The extended Rochartè family raised glasses.
I stared at Daira. Something was off in her eyes. And not the fact that they were too far apart and she resembled an alien. She had the look of a predator. The kind of person who felt entitled to take what she wanted no matter the consequences. Thank God I hadn’t slept with her at Vander’s, even though she’d shown up at my cottage door at 3 a.m. wearing a skimpy negligee. Maybe Leo had ghosted Daira for good reasons.
Esmeralda toasted. “May your love be the Happily-Ever-After, for the both of you. Cheers.”
“Let’s get out of here, Daira.” I stood up, struck with the sneaking suspicion that if I didn’t get the predator out of here now, there could be a darker hell to pay.
“Cheers!” The royals toasted.
Esmeralda clinked her knife against her glass. “Kiss!”
Leo pecked Vivian’s lips.
“Kiss her like a man,” Royal Nana said. “Or I will blame your American mother for catering to your every whim and raising you to be a precious snowflake.”
Vivian caught my eye seconds before my brother’s look turned from dutiful to smoldering. He kissed her thoroughly, lingering.
“She’ll pay for that,” Daira said.
I took Daira by the hand and we exited the party.
Chapter 19
VIVIAN
I held Roman in the crook of my arm and accepted Leo’s hand as he helped me exit the limo.
“You nailed the family meet and greet,” he said. “Everyone loves you. As much as I’d love to come up, we should probably both get a good night’s sleep before the craziness starts tomorrow.”
“More craziness?”
“You have the itinerary.”
“What itinerary?”
“I’ll see it’s messaged to you promptly. Off the top of my head, you’re scheduled to pay a visit to the orphanage, then we get our official engagement picture taken in the palace’s rose garden. After that you’re to select wedding flowers, bridesmaid dresses, and have your first fitting. Then cocktails with the Duke and Duchess of Cambria. And onto the next day.”
“There’s so much to do.” I said a silent prayer of thanks that I was but a stand in for Cici. That this was her life and not mine.
“Life of a soon to be Princess of Bellèno,” he said. “Unfortunately, because of the business arrangement, we’re on a super tight time schedule.”
“Right,” I said. “But no one’s really explained the arrangement to me.”
“That’s the least of your worries, but I’ll add that to the itinerary,” he said. “You were wonderful today. No one could have done better. I’m so proud of you.” He pulled me close, hugged me and kissed me again. “I’m getting used to this engagement. I think I might be the marrying kind after all.”
“Congratulations, fiancé,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you for everything, Leo. A girl couldn’t have asked for a more special day.”
* * *
Queen Cheree was true to her word. Every piece of puppy paraphernalia had been delivered to the Fontaine condo. Kibble, treats, and wet food were stocked and stacked in the pantry, along with a box filled with scoop bags and puppy toys. Roman’s crate was set up in my bedroom.
I scrubbed the makeup off my face and changed into cotton boxer pjs and a lacy tank top. I made my way into the kitchen and fed Roman. A text came in from Lord Angus.
“How’d the royal meet and greet go?”
“Good,” I texted back. “Where are you?”
“Business. I’ll be home late. Helga’s off tonight. You’ve got the place to yourself. Maybe invite the Ladies over?”
“Maybe. See you when you get here.”
Roman explored the penthouse balcony and I phoned Cartwright with an update. “Cici is getting married in less than two weeks. I’m planning her wedding, which doesn’t thrill me, and probably not her either. Most girls want to plan their own nuptials. Tell me she’s cool with this.”
“Two weeks?” he said. “They’re rushing it.”
“It’s because of the contracts—which you all didn’t fill me in on—but I’ll find out more tomorrow.”
“I know the basics, Vivian. I don’t know the there-there. I’m hoping my physical therapist will clear me for flying in a couple of days. In the meantime, Zara—”
“Zara’s not coming,” I said. “She texted Esmeralda and said she was on va-ca.”
“She doesn’t want to tell Esmeralda she’s helping the real Cici. Pat yourself on the back. You’re doing an excellent job impersonating Catherine.”
“But I’m not doing an excellent job, Cartwright. Esmeralda suspects I’m more interested in Max than Leo. Max’s taken up with Leo’s ex.”
I scooped up some puppy poop that Roman had deposited in a flower box, and dropped the bag into an outdoor trash bin. “And Queen Cheree gave me a puppy.”
“The Queen gave you a puppy?”
“Yes.”
“You are golden with the royal family. But remember, that technically it’s Catherine’s puppy.”
I frowned. “Break—king—up.. Break—sorry.”
I hung up and eyed Roman. “You might just be mine for a few weeks, buddy, but we’re going to have fun.” I threw the ball for him.
He raced after it, brought it back and dropped it a yard away from me. I reached for it and tossed it again. He brought it back and dropped it in front of me, wagging his entire back end.
“Good boy, Roman!”
I pitched the ball again, but my throw was off, and it lodged in the mesh above the fence.
Roman raced to the enclosure and barked.
I pressed a finger to my lips. “Shh! You don’t want to wake up the neighbors.” I made my way to the fence and stood on tiptoes, but I couldn’t reach the ball. I dragged a patio chair across the concrete until it was flush against the enclosure, climbed onto it and extricated the toy.
The netting split faster than a celebrity marriage. My arm plunged through it and then my shoulder. Suddenly the bottom half of me was on the balcony, the top half hanging off the edge. I blinked at the twinkling lights twenty-five floors below.
“Je-friggin-crap!” I pinwheeled my arms backwards, squeezed my legs around the chair and sucked in my core.
Roman barked.
I pulled myself back onto the roof, crawled off the chair, and collapsed on my back on the cool concrete. My heart raced and I rasped for breath. Roman jumped on top of me and licked my face.
I remembered the death threat and panicked. I plucked my phone out of my pocket and dialed. But all I heard was heavy breathing. “Esmeralda!” I screamed. “Answer your damn phone!”
“I’m in the middle of…”
“You bet your fine Spanish ass you are. Hang up,” a guy said in the background.
“I think someone just tried to kill me,” I said.
“Oh my God! Where are you?” Esmeralda asked. “Are you okay?”
“The condo. Yes, I’m okay.”
“I’m calling the police.”
“Don’t. Maybe it was just a freak accident. I don’t want this on the news.”
“What happened?” She asked.
“The security mesh surrounding the penthouse terrace split wide open. I almost fell twenty-five floors.”
“Yikes. I’m sending reinforcements and I’m on my way. Do you need to hide? I have this strange feeling you might need to hide for a couple of days.”
I glanced at the jagged rip in the protective netting.
“Hiding would be awesome.”
* * *
Esmeralda and her pal, Sergeant Laurent, an off-duty palace guard, arrived twenty minutes later. They quickly collected clothes and toiletries, threw them into a few bags, grabbed some puppy essentials, and checked Roman and me into a two-bedroom junior suite at the elegant Hotel St. Luce.
“You’ll be safe here, Lady Fontaine,” Sergeant Laurent said.
“Thank you. I’m probably over-reacting.”
> “The Bellèno Secret Service are examining the condo,” he said. “My sources say it’s a distinct possibility the mesh was sabotaged.”
Esmeralda glanced at him. “I’m staying here tonight with Cici.”
“No partying. I need to sleep!”
“And sleep you will,” Esmeralda said. “I slipped half an Ambien in your drink back at the penthouse.”
“That’s why I feel woozy?”
“That and all your adrenaline wore off.”
“Does Papa know?”
“Yes. We called him. I also alerted Leo.”
“Crap. Don’t let him come here…”
“Lady Bea told him you requested privacy. He wanted to know if they needed to cancel your itinerary for tomorrow.”
“As long as it doesn’t involve heights, I’m good to go.”
“You’ve got the orphans at 11 a.m. and they can be a demanding bunch. You need to bring your A game. Nighty night.”
* * *
I slept like the dead that night after someone tried to kill me. I woke refreshed for the first time since I landed in Bellèno. I talked on the phone with Lord Fontaine, whom I now called, ‘Papa’. He felt horrible about the incident and was worried about me.
I’m fine, Papa. Most likely just a mechanical malfunction.”
“Best to be safe, Cici,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”
“Don’t worry about that.”
I texted Leo and told him I was good to go. I’d phone Mr. Cartwright later.
* * *
The Bellèno Secret Service stepped out of their cars ahead of me at The Holy Cross Orphanage. The head of the security detail, Sergeant Tomas, gave me the all clear and I exited the town car wearing the chaste blue, below-the-knee dress I’d been drawn to earlier. Lady Bea accompanied me.
“I’m nervous,” I said. “I don’t know that much about kids.”
“Then thank your lucky stars I’m here with you. I know a lot. Kids cry and puke and complain. They’re darling, do adorable things, and you fall completely, utterly in love with them. And then they do something ornery and mean, like telling their younger sister she was adopted,” Bea said. “Kids are the best. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to mother.”
“That’s your super power,” I said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Esmeralda said my Ladies-in-Waiting have super powers. That’s yours. You’re a great mom!”
I greeted the orphans and talked with them. Well actually I didn’t do a lot of talking. Instead, I listened.
“And then one day, Mama just died and no one could find my father,” one little redheaded boy said. “My aunt didn’t want me. She said she had more than enough kids. So they sent me here.”
“That’s horrible,” I said. “My mom died too. My name’s Cici. What’s yours?”
“Peter.”
“What do you want to be when you grow up Peter?”
“I want to be a palace guard.”
“I’m friends with a palace guard. Do you want me to introduce you?”
“Oh ma’am!” Peter exclaimed. “That would be the best!” He hugged me hard.
I heard clicks and pops of the cameras, as the paparazzi captured the moment.
* * *
Next on the itinerary: official palace engagement photos.
My hair was coiffed by a hair stylist who didn’t call me a phat bitch. A professional makeup artist did my makeup. An assistant helped me change into a silk suit for Leopold and Cici’s official engagement portrait shot by a determined photographer.
After an hour of hearing:
“Please tilt your chin up, Lady Fontaine?”
“Pull in your tummy a bit, Lady Fontaine?”
“Well done Prince Leopold. It seems you just can’t take a bad picture.”
I wouldn’t mind if I was ever in the spotlight again.
And then there was the trying-on-of-the-Wedding-Gowns-and-Bridesmaid-Dresses Event held in one of the smaller palace ballrooms. In attendance were a dozen servants and assistants, two seamstresses, one photographer, two designers who’d flown in at the last minute from London and Milan, and my Ladies-in-Waiting.
Bea’s girls, Diana and Violet, ran around the room playing hide and seek. The event was catered. No BBQ this time. Finger-foods, sparkling water and a little bubbly. The assistants helped me and the ladies try on gown after gown.
“I can’t believe someone might have tampered with the fence,” Queen Cheree said. “We were frantic with worry, but Lady Joan texted and said you were safe and sound and staying with Esmeralda.”
“My Ladies take such great care of me,” I said. “Thank you for the prompt security.” I searched for Joan in the crowd. “Hey, Joan Brady!”
“What?” she asked as an assistant zipped her into a gown.
“You’re a barrister, a smart girl. I think I should put you in charge of vetting proper bridesmaids dresses.”
She waved her hand. “The other Ladies will have my head!”
“Talk your way out of that. Your superior communication skills and finesse at negotiations might be your Ladies-in-Waiting Super Power!”
She laughed. “Are you staying at the hotel? Or has security cleared you to return home?”
“Hotel, for now. The suite’s lovely. And it’s so close to the palace. There are so many things to finish.”
“Yes,” Queen Cheree said. “But will you be safe?”
“Your Royal Highness.” Esmeralda curtseyed. “My recommendation, if you don’t mind?”
She nodded.
“Stop worrying. Cici’s Ladies-in-Waiting will take care of the details.”
Another hour ticked by while I tried on a hundred dresses and despised eighty of them. I was deep inside a gown. I felt like I was drowning in tulle, and my skin felt prickly and hot.
“I love that frock,” Bea said. “You look sexy and enchanting.”
“I look like a heat rash exploded.”
“Help her out of that one, please,” Joan said. “That one is not the dress.”
* * *
We finally picked the gown. It was beautiful. It wasn’t really me but I think it probably was Cici. Considering she’d be the one walking down the aisle, that’s really all that mattered.
As for picking the bridesmaid dresses, that was a different story. Esmeralda wanted a gown cut low in the bodice to show off her cleavage. Bea desired a fitted dress to display her petite figure. Joan preferred something sleeveless to show off her toned arms that she’d spent hours sculpting at the gym. I let them figure it out. I needed to pick my battles.
This was the most difficult day since I’d applied for the part-time job. All the gowns and fabrics and finery. All the negotiating over blush pink versus ecru, white and inlaid pearls and hints of lace and neckline dilemmas. Except for the thigh high, tightly pinching pleather boots, I suddenly longed for the life of your average Southside Chicago cocktail waitress; especially one who worked at a biker bar called Mugshots.
I glanced at my watch. There was a seven-hour time difference between Bellèno and Chicago. I missed Lola and Uncle Florio so much I practically hallucinated they were in the room.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. “Must freshen up.”
“I’m coming with you,” Esmeralda said.
“No, no. Some things a girl has to do in private.”
“You never had to do that in private before,” she said. “I need to talk to you about the thing. Besides, whatever it is, you’ve always done it in front of me before. Remember that time in Morocco…”
“Morocco was the exception to the rule,” I said. “Back in a few. Tell Bea to try on the gown she liked with the lace cutouts. I command you, Lady Esmeralda.”
“Now you sound like the old Cici,” she said and smiled.
I exited the ballroom and paced down a few corridors until I found an empty hallway. I lowered myself gingerly to the floor, leaned against a wa
ll, pulled my phone from my purse and dialed. She picked up.
“I don’t know this area code. You have three seconds to convince me you’re not a telemarketer before I hang up,” Lola said.
“It’s me,” I said. “Cici. I mean Vivian.”
“Vivian?”
“Yes! Yay! I’m finally talking to you. How are you? I miss you.”
“The kid’s kicking ass in Little League. I’m cool considering Mark Woodman still runs Mugshots like Stalin ruled Russia. How’s the new job? When are you coming home? Why’d you call yourself Cici?”
“It’s my new nickname. New job’s interesting. I’ll probably be home in two weeks.”
A clip clop of shoes echoed down the marble hallway.
“White Sox might make it to the playoffs,” she said. “You’d kick yourself if you missed that.”
I looked up and saw Max approaching me, a determined look on his handsome face.
“Love you! Must run!” I hung up.
The tips of Max’s shoes butted against mine as he stood over me, practically on top of me. “I had to hear from a palace guard who’s shtupping Esmeralda by the way that you were almost killed last night?” He held out his hand.
“It might have been a simple equipment malfunction, not a murder attempt.” I took his hand and he helped me to my feet. “And the guard’s name is Sergeant Laurent.”
“I know his name. We play poker twice a month. After all we’ve been through, why didn’t you call me?”
“I wanted to. You seemed preoccupied at the palace BBQ.”
“Daira’s not what she seems to be.”
“What does she seem to be?”
“Someone I slept with.”
“You didn’t sleep with her?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
He placed his hands on my shoulders and pulled me close to him.
My hips square against his. My breasts pressed against his chest. My lips were inches from his. My breath quickened. Heat built in my lower abdomen, snaking its way lower, a pulsing beat in the V between my legs.
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