He lifted her chin on a finger until he looked into her eyes. Lowering his head, he kissed her softly, sipping at her lips until she longed to throw her arms around his neck and demand more. Instead he lifted his head and ran a finger along her cheek.
“And I always seem to be kissing you. We should both refrain from these activities.” His gaze rested on Sammy. “No apology is necessary. I thank you for calling my attention to his condition. It is telling that he hadn’t opened his gift yet.”
A knock sounded and the door from the hall opened admitting Neil and a heavyset, older gentleman with an arrogant expression.
She started at the men’s entrance and stepped back, creating a discreet distance between her and the Prince. Hopefully they would not consider it a guilty motion.
As he had earlier, the doctor gave Katrina a dismissive glance. “My Lord, how may I be of service? Ja. I see the child is awake. You wish me to give him another dose to make him sleep.” He tapped the old-fashioned black leather bag he carried.
“No,” Julian bit out. “I want you to pack your things. You are dismissed from your position.”
“Your Highness, I do not understand,” Dr. Vogel blustered. “What have I done to deserve this?”
“You recommended sedating Samson without advising me of the dangerous side effects. Plus, I authorized an original sedation after we told him and he was in a state of distress. I did not know you were continuing to medicate him.”
“I thought to save him upset.” The doctor defended his actions.
“Grieving is a natural part of the healing process,” Katrina said. The man just rubbed her wrong.
He turned on her, causing her to flinch. She had the feeling he’d like to strike her.
“Quiet, upstart,” he snarled. “It is not your place to speak now.” To Julian he said, “Sire, you must not listen to this foreigner. She is not a trained medical professional, yet she tried to interfere in my treatment of the boy. I have served your family well for many years.”
“Count yourself lucky she contacted me. I have been displeased with my father’s progress. With this incident I am assured I am making the right decision.” In nothing more than a towel, Julian projected total confidence. “Have your resignation delivered to me by five this afternoon. At five oh one, you’ll be handed termination papers.”
The pompous man’s cheeks reddened, his outrage and anger escalated to such a degree Katrina worried for his health.
At the door, the doctor delivered a parting shot. “Prince Donal would never have treated me with such disrespect.”
“No.” Julian didn’t miss a beat. “If he’d seen his son an hour ago, Donal would have killed you.”
With nothing more to say, the man disappeared. At a nod from Julian, one of the security officers peeled away to follow the doctor.
“My Lord, your clothes.” Grimes filled the empty doorway.
Julian looked down at his naked pecs as if surprised to remember he lacked clothes. She wished she could forget. His near nudity distracted her terribly. Wicked fantasies kept playing with her mind. Even as Dr. Vogel bellyached, she’d half wished the loosely knotted towel would drop.
With a last appreciative glance, she gathered up Sammy and moved him to the sitting room to give Julian some privacy.
A few minutes later, impeccably dressed once again, he came through the lounge to say goodbye to Sammy. She received a nod. “Ms. Vicente, I’ll see you at supper.”
And then he was gone.
Sammy came to show off his new truck. She smiled her approval and made appropriate truck sounds. He grinned and drove off humming, “Zoom, zoom.”
Katrina stared at the closed door. Julian’s formality felt cold, wrong. Yet necessary. She believed her father and Princess Bernadette would approve her actions regarding Sammy’s condition. Not so much the kiss that followed.
Julian was right; they needed to refrain from such activities.
*
“What is this I hear about you cavorting with the nursemaid from Pasadonia?” King Lowell demanded when Julian answered his father’s summons the next morning.
Julian sat down across from his father in his personal sitting room before responding. He shouldn’t be surprised. His father had informants all over the palace, not least of which was Grimes.
“Cavorting infers a bit of fun. I can assure you there was nothing pleasant about the experience.” He explained the circumstances, ending with his dismissal of Dr. Vogel. No need to mention the kiss. That was between him and the entirely too touchable Ms. Vicente.
“Was it necessary to get rid of the doctor?” Lowell plucked at his robe. He hadn’t felt up to assuming his duties for the day. Julian worried about his pallor.
“I felt so, yes. I requested referrals from the Royal Kardanian Hospital and have three interviews set up for this afternoon. I’ve given the times to your assistant. I’d like you to sit in.”
Lowell frowned but waved his hand in an accenting manner. “Back to the matter of this girl. Julian, you are usually an exemplary model of decorum. Now is not the time to become lax in your duties. The world has their eyes on us. How we act now will be how we are perceived in the future. There can be no rumors surrounding our house.”
“I am aware of that.” Julian really did not need the lecture. He was mindful of the inappropriateness of his intimacies with Katrina. He fought off resentment as he resolved again to keep their encounters professional. “There is nothing between me and the nursemaid.”
He frowned. It felt wrong to dismiss her as a mere employee. “However, I would like to invite her to sit with the family during the funeral.”
“I hardly find that appropriate,” his father protested with a scowl. “It would only add credence to the speculation already brewing.”
“I disagree. Grandmother set the precedent of treating Kat—Ms. Vicente as a guest by inviting her to join us for meals. This would merely be an extension of that. It promises to be a long, hard day. Samson will do better having her there.”
“She is a nobody. She cannot sit with the royal family.”
Julian hesitated, knowing Katrina disliked using her association with Prince Jean Claude. He also knew she would not put her comfort before Samson’s.
“She is not quite—” not at all “—a nobody. It may help you to know Katrina Vicente is a relative of Prince Jean Claude Carrère, and his goddaughter.”
Lowell’s head cocked at that news. “Really?” he asked in a tone of great interest. “She told you this?”
“Reluctantly. It is not something she plays on. Princess Bernadette confirmed it in a separate conversation. Apparently Jean Claude is quite fond of her.”
“Very well, then. She may sit with the family. But I expect total decorum from you.”
“Yes, sir.” Julian bowed as he prepared to take his leave. He was happy to see a little color in his father’s cheeks.
“Send in my valet. I may as well get dressed if I am to attend those interviews.”
“Of course.” Unsure of what put the fire under his father, Julian made his departure. Whatever it was, he was pleased by the effects.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LITTLE HAPPENED TO test Katrina’s new resolve over the next week. Well, if you didn’t count reoccurring fantasies of Julian haunting her shower.
She threw all her energies into caring for Sammy. His mood fluctuated wildly from hour to hour, tearful and missing his parents one moment, to quiet and preoccupied the next, with a few incidents of happy and playful.
She rarely saw Julian. Yes, he made an effort to visit Sammy every day. But the visits were spontaneous and never lasted long. And, of course, he gave his attention to Sammy. Which pleased her. Truly. She had no business wishing for more.
Anticipation pulsed through her as she dropped her gym bag on the bench of the women’s shower room. She’d loved having access to the palace gym during her stay, and truly looked forward to her daily workout while Sammy napped. The time w
orked out well. At midmorning she generally had the gym to herself, which gave her full use of the equipment and the mat.
Today she heard someone pounding away in the main room as she changed into her gym gear. From the sound of it they were putting themselves through a punishing routine.
A few minutes later she pushed open the door and stepped into the main gym to find Julian—correction His Highness Prince Julian—in shirtsleeves and business slacks bloodying his knuckles on the punching bag.
“Oh my God.” She glanced around as she rushed to the shelves against the wall and grabbed some gauze and tape but there was no sign of Neil or any of the security officers. Obviously Prince Julian had slipped his leash. A sure sign he’d prefer to be alone. A sentiment she could respect, except he was hurting himself.
She meant to tape his knuckles and then leave him to fight his demons.
“Your Highness.” She approached him from the front and slightly to the side so he could see her.
He didn’t look up, gave no sign he’d heard her.
She stepped closer, spoke louder. He rounded on her and she threw up a block.
He blinked her into focus. And all that anger centered on her. “Go away.”
“I will,” she assured him, keeping her tone brisk, following the example he’d set since their arrival in Kardana. With the exception of that one kiss. She held up the tape. “After I bind those hands up.”
He turned back to the bag, started punching again. “Just leave.”
“Your hands already look like hamburger.”
“That was not a request, Ms. Vicente.” It was a harsh dismissal.
“Of course, Your Highness.” She nodded and moved away. Halfway across the mat she stopped. He’d given her an order, but she couldn’t—just couldn’t—leave him like this, both bruised and hurting.
She knew the cathartic value of a hard workout. She’d spent a lot of time in the gym when she lost her mother. At sixteen it was the only thing that kept her sane. But she managed to do it without damaging herself. Julian didn’t realize what he was doing to himself. If he continued on, he might break a bone or two.
She swung around, planted her hands on her hips. “I cannot let you do this,” she said hoping to get through his haze of fury. “Julian, please stop.”
He didn’t let up. “This has nothing to do with you. I told you to leave.”
“You are angry. I understand. You have a perfect right to be upset.”
He turned on her. “You don’t understand squat!” His eyes were feral, his jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t want to run the country.”
“Okay.”
“No, not okay.” He raged. “I want my life back. The numbers. The quiet. The shadows.”
“Yes.” She well understood the appeal of the shadows. This was good. He was talking. Well, venting. Anger was a natural part of the grieving process. But he’d denied it until now. He’d been so controlled since he heard the news of Donal’s death, so focused on doing his duty. The pressure had been building, a volcano ready to burst. No doubt his hands burned like lava.
“I don’t know how to be a father.” He paced away and back. “Sammy deserves better.”
“There is no one better.”
“Don’t patronize me. My brother is dead.”
“Feeling sorry for yourself will not bring him back.”
Fury burned in his narrow-eyed glare. He dismissed her to return to the punching bag. “I told you to go.”
“No.” She saw he had no intention of stopping. She lifted her chin. “You want me to leave, make me.”
He laughed, an ugly sound unlike anything she’d heard from him before. “Get out before you get hurt.”
“I have a black belt in karate.” She stepped back, bowed, and then assumed a fighter’s stance. Let him use his arms and legs for a while and give his knuckles a rest. “You will not hurt me.”
His dark brows lowered. “I’m not going to fight you.”
“Afraid a girl will put you on the mat? You should be.” She challenged him with a palms-up wave. “Fight me.”
He advanced on her. “I’ll remove you myself.”
He tried, but she blocked his every move, forcing him to fight her or back off. And he was too riled to back off. She suddenly found herself in full defense mode. He had skills, a mix of martial arts, and he was good. He made her work, but she was better.
She knew she could take him down. She just preferred he come to his senses rather than put him on his back. But she might have no choice. He kept coming. And he was strong. She’d lose her advantage if she let him tire her.
Time to go on the offense. Verbally and physically.
She put him on the defense, made him work. And when he was sweating, she talked to him, “It is not your fault. It is no one’s fault.”
“Sammy could have died. That would have been my fault.”
Her heart broke at the pain in his voice. She should have known the medicating of Sammy would weigh on Julian, but he’d handled the incident so competently and Sammy was doing so well, she’d put it behind her. For Julian it had been one more thing already crowded onto his broad shoulders. No wonder the volcano finally blew.
Enough of this. She hooked his ankle with a quick kick and sent him sprawling on the mat. He caught her arm and took her with him. She landed on his solid chest.
“Ah, sorry.” She tried to roll off him, but he held her in place. She stilled and looked down upon him. Anguish pinched his features, replacing the anger driving him.
“You saved him, Julian. Focus on that. Because I can promise you, it is not the last scary moment you will have. Children have a way of putting themselves in peril’s way.”
“I put him in peril.”
Okay, this was just wrong. Julian had every right to his pain, even to his anger. Being beaten down by despair was another thing altogether. Bad for Julian. Worse for Kardana. Sympathy would only drag him further down the path of self-pity.
“Oui. You also put him in the shower. Get over it. The end result is what counts.”
He rolled her off him. “Thanks for the sympathy.”
“Sammy gets my sympathy.” Thankful to be free, she used the momentum to rotate onto her feet. “He has lost his parents.”
“And I lost my brother.” Julian climbed to his feet, turned his back to her. “I’ll be glad when the funeral is over and we can get past this.”
“Mourning Donal is not what bloodied your knuckles. Nothing so noble. This little tantrum is over the loss of your freedom. Your life has changed through no fault of your own, and you just want it to be done so you can get over it and move on.” She flinched internally, being intentionally brusque didn’t come easily to her. “What you do not realize is grief is not something you get over, it is something you get through.”
Good gracious, next she’d be kicking defenseless little kittens. But sometimes you needed to be curt to be kind. She stomped to the door.
“You want to be alone, fine. Tape your own hands.” She let the door swing closed behind her.
*
Just after three, Katrina strolled into the formal parlor holding Sammy’s hand. In his other arm he clutched his new dump truck.
When the time came for her to leave Kardana—which may be sooner rather than later after the scene with Julian in the gym this morning—Katrina was adamant that she would leave Sammy with a firm foundation in his new family environment. She didn’t know how it had been when his parents were there, but except for Julian’s visits, Sammy had very little interaction with his immediate family.
Perhaps it was too painful for his grandfather and great-grandmother to see him in these first few days of mourning, and she respected that they were grieving. But Sammy needed them. And she honestly believed they needed Sammy.
Distraction and purpose were great alleviators of pain.
Under the circumstances, she decided to take Sammy to them. So she discreetly checked around and found
out where the royal members of the household spent their time.
She learned King Lowell’s regimen included a walk through the gardens most mornings, but today was not one of those times. But GiGi took tea in the formal parlor every day at three. So here they were.
“GiGi,” Sammy cried out upon spying his great-grandmother. He ran forward, but stopped before he reached her and gave a very nice bow. “Thank you for my new truck.”
“You are welcome, Samson.” Giselle forced a smile, her deep pink lipstick stark against the pallor of her skin. She placed both hands in her lap; one held a lace-edged handkerchief. “What lovely manners you have today.”
“We pracus,” he advised her.
“Practiced.” Katrina corrected. “He wanted to thank you for his gift. I hope you do not mind that we stopped by for a moment. Come along, Sammy.”
“But I wanna biscuit,” he protested, eyeing the goodies on the tea tray.
“We will request a snack when we get back to your rooms. We are disturbing Oma.”
“Nonsense.” The older woman waved her to a seat. “You will join me.” She rang for an extra cup and some juice for Sammy before offering the boy a lemon biscuit. “Young man, let me see that truck.”
He set the heavy toy in her lap.
“Oh my.” She cringed slightly.
“Careful, Sammy,” Katrina admonished him softly. “You have to be gentle with ladies.”
“He’s fine.” Giselle ran a hand over his head. Color had come into her cheeks, and affection chased some of the sadness from her expression. “It is a fine truck.”
“Look’t this.” Sammy demonstrated how the front scoop lifted toward the back. “And it’s fast.” He showed her that, too, while happily munching a biscuit.
A maid appeared with a second tea tray and the Queen Mother poured Katrina a cup of tea. Together they sipped while Sammy played.
“He appears to be doing well,” Giselle observed after a few minutes. “I am happy for that.”
“The distraction helps.” Katrina settled her cup back in the saucer. “He is very fond of you.”
“And the new truck.” The wry comment was issued with a regal inclination of Giselle’s gray head.
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