Alexandra folded her perfectly manicured hands in front of her, “Emmeline, you should move on. God knows Peter has.” Alex threw her a wicked smile, implying Peter had in fact moved on, perhaps even physically, with her. And why wouldn’t he? The woman was drop dead gorgeous, and outrageously sexy. Most men would give up their man card for one night with her.
Emma pulled herself together and said, “I’m sure you’re correct, but I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Emmeline, I do not wish to discuss matters of business out here. Come inside.” And with that, the woman turned and walked up the stairs and back inside, swaying as she did.
Even the driver had his tongue practically hanging down to his knees and looked like he would follow her to the ends of the earth. Emma felt like slapping him and yelling, “Snap out of it!”
Adrienne followed Alexandra in, and Em resigned herself. Since she had come this far, she might as well go inside and get it over with.
“I’ll make sure your bags are taken up to your room, ma’am,” the driver said, once he’d shaken himself out of the Alex-stupor he was in.
Emma rounded on him and snapped, “You’ll do no such thing. I’m not staying.”
Then she marched into the house. Alexandra and her stone-faced assistant (Emma had mentally nicknamed her Thing One) were waiting in the entry. As soon as she stepped inside, the room started to spin, slowly at first and then so fast everything blurred. Em tried to steady herself by gripping the arm of a high-backed, ornate chair next to her that was probably an antique worth more than she made in a year. Then she saw him.
Peter?
No, wait. It was Fitz, with Anna-Maria and the children, walking through the big entry hall.
Crap, she had to get out of there. Right freaking now.
A man, presumably a butler (they probably had a dozen), walked up to her.
“Are you all right, Mum?” he asked with a kind expression.
“I-I’m fine,” Emma managed. “It’s the flight—international trips always make me a little…queasy.” Em looked around to see if Alex was watching her fall apart, but thankfully the ever-caring hostess left Thing One to deal with her. Adrienne watched her without showing a single emotion.
Emma felt like she’d walked into a time warp. But as suddenly as it started, the spinning stopped.
“Here, drink this, ma’am. Perhaps it will help.” A glass of water appeared magically in the butler’s hand. Emma sat on the antique chair and sipped it.
The butler, mouth opening and closing like a landed fish, jerked forward as if he meant to stop her. What? Is this a coronation chair or something? But instead of encouraging her to sit elsewhere, he politely stepped back to give her a minute to collect herself. She shook her head over the tailspin she’d managed to get herself into. Here she was in the very place she wanted to avoid, and, to add insult to serious injury, her past life gift was in overdrive, and ghosts were everywhere.
Splendid.
“May we go now? Ms. Dalca is waiting.” Thing One was obviously in a discreetly controlled snit.
Em frowned. Of course we can go, damn me and my mini-stroke. I kept her highness-to-be, miz ever-perfect, waiting. Christ, what was I thinking?
Instead she simply said, “Sure,” and eased herself up and out of the chair.
After smiling at the butler and thanking him for the water, she followed Thing One down a long hallway to what appeared a separate wing of the palace entirely. The hall was lined with floor to ceiling wood wainscoting polished to a high gloss with gold-colored trim around the baseboards and doorframes. The ceiling was high, with ornate chandeliers the size of a Volkswagen bug and dripping with crescent-shaped crystals providing a somewhat subdued light.
On the way, she took note of the art on pedestals here and there and the paintings adorning the walls, although she didn’t recognize anyone. Until she saw a portrait of Peter and his older brother, all decked out in their royal attire. She guessed it was painted when the boys were in their teens. Peter was probably about sixteen at the time, and there was a flicker of something lurking in the portrait-Peter’s eyes. Sadness? In any case, neither was smiling. Except, of course, for a polished, all-appropriate royal smile that never quite reached the eyes.
As Emma continued the long walk, she realized that while her emotional reasons for not taking this job were valid, there were even more important factors at play here. Conflict of interest being the biggest one, and Alexandra couldn’t possibly want the distraction of the press constantly bringing up Emma’s prior relationship with Peter. And they would, every chance they got. Those were valid, solid, non-emotional reasons, and anyone, even someone as apparently unreasonable as Alexandra, would be able to accept them.
After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at a large, open room with intricately inlaid wood floors. The room was warm and welcoming, in stark contrast to Thing One and the Ice Princess. There were sparkling, diamond-paned windows set into deep bays on seven sides. Each bay held an inviting window seat and commanded lush views of rolling green meadows, ancient oak trees, and a blue-glinting pond in the distance. The centerpiece of the room was a large, hand-carved wooden desk. Behind the desk were floor-to-ceiling bookcases covering the entire wall and chock full of books. Though Em wasn’t close enough to see the titles, she assumed most were very old. Her grandfather would love this room.
“Now,” Alexandra said, jarring Em from her thoughts and pinning her with a cold stare.
“Yes,” Emma said, without sitting down. “I can’t accept this job. It’s simply not a good fit.”
The black-haired beauty’s blue eyes remained cold while her lips curled into a “you’re a little screwed right now” smirk.
“I need you for two weeks. Peter and I plan to go to the US to introduce ourselves there.”
“They already know Peter there,” Em shot back, feeling like she needed to spar with this woman. She felt her spine stiffen. She dealt with a lot of crap as a celebrity publicist, and normally she knew how to negotiate with the best of them, but she had to admit this woman challenged her.
Alex cocked her head, “But they don’t know me, and I think they should.”
Good grief, this chick fancies herself to be another Kate Middleton. The world loved Kate, but this icy bitch, probably not so much. Though Em could see where her looks might blind some for a while. Okay, most. Men especially. But she also had all the warmth of a frozen dinner. Even seven minutes in the microwave wouldn’t make her palatable.
“It’s not a good idea. It’s a conflict of interest for one, and two—”
Alex waved a hand in the air, cutting her off.
“That’s silly, and I think it’s an excellent idea. You have spent the past week or so fending off the media and their insistence that you were sleeping with my fiancé.”
He wasn’t your fiancé then, Em wanted to say but didn’t. She assumed the palace-from-hell had a dungeon, and she didn’t want to end up spending the night there.
“I don’t need to prove anything, Ms. Dalca,” Em said as sharply as she could.
Another dentally perfect smile from the Ice Princess, and Em could feel the frostbite starting to set in. Then Alexandra picked up her iPad and handed it to Emma. It was open to a big celebrity gossip page with an article titled, “Prince Peter and fiancée Alexandra Dalca to visit the US.” The article went on to talk about the proposed visit, where they hoped to visit, and then Emma noticed her name.
“Emma Avery, who was rumored to have had an affair with the Prince, has been retained as their US publicist for the trip. Ms. Avery insisted they were only friends, though our sources had information to contrary. We stand corrected.”
Emma was stunned. What the hell? How could this happen? Emma tried to hide her chagrin, but knew she failed. She glanced up from that damning bit of information to encounter Alexandra�
��s crocodile smile.
“You’re welcome.” Alex said.
“Welcome for what?” Emma wanted to slug her but then she remembered the dungeon.
“With one little leak from this office, your reputation has been fixed.”
“My reputation didn’t need fixing, thank you very much.”
“Of course it did, you silly girl. You slept with my fiancé, and you work with celebrities. Who do you think would hire you after that?”
Fuck you, Emma thought but bit her tongue. Again. Sadly, Alex had a point.
Emma narrowed her eyes. “Why on earth would you want to help me?”
Alexandra looked at Thing One and said, “Leave us.” Without a single word, Adrienne turned and left. The room warmed up only slightly.
“I do not wish to help you, Emmeline. I want only to help myself and make sure the world knows who my future husband is. The Belgian monarchy has sustained a very difficult blow.”
Alex walked over to the bookcase, the heels of her pricey shoes clicking. “We need to go to the US to make sure the media knows who the Belgian royal family is. We could use their support.”
“But why me?” Emma asked, seriously not believing her “it’s all for the royals” story.
“Because I hear you are the best, though clearly you botched the whole Peter thing.”
Peter thing? Emma wanted to slug her. Twice.
“I need to leave.”
“After it’s been reported that you’re working for us, imagine how it will look when you turn us down.”
Emma blinked. Holy shit. “You did it intentionally, you bitch!” Another crocodile smile. For a moment Em thought she’d throw up.
“First, please be cautious about how you address the future Queen,” Alex lifted her chin. “Second, you aren’t the only one with media talent. For years my father has been revered by the national media for his amazing business sense.”
Emma shrugged, “I have never heard the Dalca name before today.”
Alex looked at her as if she was a piece of trash stuck to her shoe. “You’re not exactly our target demographic.”
“I want to talk to Peter,” Emma said, ignoring the jab.
Alexandra stood up straighter. “You will do no such thing. He has left the planning and management of this entire trip to me.”
“I’m going home.”
Emma was on her way to the door when Alexandra said, “If you leave, I’ll tell the celebrity gossip blogger I spoke with about how you came here and dissolved into a puddle of tears when you saw Peter again, that the rumors of your affair with him are true. Where will you be then? Who will hire a celebrity publicist who fucks celebrities? Even nothings like Rob Westerfield.”
Emma had to admit the woman had certainly done her homework. Yes, Rob was a mistake, and he would cost her. As much as Emma did not want to admit it, this would cost her, too.
Emma walked to the door and opened it.
“Peter deserves better than you.” And with that, she left. Down the endless halls until she managed to find her way out of the palace.
chapter 14
Emma wasn’t sure where to go. The only thing she was sure of was she wanted to be anywhere but inside the palace walls. She found the first door leading outside and walked out into a sweeping vista of the meticulously planned and maintained palace gardens. She descended the steps and started walking, trying to calm her mind and figure out how to get home. She fished her phone out of her purse, dialed her cousin’s number, and plopped down on a stone bench.
Peyton picked up on the first ring, “Em, are you okay?”
Much to Emma’s surprise she burst into tears, and though her sobs she told Peyton the entire story.
“Oh, Em, how awful. It sounds like something out of a movie.”
Emma looked around at the statues that dotted the precisely manicured grounds, and she fixated on one, a woman looking out over the extensive gardens.
“She’s a piece of work I tell you, but the problem is, she’s right. Now she’s leaked this story. If I don’t take the job, I’m going to look like a ninny. Besides, who turns down a gig like this?”
“You do.”
Emma nodded, forgetting Peyton couldn’t see her. “I know. I was speaking hypothetically. I mean I’m going to look crazy if I don’t take the job. I’m going to have to find another line of work. Maybe I should stick to running grandfather’s bookstore and forget all of this publicist stuff.”
“You’re a damned good one, Emma. You’ll get past this.”
Em shook her head, “I sort of doubt it, Peyton. It’s a pretty unforgiving industry, and if I want the high-paying jobs, as opposed to, you know, watching a minor celebrity’s poodle or babysitting their toddler, I’m going to have to figure something out.”
“Em, why don’t you go find Peter? He’s bound to be in the palace, right?”
“No. I’m getting out of here, and I’m not going to go running to Peter to have him fix this. Besides, I’m pretty sure it’ll only make the wicked witch of the east more angry, and she’ll sic her flying monkeys on me. I already met one of them. I think if I push her much harder, she’ll boil me and have me for dinner.”
“What are you going to do, then?”
“If I can figure out how to get off this property, I’m going to walk to the gate and see if I can call an Uber or whatever equivalent they have here. Then I’m going to go to the airport and find a flight home.”
Peyton hesitated for a moment, “Then get out of there soon, please, and text me when you get a ride. Want me to arrange it?”
Emma shook her head, “No, I marched straight into this stupid mess, in spite of your warning, and I’ll get myself out of it. I love you, Peyton. Thanks for being there.”
Emma ended the call and looked around. The grounds were truly stunning. She spotted a cottage off in the distance. Emma tried to remember if she’d seen it during her past life visit, or even when she visited as a child, but she couldn’t. She looked down at her phone and hit the Uber app. It whirled and whirled, trying to find something, but nothing popped up.
Crap.
She clicked on her maps app to see where the nearest train or tram station was. There was one outside the palace property. Though, since she didn’t know the tram schedules or how to read Flemish or French, she should confirm the information before she ended up wandering the streets of Laeken with her luggage in tow. Dammit. She’d have to go back inside to get her luggage. But she had her purse, her passport, and a platinum Amex, so all she needed was to find a way to get from here to the Brussels airport.
Maybe it was a gardener’s cottage, but it sure looked lived in. If she could find someone to help her, maybe she could hitch a ride, at least to a train station.
Taking a deep breath, she got up and started walking. As she drew closer, it was easy to tell it was not only lived in, but lovingly tended. There was smoke coming from the chimney and a low fence separating the cottage from the surrounding grounds. Emma pulled open the small gate that led to a clean, well-maintained stone pathway with a variety of showy flowers on either side. The cottage was charming, with a two-story thatched roof, flower baskets in each of the windows, and a large tree on either side of the cottage that sheltered the property. Emma knocked on the door and said a little prayer.
Please, let something go right.
The door opened and a short, smiling woman answered.
“Yes?” she said in Flemish.
Crap, Em thought, her Flemish was pretty rusty, but she’d have to try her best. “Hello,” Emma began hesitantly, “I am Emma Avery, and I hope you can help me. I need a ride to the airport.” Em knew her Flemish needed a lot of work, but she hoped the woman at least understood her.
The woman’s smile broadened, and she replied in almost perfect English, “Emma Avery, it’s so good to see y
ou again.”
“You know me?”
The woman stepped back, “Come inside, please. I have just now set out my tea. Would you like to join me?”
Emma nodded, folding her hands in front of her to stop them from shaking. As she walked into the living room, she felt her angst begin to dissipate. This home was the complete opposite of the palace. Warm and welcoming, with comfortable chairs and a loving, lived-in look. It felt miles away from the palace, and yet it was only a five-minute walk.
“I would love tea. Thank you.” Then she added, “How do you know me?”
“Sit down first, let me pour the tea, and then we’ll talk.”
Emma sat on the couch and looked around the room. When she spotted a bookshelf with pictures, she walked over to examine them and almost immediately found one she recognized. It was her grandfather, smiling with someone, a woman, but not her grandmother.
“That was me with your grandfather.” The woman walked in with a tea tray, a pot of tea, two cups, and a small stack of cookies. “I’m Astrid, and I am, or rather was, Peter’s nanny. I think that’s what you Americans call it.”
Emma almost sagged with relief. Astrid, of course. She remembered her grandfather talking about her. They’d dated many years ago. Emma walked back to the couch and sat down.
“I met you when you were here with your grandparents, and you and Peter were inseparable.”
“I have a vague memory of that visit and swinging on the front gates,” Em began, taking a cookie. She suddenly realized she was starving.
“It was a long time ago,” Astrid smiled again. “Now tell me what brings you here?”
Emma took a deep breath and debated telling her the story.
Astrid checked the tea and then poured Emma’s. “I suspect it was his fiancée. Did she bring you here?”
Emma gasped in spite of herself. “How did you know?”
A Royal Affair Series: Book 1, 2, and 3: A paranormal, time travel, royal romance Page 14
