe we could go up to the roof and see the stars.”
Nico’s eyes lowered, and he shook his head.
“Or we could stay in. You’ve got the penthouse suite, it’s not necessary to go anywhere.”
“Cara—”
“Please, Nico, we’re almost halfway through our time in London. Let’s not waste tonight.” I tried to inject a playful note. “Let’s not waste how hot we look tonight.”
One corner of his lip rose, but it wasn’t his usual sexy half-smile. Instead, he just looked sad. He released me and took a step back. “It’s been a long day. I’m going to check in with Gretchen and then get some sleep. See you at breakfast in the morning?”
Silently, I nodded.
“Good night, Cara.”
For the first time in a long time, my voice failed me. It wasn’t until he’d shut the door and left that I managed to say, “Good night, Nico.”
28
Nico
That was stupid of me. So fucking stupid, risking Cara’s safety last night. These past few years, I’d spent so much time hating the paparazzi in the US that I’d forgotten the ones in London were even worse. And I’d planned to bring my kids here? What the fuck had I been thinking? You’d think I would’ve learned my lesson after what happened with Lisette.
“This is nice,” Cara said. As usual, she was trying to make the best of things.
I forced myself to respond in a casual tone. “What’s nice?”
“Eating here in your suite. The food’s as good as the restaurant, plus we get to be alone.”
I downed some coffee to keep my expression neutral. She’d loved having breakfast in the restaurant yesterday. It was a gorgeous place with an omelet station, a champagne fountain, and a pianist. Somehow, I doubted that she preferred sitting up here with a pissed-off prince. The bacon wasn’t even as crispy today.
“Was everything all right when you talked to Gretchen last night?”
“Yes.” Apparently, that wasn’t enough, because Cara was looking at me expectantly. “She said everything is fine. Wilhelm thinks the falcon will come today.”
“I bet Derrick didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Probably not.”
Cara’s smile confounded me. How could she be so cheerful after what happened last night? It must’ve been very frightening for her. And I’d heard the questions those vultures had called out. They’d all but accused her of being my dirty little mistress.
That’s what I got for thinking it would be okay to bring her here. For thinking I could invite a beautiful woman on a date like a normal man. And god, she’d sure looked incredible last night. She was beautiful all the time, but last night she’d been stunning. Seeing her slim figure in that tight dress had taken my breath away. And then they’d sullied it by trying to shame her. By scaring her.
“So what’s the plan today?” she asked.
“What would you like to do?”
“Anything,” she said, her smile brightening up the already sunny day. She seemed to think it was her job to cheer me up instead of my job to protect her. Which was a job I hadn’t done very well recently. But that all changed now.
“How about a movie?”
Cara’s smile faded by a few degrees. “Okay… there’s that cinema over in Leicester Square where they have all those premieres. I believe it’s not that far from the National Gallery. Maybe we could go there afterwards.”
“I was thinking about staying in. Watching a movie here.”
Her face fell. “Because of what happened last night?”
She knew the answer, but I nodded anyway. “I’m sorry, I know you wanted to do some sightseeing.”
She sighed. “I wanted to spend the day with you.”
“And we can. Here.” The look of disappointment on her face was killing me. “What happened last night… that’s just how it is when I travel someplace like the UK or the US. When I first arrive, it’s a madhouse. Then eventually it’ll die down, but then there’ll be a slow news day, and something will happen and the media attention will flare up again. Or if it doesn’t, they’ll make something happen. Anything to get a story. What you saw last night was nowhere near as bad as it could’ve been.”
Cara set her napkin on her plate and went to look out the window. “I understand what you’re saying, but… it just seems like such a waste. I’m in an amazing city. I’m with an amazing man. I want to go on an adventure with him, not hide out in our rooms.”
“And we would, if it weren’t for those vultures out there. They’d follow us everywhere until the novelty of seeing me with you wears off.”
“So… if it weren’t for the vultures, we could spend the day together exploring the city?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a hat? Maybe some sunglasses?”
I shook my head, seeing where she was going with this. “It won’t work. That barely works in Falkenberg. Whenever I do that, it feels like half the people recognize me but are too polite to show it. There’s no way a flimsy disguise like that would work here.”
“You think that would be the disguise? That’s just to get us out of the building, not to parade around downtown London. You need to trust me—don’t you have any idea who you’re dealing with?” Cara’s blue eyes danced.
Confused and amused at the same time, I shook my head.
“A born and bred theater nerd,” she said. “I’ve seen this play a million times. If the evil vultures won’t let us go to the ball, I know exactly what we need.”
“What’s that?” I was curious in spite of myself.
“A Fairy Godmother.”
* * *
Trusting Cara was an interesting experience. It involved my donning a low cap and sunglasses and her hiding her blonde hair in a scarf. It also involved ditching our security staff, taking a tenth-floor walkway to another hotel, hurrying out a back exit, and climbing into a waiting car.
That same car was now darting through the Saturday morning traffic while Cara looked eagerly out the window. She was perfectly calm, as if smuggling people out of the heart of London was an everyday occurrence for her.
Our driver was a tall, lanky man with a gray coat and cap much like the ones my driver back home wore. He was apparently a man of few words though once, at a stop light, he’d picked up his phone and typed a message on it. A moment later, Cara’s phone had chimed.
I was pretty quiet too, trying to let my curiosity about Cara’s plan crowd out the anger that had filled me all morning. This adventure, or whatever Cara wanted to call it, might just be what I needed to forget last night. Unless it didn’t work, of course. All it took was one person to tweet that they’d seen us, and the vultures would emerge.
The driver pulled into an alley behind a tall concrete building that didn’t look very impressive from the back. He hurried around to let us out
, not looking at either of us. Instead, he led us up a ramp and unlocked a plain black door.
As soon as we entered the large, empty space, the driver hurried down a hallway and called out “five minutes” before disappearing around a corner.
“Three!” Cara shouted after him, a smile on her face. “I promised him we’d do this right.”
She pulled the scarf off her head and stuffed it in her purse. Her slim fingers glided through her hair, making it bounce around her shoulders.
“So… do you and your friend often kidnap royalty?” I asked with a smirk.
Cara laughed. “This isn’t a kidnapping, it’s a rescue. There’s a subtle difference.”
Whatever it was, it was impossible to stay pissed off when Cara was in this kind of mood. Her smile was infectious, and her blue eyes sparkled. This beautiful young woman was like no one else I’d ever met.
“Are you ready?” she called down the hall where the driver had disappeared.
“Not yet,” came a panicked voice.
“It’ll be just another minute,” Cara assured me.
“What will be another minute? Where’d the driver go?”
Cara bounded over to me, mischief in her eyes. “Remember how when I first arrived in Falkenberg, the handsome fellow who picked me up at the station wasn’t a real chauffeur?”
“I have a vague recollection of that, yes.” Her smile widened when I winked.
“Well, that guy isn’t a real chauffeur, either.”
“I suspected as much when he picked us up in a turquoise mini cooper.”
She grinned, put her hands on my shoulders, and leaned up to plant a kiss on my cheek. “I’m glad you’re not crabby anymore.”
Before I could respond to that, the disembodied voice floated out to us once more. “Okay! I’m ready for my close-up!”
Cara grabbed my hand pulled me forward. Before we reached the hallway, the man from before sprang out, struck a pose, and froze in place, looking at us expectantly. He was wearing a purple suit, the jacket of which was covered in sequins. His shirt was black silk. On top of a mass of black curly hair perched plastic purple sunglasses. His eyes were rimmed with gold liner, and his smile was almost as wide as his face.
Dashing: A Royal Cinderella Billionaire Story Page 19
