by Rachel Hauck
CPA degree? Safe because she was good with numbers.
The shop? Safe because Al was there.
Even hanging around Mark. Safe. Because she had known him her whole life.
But princess of a small North Sea nation? Terrifying, and there was only one Man who could see to her success. Jesus himself. If he could hang on a cross for her, she could scope out a princess gig for him. If, of course, this whole journey was his idea in the first place. She wouldn’t know for sure unless she lifted her wings.
Tanner stepped around her to hold open the back door of the SUV. She slipped inside and Tanner went around, joining her from the other side. The security goons sat up front, Clarence behind the wheel.
Reggie rode down to Strauberg and through the city streets in peaceful silence, the clear day beginning to fill the streets with a warm light.
“This is Market Avenue,” Tanner said when Clarence turned right at the light. It was a broad street with thin, tall shade trees and Victorian lamps dividing the lanes. “Three hundred years ago, this was where all commerce happened.” He tapped his window and lightly touched her arm. “See through those buildings? The bay, South Port. The ships from Germany and Italy, all southern countries, dock here.”
Reggie leaned into the fresh burst of wind as Tanner powered down his window, and the clean, subtle fragrance that she’d come to know as “Tanner.” He intrigued her. He was a puzzle. She could see most of the pieces but not how they all fit together.
Beyond the window, however, the sun created a golden stream in the middle of all the blue-green water, and Reggie drew a deep breath.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tanner said just over her shoulder.
“It is, yes. Very.”
But when Reggie glanced at him, he wasn’t watching the bay but her. With his very intense blue eyes. Sir Blue Eyes.
She jerked back into her seat, her heart snapping and popping, a funny, disturbing sensation burning up her middle.
“Sir.” Clarence peered at them through the rearview mirror. “Turning down the lane for Melinda House. Please close your window.”
The SUV ambled down a narrow, cobblestone lane nestled between two tall buildings and thick with shadows. Clarence stopped by a small, lean door.
“Wait here, please.” Todd stepped out and disappeared beyond the door.
Reggie turned to Tanner. “For real? Security? This is crazy.”
“Recall yesterday.”
“I know, but that was at Wettin Manor. Someone leaked I was there, right? This is some dark back alley. Who’s going to know we’re here?”
“Regina, a photograph of you is probably worth thousands if not hundreds of thousands of dollars. You’re the new royal on a very old royal front. You saw what happened to the British royal family when Kate officially came on the scene? Even before she was official . . . men will stalk you, haunt you.” He gently held her chin. “Hear me, please. Never, ever let your guard down.”
Todd emerged from the door a few minutes later and opened Reggie’s door. “Go straight in, miss. Up the stairs to the second floor.”
“Wait for me.” Tanner exited his side of the SUV and met her at the alleyway door, leading her inside.
“This cloak-and-dagger stuff feels so over the top.”
“Yes, love, but this cloak-and-dagger stuff will keep you safe.”
Love? He stumbled over the word, but kept rising up the stairs, talking, without peeking back at her. But, ho boy, the word landed on her heart sweet and tender.
Good grief, she was crushing on Tanner Burkhardt.
They landed on the second floor and stepped into an open loft area with brick walls and hardwood floors. To her right, the loft looked out over a gleaming showroom through a steel railing. From the exposed ceiling, white lanterns hung suspended from thin black pipes, and soft music sweetened the air.
Up front, floor-to-ceiling mirrors were anchored into the brick, and the glass gleamed, catching the lights and twinkling them back into the room.
“Your Majesty, welcome, welcome.” A lean, platinum-haired woman in a tightly tailored chartreuse suit was striding her way. “This is most exciting. I’m Melinda.” She curtseyed. “We are thrilled you chose Melinda House as your first designer.”
“Melinda,”—Tanner pressed his hand lightly against Reggie’s back—“thank you for this special appointment. After yesterday’s media mess, I thought we should take every precaution and come in the back door.”
“Agreed! Think nothing of it. We do value privacy and confidentiality for all of our clients.” She clasped her hands at her waist, smiling all the while, eyes glued to Reggie.
She was starting to feel self-conscious. What was this fashion guru thinking? Hubba, but we got our hands full with this one. Mack, bring out the industrial-strength girdle and push-up bra.
“Well, shall we get started?” Melinda moved toward the mirrors in quick, short steps, hindered by the tight hem of her long skirt. “We’ve selected several coats for you to try, Your Majesty. We also took the liberty of choosing a few of our newest dresses we’d be delighted for you to debut.”
“Reggie. Please, just call me Reggie.” She grabbed Tanner’s arm as he started to move, letting Melinda walk toward the coats without them. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Designer coats. Debut? Don’t you have a Target or Burlington Coat Factory around here? All I need is a simple coat.”
“Melinda, hold on, please.” His eyes glanced past Reggie’s and she stepped back, surprised at what she saw beneath those blues. Discouragement. As if he was letting her down, that his effort did not please her and it . . . hurt him.
She pressed her palm to her forehead. “Never mind, it’s okay. Let’s look at the coats.” When would she learn everything wasn’t about her? Tanner was trying his darnedest to do his job.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sorry, Tanner. It’s just that . . . Shew, this is all so thrilling yet terrifying. Last week I was a wrench jockey. This week I’m a royal princess . . . kind of gives a girl whiplash.”
“Right, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
“No, no, it’s okay. Just, zoom,”—she sliced her hand through the air—“zero to sixty.” She linked her arm through his, wondering for the first time if this wacky journey was every bit as much about Tanner as it was about her.
“Help me pick out something that will go well with jail wear.”
“Regina,”—he held her back—“you’re not going to jail. Seamus can huff and puff all he likes, that arrogant bloke and his binky pipe, but he cannot make it stick. He’d have to buy off the entire European court, and I daresay he’s not got enough reputation or financial wherewithal to do so.”
“Even so . . . what sway does the court have?”
“More than they should, I’ll say, but not enough to throw you in the tower.”
“There’s a tower?” She made a face.
“Metaphorically speaking. Listen, love,”—there was that word again—“they can rule in favor of his petition on behalf of the Hessenberg people, but that will only be the beginning. Then it’s a fight for government control.” Tanner paced off, the reflective light highlighting his thick blond hair. “You can bet that’s what Seamus is about . . . making himself some sort of supreme leader. Perhaps even the Grand Duke. He doesn’t mind a royal house. He just wants it to be his.” He circled back to Reggie. “I daresay he’s bitten off more than he can stuff in his blooming pipe.”
“What’s with you and his pipe?”
“Oh, it just annoys me.” He reached for her hand. “No more talk of Seamus or lawsuits or arrests.” He walked backward, peering down at her. “I think we both need some giggles . . . a spot of fun. And the king ordered a day of frolicking, so let’s obey him and enjoy the day.”
“Frolicking?” Reggie laughed, quickening her pace to keep up, not wanting her hand to slip from his. “He never said frolicking. I was listening. But you, however, said frolicking.” The word rolled off her tongue and tic
kled her ears. Teased her spirit. Made her laugh.
“I do believe you’re mocking me,” Tanner said, feigning a weak frown. But his eyes were bright with humor.
“No, just loving the sound of frolicking.” Reggie tried for a Hessen accent, failing miserably, which made Tanner laugh. “After shopping, can we take the Mercedes out and race up the hill again? Now that’s a frolicking good time.”
Tanner slapped his hand to his chest. “Be kind to my weak heart, dear Regina.” He swooped his arm wide and took an exaggerated bow, but oh, his words . . . anything but teasing.
She released his hand, trembling from the feelings he stirred in her, and faced the waiting, ever-smiling Melinda. Reggie didn’t know about Tanner’s weak heart, but hers was weakening by the second.
Just a crush. A schoolgirl crush. Don’t overthink this, Reg.
But mercy, he was charming and confident with a James Dean kind of smolder. Something dark lurked beneath the surface, longing to come out. She just knew it.
Besides all of that, he was handsome. Poster-on-her-wall, heartthrob handsome.
“Your Majesty—”
“Call me Reggie, or Regina. Please.”
“All right.” Melinda gave her a curt nod, her perfected smile faltering.
“Or miss. Miss is good.” The woman seemed reluctant to call her by her first name.
“Well, miss, here we go . . . Melinda reset her smile and slipped a coat from a silk-wrapped hanger.
Tanner, meanwhile, took a seat behind Reggie, choosing an oval-shaped, white leather ottoman.
“This is our latest.” Melinda held up a long, creamy beige coat, exchanging it for Tanner’s college sweater. “In fact, after Mr. Burkhardt’s call last night, we rushed it from the factory.”
When Reggie had slipped on the coat, Melinda situated it on her shoulders, belted it closed, and stood back with a complete look of wonder.
“Marvelous,” she said with a glance at Tanner. “We are so proud of this coat. Doesn’t it accent her gorgeous red hair so well? Stunning. Just stunning.”
Reggie could see Tanner angling to catch her reflection in the mirror. “The coat is beautiful. Regina?”
She made a face. Glanced at Melinda, then Tanner through the mirror, and smoothed down the coarse material with her hand. “Well—”
“It’s mohair. All the rage this season.”
“I–I don’t think I’ve ever owned mohair.”
“So what do you think, miss?” Melinda walked around Reggie, her chin in her hand, inspecting. “We’ve had a lot of interest in this design, and we really wanted to make a splash with it at the spring show. But, Your Majesty, we’d be honored for you to wear it this fall. It’d be the only one like it in the world.”
Ho boy. No pressure.
“Regina, be honest,” Tanner said.
“All right . . .” She faced her audience of two. “I look like a lit match. Red hair, tight beige coat that goes past my knees. If the press sees me in this, I’ll go from redneck royal to Princess Match-on-Fire.”
Tanner snort-coughed into his fist while Melinda frowned, a solid steel glint in her glare.
“I completely disagree, but if you’re not comfortable,”—she moved to help Reggie out of the coat—“we’ve other styles.”
“Look, let’s just save some time here,” Reggie said as Melinda returned the coat to the rack. “I need something simple and serviceable, every day, you know? I like blue and black, maybe green if it’s the right green. Otherwise, I look like some kind of rose.”
Tanner’s laugh popped once, then faded with his cough and throat-clearing. Reggie winked at him through the mirror while Melinda sorted through the coats. She liked making him laugh because it sounded good on him.
“May I suggest you start thinking more like a princess rather than, well, whatever it was you did before?”
“Restored classic cars. Before that I was a CPA.”
Melinda cast her a dark, hooded gaze, her expression tight with frustration and confusion. “Your Majesty—”
“Reggie.”
“Or Regina,” Tanner tagged on.
“R–Regina,” Melinda began, slow and deliberate, “women around the world will write blogs about what you wear and how you wear it, when you wear it. The copycat designers will scurry to knock off our originals. Don’t you want to make a bold, brilliant statement with your first royal coat, as it were?”
“I appreciate your insight, Melinda. I do. All of these coats look . . . lovely. But let’s face it, I may not be the princess of anything for very long, so for now, let’s keep it simple. How about a car coat or something? My mom used to have one.” A sudden missing-mama splashed Reggie’s heart and seeped into her voice. “In fact, if she were alive, she’d be the one standing here with you now instead of me.”
Melinda regarded her for a moment, her lips forming a question she did not verbalize, her fashion designer demeanor giving way to one of a woman talking to another about the loss of her mom.
“Then a car coat it is. Navy blue? You won’t look like a match or a human rose.” She allowed herself a soft laugh. “Lost me own mum a year back. I still miss her.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Were you close?”
“Talked by phone every morning and every night.” Melinda offered up a simple but beautiful coat. “Were you close to your mum?”
“She was killed in a car crash when I was twelve. So yes and no. I didn’t get to know her as an adult because some guy ran a light and took her from us.”
“Oh, that’s rubbish. Pure rubbish. I’m so sorry, Princess. Rotten thing for a girl to lose her mum at twelve, just when she needs her most.”
“I had Gram for a while, but she was ninety-nine and not always keen on what was going on. My dad, though, he was . . .” Her heart yearned for her daddy. “Amazing.”
Her voice mail to him had yet to be answered. But that was his way. Reggie pictured him sitting up to the table with Sadie . . .
“Reg called. Says she’s doing all right. Ah, dinner looks good, Sadie. Don’t you know that crew on the south side had me straightening out their mess all day? I never did get to lunch.”
Then sometime in the next day or two, he’d remember and call her back.
“Me own dad was a louse, but I’m glad for you girls with good ones. There.” Melinda patted Reggie’s shoulders and stood back. “What do you think?”
Reggie examined her reflection front and back, then checked with Tanner. He had the same look on his face as when he showed her the bay. Heat burst beneath her skin and sank into her soul, lighting the dark, cold regions where love had not yet shone its light.
“Perfect,” he said, shifting his gaze, resituating his sweater over his leg.
“I’ll take it. How much?” Reggie fixed her thoughts on the coat, on Melinda. Not on the way Tanner made her feel. She’d best get ahold of herself. Falling for Tanner in any way, shape, or form would taint her decision-making process. “No charge. It’s our gift to you. Welcome to Hessenberg, Princess Regina.” Melinda clapped her hands together, then held them at her waist.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.” Reggie worked the buttons to remove the coat.
“Wh–why not, miss? It’s our gift . . . to you.”
“One thing Daddy taught me a long time ago. There’s no such thing as free. If I take this coat now, I’ll be obliged to you. Then sometime down the road, an issue of some kind will crop up and I’ll find myself compromised because I accepted a free coat. I don’t know squat about politics, being a princess, or being a fashion designer, but in the CPA and the car business, the ‘I’ll-scratch-your-back-if-you-scratch-mine’ thing usually leaves some poor knucklehead bleeding and in trouble.”
“I see.” Melinda. Stiff and solemn. Insulted.
“Melinda, it’s not you. Please hear me. I don’t think you’d hold a car coat over my head, but if I take this from you, then I have to take gifts from other designers and on and on. Besides, my daddy also tau
ght me, ‘A laborer is worthy of her hire.’ ”
“Melinda,” Tanner said, standing behind Reggie, “send the bill to my office.”
“Hey, no, wait.” Reggie pressed her hand to Tanner’s chest. “I don’t want to owe you either. I can pay.” How much could a car coat cost? Couple hundred?
“This particular coat is two thousand pounds, miss.”
Reggie spun toward Melinda. “For a car coat?” She itched to remove the thing and make do with Tanner’s sweater, but the look on Melinda’s face said, “Don’t do it.”
“Send the bill to my office.” Tanner.
Reggie sighed. “Yes, send the bill to his office.” She wagged her finger at the Minister of Culture. “But I’m paying you back.”
He made a wry face, making her laugh. “I’m sure you will. One way or another.”
Their banter was smooth. Light. Flirty. Reggie already liked the coat ten times more because it would forever remind her of today. Of Tanner.
Melinda suggested trying on a few dresses, but Reggie was done with shopping.
“Maybe next week?” She checked with Tanner. “Do I need a dress?”
“You didn’t bring one?”
“No . . . I packed so fast . . . I didn’t think . . . just grabbed my usual jeans and T-shirts.”
“Melinda,” Tanner said, “select a few of your favorites with Her Majesty in mind and send them to the palace. Her lady’s maid can help her choose a dress.”
“What of accessories? Shoes? Handbags?”
“Send those as well.”
Reggie shot him a look. “What kind of budget does your office have?”
“Never mind.” He tried to sound stern, but his twitching lips gave him away. “Melinda, thank you. We appreciate your kindness and discretion.”
Tanner backed toward the stairs, motioning for Reggie to follow.
“Thank you, Melinda.” Reggie offered Melinda her hand, but when the designer reached for her, Reggie drew her into a hug. “Sorry I’m not a good shopper. And . . . sorry about your mum. It does get easier.”
Melinda’s stiff posture relaxed and she returned Reggie’s hug. “You don’t know how much that means to me, Your Majesty.”
