Prince of my Panties (Royal Package)

by Lili Valente

  “And regretting taking this path?” I chew the inside of my lip. “Because if you are, I can see this through alone.”

  “No. I started this, and I mean to finish it.” He drops his hand from his face and studies me with weary eyes. “As long as you still want me here.”

  I nod. “I do, I… I like having you around.”

  “Even when I’m driving you mad?”

  “You don’t drive me mad for long,” I say, unable to help a half-smile. “And I never would have had the courage to go in there alone.”

  “Don’t underestimate yourself. I don’t,” he whispers, holding my gaze in a way that has my thoughts turning to the hotel room we’re going to share tonight. There are two queen beds, so I suppose we might sleep separately. But every moment, it grows more unlikely.

  Something is shifting between us. Evolving. Changing.

  Jeffrey is becoming not just a friend, but a good friend—someone who feels almost like family. Someone who can make me ache with wanting him just from the feel of his fingers circling my ankle. I can’t imagine what he’ll do to me if—when?—he touches me everywhere else.

  “Did you still need to work this afternoon?” he asks, pulling me from my dangerous thoughts.

  I take a deep, hormone-banishing breath. “I do. I should probably pull an all-nighter and try to mail the collection tomorrow before we leave. I haven’t been to Wettingfeld Forest in years, but I imagine it’s still a post-office-free zone.”

  “I’m sure.” He tosses the crumpled sugar packets into his empty mug. “But I’ve realized something—wasn’t that where your ex said he was going on holiday?”

  I sigh. “He did, but hopefully we won’t cross paths again. I guess I could keep the wig and glasses on just in case.”

  “I have a better idea. Why don’t we spend another night here?”

  I shake my head, “No, Jeffrey, I—”

  “Hear me out.” He holds up a hand, drawing my attention to those long, capable fingers I like so much. “If we stay another day, you can sleep tonight, finish the collection and mail it tomorrow, and then we’ll head to the forest the next day, well-rested and without any worries about running into your ex. He said they were camping for a few days, and I imagine he has to be back to work on Monday.”

  I nibble the edge of my thumb. “True. And if I stay in the room all day sewing tomorrow, I won’t risk running into anyone who might report my presence to my mother.”

  “And even if we decide to pop out for lunch or a coffee, no one’s recognized you so far.” He reaches over, guiding a few rogue strands of red from my face, and my skin tingles as his fingertips brush my cheek. “You look so different like this.”

  “Better?” I find myself asking.

  “Just different.”

  “You don’t have a thing for redheads?”

  “I’m not attracted to hair color. I’m…” He trails off, and my pulse pounds faster. The way he’s looking at me right now, like he wants to memorize every inch of me with his lips—I’m pretty sure it’s the best way anyone has ever looked at me. Or it’s the best anyone’s attention has made me feel in a long, long time.

  “You’re what?” I prompt, my voice breathy, dying to hear what he is attracted to, hoping it might be me, just me, the way I’m attracted to just him.

  His finger skims down my cheek, and I shiver. “I’m going to make myself scarce. Give you time to focus on your work.” He collects his cell from the table, tucking it into his back pocket and standing so swiftly I barely have time to blink before he’s backing toward the exit. “Meet you in the room at seven? I’ll bring something back for dinner.”

  I nod. “Sounds good.” I start to ask him to stay for a little longer but then press my lips together and wave goodbye, sitting back in my chair with a sigh when he’s gone.

  Maybe he has the right idea.

  Maybe a little break will be good for us, give us both a chance to rethink the wisdom of jumping into bed together. Nothing has changed since this morning, not really. Yes, we might be close to finding Kaula, but that doesn’t mean she can alter my destiny.

  This could very well be a dead-end. If it is, the best thing I can do for Jeffrey is to leave him alone. I should hide the way I feel, keep my hands to myself, and set him free to find a more appropriate, less-complicated relationship.

  But sometime in the past few hours, the old arguments have begun to wear thin. Jeffrey might have tricked me into visiting the Romani part of town, but he let me take the lead with Baba Dika. He trusted me to know my mind and steer my ship. Don’t I owe him the same respect?

  He knows I might be cursed or crazy.

  If he still wants to be with me, then…

  “Anything else, miss?” A woman with a bin of dirty dishes propped on her hip stops beside the table.

  I shake my head. “No, thank you. We’re finished.”

  But as I gather my things and start back to the hotel, I don’t feel finished.

  I feel like I’m just getting started.

  19

  Jeffrey

  From the texts of Jeffrey Von Bergen

  and Andrew Von Bergen

  Jeffrey: How are you and Sabrina holding up? I saw the headline in today’s Baden Bergen Post.

  Andrew: The one questioning my mental fitness to lead the country?

  Jeffrey: They’re identical twins, and you’d spent very little time with Elizabeth before Sabrina showed up in her place. Your confusion is understandable. I’m honestly surprised by the ferocity of the backlash.

  Andrew: The press hates being played for a fool as much as anyone else. Maybe more, since they’re in charge of reporting the facts. But it’s all right. Sooner or later, another scandal will rear its ugly head, and the Twin Swap will be forgotten. Until then, I’m working remotely while perfecting my tan. Majorca is gorgeous this time of year.

  Jeffrey: You’re in Greece?

  Andrew: Sabrina and I flew down a few days ago. Got a condo on the beach. Life is good, brother.

  Jeffrey: So you’re still enjoying each other’s company, I take it?

  Andrew: Enjoying is a pale, pasty word, Jeffrey. We’re relishing, luxuriating, savoring each other’s company like fine wine. I’m so happy I don’t care that half the world thinks I’m a blithering idiot who’s being led around by my dick.

  Jeffrey: There are worse things to be led by.

  Andrew: Exactly. Which reminds me—how is Elizabeth? Sabrina’s worried. Apparently, she wasn’t very forthcoming when they spoke last night.

  Jeffrey: She’s fine.

  Andrew: Fine. Huh. And how are you?

  Jeffrey: Also fine.

  Andrew: So, reading between the lines, you’re fucking like bunnies, but want to keep it just between the two of you until things calm down on the home front.

  Jeffrey: Not at all. Not even close.

  Andrew: Oh, come on, I’m at least a little close. You like her, don’t you? If you didn’t, you’d be on your way home right now.

  Jeffrey: I care about her, yes.

  Andrew: Care about her AND want to kiss her.

  Jeffrey: I’m not going to talk to you about Elizabeth.

  Andrew: Fine, then I’ll talk. If you two are hitting it off, I say go for it. We wouldn’t be the first brothers in the world to marry identical twins. And yes, from the outside looking in, it’s kind of weird—I’ve absolutely judged the hell out of those guys in the past—but who cares? Life is too short and love too sweet to let something pass you by because you’re worried what the gossips are going to say.

  Jeffrey: Gossip is actually part of the reason I texted. I’ve been trying to reach Jarod at the genealogy institute all day, but he isn’t answering the phone.

  Andrew: It’s Saturday.

  Jeffrey: I thought they were open on weekends.

  Andrew: Why would they be open on weekends? The dead people aren’t going anywhere, Jeffrey. It’s not an urgent area of research.

  Jeffrey: Fine. Never m
ind. I’ll call on Monday.

  Andrew: No, I can get through to Jarod for you. What do you need? What’s the genealogical emergency? We’re not related to Sabrina and Elizabeth somehow, are we? Because I can’t quit her, Jeffrey. I don’t care if we’re actually third cousins instead of fifteenth cousins, or whatever. I’m still going to get naked with her as frequently as possible. I won’t be stopped.

  Jeffrey: No, it’s nothing like that.

  Andrew: Thank God. So, what is it, then?

  Jeffrey: I was hoping to get copies of all our data on the Rochat family tree. Elizabeth and I are looking into an issue with one of her ancestors and hit a dead end. I tried to access the material online, but the institute doesn’t have a searchable database.

  Andrew: An issue with one of her ancestors? I thought she was working on finishing a big project for work. That’s what Sabrina said. Or was that another lie? You can tell me if it was. I won’t tell Sabrina. I don’t want to upset her any more than she’s upset already. Not to speak ill of your crush, but Elizabeth’s been petty insensitive about the effect her actions have had on Sabrina. Not to mention our family.

  Jeffrey: She isn’t insensitive. She’s got a lot on her plate right now.

  Andrew: With finishing her fancy panties?

  Jeffrey: Don’t minimize her work. It’s important to her, and it’s beautiful. She’s an artist.

  Andrew: Trust me, I enjoy lingerie as much as the next man—possibly more—but Sabrina is worried. So, if Elizabeth could tear herself away from her artistic process for a few minutes to call her sister and explain what the hell is going on with you two, that would be great. Or you can tell me now, and I’ll tell Sabrina. Then the artist won’t be inconvenienced by putting someone else’s needs first for a second.

  Jeffrey: You don’t know her at all. All she’s done her entire life is put other people’s needs first. That’s why you’re sunning yourself on the beach with the love of your life right now—because of her. Don’t forget it, and don’t talk about her that way again. Not in front of me.

  Andrew: Holy shit. You’re in love with her. This isn’t just a sex thing.

  Jeffrey: It’s not a sex thing at all. Not that I would tell you if it were, but it isn’t.

  Andrew: But it’s a love thing? What the hell is going on up there in the mountains, Jeffrey? You’re not the type of person who falls in love at first sight.

  Jeffrey: Maybe I’m not the person you think I am. Maybe you don’t know me any better than you know Elizabeth. For your information, I knew Sabrina wasn’t Elizabeth that first night at dinner. I hadn’t seen Lizzy since the anniversary party when we were kids, and I still knew.

  Andrew: You think I’m an idiot, too, then?

  Jeffrey: I didn’t say that.

  Andrew: Yes, you did. And maybe you’re right. I’m not just sunning myself on the beach down here. I’m doing a lot of hard thinking. Maybe the kingdom would be better off in someone else’s hands. If I decide to step down, I assume you’re ready to take my place?

  Jeffrey: Don’t be ridiculous.

  Andrew: I’m not. I’m serious. I don’t want to be an embarrassment to my people, but I can’t imagine a life without Sabrina. I won’t. If ending things with her is the only way to regain the respect of the nation—well, that’s not an option.

  Jeffrey: You haven’t lost the nation’s respect. Our people love you. This is just an unexpected turn of events, and unexpected things frighten people. Once they see that you’re still the same person, still committed to putting their needs first, this will all blow over.

  Andrew: Maybe you’re right.

  Jeffrey: I am. And I don’t want the throne. I don’t have the patience for politics.

  Andrew: You are a grouchy bastard sometimes. What’s Elizabeth think about that? No offense, but imagining the two of you together…

  Jeffrey: Go ahead. Say it.

  Andrew: You’re like Jabba the Hut and Princess Leia. Except it’s your personality that’s big, not your physical body. But still, I imagine Elizabeth getting crushed by your size. Lost in your fat folds.

  Jeffrey: Thanks.

  Andrew: I don’t’ mean that in a bad way! There’s nothing wrong with being Jabba the Hut—as long as you don’t kill people, obviously—or a dainty, human princess. They just don’t fit very well together.

  Jeffrey: Elizabeth is one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. You’ll see that if you get the chance to know her.

  Andrew: Why wouldn’t I get the chance to know her?

  Jeffrey: Can you get the genealogy data this weekend or not? I’m headed to the mountains on Monday, into a region where cell service is likely to be spotty, so I’d appreciate access as soon as possible. If you reach Jarod, you have my email address.

  Andrew: I do, and I’ll call him as soon as we’re done, but we’re not done yet. What’s really going on up there, Jeffrey? Why the sudden interest in the Rochat family tree? Is there something wrong with Elizabeth? Is she sick? Is that why she isn’t responding to Sabrina? Because she’s trying to shield her in some way?

  Jeffrey: No, it’s nothing like that. I can’t tell you what’s happening. I don’t fully understand it yet myself. But it’s serious, and I intend to stay with Lizzy until we’ve sorted it out. Hopefully it won’t take long, but if I’m out of pocket for a few days, don’t worry. Like I said, we might not have cell service starting Monday.

  Andrew: All right. You’ll both be in my thoughts. Sabrina’s, too. Elizabeth’s lucky to have you on her side. I know we don’t always see eye to eye on everything, Jeffrey, but I respect you and I trust you. Love you, too. I hope you know that.

  Jeffrey: I do. Thanks. Same here. And Andrew?

  Andrew: Yes?

  Jeffrey: I’m happy for you and Sabrina. I hope it lasts for a long time.

  Andrew: Me, too, brother. Me, too.

  20

  Elizabeth

  Sometimes I lie.

  I guess we all do, sometimes.

  It’s part of being human. No matter how much value you personally place on the truth, there’s something out there—a situation, a person, some combination of the two, that will turn you into a liar.

  I’ll swear to anyone brave enough to ask that I never wear the lingerie I design, but there are times when I need to see how a piece holds up to the weight of actual flesh pressing against the fabric, instead of the plastic lumps on my dress form. Back when Sabrina lived at home, I could convince her to slip into a corset or teddy and let me poke her with pins while I made adjustments, but with the more scandalous stuff, I’ve always tried it on myself.

  I’m the size of the models who wear my pieces for the company’s private runway show. What looks sexy, but elegant, on a skinny woman with small breasts can turn scandalous on a more well-endowed woman like my sister.

  Which is fine in private, of course. Racy is what most women are going for when they’re on a mission of seduction. But that’s not my mission. I’m trying to sell high-fashion lingerie to a panel of snobby French experts.

  My interest is purely professional.

  Or so I tell myself as I don the teddy and bikini panties with reflective crystals stitched into the lace and step in front of the mirror in our hotel room.

  Jeffrey texted ten minutes ago to say he’d be here in half an hour with Chinese takeout. I’ll have plenty of time to change back into my dress, and I really need to see this particular set out on a human body to decide if it fits with the rest of the collection.

  These are the lies I tell myself, but deep down I know I’m not going to change, and that the reason I chose this piece is that I already know it’s not going to make the final cut.

  It’s lovely—made of soft white silk and decorated with thin silver thread and tiny crystals that make it look like I’ve walked through an enchanted spider web—but the bottom of the teddy is too frilly to match the classic lines of the rest of the collection. From the moment I started working on the test pattern for the piece mo
nths ago, I had a feeling it wasn’t quite right, but I loved the spider web effect too much to give up without executing the full design.

  Every time I’ve tried it on, I love the way it makes me feel.

  This isn’t the first time. There have been late nights when I was stuck and feeling like a talentless hack who was never going to get out of the panty design division, and I’d slip my arms through the spaghetti straps and tie the velvet bow between my breasts and think—If I can make a woman in black wool socks, who hasn’t washed her hair in nearly a week look this good in lingerie, think how beautiful a real woman is going to feel.