Christmas Encounter with a Prince

by Katrina Cudmore

  She found a bench, not as far away from everyone else as she would have liked, but it was the best she could do and, sitting down, she bit into the doughnut. She closed her eyes as the sugar melted in her mouth. She took a second bite, opened her eyes, but almost choked when she tried to swallow. Luis was walking in her direction, eyeing her half-eaten doughnut hungrily. Could she find any peace in this world?

  With a grin he sat beside her.

  She passed the box of doughnuts over and he picked one out.

  She wanted to ask him why he wasn’t dressed for a dinner party but thought better of it. Instead she nodded towards the box. ‘I reckoned I need some sugar before I get back to my writing. I’m going to have to work until past midnight at least.’

  He raised an eyebrow, studying her way too closely for her liking. Why did he look at her that way and yet when she virtually offered herself on a plate earlier he had backed away from really kissing her? She was useless at all of this. She didn’t understand flirting...was she reading all of his signals wrong? The best policy for the next few days was avoidance—at least that way she wouldn’t make a fool of herself. Again.

  She jumped up. Put her half-eaten doughnut back into the box and tossed the box into her already heaving handbag, squishing it next to her laptop and notes. ‘Talking of work, I’d better go and do some. Enjoy your evening out.’

  Luis nodded, but instead of staying where he was as she had hoped he would he stood and began to walk with her, back towards the pedestrian gate opposite the house. ‘I’m not going out. I said that I was staying in London to support you. And I meant that. I’ll stay in and cook you dinner while you work.’

  ‘There’s no need...’ She paused in her protest, realising it was futile, given that the recipient had decided to wander off to a stall where two surly-looking teenagers were glaring out at the world. All of the other shoppers were wisely giving their stall a wide berth.

  Luis smiled at the teenagers, who were selling dark blue football jerseys.

  In unison they folded their arms, their glares intensifying even more when he lifted up a rain-soaked jersey. She guessed that at one point the jersey would have had the same logo as that printed on a display football at the side of the stall—Our Place FC—but some of the adhesive letters had lifted off the jersey and now it just read Our lace.

  The boy wearing a bobble hat nodded at the jersey, his scowl deepening. ‘We didn’t know it was going to rain. No one warned us.’ He stared at Luis as though it were Luis’s fault that the heavens had decided to open that afternoon, and added, ‘We’ve tried getting in contact with the supplier for a refund but there’s no telephone number on the website and he’s not answering our emails. My mum says we’ve been had.’

  Luis nodded. ‘Bad luck.’

  The other boy, who was wearing a bottle-green parka jacket, gave an angry laugh. ‘You can jog on now, mate. There’s nothing for you to buy here. We’re only here because my mum won’t let us go home. She said she didn’t waste all that time convincing someone to allow us to have a stall for us to leave on our first day.’

  Luis picked up the football, bounced it on the ground and did some impressive solos. Alice rolled her eyes. Was there anything this man couldn’t do?

  ‘So where’s “Our Place” located?’ Luis asked as he flicked the ball towards the boy with the hat.

  The boy caught it, his scowl for a moment replaced with an awestruck expression at Luis’s skills. ‘There’s an empty field behind our flats... we’re trying to get a team together from the neighbourhood. There’s no local team. And the kids are bored.’ Remembering the rain-soaked jerseys, the boy picked up one, his expression one of disgust, before flinging it back down on the table. ‘We need to raise money for goalposts. We had hoped to sell these jerseys.’

  Luis nodded. Considered the two boys for a moment and then gestured to the entire table. ‘I’ll buy everything.’

  The two boys looked at him as though he had lost his mind. The guy in the parka said, ‘All of the jerseys are destroyed.’

  Luis shrugged and then smiled in her direction. ‘I’ll take two, one for myself and my friend Alice. Who knows, we might come along and watch you play some time?’ Pausing to take business cards from his wallet, he passed one to each boy, along with a healthy number of banknotes, ‘I trust this will adequately cover my bill? Take the rest of the jerseys home and see if they can be rescued. If they can, hand them out to local children and encourage them to join the club.’

  They walked away from the speechless boys.

  He called me his friend.

  She eyed him warily, more confused than ever as to what to make of him.

  Are we friends? I suppose I should be pleased that that’s how he sees things...that’s way safer than there being more to this. Two friends sharing a house over Christmas. Nothing complicated or worth spending time fretting over. Friends who just might meet up again in the future if they happen to cross paths.

  As they neared the gate out of the park, the boy wearing the green parka raced after them. Fist pumping Luis, his eyes aglow, the boy then gave Luis an awkward hug before running away, giving a whoop.

  Luis laughed, his eyes shining with pleasure. This she did not expect from him—other people had given the boys a wide berth, but not Luis. What was it in him that had seen their story, their disappointment masked by belligerence? He had an innate intuition and kindness that was so at odds with his public wild and carefree image.

  Inside the house, she followed him down to the basement. ‘That was an incredibly nice thing to do.’

  Shrugging, he went into the utility room and deftly loaded the wet jerseys into the washing machine, popping in some detergent and putting the machine onto a wash cycle. Turning, he raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not sure if the jerseys will survive a wash, but it’s worth a go.’

  She eyed the washing machine and then him. ‘You wash your own clothes?’

  He laughed at that. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

  She followed him back up to the sitting room, where he used a remote control to switch on the lights of the Christmas tree that was sitting in the bay window. ‘You could have just bought a few jerseys from the boys—why buy everything?’

  Moving to twist around a decoration of a girl on skis that was facing backwards, he answered, ‘They reminded me of myself when I was a teenager.’

  She stood in front of him. The white lights of the tree flashed against his dark skin like snowflakes. ‘Really? I thought you were born smiling.’

  ‘I went through a long and protracted teenage rebellion. It was only when I found powerboating that I changed. It gave me a sense of purpose. Something to aim towards.’

  She caught the emotion in his voice—was it regret? ‘And now that you’re leaving that career—it must be difficult?’

  He stepped back from the tree. Unbuttoned his grey wool coat. Unwound his dark grey and cream scarf from around his neck. ‘Resuming my royal duties is what I have to do.’

  She raised an eyebrow at his unenthusiastic tone.

  He yanked off his coat, ran a hand against his neck. Rocked on his heels for a moment, eyeing her all the while. ‘Come to dinner with me. I have been hearing great things about the new restaurant in Hotel Russo. I need to get out.’

  She went to say no but he interrupted her as though guessing what she was about to say. ‘It’s two days before Christmas. We should be celebrating. Not stuck inside.’ He moved away, his restlessness clear. ‘Come on, Alice. It’s only dinner. You can work tomorrow. I’m a terrible chef—you really don’t want to have to eat whatever I manage to cook for you tonight.’

  She wavered for a moment. Swayed by his eagerness but even more so by his kindness towards the boys. He waited for her answer with a forced patience. And she remembered his soft gentleness with her last night. How could she turn him down? But she had to at least mak
e an attempt to call a halt to how he was throwing her completely off schedule. ‘Why not go to the dinner party you were invited to?’

  He stopped and considered that for a moment. And then with a hint of bewilderment, as though something was just dawning on him, he answered, ‘I guess I’d much rather spend time with you.’

  She blushed, smiled, felt rather faint at the softness of his voice, at the way he was concentrating on her with one hundred per cent focus. It would be so easy to fall for every word he said. She needed to tread carefully. No, scratch that: she needed to take this man and any notions he fostered in her down with a sledgehammer. She folded her arms and tilted her chin to deliver one of her best unimpressed stares. ‘That’s not true—what are you up to, Luis?’

  He laughed. Long and deep. His eyes sparkling with amusement. His laughter wrapped around her, and despite herself she smiled, taking far too much pleasure in being able to create that happiness in him. He eventually controlled himself enough to say, ‘I like chatting with you. Your crankiness is refreshing.’

  With that he tilted his head, those eyes of his watching her, softly appealing to her to accept his invite.

  She rolled her eyes. Let out an irritated breath. ‘How can a girl possibly say no to such flattery?’ She turned for the door. ‘I’m warning you though, once tonight is over, I’m one hundred per cent focused on my thesis.’ She stopped at the doorway, adding, ‘After tonight I don’t want to be disturbed...or reminded that it’s Christmas. Is that a deal?’

  He sauntered over to her. She waited for him to say yes. But instead, his voice disturbingly intense, a dangerous heat in his eyes, he said, ‘I’ll try...but do you really want me to stay away?’

  She knew she should give him a sharp retort, but her throat was suddenly dry. All she could muster up was a weak smile, her pulse pounding in her ears, the memory of their kiss in the palace garden, the heat of his mouth, the beauty, the rightness of his touch, his scent, leaving her with no option but to walk away from him now without an answer, her skin flaming with the knowledge that he watched her every single shaky step as she climbed the stairs.

  * * *

  Following Alice as the maître d’ led them to their table in the dimly lit restaurant, Luis tried not to stare at the curve of Alice’s bottom encased in soft black leather. She had removed her coat to reveal a cream open-neck silk blouse tucked inside a black leather mini-skirt. He wanted so much more with her. He wanted to kiss her again and experience that heart-jolting, addictive hunger her mouth, her taste, the feel of her skin against his had stirred in him. He wanted to move beyond that tough exterior she presented to the world and know her better.

  But to do so would be selfish. How would getting entangled with him help her in any way? And she was practically family, so that was another reason he needed to draw a line in the nature of their relationship—he’d allow himself some light flirting, he was only human, after all, but ultimately the next few days were about Alice not having to spend Christmas alone.

  He took his seat opposite her at their table, which was placed next to the floor-to-ceiling glass window that spanned the entire length of the restaurant located on the top floor of the hotel. The candle on their table flickered in the window’s reflection and he smiled when Alice placed her hands against the glass and peered out. ‘I can just about see the Thames—the view from here must be spectacular during the day.’ She let out a disappointed sigh. ‘It’s a shame it’s so hard to see anything at night.’

  Their waiter, who had come alongside the table, cleared his throat. Alice leapt away from the window.

  ‘We dim the interior lights to allow a better view, but we do have a number of outdoor areas that diners can avail themselves of for their desserts and coffees.’ Pausing to glance in his direction, the waiter added, ‘Usually they are booked in advance, but I can organise for an area to be reserved for you, Your Highness.’

  Across from him Alice squirmed in her seat. He raised an eyebrow in question as to what she thought of the idea of having dessert outside and she nodded with a sheepish smile.

  The waiter presented them with their menus and after disappearing for a few minutes returned with water and amuse-bouches and took their orders. They agreed to forgo a starter and head straight for the main course, both of them choosing the restaurant’s signature dish of halibut and oysters.

  Sitting back in his chair, he nodded towards Alice’s reflection in the window. ‘Personally, I like the view—I get to see you twice.’

  She scowled. He laughed, knowing he enjoyed teasing her way too much but that it was proving to be way too entertaining to stop.

  ‘You mean you enjoy being able to see your own reflection.’ She tilted her head, impending revenge glittering in her eyes. ‘So, what’s it like to be considered one of the most eligible men in the world? That accolade must go to your head.’

  ‘I stopped reading anything about myself a long time ago. Trust me, disassociation from your public image is the best thing anyone in the public eye can do. The person portrayed in the media is not me.’ He paused as the waiter brought the glass of Merlot he had ordered and a sparkling water for Alice to the table. When the waiter had left he raised his glass in a toast. ‘If you stick around long enough you might actually believe that.’

  She considered him for a moment. Her hair was tied up, her long, slender neck seeming even more vulnerable without the weight of her hair. A plain silver chain hung around it, resting in the hollow of her throat. ‘So how would you describe yourself?’

  ‘A professional sportsman,’ he paused, catching himself, ‘or should I say an ex-pro?’

  ‘Are you definitely leaving powerboating?’

  He took a drink of his wine; the tannins were smooth, but something caught at the back of his throat. ‘I haven’t publicly announced it yet...’ He trailed off.

  ‘It must be a hard decision, given how successful you were—will you miss it?’

  With all my heart.

  ‘Not the losses or the frustration of mechanical problems and bad weather and wrong tactics.’

  She studied him with that unnerving quiet perceptiveness of hers that totally unsettled him. She was waiting for him to say something more...she knew he was holding back the truth. He took a drink. Looked to see if there was any sign of their waiter. When would their food arrive? And still she said nothing. The silence was too much. He admitted in a rush, his voice carrying how much he begrudged and felt exposed at doing so, ‘I’ll miss the sense of purpose, the camaraderie... The team are like a family to me.’

  Placing an elbow on the table, a hand cupping her cheek, she said, ‘That’s a huge amount of things to have to give up.’

  He arched his neck, his legs beneath the table restlessly moving with the urge to get up and go, the understanding in her voice, the understanding of what he was leaving behind, too much to handle.

  ‘Tell me about the team. Tell me about what it was like to chase the world championship.’

  Surprised by her question, he hesitated for a moment. But then he realised he did want to talk about Justin, Ryan, Anna and the rest of the team and the lows and highs they had endured over their eight-year campaign to become the top team in the world. He told her about them throughout their meal and as their waiter cleared away their dinner plates he realised that, though it was crushing to know that that time in his life was over, having a chance to reminisce about it, to share the highs and lows of all those years with someone, made it just that little bit easier.

  ‘What will your responsibilities be when you return to Monrosa?’

  He grimaced at her question. Dio! He dreaded the arguments that would come in the New Year as the exact nature of his role was thrashed out. His father no doubt would be as scathing and dismissive of his abilities and commitment to Monrosa as he always was.

  Across the table, she waited for his answer with a calm under
standing. She knew only too well the dysfunction of families. Was that why he found it so easy...okay, none of this was easy...but was her own past the reason why he was talking about things he had never spoken to another person about before?

  ‘With my father abdicating and Edwin taking over as monarch, my role has not been fully decided. My father when he was monarch had been making noises about me joining the treasury—my degree was in Finance and Economics...well, it was until I left university early to take up powerboating. I reckon he thinks I can do least damage there, hidden out of public view and under the careful watch of his close ally, the Chancellor.’

  ‘But now that Edwin has taken over, if powerboating is so important to you, why can’t you—?’

  He interrupted her, knowing where this conversation was going, ‘I’m not going back on my promise that I would return to Monrosa. Edwin has ambitious plans for it and is looking for my support. Which I unquestionably will give him, even if it means joining the treasury to appease my father—I’m sure it will be more fun than it sounds.’

  ‘That’s very honourable...’ Pausing, she bit her lip, cleared her throat. ‘I admire you for keeping your word...so many people promise things and never follow up on them. But can there be a compromise? Can you have a role where you can use all your experience in sport? And, though I’ll admit to not being the best judge of character, to me you have the most incredible people skills. People gravitate towards you. You should be in a role that inspires others, not be stuck behind a desk. Look at how well you dealt with the boys this evening in the park. You’re a leader, a role model, a mentor; use those skills.’

  He took a drink of water, trying to process everything she had said. Her passion, her conviction, her assessment of him, throwing him.

  Was that who he was?

  But no—he was the dissident of the family, the one who caused the trouble, the one who constantly locked horns with their father. A brother who put socialising and winning above the needs of his siblings. Wanting any excuse not to have to acknowledge all that was wrong in his family. He had walked away from them—not wanting to have to deal with his father’s bitterness, Edwin’s pointless attempts to keep their father appeased and Ivo’s complete withdrawal from them all.