by Romy Sommer
What did one wear for a date with a prince? She’d wanted to ask Max last night but he’d managed to distract her very thoroughly, and she’d never got around to asking.
For a girl who barely owned a dress, it’d been a toss up between jeans and cargo pants. She’d gone with jeans. And her favourite Doc Martens. But she’d swapped her usual t-shirt for a traditional Westerwald peasant blouse, prettily edged with bright-coloured embroidery.
Sucking in a deep breath, she returned to the café. Her heart thumped against her ribs. It wasn’t so much that she was nervous of being seen with Max, as much as seeing him again. Though it’d only been thirteen and a half hours since he’d left her bed–she’d counted every one of them–already she couldn’t wait to see him again, so much that her body ached.
She moved to the front window of the shop. Saturdays were market days and stalls with bright-coloured awnings filled the square. Though some of the stallholders had begun to pack away their wares, the square still thrummed with activity. Buskers in traditional garb played for the tourists and a group of children fooled around in the fountain under the watchful eye of the two policemen who lounged beneath a tree savouring ice creams.
Another quick glance at her watch. Perhaps she should wait outside. That way Max wouldn’t need to come inside looking for her. Perhaps a car would pull up discreetly at the kerb, she could jump in and no-one need be any wiser.
She waved to Rebekah, who was occupied behind the ice cream counter and darted out the front door just as the deafening roar of two motorbikes entered the square, the sound bouncing off the buildings.
Oh god. He couldn’t have staged a bigger entrance if he’d tried.
Every head in the almost entirely pedestrian square turned as the two black and chrome Ducati cruisers pulled to a stop in front of the café. Max, because even under the jet black helmet the front rider was undoubtedly Max, parked the bike and slung a leg over. She sighed her relief. Jeans were clearly the order of the day. He wore black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt that hung loose over his hips, with the sleeves rolled up to display strong golden fore-arms.
The sigh from Rebekah, now barely a few paces behind her in the doorway, was definitely not one of relief but of awe. Phoenix knew how she felt. Max was a truly breath-taking sight. And as he removed his helmet and shook out his hair, the collective gasp from every woman in the immediate vicinity was audible.
My husband, Phoenix thought. Though what she’d ever done to deserve such an honour, she had yet to figure out.
The man on the other bike was half a head shorter than Max, with a slight build, his fair hair a shade darker than Max’s, visible as he removed his helmet. Rebekah pushed passed Phoenix and headed straight for him. They kissed, long enough to raise a few wolf whistles from their audience, before breaking apart.
Rebekah waved Phoenix over. “Come meet my husband. Claus, this is Phoenix, who I’ve told you so much about.”
Phoenix stepped forward to shake Claus’ hand, burningly aware of Max on the periphery of her vision, the dimples emerging in his cheeks as he watched her.
Claus grinned. “Then I guess these are for you.” He held out the bike keys to Phoenix. She refused to look at Rebekah. She didn’t need to. Even without looking, she knew her boss’ jaw had dropped open.
“You’ll need this too.” Max was at her side, already lifting the helmet Claus had discarded and setting it on her head.
His fingers brushed her neck with deliberate intent as he moved to tie the strap beneath her chin. His eyes filled her vision, the laughter in their blue depths too much to resist. He’d done this deliberately, made sure that everyone in Waldburg would know before the day was out that the Prince was dating the new waitress from the café.
So much for keeping this quiet. So much for avoiding scandal.
“I’m going to kill you.” She kept her voice low, but the tremor of laughter gave her away.
“You and what army?” he teased back.
Oh, that’s right. Rub it in. He had a real army he could call on. Maybe not a particularly big or ferocious army, since its function was mostly ceremonial, but still.
With the helmet firmly secured, she looked at last at Rebekah. Claus had his arm around his wife’s waist. She still looked stunned so Phoenix could hardly imagine how she’d looked a few minutes earlier.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she managed.
Rebekah nodded, mute.
Phoenix slung a leg over the Ducati Diavel, slotted in the key and revved the engine to life. The bike vibrated between her legs and she purred her own pleasure. It had been so long since she’d last ridden a bike, she’d almost forgotten what a pleasure it was.
“Alright?” Max asked.
She cast him a scornful look. “It’s better than a dune buggy and I am so going to whip your ass.”
He laughed a low, throaty chuckle that sent a completely different vibration through her. “Yeah, but I know this area intimately.”
The way his voice caressed the last word sent a shockwave through her. Liquid heat pooled between her legs. Not here, not now, not in front of all these gawking people. Instead, she channelled all her energy into the motor between her legs, revving the engine and releasing the clutch. Max jumped back as she took off.
The bike could have been made for her, reacting instantly to her lightest touch. She circled the square slowly, though she hardly needed the caution. The milling crowd parted before her like the Red Sea. She glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Max furiously refastening his own helmet and hurrying to follow.
Beneath the shadowy arch in the town walls, into the wider streets of the newer part of town, Max chased her as she headed for the river and the winding road that ran alongside it. As they turned into the main highway, the wind whipped at her and she laughed in exhilaration.
Nothing else mattered except that she was out on the open road, with the wind in her face, the taste of freedom in her veins, and Max closing in behind.
They raced for several miles, dodging between the desultory early evening traffic, until Max began to slow, indicating for them to turn. They turned off onto a narrower road, lined by the ancient forest that gave Westerwald its name, up into the hills. The trees gradually fell away to reveal rows and rows of vines on either side. Sunlight flowed over them, rich and golden, and the air smelled sweet and clean.
Fleetingly, Phoenix wondered if this was how their life in Napa might have been. Even more fleetingly, she wondered if there was any chance their life in Westerwald could be the same, or if this was purely a once-off.
They slowed their bikes as the road dipped and curved through the increasingly hilly landscape, until they reached a wrought iron gate over a dirt drive. Phoenix followed Max up the drive to the quaint A-framed farmhouse tucked into the hillside and they parked the bikes in the shade of an enormous elm.
A tour bus filled the car park, its group of chattering tourists climbing on board laden with bottles of wine.
For a long moment, Phoenix sat astride the bike and caught her breath before she switched off the engine and undid her helmet. Max was already at her side, the dimple in his cheek working overtime.
“Enough adventure for you?” he asked.
“It’ll do,” she answered, horrified she still sounded so breathless. “This bike is awesome. It has so much power. I’m amazed Claus allowed me to ride it. You must have been very persuasive.”
“The bike isn’t Claus’s. It’s yours.”
She had a slight inkling now how Rebekah must have looked, as her mouth dropped open. “You bought this bike for me?”
“I wanted a new bike for myself and I figured if I got you one too, it’d be something we could do together.”
Just like that he’d bought two brand new superbikes? Seems there were a lot more advantages to being royal than not having to do your own laundry.
“Thank you.” And she thanked him in the best way possible, in a fiery, breathless kiss that flooded her with sensation and
robbed her of thought. Thank heavens she was still seated astride the bike as she lost all ability to stand.
When they finally broke apart, Max laughing softly, he had to help her off the bike. He kept her hand firmly tucked in his as they passed the tour bus and approached the farmhouse. The thrill of a bike ride at speed, with the river and forest flashing by, had nothing on the thrill of holding his hand. All the tension of the day, of the hours spent away from him, melted away as they approached the farmhouse together and the front door opened to greet them. Behind them, the bus coughed to life and pulled out of the car park.
A few hours later the setting sun blurred the landscape with a gentle brush. Max swirled the wine in his glass and looked out over the terraced vineyards with a sense of satisfaction. This land was in his blood far more than any Californian vineyard could ever be and it had taken Phoenix to show him that. With her at his side, his life felt right again and his future clear.
While Phoenix chatted animatedly with the cellar master and his wife, charming both with her interest and enthusiasm, he lounged back in his chair and watched her. The setting sun highlighted the red glints in her air, and caught the delicate planes of her face, her high cheek bones and pert nose.
“You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” the cellar master’s wife offered, blushing shyly. She’d had no hesitation opening up to Phoenix, but with him she remained formal and nervous. He resisted the urge to sigh. That was the only thing he still missed about the States, the way everyone treated him as an equal. Everything else he could want in life was right here with him now.
He smiled at Phoenix as she looked to him, shook his head and rose. “We’d love to stay but I’m afraid we have an engagement elsewhere.”
The cellar master walked them back to the car park, where he extended his hand to Max. “Thank you so much for your visit and for your faith in us. I’ll be very happy to take on your experiment.”
Max was only too happy to find a winery willing to take on his suggestion of introducing the Zinfandel grape variety to Westerwald. The soil and climate was perfect for it, and the local wine industry needed an injection of new blood. They also needed a higher international profile. Selling locally was all well and good, but Max’s vision for his country’s future was a great deal more ambitious.
“Farewell and thank you,” Phoenix said, using the local dialect. She spoke naturally, without the halting slowness of someone rounding out practised words.
The cellar master thanked her back, beaming broadly, then left them alone.
Max wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “When did you start learning our language?”
She shrugged. “My father always said an ear for music helps with learning languages. I guess he was right. So what engagement do we have next?”
He lifted her chin to kiss her, and she shivered, in spite of the evening’s sultry heat. “I’ll give you a clue. It involves a long, slow seduction, and me getting you naked.”
“Mmm. Sounds nice. Race you back to town?”
He shook his head. “We’re not going back yet. You’ll need to follow me.”
They mounted the bikes and she followed, travelling at a more sedate pace now that the sun was gone. The forest loomed again on either side of the road, hemming them in and Phoenix lost all sense of direction before Max led her off the road and down a bumpy track between the trees.
Lights bloomed out of the darkness ahead and Phoenix sucked in a breath as their destination came in sight. A small glade in the forest, with a stream bubbling through. On its broad flat bank a picnic blanket had been laid out, scattered with yellow rose petals, encircled by coloured lanterns and complete with picnic hamper and crystal wine glasses that caught the light.
“In between all those meetings today, how did you find time to set this up?” she asked as they walked hand in hand into the candlelit circle.
“Like that.” He clicked his fingers. “Turns out all I had to do was tell Claus I wanted to surprise my girl, and it was done. One of the perks of being Arch Duke.”
She’d once thought she could get used to having a man around the house who fixed tap washers and poured her baths. This was even better.
He poured the chilled white wine from the ice bucket and Phoenix took a long sip before lying back to look up at the stars.
“That’s at least the third glass of wine we’ve had this evening. Are you sure you don’t want some food first?” Max asked.
“I have a cast iron stomach. I don’t get drunk easily.”
He laughed. “Except on champagne.”
“Except on champagne.” She rolled up onto an elbow. “Did I tell you I have this devastating allergy to champagne on our wedding day?”
“You did.”
“And still you let me drink it?”
“You’re a big girl and quite capable of looking after yourself. Besides, the champagne was your idea. Amongst other things.”
She frowned. What did that mean?
“Tell me about your day.” He began to unpack the picnic things from the basket, and she was sure he was deliberately changing the subject. Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Much as she appreciated it, since she hated being reminded of that momentous memory loss, why didn’t he simply tell her what had happened between them? What was it he still hoped she’d remember on her own?
She shrugged off the questions and lay back again to look up at the stars.
“It was a good day. We were busy all day and everyone is so excited about the coronation. It’s all anyone talks about in the café.” In truth, the day had dragged. She loved keeping busy, and being surrounded by people. The worst punishment she could think of was to spend a day alone with nothing to do.
Until she’d met Max, that was. Now, every moment she spent apart from him was a new form of torture, and being surrounded by people couldn’t make up for the loss of him when he wasn’t near.
Not that she’d admit it out loud, of course. It was a small step from ‘I want to be with you every moment I can’ to ‘I can’t live without you.’ A small step with very big consequences.
She’d already witnessed first-hand how that kind of love could destroy. The way the cancer had eaten away at her father was nothing more than a physical embodiment of what had happened to his soul the day of her mother’s accident.
On the surface, he’d stayed the same happy-go-lucky rocker he’d always been but the saying ‘the lights are on but no-one’s home’ had often occurred to her. He’d been lost. Without her mother to direct him, he hadn’t been able to find his focus. He’d given up on his dreams and his promising career had drifted into nothingness. He’d been like an autumn leaf, blowing about on the wind, drifting from one casual liaison to the next, one town to the next, one band to the next.
Her father had wasted away long before the cancer got him. And Phoenix was never going to let it happen to her. She was going to stay in charge of her own life, make her own decisions. She didn’t plan to drift through life, never achieving half the things she’d set out to achieve. She was never going to love someone as her parents had loved each other. She was going to make every single one of her dreams come true, and no-one, not even Max, was going to stop her.
She sucked in a breath. This was too much heaviness for a beautiful summer night. Tonight was about romance and seduction, not memories or dreams. Neither past nor future had any place here tonight.
She nibbled on the canapés Max set out on a plate between them. “Tell me about your day.”
“Everything I expected. A load of dull meetings. More problems and very few solutions.”
“Well, you know what they say about all work and no play…”
“That’s why I need you.” He abandoned the picnic hamper to roll her into his strong, safe arms.
“Oh great, so I’m just your play thing?” She mock struggled against him. But they both knew her attempt was only half-hearted. It felt too good to be touched by him, to touch him. “I’m good fo
r more than just fun and games you know? I may not have had a fancy education but I have a brain. Talk to me.”
“Are you sure you want to hear about it?”
She giggled as his stubble brushed over her cheek. He nipped her earlobe.
“Stop trying to distract me!”
“Okay.” He stopped teasing but didn’t let her go. “The day started with a meeting with the archbishop to hammer out the coronation ceremony. Then there was a meeting to talk about our role in the European economy, then one on the labelling of cheeses. And finally, a meeting on how to keep our skilled young people from leaving for greener pastures. Bored yet?”
“Your pastures seem pretty green to me.”
He laughed, but there was a hint of sadness in the sound. “But Westerwald isn’t much fun, is it? The youngsters who can get out do. They go to Paris or Frankfurt or London. Or like me, they head for the States. We’re haemorrhaging our young people and not only do we have a skills shortage that’s hampering our growth, but who’s going to support the nation and pay taxes when they’re all gone?”
“So make the place trendy.”
“They already tried it, a generation ago. That was the reason my parents’ marriage was arranged.”
“I thought you said it was a love match?”
“It was once they actually met. But my father wanted to give Westerwald a hipper image by marrying a supermodel and my mother … well, I always thought it was the money and title that appealed to her. Now I’m not so sure. Perhaps she was on the rebound, or looking for a father for her child. Who knows? Whatever their intentions were, apparently they took one look at each other and they were smitten.”
“Was that how it was for us?” She hadn’t intended to say that out loud. Or to sound so wistful. She didn’t want to be smitten.
“Pretty much.” He caught her chin, and raised her face to his. “I could have sworn there were fireworks when I walked into that bar and saw you.”
She giggled. “It was Vegas. Anything’s possible.”
“When you’re with me, anything is possible.”
His hand wandered down her thigh and she swatted it away playfully.
