The King And The Kindergarten Teacher (The Rebel Royals Series Book 1)

by Shanae Johnson

  The woman had been allowed entry into the elevator that went up to the penthouse where the royals of Cordoba were staying. Esme had been held back instead of heading directly up to the royal suite. The concierge had checked her credentials twice. Then dialed up to the royal suite and had a long conversation with someone on the other end of the line. Ten minutes later, finally, she was allowed up.

  When the elevator hit the top floor, Esme’s belly was in knots. Likely from the altitude. When the doors opened, her belly dropped.

  She’d been hoping to find Leo on the other side, guarding the royals within. She’d given her name and hoped he’d remembered and would be there on the other side of the doors to greet her. Instead, she found his friend Giles. Giles did not look happy to see her.

  “Hi,” Esme waved. “Remember me from the pie shop? Well, after the pie shop, I met the princess and—“

  But Giles had already turned on his heel during her verbal diarrhea. “The staff has finished serving dinner.”

  “Oh. Am I late?”

  Giles turned, finally looking at her. The look he gave her said he thought she was addled in the brain. “You’ll keep to the kitchen area. Your lesson will be only an hour. The princess has a strict schedule to keep.”

  “A five-year-old has a strict schedule?”

  “Bed time.”

  “Oh. Of course. It’s just, I thought we were having dinner?”

  He turned again, with a sneer this time. “From what I understand, you’re here to teach fractions to Princess Penelope. Nothing more.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  They passed by the dining room, but the door was only open a crack so Esme couldn’t see into it. Esme could hear the chatter and clink of wine glasses. The smell of expensive food wafted out. She hadn’t eaten in anticipation of a few courses. Her stomach grumbled.

  Giles turned back to her. His gaze fell down to her belly as though the singular organ had offended him.

  “Sorry,” said Esme.

  With a final turn on his heel, he led her into the kitchen. It was already cleaned and cleared of dishes. Esme chided herself. She’d actually thought she’d gotten invited to dine with royalty.

  But all was not lost. Leo might be around one of these corners. She still might get a chance to see him before her hour was up, and she had to return to the ground floor.

  “Hello, Ms. Pickett.”

  “Hello, Penelope.”

  “You are to address the princess as your royal highness,” said Giles. “And curtsey.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry, your royal highness.” Esme bent both her knees, but that didn’t work. She put one foot behind the other but nearly tripped over the hem of her dress.

  Princess Penelope bit her lip. And then a giggle escaped.

  Giles turned and glared at Esme. “You are to keep to this room. His majesty, the King, has important guests tonight.”

  “Yes, Giles,” said Princess Penelope. “I know. Thank you.”

  The man straightened, not taking his eyes off Esme until the last moment. He bowed to the little girl. And left the room.

  “Now that is some super power,” said Esme. “Being able to dismiss a curmudgeon like that.”

  “Giles isn’t so bad. He plays chess with me when we’re back home. Everyone’s just very protective of me. They have been since my mother died.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Esme. “I didn’t know that. I lost my mother when I was just a girl, too. I was just a few years older than you.”

  “I can barely remember her.”

  “My mother used to read me a lot of stories. She left me all of her storybooks. When I read them, I remember her.”

  “I wish I had memories like that.”

  “Your father doesn’t like to talk about her?”

  “He doesn’t mind. He just doesn’t have any memories that help. All of his memories I can find in the royal archives; their wedding, their coronation; their official duties. But nothing personal like reading to me in bed.”

  Esme’s heart ached for the little girl. But Penelope’s shoulders remained straight, her back erect, her dainty hands crossed in front of her.

  “Anyway,” she said, “I’d much rather talk about fractions. I’ve brought out my books. I love math.”

  Esme looked at the textbooks gathered. She’d never met a five-year-old who’d said those words. And she worked with gifted students.

  Textbooks were not Esme’s jam. Even in college, she felt that the best learning was done by experiencing the world. She looked around at the kitchen for inspiration.

  “How about we learn fractions in a practical way?” said Esme.

  “Oh, yes,” Penelope grinned. “Do you have a game? Perhaps nothing too physical in this small space.“

  The small space was bigger than Esme’s entire apartment. “I have something better than sitting and standing. Baking.”

  Of course, the pantry of a suite for royals was stocked to the brim. In a matter of minutes, Esme found everything she needed and piled the materials on the counter.

  “We are going to make cookies,” said Esme. “We need to start with one cup of butter.”

  “But this is a stick.” Penelope held up the long, yellow rectangle.

  “Exactly. And it measures in tablespoons. So, how many tablespoons will it take to fill up this measuring cup?”

  Princess Penelope’s eyes widened in wonder. She took the cup and a butter knife and began to slice off pats of butter until she got to sixteen. “Sixteen tablespoons is the same as one cup.”

  “You got it. Now let’s do the sugar.” Esme paused. “Are you allowed to have sugar?”

  “Of course.”

  Esme breathed a sigh of relief. They measured the tablespoons of sugar, the teaspoons of baking powder and soda. They nearly had all the ingredients measured and prepared.

  “I’m having trouble with the flour,” said Esme tugging at the corners of the unopened bag. And of course, the bag exploded as she gave it another tug. The white powder spilled all over both Princess Penelope’s and Esme’s dresses. “Oh, no.”

  But the princess only giggled. “Don’t worry. One of the maids will clean it up.”

  “Oh no, missy. We made this mess. We need to clean it up.”

  Princess Penelope stared at her with wide eyes. Obviously, Esme had messed up protocol again.

  Esme tried the curtsey again. “We need to clean this up, your royal highness.”

  The frown dissolved and another set of giggles erupted from the little girl. “I’ve never had to clean up my own mess. This will be another lesson. I’ll find the broom. I think I know where it’s kept.”

  The little girl dashed around the corner, grinning from ear to ear. Esme was now the one left gaping. Normally, she had to invent a game to get her kindergartners to clean up. But the promise of a new skill was all it took for this little lady.

  Esme turned back to the ingredients assembled. In the doorway, there stood a figure. She braced herself for another of Giles’s disapproving scowls that not only had she made a mess, but enlisted her royal highness’ help in cleaning it up.

  But it wasn’t Giles standing and staring at her in the doorway.

  “Hi, Leo.”

  “What are you doing here?” he said, his hazel eyes huger than when he’d rescued her from a dry cleaning dragon.

  “Princess Penelope invited me. She came to my class this afternoon.”

  “You’re the kindergarten teacher?”

  Esme nodded. “I was hoping to bump into you while I was here.”

  “You were?”

  “Hello, father.” Penelope came back around the corner with a broom and dust pan in her hands.

  Esme’s eyes went between the dark-haired girl with the bright hazel eyes and her ... father.

  Chapter Nine

  This was not a fairytale, Leo told the synapses firing in his brain. It was a mess. It was a pretty mess because the fireworks that ignited as his neurotransmitters made a
nd received connections looked remarkably like the sparkles that would come out of a Disney character’s magic wand. They translated the scene before him of a messy cooking experiment into a Cinderella-themed spectacle.

  Esme stood in the kitchen of his hotel suite. She wore a dress the color of a ripe apple. It hugged each and every one of her curves rousing Leo’s imagination further. The bodice pushed up her breasts which heaved as she laughed with Penelope.

  Esme had been transformed from the attractive young woman in common working clothes that he’d encountered that afternoon, to a dazzling damsel in a regal gown who had snuck into the ball against her evil stepmother’s wishes. Even with the flour coating her gown, she was breathtaking. Leo’s palms itched to present her with a shoe that was just her size.

  The way she looked at him, he could tell she would happily slip her bare foot into the slipper that was only meant for her. But looking down, he saw that her feet weren’t bare. She wore sensible shoes, and he didn’t have a pair that he could give her.

  Finally, Leo’s gaze shifted down to his daughter. The grin on Penelope’s face took him aback. His daughter was always so serious, even as a baby. Her mother had been the same. So had Leo’s mother. He couldn’t remember any of the women in his life ever giggling.

  Had Leo ever made Penelope giggle? He’d certainly made her smile. But had he ever made his little girl laugh uncontrollably such that her little shoulders shook with the effort. Penelope’s eyes lit up when she saw him, and then she announced who he truly was.

  “Father?” Esme asked. “As in … the king?”

  In an instant, her view of him changed. Her bright, welcoming eyes clouded with surprise, then dismay, then confusion. He would’ve given anything to go back to Regular Joe Leo in her eyes. But that man had been his own fairytale. King Leonidas lived in the real world high in the sky in castles and luxury hotel penthouses where girls next door had no access.

  But here she was.

  What was she doing here?

  “You’re the kindergarten teacher?” he asked.

  Esme nodded. She didn’t hold his gaze any longer. Her hands fidgeted. Smoothing her gown, her fingers streaked the fabric white with flour.

  Leo took great comfort in that small act of anxiety. Esme had liked him when she thought he simply worked for the crown. Now that she knew he was the crown, she took a step back. Most women were only interested in that bit of jewelry on his head. It made him want to come near to her.

  “We made a mess,” Penelope was saying. “But Ms. Pickett insists we clean it up. You always say we must heed the culture of our host, so I’m doing it her way.”

  “That’s very diplomatic of you, Pea,” said Leo.

  “Pea?” The smile was back on Esme’s face. “Like The Princess and the Pea?”

  “No,” said Penelope. “It’s short for Penelope. Only father and Uncle Alex call me that. You may call me it as well. If you like?”

  “I’d like that. Thank you, Pea.”

  Esme smiled warmly down at Penelope. His daughter’s eyes practically twinkled under Esme’s shining gaze. Leo knew he had to shake himself out of it. He knew that eyes couldn’t twinkle, not really. So, why did he feel a tiny sizzle on his skin when Esme directed her sparkling gaze back at him?

  “Ms. Pickett is an excellent tutor,” said Penelope. “She turned fractions into a treat. I imagine I may get a lesson out of cleaning up as well.”

  Penelope ran the broom over the white powder on the floor. Her light brushes and directionless sweeps only served to make more of a mess. Leo stepped up to take the broom from his daughter.

  “Here, darling,” he said. “I’ll help.”

  “Oh, no,” Esme grabbed for the broom at the same time. “This is my fault ... erm, your highness.”

  “He’s your majesty,” said Penelope.

  “Ms. Pickett has my permission to call me by my Christian name,” Leo said.

  Esme shook her head. “I couldn’t. I can’t.”

  They both still had their hands on the broom handle. She gave a tug. He didn’t relent. She sighed and released her grip, but when she took a step back, it was right into the patch of flour, and she wobbled backward.

  Leo sprang into action. Releasing the broom with a clatter, he caught her in his arms. For the second time today, he held this woman in his embrace.

  Because it was an embrace. It had stopped being a rescue the moment he knew she’d regained her balance and her feet were sturdy beneath her. It had stopped being a rescue when his hold tightened even though she was no longer in danger of falling. It had stopped being a rescue when he realized he was perfectly content to remain this way for the rest of his night, and if he were honest, much, much longer.

  Warmth spread through Leo as he continued the embrace. He felt a tingling up his spine. His eyes latched onto hers like they were magnets. Her palms came to rest on his chest. Even through the layers of fine fabric, her touch scorched him, as though her fingertips placed an invisible brand just to the right of his heart.

  Esme looked down at his chest where her hands lay, and her eyes widened. “Oh, no. I’ve made a mess of your clothes again.”

  Leo looked down at his dinner jacket. The brand was there, emblazoned in stark white against his dark jacket. He slowly released his hold on her, making sure that she was, in fact, steady on her own two feet. A pang of disappointment swept through him that she didn’t wobble when he left her to her own reconnaissance.

  “I am so sorry, your highness. I mean, your majesty.” She lifted her hands and brushed at his coat. Due to the fact that her hands were still covered in flour, all she did was make the matter worse.

  Leo did not stop her.

  “I’m making things worse, aren’t I?”

  She was.

  The longer she stood near him, the more details he catalogued of her face. She had a smattering of light freckles across her nose. Her eyes weren’t uniformly brown, there were a few light flecks at the edge that reminded him of a Tiger’s Eye stone. And then there was that delectable, sweet scent he’d gotten a taste of that morning.

  His neurotransmitters worked over time capturing the fine print of Esmeralda Pickett. The details imprinted on him. He knew this singular moment would be catalogued amongst one of the memories that would flash before his eyes on his death bed, right up there with his coronation and the birth of his daughter, as one of the pivotal moments of his life.

  By the look in her eyes, he wondered if she was thinking the same? Was her brain cataloguing this moment between them? Would she remember it for all time?

  “Look, father,” said Penelope. “We’re using fractions to make cookies.”

  That was enough to break the spell. Leo turned from Esme to his daughter. “That sounds like a good use of math. Don’t let me stop you.”

  “Yes, what’s next, Ms. Pickett?” Penelope stepped over the broom and the flour. She pushed aside the mess and focused on the mini bowl.

  Esme looked down at the mess.

  “Don’t worry,” said Leo. “I’ll have the staff tend to this. It appears to me that the three of us will only serve to make the mess bigger. Let’s finish the lesson instead.”

  Esme measured out flour and tossed it into the bowl. “All right, Princess Pea, why don’t you mix the dough.”

  Penelope’s grin was huge as she took the wooden spoon and began to stir.

  Esme bent down to pick up the bag of flour. She walked around the counter to where Leo stood, careful to step over the pile of flour still on the floor. She lifted her dress and pressed the foot handle on the trash bin.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were a king?” Her voice was quiet, only loud enough for him to hear.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were a school teacher?”

  The bin closed with a thud. She looked up at him, wrinkling her nose as though confused.

  “At the moment,” he said, “neither of our occupations made a difference.“

  She raised her fin
ger the way his old school teachers used to when they found fault with his answers. “You didn’t go on about the state of education in the world or teachers today being inadequate.”

  “I don’t feel that way at all about education.”

  She huffed, balling her fingers into a fist. “I went on and on about princes and fairytales.”

  “Showing your own prejudices against all other royals aside from princes and displaying your stereotypical views on dragons.”

  She gave him a blank stare that showed him she wasn’t amused. Only problem was the grin warring at the corner of her mouth. “And you’re continuing to laugh at my expense.”

  “Not at all,” Leo grinned. “A little imagination is good. You simply have a lot.”

  She narrowed her gaze. Her hand unballed and that finger rose again, ready to make a counter point.

  “The dough is mixed,” Penelope announced. “Can we bake them?”

  Leo looked up at the clock. He’d been away from his guests longer than he’d planned. “It’s your bedtime.”

  The joy on Penelope’s face fell like a crashing stone.

  “We haven’t cleaned up our mess,” said Esme. “If we put them in the oven now, by the time we finish cleaning, the cookies will be done.”

  “We do have staff who can—“

  She cut him off with another look that he’d seen countless times on his school teachers’ and college professors’ faces that said he got the answer wrong. They must have a class on that at teachers’ school.

  “I’m not leaving a mess behind.” She glanced down at the powder prints on his coat. “Not any more of a mess. Penelope, you can spoon out one tablespoon of the dough and space them an inch apart on the tray while I sweep.”

  Leo picked up a rag and began wiping down the counter. Esme paused in her sweeping but didn’t say anything. Leo felt as though he’d aced a pop quiz.

  By the time he was done with the counter, Penelope had measured and placed all the dough. He helped her put them in the oven and then set the timer for eight minutes. He turned and found Esme watching the two of them with a smile on her face.