He made a turn, and she hoped they were getting close to the tournament site.
“—I saw you out walking on campus. On the paths.”
“I’m on campus a lot. Especially then, since I was taking classes.”
Another turn, this time into a crowded parking lot.
He nodded, cruising aisles for a spot. “So now you’re wondering what about you being on the campus paths made you so noticeable, right? Has you worried, huh? Well, I won’t keep you in suspense. It was how much you didn’t want to be noticed. Stood out like a neon sign in the middle of a park. There were all these other students and staff and faculty streaming along, each one perfectly willing to be noticed and some of them doing their damnedest to grab attention.” He pulled into a space. “And then there was Katie Davis, working so hard to not be noticed that she barely let herself even be on the paths. I think if you could have melted into the grass you would have.”
She felt the strangest urge to laugh. Don’t draw attention. Her parents had drilled that into her … And perversely it drew the attention of Brad Spencer.
She closed her purse, unhooked her seat belt. “Fine. I’m an oddity. I thought we’d settled that the other day.”
He turned off the car and shifted toward her. “Not an oddity, Katie. A mystery.”
She looked up. Into the lose-your-soul-and-your-mind blue of his eyes.
“I’m not a mystery.”
“You are to me.”
CHAPTER NINE
His concentration on basketball gave her a break during the game, but she braced for a renewed – what? Assault? Attack? Inquisition?
Instead, he was silent and frowning as they walked to the car while most people remained in the gym for the next game.
As they reached the main road, he sounded stiff when he said, “I’ve got that other stop to make now. Sorry.”
“I remember. It’s no problem.”
“You’ll like these people.” But he didn’t sound happy about it.
And he didn’t look happy as they walked up to the front door of a handsome, inviting house in Evanston, the first suburb north of Chicago. He rang the bell.
Voices – children’s and adults’ – and a dog’s bark preceded the door swinging wide to show a man smiling broadly. “Come in, come in. Quick, before the hordes get you.” He waved them in as the other arm extended back as if to hold off two kids and a fuzzy dog of indeterminate parentage. The kids and dog ducked under the restraining arm with ease, staring up at them with friendly interest.
“Good to see you again, Brad. And you must be Katie. I’m Paul Monroe. And these two bandits—” He scooped up a child in each arm, setting off waves of giggles. “—are all my fault. Nick and Cassie,” he added, hitching first one then the other higher by way of introduction. “Say hello to Katie and Brad.”
They did, as the man instructed Brad to hang his own and Katie’s coats on a line of pegs by the door.
As they reached a stairway, Paul Monroe set the two kids down on the second step and said, “Upstairs now, and no pestering Anne Elizabeth, the both of you.”
“But Da-ad—” Tried the girl, the younger one.
“We talked about this. Now go.”
The boy said glumly, “We might as well go, he’ll get Mom if we don’t.”
They trudged upstairs.
“As you can see, I’m a fearsome disciplinarian,” Paul said deadpan. “C’mon back and meet everybody, Katie. This is my wife, Bette.”
A woman with the same dark hair and blue eyes as the little girl met them where the hallway opened to a large room. Even before entering, Katie saw a fireplace, comfortable groupings of seating with a number of chairs perfect for curling up in. “Welcome, Katie. We’re so glad you could come. These are our good friends, Leslie and Grady Roberts. And Tris and Michael Dickinson over there putting toys away.”
Both couples had smiles as warm as the Monroes’, though Katie felt a layer of discomfort edged in. Was she picking up a bit of discomfort on their parts? But why?
She glanced over her shoulder toward Brad, who was exchanging low words with Paul. He didn’t meet her gaze.
“And this,” Leslie Roberts said, holding onto Katie’s hand after they shook and using that hold to draw her deeper into the room, “is my cousin, April Gareaux.”
Katie stopped.
Stopped moving. Stopped breathing. Stopped thinking.
Stopped everything but staring at the young woman who had been in the news so much at the beginning of the year. The young woman so many people had said she resembled. The young woman in the magazine she’d looked at so many times.
“We’re here shamelessly throwing ourselves on Bette’s organizing skill to pull together our wedding,” April said with a warm smile. “I’m so glad it’s also giving me this opportunity to meet you.”
Katie looked into her mind searching for a reaction and it was an utter blank except for one fact. Brad had brought her here. To a house where April Gareaux was. Brad.
Movement caught her attention, finally breaking her immobility to focus on it. Now she was staring at the man who’d come to stand behind April, one arm going around her.
“Hello, Katie,” said Hunter Pierce of the State Department’s Security Service. “It’s good to see you again.”
Hunter Pierce. April Gareaux. … Oh, God.
She turned away, half stumbled, found Brad’s arms around her. “Katie. Listen, please—” She tried to escape from his hold, and almost went down completely.
“Sit here,” Bette said, a hand on her shoulder as she guided Katie to an easy chair. Other voices were saying things, lots of things, all trying to sound reassuring, soothing, persuasive, she was sure. It took several moments for the sounds to begin to sort out to words spoken by individuals.
“We just want to talk to you,” Grady Roberts said.
“That’s not entirely true.”
Katie’s head came up at those words, and she met Leslie Roberts’ gaze. “We don’t just want to talk to you. We want you to listen. And afterward, we want you to agree with us that you should meet King Jozef.”
Katie was aware of someone – she thought it was Tris Dickinson – muttering, “Way to ease into it.”
But she appreciated Leslie Robert’s honesty. It gave her an anchor. “No. I told him— Him.” She specified Hunter Pierce. “I’m not the right person.”“Katie.” Brad was there, crouched in front of her. “This isn’t going to go away. And—”
“C.J. and Carolyn?”
“It’s my doing. If you’re pissed at somebody, be pissed at me.”
“But they know. That’s why they pushed this trip. That’s why … this whole weekend.”
He was going to lie. She saw that. And then he didn’t. “Yes. They know.” He took both her hands in his and she was so numb she couldn’t feel it. “Katie, you have to deal with this. One way or the other, it isn’t going away. Face it and—”
“I don’t—”
“We want you to meet King Jozef tonight.”
Katie’s head jerked up to April Gareaux, standing behind where Brad crouched beside her chair.
Brad’s voice pulled her back. “I told you all no, not unless Katie agrees. You’re not going to spring a king on her.”
Spring a king. She almost laughed. Was that a sign of hysteria?
“And we agreed he would not be here,” Hunter said. “To start.”
April was directly in front of her now. It was almost like looking in a mirror. Except a mirror that knew how to do things with makeup and hair that were far beyond her.
“Katie, will you talk with me alone for a while? You won’t feel as pressured, as you must now with so many of us and just you and Brad. If it’s only you and me, then it’s even, right? We’ll leave the rest of them here and go into Paul’s office and we can—”
“Not Paul’s office,” Bette said firmly. “You’ll both have nightmares. Use mine.”
There was a sputter of knowing laughter
from several directions that broke the tension.
Katie glanced toward Brad. His blue eyes were intense and focused on her. None of the laughter had come from him. How odd. He’d been the one to spring this on her … spring a king … so she should feel betrayed. Yet his presence, his look gave her the security to say, “Okay.”
****
In the office, they simultaneously slewed around on the love seat to face each other. It made her think of mirrors again. Only the mirror didn’t play by the rules, because it arbitrarily changed just enough that it wasn’t like looking in a mirror.
April’s mouth quirked. “Weird, isn’t it?”
Katie wondered if she and April sounded as much alike as they looked alike. They said you didn’t know the sound of your own voice. She’d have to record her voice, listen to it, then listen to April’s – oh, God, why was she focusing on this?
“Very. But you’re so much prettier—”
The other woman snorted. “I am not. You have much better features than I do.” She tipped her head. “I learned a lot about clothes and hair and makeup after Hunter asked me to…”
The way April said his name, Katie knew that was some of the difference between them. The other woman loved and was loved. Yes, that was a major difference.
April huffed out a breath. “The best way to do this is to start at the beginning and tell you about it. Hunter showed up at my office back in November and asked me to pretend to be a princess…”
****
The door Brad had been watching for nearly an hour, ignoring all attempts to draw him into conversation, finally opened, and then he wished it would have stayed closed.
Hunter dropped a hand on his shoulder. Reassuring? Or to be sure he didn’t jump up, grab Katie, and run out the way he wanted to?
April gave Hunter a look that communicated … something, but what?
Then she looked around the room, taking everyone in, before focusing on him as she said, “After Katie and I discussed all this, or some of it, anyway…” She stopped, pulled in a breath than started again. “What it comes down to is I’ve called King Jozef. He should be here in twenty minutes.”
****
“I agreed to meet you to say to you directly that I am very sorry for your loss – all your losses – but I am not your granddaughter.” Belatedly, Katie remembered to add, “Your Majesty.”
King Jozef of Bariavak had arrived moments ago.
He was medium height, straight-backed, with a precisely trimmed beard, and strong features. In an effort to not stare at him, she made herself notice the genuine warmth in the others’ greetings to him.
The only jarring note had been Hunter frowning, and saying something low to a young American who’d entered with the king. The younger man answered, “I barely got him to let me come.”
Bette had directed King Jozef to a seat near where Katie stood.
He’d sat at the other end of the small couch and gestured for all of them to sit.
Katie had remained standing to deliver her statement, not a trace of tremor in her voice.
“Please sit, my dear,” the king said in response.
She hesitated. Now that she’d seen him, now that she’d said what she wanted to say – needed to say – what was the point in staying? She looked toward Brad.
He came to her, put a hand on her shoulder. As soon as she felt that touch, her knees gave way and she sat, with more emphasis than grace.
Without moving or making a sound, the king drew her gaze to him. “Thank you for your courtesy and bravery in agreeing to see me and to speak with me when you preferred not to. What has brought you to the conclusion you have reached that a possible connection between us is not worthy of exploration?”
How about the fact that there is nothing royal about me.
Look at the delicate way he had worded his question. She wouldn’t have the first clue how to verbally glide so readily among the land mines.
“The knowledge that I am the daughter of a pair of immigrants of modest means,” she said bluntly.
He arched one brow. His eyes were bright and shrewd. He didn’t stare at her, yet she felt he saw everything. “That is the cover story that was created. The role they played. We have done extensive research—”
“I am their daughter. Katie Davis of Ashton, Wisconsin. That’s who I am.”
He ignored her interruption – she’d interrupted a king for heaven’s sake – with supreme calm. “The research shows numerous tears and gaps in the fabric of the lives they fabricated. I believe Hunter has provided you with information pertaining to a few. There are more. We can go over those—”
“No.” Great. She’d interrupted a king for the second time in a row. “The gaps don’t matter. I know who I am and who I’m not.”
“How could you know what might have happened when you were a baby?” April asked, as she had while they were alone.
It was a good point. Katie admitted that. But she said doggedly, “I know. Besides, there’s the fact that I’m younger than the princess. I’m twenty-seven. She would be twenty-eight, like April.”
“Birth certificate’s not valid,” said Michael Dickinson.
It was the first thing he’d said since their introduction.
“That doesn’t mean …” Under his steady look she dropped her gaze to her hand resting on the couch cushion beside her. “You can’t be sure.”
“It’s still being looked at, but it looks that way,” Hunter said.
“It’s not a certain the information on the certificate is false. But it can’t be certain it’s true, either.” Michael’s voice was unemotional and steady. “So you can’t know how old you are. Not precisely. No one can. We rely on certificates.” His pause added weight to the next words. “And what our families tell us.”
Hunter picked up, “The move to Wisconsin would have made it easy to shave a year off your age. Taking you away from people who might otherwise have questioned your age, and plunking you down among people who could come to your third birthday party not knowing you’d already had your third birthday party the year before.”
You’re wrong. I never had any birthday parties, much less one twice. She kept her mouth shut.
“It doesn’t mean you are the princess,” Hunter added. “But it adds another piece to it being possible. Possibility or impossibility are all we can assess until – unless we test for DNA. Even then ... well, testing to confirm maternal grandfather is difficult.”
A jolt ran through her.
It was the same jolt as in the basketball office conference room, when he had brought up DNA testing. A swab from the inside of her check…
Maternal grandfather. A relative. A connection. A family.
“Why’s maternal grandfather difficult?” Paul Monroe asked.
“Mitochondrial DNA and Y chromosome links are strong. But with a maternal grandfather there’s neither the Y chromosome of the paternal line nor the mitochondrial DNA of the maternal line.”
“Okay, I get why there’s no Y chromosome involved, since neither the daughter nor granddaughter would have one. But what about the mitochondrial DNA, Hunter?”
“Mitochondrial DNA comes only from the mother. A man inherits mtDNA from his mother, but can’t pass any of that on to his kids. So a maternal grandmother and a grandchild – male or female – would show the connection in the mitochondrial DNA. But not a maternal grandfather and his grandchild.”
“So you’re looking for something with DNA from King Jozef’s wife or daughter?”
“After this length of time, it would mean—” Hunter’s gaze flicked to the king. “—invasive measures. It would be a last resort.”
Katie looked from Hunter to the king.
Disinterment. “To go through that when I know it’s impossible. No,” she said.
Hunter sidestepped “With advanced testing, they can look for stretches of identical DNA shared by potential relatives.”
“I thought we all have a lot of the same DNA, with a
small percentage of differences,” Paul said.
“A small percent can still mean a whole lot of genes. Plus, as I said, they’re looking for stretches of identical DNA that unrelated people wouldn’t share. If the top experts say the results show a family connection, you can rely on it. “
“It is the way to know with the greatest certainty available,” King Jozef said in a tone that said the discussion was done for now.
The force of his will slowly drew Katie’s gaze to him.
When their eyes met, he reached out a hand and covered hers where it rested on the cushion between them. “However, it would be certainty for you, alone. For me—”
She tried to move her hand. She couldn’t. It wasn’t that he held it. She simply couldn’t move her hand. She couldn’t look away, either.
“—I know. You are my granddaughter, Princess Josephine-Augusta Katrina Mariana Sofia of Bariavak.”
CHAPTER TEN
At that name, she pulled her hand back. “You can’t possibly know.”
“Looking at you, listening to you, seeing you move. I know.”
She opened her mouth to refute his certainty, not knowing what words she’d use. She was spared using any.
“Why not let the DNA testing do what it’s supposed to do?” April asked reasonably.
“I couldn’t possibly until after the third week of May,” Katie said quickly.
Hunter’s voice slid through murmurs of surprise. “The test takes hardly any time at all. A swab of inside your cheek—”
“I couldn’t decide anything until after the third week of May.”
They stared at her. All except Brad. “Katie, you know C.J. would understand and want you to—”
“I am not going to let this interfere with my job.”
“You’re not going to let finding out if you’re a princess interfere with your job?” Grady repeated. He sounded more interested than disapproving.
“Why the third week of May?” Paul’s eyes glinted with interest. “Basketball season ends in early April, and with Ashton having a rebuilding season, it’s not likely to be playing in the Final Four. No offense, Brad.”
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