You're So Vain: A Royal Haters to Lovers Romance (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 4)

by Whitney Dineen

  Sheila: Alistair, huh?

  LuLuBug: Don’t get any ideas, Mother.

  Sheila: As if I would …

  Lutéce

  I fuss for way too long over what to wear on a simple picnic. I finally decide on a pair of yoga pants and a sweater. I’m ready twenty minutes before I’m due at Alistair’s.

  When I walk down the stairs, I run into Bree, who’s on her way up. “I was just coming up to see if you wanted to go into town and have lunch today,” she says.

  “Oh … well … that sounds nice, but I’ve already made plans.”

  “With who?” she wants to know. “Not Freddie Harquart, I hope.”

  “No, no, no… not with him. I’m going for a walk by myself. I thought I’d take my sketchbook and spend time capturing the countryside.”

  I’m sure that sounds as lame as it is untrue, but it’s the only thing to pop into my mind. I don’t want to tell her I’m having lunch with her brother because I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about us. Even though I’ve started to.

  “Where’s your sketchbook?” she asks, looking at my empty hands.

  “It’s in the parlor,” I lie. “I’ll pick it up on my way out,” I say quickly, hoping she doesn’t invite herself along. Because how can I flirt with her brother if she’s watching?

  I hurry to suggest, “Why don’t we have supper together tonight?”

  “I have to go to that tedious charity auction I told you about. I’d ask you to join me, but there are only so many tickets available, and they’ve been sold out for weeks.”

  “We’ll do something tomorrow for sure,” I tell her, thrilled to have a night in. While I really like Bree, I find her daily routine something of a grind. There’s only so much socializing I can handle. In the week I’ve been staying with her, I’ve already surpassed my yearly quota of get-togethers.

  I hurry out the front door, without my sketchbook, and practically run over to Alistair’s house. After knocking on the door, I hear him call out, “Come in!”

  Even though I had breakfast with him just this morning, I’ve never actually been inside his house. It’s as masculine as Bree’s is feminine. There are a lot of burgundies and dark greens, with dark mahogany furniture. It’s quite stunning and more than a little intimidating.

  Alistair walks out of his kitchen holding a large picnic hamper. Even though he’s dressed casually, it’s easy to imagine him starring in a Masterpiece Theater production.

  “Is that bacon I smell?” I ask him.

  “I refuse to answer and prejudice your opinion of my famous sandwich.”

  “Peanut butter and banana with bacon was one of Elvis’s favorite combinations,” I tell him.

  “Interesting…” Yet, he still doesn’t confirm or deny it as an ingredient in our luncheon.

  “Where are we picnicking?” I ask.

  “Follow me and I’ll show you.” As soon as we’re strapped into his James Bond car, he says, “You didn’t seem to have a very nice time at the beach when I took you last. I thought we’d revisit that destination.”

  “I really do love the ocean,” I confess. “I was just a little skittish that day.”

  “Ah, because you were worried I had an ulterior motive for spending time with you.”

  “Something like that,” I mumble my response.

  As we pull out of his driveway, he says, “Now that you know I don’t have any romantic designs on you, we can have fun.”

  “Yes, I suppose.” I’m not sure how to go about letting him know that I’ve changed my mind about a possible romantic development. I’ll just have to let things unfold and hope for the best.

  We ride the rest of the way in relative silence. It’s not an uncomfortable one though. It’s quite pleasant. When Alistair pulls into the parking lot, his car is the only one there.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask.

  “It’s Tuesday, so probably at work. Although even the weekends tend to be empty this time of year.” He gets out and walks around to open my door before adding, “I have blankets in case we get cold.”

  He pulls the hamper out of the backseat and then retrieves a couple of throws which he hands to me. “You must have been a Boy Scout,” I tell him.

  “I’m not sure what that is, but I never was.”

  “It’s a kind of club for boys in America. They learn how to hike and camp and survive in the wilderness. They also raise money for charity and do a bunch of good deeds. Their motto is to always be prepared.”

  “Aside from the camping and surviving in the wilderness thing, it sounds like my childhood,” he teases. When we reach a spot about twenty yards from the shore, Alistair stops and puts the basket down. “How is this?”

  I lay one of the blankets out for us to sit on. “Perfect. Now hand me a sandwich so I can pass judgment on your specialty.”

  He rifles through his basket and hands me a cloth napkin and a glass plate. Then he gives me a warm sandwich wrapped in foil. “Warm peanut butter?”

  “I’m not saying a word until you take your first bite.” He watches me intently, making it clear that he’s excited for me to try it.

  I unfold the aluminum foil to discover the sandwich has been grilled. Grilled peanut butter? I’ve never heard of such a thing. I’m about to take it apart to examine the inside, but he orders, “No looking. Pick it up and take a bite.”

  “But what if you put slugs in it or something?” I semi-tease. I really hate the thought of biting into something without knowing what exactly I’m eating.

  “There’s nothing disgusting in there. Trust me.” I do trust him, even though the smirk on his face is making me nervous.

  I put the bread up to my nose and smell it before putting it into my mouth. The scent of cinnamon is quite pronounced, which is more than odd for a peanut butter sandwich. As soon as I take the first bite, an explosion of flavors hits my taste buds. Cinnamon toast and warm crunchy peanut butter run smack into bacon, but not just any bacon.

  “Did you candy the bacon?” I ask, full of shock and awe.

  “It’s the secret to my success.” He smiles proudly at my obvious delight.

  “Is that banana in there too?” That’s the fourth flavor to hit. This sandwich is the gift that keeps on giving.

  “Sliced very thin, so as to enhance, but not compete, with the other flavors. It’s mostly a texture thing,” he explains like he’s teaching a class.

  “Sooooooo good.” I hurry to take another bite and feel almost woozy with delight. “You need to patent this recipe. You could make a fortune.”

  He laughs. “Yes, but then everyone would know about it. I’d rather keep it as my own personal culinary coup.”

  I have nothing more to say until I finish my entire lunch. Somewhere along the line he pours and hands me a cold glass of milk, which, of course, is the only way to fully enjoy peanut butter.

  As I crumple up the sheet of foil, which is the only thing left, I announce, “You’re a genius. I don’t even care if that compliment goes to your head. I have never enjoyed a sandwich more.”

  He bows his head very regally and says, “I knew you were my kind of people.”

  “Gluttonous?” I ask jokingly.

  “Highly refined while still maintaining a connection to the simple joys of life. Here’s to us.” He holds up his own glass to toast me. When he’s done, he pulls a frisbee out of the basket and asks, “Want to play?”

  “We’re going to play frisbee on the beach?” Talk about feeling like a kid again.

  “Unless you prefer body surfing, but I think we might catch a cold if we do that.” He gestures like he’s about to take off his clothes.

  “I think we’re better off with frisbee.” I immediately regret telling him that before seeing what’s under his sweater. Note to self: if this prince ever offers to take off his shirt again, let him.

  Alistair goes long, and right before he throws the frisbee, he yells, “Incoming!”

  I jump up to catch it and totally mis
s. Then I turn around, pick it up, and hurl it right into the ocean. Alistair looks at me and then the frisbee, and finally back at me. “You’re not very good at this, are you?” he asks after jogging back to my side.

  “I’m tempted to tell you that I meant to do that, but I don’t think you’d believe me.”

  “How about if we go for a walk?” he asks. “Maybe this time you’ll even take your shoes off.”

  I kick off my shoes and roll up my pants and declare, “Let’s do it.”

  We walk side-by-side as the tide rolls over our feet. I’m so at ease with Alistair I wonder why I ever rebuffed his advances. He’s nothing like the man I thought he was, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s treating me differently because he’s lost romantic interest in me, or if he’s just become so comfortable around me that I’m seeing the real him. I’m hoping it’s the latter.

  “Walking on the beach like this makes me feel like I’m starring in a tampon commercial,” I blurt out. Oh, my God! Why did I say that? Talk about too much information.

  He laughs. “It makes me feel like I’m in an advertisement for a class action lawsuit. You know, ‘If you or someone you love has been attacked by sharks while minding your own business, we need to talk to you. You may have restitution coming.’”

  I giggle before saying, “Thank you for breakfast and lunch. I’m thoroughly enjoying spending time with you today.” Now take me in your arms and kiss me. I don’t say that last bit out loud, but darn if I don’t think it.

  “I made us some hot chocolate. It’s in a thermos back at our camp.”

  “Are you trying to woo me with food?” I ask, trying to lead him down a romantic path.

  “Absolutely not,” he exclaims, almost too loudly. “Truthfully, Lu, I promised I would not subject you to any unwanted attention and I mean it. As far as I’m concerned, you’re nothing more than a little sister to me.”

  His words hit me like a shovel to the head. “Who’s actually four years older than you,” I say, sounding hurt.

  “Well, then, you’re nothing more than a truly delightful older sister. How does that sound?” He nudges me playfully in the ribs.

  It sounds horrible. Short of jumping into his arms and declaring that I’ve changed my mind about dating him, I have no idea how I’m going to let him know. He’s clearly not picking up on my less-than-obvious signals.

  Should I jump into his arms? I’m so intent on trying to plot a course of action, I trip over my foot and nearly do a header into the water. I say nearly because Alistair reaches out and catches me right before I fall.

  And there I am, in his arms. Right where I want to be.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Queen Charlotte

  “Who else are you inviting to your ill-fated dinner party?” King Alfred asks his wife while sitting in his study and rifling through the day’s mail.

  “You don’t have to sound like the harbinger of doom,” she tells him before answering, “Other than our children, I have six other eligible young people on my list. I figure it will be a good distraction for everyone and should alleviate some of the awkwardness.”

  “I don’t know why you want to make the evening any easier for Ellery. She invited herself into the lion’s den. It’s on her if she gets bitten.”

  “She’s not the one I’m worried about. I don’t particularly want our sons angry at me for longer than needed. If there are other young ladies in attendance, it won’t look like I’m purposefully causing them pain.”

  The king puts down his letter opener and demands, “Why are you doing this again?”

  “Because, my dear, I think that Alistair and Lutéce would make a lovely couple and there’s nothing like a little jealousy to push things in the right direction,” Charlotte tells him enthusiastically.

  “This again. I don’t suppose I can talk you out of interfering, but please know that I do not support this foolishness.”

  The queen ignores her husband and asks, “How does salmon sound? We could serve it with a lovely basil and pine nut risotto …”

  Alistair

  Lu is in my arms, which is exactly where I’ve imagined having her ever since I first met her all those months ago in Oregon. She’s looking at me so intently, I swear she wants me to kiss her, but that can’t be right. She’s made it more than clear—on multiple occasions—that she doesn’t feel that way about me. And I don’t want to ruin our truce by moving in an unwelcome direction.

  After helping her back onto her feet, I step away from her and say, “Walking on sand takes a good deal of finesse, does it not?”

  Her face flushes, and she won’t meet my gaze. “You seem to be doing okay.”

  “Yes, well, walking on sand is actually one of my talents. As I have so few, I take a good deal of pride in it.”

  The corners of her mouth turn up slightly. “You make a good sandwich, too.”

  “Don’t forget the scrambled eggs,” I remind her.

  “You’re also a very good dancer.”

  “Yes, well, I’m afraid those are the only things I’m proficient at,” I tell her with mock humility.

  “Alistair, you don’t have to try to make me feel better about being clumsy.”

  “As if I would …”

  I like this woman so much. She’s more than a beautiful face. She’s kind to children, and funny. She even has a sense of humor about herself. Not only that, but she’s playful, and she doesn’t feel the need to fill every moment with inane chatter. She’s practically perfect for me.

  The real Lu is so different from the persona she puts out to the world. Yet with me, her shield seems to finally be coming down.

  When we get back to our picnic site, we sit back down on a blanket, and I pull out mugs and a thermos full of hot chocolate. I hand her a cup. “I also make wonderful hot chocolate. I had to buy the biscuits, though, because I’m not quite sure how to turn my oven on.”

  Instead of commenting that I must be an idiot, she takes a sip of her drink and changes the subject. “I love being here in Malquar. I didn’t even want to come and now I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave.”

  “The good news is that you’re close personal friends of the royal family, so I’m pretty sure you won’t be forced out of the country for overstaying your welcome.”

  “Life is funny, isn’t it?” she asks. “You think you know what you want, and you work hard to achieve those dreams, and then another dream comes along, and you realize that everything you thought was so important doesn’t really matter that much.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not following you,” I tell her. “Which one of your dreams no longer matters as much as you thought?”

  “Having biological children. I used to think I needed to fall in love and get married before having them, and then when that didn’t seem to be working out, I thought all I needed was a sperm bank. But now …”

  She doesn’t finish her sentence, so I ask, “Now what?”

  After taking another sip of her chocolate, she says, “Now I’m not sure that I even need biological children.”

  “Does this have something to do with the orphanage?”

  She nods her head. “All of those kids are remarkable and wonderful in their own way, and they all deserve to have parents who will love them. The biggest part of the equation is that they’re already here.”

  “So, you want to move to Malquar and adopt forty plus children?”

  “You’re making fun of me,” she says.

  “I am most certainly not making fun of you. As you know, I think adoption is a very admirable endeavor.”

  “I know I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks, but I’ve wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. I’m not saying that I want to adopt a child from the orphanage, but I definitely think that adopting could be my first step into parenting.”

  “Yet you’re particularly drawn to a certain child, aren’t you?” It doesn’t take a crystal ball to see how she and Beatrice bonded when they were first in
troduced.

  “Beatrice is quite special,” she says dreamily. “I’d like to spend a lot more time with her to see if we’re as good of a fit as I think we are. The problem is, I’m not sure I’d be allowed to adopt her. Some countries won’t let foreigners do that.”

  “Why don’t we look into the logistics and see if there isn’t some way?” I propose.

  “Which of the children at the home are you particularly drawn to?” she asks, before adding, “I’m not sure that’s even a fair question.”

  “I have a soft spot for Curtis and Millicent. Curtis is the freckle-faced rascal who always seems to find himself cursing in front of Sister Hennepin. I’ve been there, so you know, we’re birds of a feather. Millicent is the bossy business who treats me like her own personal servant.”

  “How so?” she asks with a laugh.

  Doing my best to impersonate the youngster, I raise my voice and say, “Prince Alistair, I would like to dance, NOW. Prince Alistair, I would like a new hairbrush and Sister says I don’t need one. Prince Alistair, why don’t you bring more pan au chocolate when you come? You are a prince, after all.”

  “She does seem to have you wrapped around her little finger,” Lu says. “She was the one you were dancing with in front of the orphanage, wasn’t she?”

  “She was,” I tell her. “The problem for me is that being a royal, I’m expected to marry before having children. The next challenge would be convincing my wife that I want to adopt. And finally, how in the world would I ever take only two of them? I’d never be able to show my face around there again with all the hurt feelings I’d leave in my wake.”

  “Yet, they’re already a family of sorts, aren’t they?”

  “In a way. But each one of them desires parents to dote on them especially. The sisters do their best, but I’m afraid it’s not quite enough for the children.”

  “Alistair,” Lu says. “I think you’re a remarkable man.”

  I mock bow. “I shall endeavor not to let your compliment go to my head.” Even though it already has. Pleasing Lu is about the best thing I can imagine ever doing.