She was handed an envelope and a plaque then stepped to the microphone. “I don’t even know what to say,” she managed to get out before stopping. It took obvious effort to control her emotions. “Most of you know my mother is the florist in the family. She often accused me of having a black thumb, and I suppose when it comes to growing flowers, she’s absolutely correct. She couldn’t be here this year as she’s caring for her ailing mother. When she encouraged me to enter, I never imagined I would be a finalist much less win Best in Show.” She turned to look at Jessabelle. “Thank you. You’ll never know how much this means to me.”
Jessabelle smiled at her, applauding politely with everyone else as the winners all returned to their seats. The luncheon was nearly over, but before the group was dismissed, she felt a presence to her side. She looked up to see one of her security detail standing there.
“I need you to come with me, ma’am.”
She nodded and excused herself, following him to the car waiting for her. Malachi would be proud of her for remembering to wave to those still gathered. Only two stiff, very formal waves, but better than forgetting.
“Why did we leave?” she asked the bodyguard as he sat in the passenger seat.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that, ma’am. I was informed that it would be best for you to leave before the luncheon dismissed.”
All righty then. She stared out the window as the car wound its way through town to the palace. Jessabelle had a feeling she’d done something very wrong. Malachi wasn’t waiting for her when the car pulled up near the door leading to their apartment, but she was told he wanted to see her in his office.
Time to face the music.
* * *
Malachi glanced up, shocked to see Jessabelle in one of the seats on the other side of his desk. Sure, he’d been absorbed in his work, but he hadn’t heard her walk in, much less sit down.
“How did it go?”
She stared at her hands where they were folded in her lap. “You tell me. I committed some kind of faux pas, and I have no idea what it was.”
“Who won?”
A lift of one shoulder was his only answer.
“You were the judge, weren’t you?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I know the names of the people who won.”
He pulled up the Conservatory’s website, knowing they would have been posted immediately. A few of the names were familiar, but he stopped on the Best in Show. “This is who won the top prize?” He turned his monitor so she could see it.
“Yes.”
“Wow.” He shook his head. “I bet they were livid.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Why? I chose the one I thought was best.”
A chuckle escaped despite his attempt to suppress it. “I’m sure you did, but it’s not the one my mother would have chosen. I would imagine many of the bouquets were designed with her in mind as the final judge. To have some of the top tier floral designers in the city chosen as the top winner has to rankle them some.”
She sat silently for a moment. “I didn’t mean to offend anyone,” she finally said quietly.
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to, and they probably shouldn’t be offended. You were told to judge based on your preferences, which is exactly what you did.” He turned the monitor a bit more. “What made this one your favorite?”
She pointed to the calla lilies, one of the few flowers he could recognize on sight. “I love the purple in the middle here. Carnations are my favorite flower. I love how they smell. I really liked how the two purples of the carnations complemented the purple in the calla lilies. This is the bouquet I would have chosen for myself.”
Malachi blinked twice as the statement sank in. “Chosen for yourself? For when?” He feared he already knew the answer.
“The wedding.”
Yep. What he suspected. “You didn’t choose your own bouquet?”
“No.”
“What about your dress?”
“No.”
The base of his skull began to throb. “Did you pick anything for the wedding?”
“I wouldn’t let Stefan do anything to my hair, but that is the only thing about the wedding that I chose.”
He sank back in his seat and tried to absorb that. “I figured the reason it could be planned so quickly was because you were one of those girls who had her wedding planned long before she knew who the groom would be.”
“No. Everything was chosen for me. I believe your mother did most of the choosing, but I really have no idea.”
“But you hadn’t met my mother prior to the wedding, had you?”
“No,” she confirmed again. “I tried on three dresses sent over. Pictures were taken of each of them. I didn’t even know which one had been chosen until the morning of the wedding.”
He was going to have words with his mother when she was better. “So they didn’t even present you with a few options and ask you to choose one?”
She hesitated, though she still didn’t look at him. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Of course.” He wished she would be and knew she was doing better.
“I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. Up until about the time we got to the other house and had dinner, I kept thinking if I pretended it was a dream, eventually I would wake up. They may have presented me with options, or planned to. I didn’t say anything except ‘ow’ when I got stuck with a pin while the seamstress tried to figure out how to fix all three dresses, since she didn’t know which one it would be.”
“And if you’d had your way? If you really had no choice with the marriage, what kind of wedding would you have chosen?”
She thought for a moment. “I suppose I would have chosen a small ceremony with just a few family members. No television cameras, no photographers, no masses of people I’ve never met and won’t remember. Just me, my father, the groom, and a few members of his family.”
He noticed the way she wasn’t specific about who the groom would be. “Did you have anyone else you would have preferred to be your groom, Jessabelle?”
She glanced up at his use of her first name. “No. There was no one. There never has been.”
He simply nodded. “I have some more work to do if you want to go on and get changed. The movers asked if they could come this afternoon. I told them I would double check with you, but unless you have an objection, you’ll be done with all of it by bedtime.”
“That’s fine.” She stood to leave but stopped. “May I go through the door in here?”
“Of course. I do all the time. Much easier than going out and all the way around.”
“Thank you.” He stared at his computer screen until the door closed behind her. Picking up the phone, he dialed then scratched a list on a sheet of scrap paper. He had things to do.
* * *
“Princess Jessabelle stood in for her mother-in-law the queen during today’s Garden Club Extravaganza. Though the princess was not asked to give a speech and was reportedly gracious and friendly with those who spoke to her, she seems to have angered the upper echelons of Erres floral society. The Best in Show winner, chosen by the princess and based on the scores she gave in the final round, was an amateur with no floral experience or background. The bouquet was made up of the mandatory calla lilies, an homage to the princess’s bridal bouquet, and carnations the winner found in her grandmother’s garden.”
Lizbeth threw the rice cake in the general direction of the trash can. When she had a hard time buttoning her favorite blue jeans, she realized the ice cream binges were catching up to her. The winning bouquet didn’t seem like anything special to her, but what did she know about flowers? Malachi had given her some from time to time when they were attending an event where a corsage was appropriate. He’d sent some for her birthday the last couple of years, but she doubted he’d picked them out. More likely, he’d told someone to pick a nice bouquet and send it for him.
She stared at the rice cake where it had landed on the tile floo
r of her kitchen. Why she had a package, she didn’t know. Probably her father’s assistant had bought it and left it as a hint for her to lose some weight. He seemed the likely culprit.
Two days, two deep dish pizzas, and three pints of ice cream later, Lizbeth ignored her ringing cell phone. Her father’s ringtone. The last thing she wanted to do was hash or rehash how she was going to find herself in a compromising position with Malachi in a few months. Or how she needed to get pregnant around the same time, no matter who the father was.
It didn’t matter to her father that she’d never even been kissed before. He assumed she and Malachi had been far closer to friends with benefits than they ever had been. In fact, he’d insinuated he fully expected them to have engaged in all but one intimate activity with each other so that, technically, they wouldn’t have slept together prior to the wedding that never happened.
Lizbeth had never bothered to correct his assumption.
She also knew Malachi would lose any last bit of respect he had for her if she tried to seduce him. Her phone rang again, and she almost didn’t even look at it. This time it was Malachi. She wouldn’t ignore his call.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, he got right to the point. “I’m not sure how to ask you this, Lizbeth, but I would appreciate it if you would do me a favor.”
Like she would say no. “Of course. What can I do?”
“Could you possibly spend some girl time with my wife? I know it’s a lot to ask and you have a lot on your plate, but she could really use a friend.”
A friend.
With the wife of the man she’d wanted for herself.
The man she couldn’t say no to.
“Sure.” Lizbeth tried to hide the tone of resignation. “What would you like me to do?”
“I have no idea what women do when they have a girls’ day out or whatever. Lunch, shopping, pedicures. Whatever.” His voice softened, and she could hear the affection he had for his wife. “She’s never had any real friends, Lizbeth. You’ve always been a good friend to me, and I would appreciate it if you could at least try to do the same with Jessabelle.”
“Of course. I have nothing going on for the next few days. Have someone check her calendar and let me know when is good. Maybe send some suggestions about what she might like to do.”
“Thank you.” Relief flooded his voice. “I owe you one.” She heard voices, though she couldn’t make out the words. “I’ve got to go, but someone will call you later today.”
Before she could say good-bye, he’d hung up.
“Friends with your wife?” she muttered aloud to her empty apartment. “Sure. Why not?”
Chapter 21
“Melinda?” Yvette’s two assistants were still assigned to Jessabelle for the moment, though they still worked with Yvette, too. Malachi had told her she’d need to choose her own from the preapproved list of candidates soon.
“Yes, ma’am?” Melinda came in from the kitchen.
“What’s this ‘Girls’ Day Out’ on my schedule tomorrow?” Jessabelle was learning to check the schedule the evening before so she could plan for her day.
Melinda pulled out her own tablet. “I’m not sure, ma’am. I didn’t schedule it. It simply says you’ll be leaving for time at the spa and shopping. It doesn’t specify any more than that.”
Jessabelle closed her eyes and tried not to panic. “What about the movers coming to my father’s house?”
“I do know that was rescheduled again for two days from now.” She looked apologetic. “Prince Malachi was called to Montevaro earlier today and won’t be home until late tomorrow. I believe that is the reason why. He wanted to be there with you.”
Right. She’d been soaking in the tub and missed his call. William had suddenly taken ill, and Malachi had to step in with very little notice. “What about my appointment with Stefan?” She’d made it reluctantly and didn’t even know when it was.
“About twenty minutes from now. I just confirmed a few minutes ago. The location will be in your tablet along with directions, unless you’d like me to go with you.”
Jessabelle shook her head. “No. I’ll be fine.” No one else around to witness the humiliation when he told her how awful her hair was. Melinda had no more information on what the next day would bring, but assured her Belinda would help her get ready first thing in the morning. Using the app Malachi had shown her in the car that first day, she found her way to a small hair salon in the basement of the palace. Apparently, it had been set up for just such occasions.
“Hello?” she called timidly. The lights and radio were both on, but she didn’t see anyone.
Noises from a back room caught her attention, and she set her tablet and phone on a small table, intending to search out whoever made them. Before she could, a man emerged from the curtains. Not more than an inch or two over five foot, he was bald as a baby, except for a tiny patch on his chin.
He stopped, comb in one hand and a bottle of product in the other, and looked her up and down before speaking. “Princess Jessabelle, we must do something with your hair.” His accent betrayed him as a non-Mevendian, though she couldn’t place where.
She gave him a timid smile. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Sit.” He pointed to a chair in front of a sink. “First, we wash.”
Jessabelle did as she was told, answering his questions about what kind of shampoo and conditioner she used. He seemed to wince with every answer.
“Not good enough. I will give you product to use. You use nothing I do not give you. I know what’s best.”
She didn’t say “yes, sir” though she was tempted.
“Who cut your hair last?” he asked as he began to wet her hair down.
With her eyes closed, she answered, “I did.”
There was no answer until the sprayer stopped wetting her head. “You will not cut it again. You let Stefan take care of your hair.”
She didn’t reply but tried not to wince as he tugged and rinsed her hair. After several minutes, he wrapped a towel around her head. “You go sit in the other chair.” The black cape was wrapped around her, but he covered the mirror. “You will see when I am finished.”
It was over an hour of tugging and with a few silent tears as he combed and snipped and muttered over the condition of her hair. Before she realized what he was doing, he painted some goo on and tin foil soon covered her scalp. She ignored the slight burning and the smell in favor of silent freaking out under the dryer. The tin foil was removed, followed by a session of hair rinsing, then more tugging, snipping, and muttering. This time when he snapped the blow dryer off, he clicked something she couldn’t see and spun the chair toward the mirror.
The sound of trumpets came from his phone as he stood next to the mirror, the black cloth covering it in his hands. With a flourish, he whipped it off. “Hair fit for a princess!”
Jessabelle blinked repeatedly as she stared at the reflection in the mirror. Could that really be her? The left hand, diamond ring twinkling, lifted as hers did to touch the soft waves cascading to just below her shoulders. The strands were so soft, she wouldn’t have recognized it as her own.
“You like.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a pronouncement.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I like.”
“I will see you again in three weeks. I touch up your color and give you a slight trim. We shall fix anything that has not turned out quite as expected.” The tone of his voice told her he expected it all to work exactly as he wanted.
“Okay.” The mousy brown had been replaced, but not completely. “Did you dye it all?”
“Of course not!” he huffed. “Your natural color is quite lovely when styled properly. I merely gave it a few highlights. Next time, I may add a few lowlights as well. It augments your naturally lovely hair, not replaces it. If you had ever taken the time to have someone show you how best to take care of your hair type, you could have done this yourself many years ago.” His voice didn’t hold the censure she woul
d have expected. “I know your mother died when you were young, and your father likely had little time or interest in teaching his little girl how to accent her natural beauty while minimizing her few flaws.” He waved a hand. “Everyone has them, even the queen and Princess Yvette, but they have learned how to encourage people to focus on the good. You shall learn the same. I will help you. So will both Belinda and Melinda. And I will help you choose a stylist and assistant I trust implicitly to help you. Will you let me do that?”
Tears filled Jessabelle’s eyes as she nodded. “Stefan, you have no idea how much I appreciate you. Thank you.”
He smiled softly at her. “It is my pleasure and my honor, Princess.”
* * *
Lizbeth glanced at her watch for the fourth time. The princess was late. Not that royalty was ever technically late-everyone else was unexpectedly early. But she should have been there at least fifteen minutes earlier.
A car she recognized rolled to a stop in front of the bank of windows. Dark tinted windows. Black sedan. Another one right behind it. A man with security guard proportions emerged from the front passenger side and opened the door. Lizbeth didn’t recognize the woman who emerged, though.
Sharp black knee boots, a dress swishing just above it, a spring-y, floral pattern it was really a bit too early in the season for.
Something about her seemed familiar, though. Could it really be the new princess?
“Ms. Bence?”
She looked up to see one of Malachi’s most trusted bodyguards. “Hello, Robby.”
“My apologies for our delay. The prince asked me to convey his gratitude again.”
Lizbeth gave him a weak smile. “My pleasure.” Good thing she hadn’t sent that snarky text to Malachi about his wife’s tardiness.
Robby stood to the side. “Ms. Bence, I don’t believe you have had the pleasure of meeting Princess Jessabelle. It is my honor to introduce you to her.”
The other woman had taken her sunglasses off, allowing Lizbeth to see that it was, indeed, the princess. She dropped into a small curtsy because she knew it was expected, not because she truly respected the other woman’s position as Malachi’s wife. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Royal Highness.” How that grated! It should have been her title!
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