Taken aback by the passion in her voice, in her belief in him, not ready to deal with just how disorientated he felt by it, he opted to tease her instead of carrying on this conversation. ‘Are you saying that I’m not perfect?’
Leaning forward, her eyes silver pools of laughter but also affection, she studied him for a few moments and answered, ‘I’m starting to realise that perfect is boring.’
* * *
Luis held her gaze, not blinking, leaning closer into her. And there it was again, that magic that kept springing between them, a magic of connection and desire, a recognition, she didn’t fully understand. He gave her a lopsided grin.
For a heart-soaring moment she thought he was about to kiss her but instead he took hold of the calendar Sarah had gifted her and studied the photos. ‘Given that you don’t rate perfection so highly, perhaps I should stage some photos of me looking a little more dishevelled—it might encourage you to keep my calendar next year.’
For June, the calendar-makers had chosen a picture of him emerging from the sea, all golden-skinned and defined muscle. The room suddenly feeling way too hot, she took hold of the calendar and placed it behind her. ‘It’s your turn to open your presents.’
He raised an eyebrow, his eyes shining with amusement. Shaking his head, he stood and gathered up all of his presents. ‘I’m hungry. I’ll open them over breakfast.’
She stood too and gestured towards her pyjamas. ‘I’ll go and get changed first.’
His eyes twinkled. ‘Don’t. They’re cute. And it’s nice to see you wearing something colourful for a change.’
‘You sound like my mother. She’s always telling me that I should wear more colourful clothes, these pyjamas being a case in point. She insists on buying me a set every year. If I hadn’t worn them for our call, I’d never have heard the end of it.’
‘What’s with your obsession with dark-coloured clothes anyway?’
She shrugged. It was just habit.
Because they make me feel safe. I don’t want to stand out, be a target for anyone.
She blinked at that realisation. ‘It saves time in the morning, and anyway I hate shopping. Sticking mostly to black and navy cuts out any time-wasting.’
Not looking convinced by her reasoning, he contemplated her pyjama top. ‘Turquoise suits you...red would look great on you too.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘What, are you a fashion consultant now? And I thought you said you were hungry.’
‘So I did.’ He said it in such a low rumble, mischief glittering in his eyes, that she bolted for the door and in the kitchen went straight for the safety of sitting at the dining table, glad to be able to hide her legs from how Luis kept staring at them. God, she hoped she didn’t have cellulite. A tummy given to bloating was enough to contend with.
The dining table was set into an alcove made entirely of glass, and cantilevered over the mountain. Heavy snow continued to fall on the sloping glass roof of the alcove, the village below invisible in the snowstorm. ‘It’s like being inside a snow globe,’ she said.
‘Except this has underfloor heating,’ Luis said with a chuckle, bringing freshly brewed tea and coffee to the table.
While she tucked into the rich, flaky layers of a croissant, Luis ate a bowl of granola and yoghurt, and described the hair-raising off-piste ski runs he had done in isolated spots, having been dropped in by helicopter, shrugging off her disbelief that he had continued to take such risks even after once being caught up in an avalanche.
When they had both finished eating, he lifted up the largest of his presents, testing its weight in the palm of his hand. Thrown by how keenly he was studying the present, the expectation in his expression, she cringed and said, ‘They’re only small tokens...nothing special...don’t expect too much.’
Unwrapping the first present, he studied it. ‘A bonsai tree. Why a bonsai tree?’
She laughed. ‘It’s a reminder that great things of beauty take time and attention and patience. I hope you’ll look at it and remember that it’s good to slow down and that life doesn’t have to be lived at a hundred miles an hour.’
He eyed her suspiciously. ‘Why do I get the feeling there’s going to be a theme here?’
Next came the aromatherapy pressure-point kit, which he received with a wry smile, and then the dark green polo shirt she had bought him, loving both the softness of the fabric and how it was a perfect match for the flecks of green in his eyes.
Opening the handcrafted dark praline chocolates, he asked in surprise, ‘My favourite flavour—how did you know?’
‘Just a lucky guess.’
And the fact that you ate that lone chocolate at the bottom of my sweet tin with such relish the other night.
Next came the limited-edition landscape print of the Thames at night. Her final present to him was a book. He held the hardback, studying the portrait painting on the cover before asking, ‘You’re not going to throw this one at me, are you?’
Alice laughed. ‘Unless you provoke me.’ Pausing, she wondered at the sense in giving it to him. Would he be interested? She swallowed. Suddenly wanting him to care, to want to know more about her. ‘It’s a biography on Lady Maud Radford—my PhD subject.’
‘Why did you choose Lady Radford?’
‘In the late nineteenth century she owned a huge estate close to where my mum now lives. When she was alive she divided her time between the estate and her house in London. She was very influential in Anglo-Irish politics but what she achieved hasn’t been recognised because of her more famous son, the poet Henry Radford. She was incredibly progressive in her advocacy for women’s rights and the rights of all children to a free education. Her views influenced education reforms and I think her contribution to that deserves to be acknowledged.’
Opening the book, he studied the photographs of Lady Radford and her family in the centre pages and then, reaching to touch the delicate branches of the bonsai tree, he said, ‘I can see why it took you three hours to select all of these gifts; thank you for choosing them so carefully.’
Taken aback by the emotion in his voice, she responded, ‘I’m sure these are nothing in comparison to the gifts that you usually receive.’
He shook his head. ‘I receive gifts in an official capacity, but I always donate those to charity, or they are placed in the royal archive—and as for more personal gifts...well, as a family we haven’t exchanged gifts in years.’
She pushed her plate aside, wanting to reach out to him, to ease the troubled lines now pinching at the corners of his eyes. ‘I’ll have to make sure to send you a present every Christmas.’
Her heart turned over to see him smile. But then he gave her an apologetic look. ‘I thought, given your feelings on Christmas, that you wouldn’t want a gift.’
She waved away his disquiet. ‘Oh, I didn’t want anything.’ She gestured to the snow outside. ‘To experience a proper white Christmas is more than enough.’
Liar! Okay, you hadn’t actually thought about it up to now, but now that he has brought it up you do want something. Nothing big. Just a token to know he thought about it. Something to remember these days.
‘I’ll have to make it up to you next year.’
She gave him an uncertain shrug, her heart sinking, knowing there would be no reason for him to give her a gift next year. How would she feel about Christmas next year? Would she relive time and time again the whirlwind, the unexpected turns of this Christmas? How would she feel knowing that these few intoxicating days would never happen again?
For a crazy moment, as silence feel between them and he held her gaze, she thought they were sharing the same identical thoughts. But then he stood and, walking away, said, ‘Come with me.’ He led her back to the sitting room, where he opened a drawer in a console table. From it he took out a parcel wrapped in gold paper and handed it to her.
Her heart singing with pleasure and
anticipation, she opened the present. Seeing what was inside, she laughed. ‘Wow, my very own Our Place—or should I say Our lace?—soccer jersey.’
His eyes danced with merriment. ‘We can become their first official fans.’ Then he pointed towards the branches of the Christmas tree. ‘Do you spot anything different to what we hung last night?’
Puzzled, she glanced over the branches of the tree, until she saw a small white bag with the world-famous gold insignia of Jarrad Jewellers of Bond Street sitting close to one of the flashing icicle lights.
She pointed at it, not sure where this was going.
Lifting the bag from the tree, he handed it to her.
‘It’s for me?’
‘Well, I don’t think it will suit me,’ he answered.
Inside the bag there was a white velvet box. Opening it, she gasped before lifting out the falling cluster of white-gold flowers inset with diamonds on a white-gold chain.
‘This can’t be for me.’
Taking it from her, he placed it around her neck. She shivered as his hands touched her skin. ‘My prize fund for winning the World Series was substantial. It’s nice to be able to share it with someone.’
She closed her eyes. How could she refuse to accept his gift, given those words, given the emotional punch they delivered right into the centre of her heart? Meeting his gaze, she felt realisation barrel through her—he might have a hectic social life and a wide network of friends but perhaps he too understood what it was to feel alone.
She touched her lips against his cheek. ‘Thank you.’ And then stepped away, terrified by just how emotional she was feeling. She tucked the necklace beneath her pyjama top, confused by what it signified. Did he give such generous gifts to everyone in his life?
Returning to the kitchen, they both began to clear away the dishes. Wanting to lighten the mood between them, she said, ‘Yesterday when I was shopping a store assistant asked me if she could help me. I must have looked really lost for her to have taken the time out from the chaos around her. Anyway, she asked who I was buying for and I was so frazzled I blurted out that it was for a prince. Without even blinking, she immediately directed me towards the pet section; she thought I was referring to my dog!’
Moving his gifts to a side table, he laughed. ‘Are you saying I might have received some dog biscuits as a present?’
Searching for the glass cupboard, in order to stack away some unused juice glasses, she said, ‘Well, I was pretty desperate...and they had the most adorable dog beds in the shape of Santa’s sleigh. But there was no way you’d have fitted into them.’
She grinned at Luis’s laughter and, moving to the sink to rinse their plates and cups, she admitted, ‘I wanted a dog so badly when I was a child, but my dad wouldn’t let me. He said they were more trouble than they were worth.’
Coming alongside her, he shook his head in disbelief. ‘Not worth the loyalty and affection and endless games of chase? Really?’
She snorted, something freeing in her, at his outrage. She had never thought she’d see the day when she would be able to laugh over anything concerning her dad.
Rinsing done, she watched as Luis settled himself against the counter opposite her. ‘We had four dogs. Our mother allowed us to adopt one each on our tenth birthday provided we proved responsible enough by taking care of the family dog, Snuggles.’
This time she gave a hoot of laughter. ‘Snuggles! What a great name.’
He regarded her with such warmth and affection that her heart felt as light and free as the snowflakes floating past the window. ‘Yeah, it’s a cool name, but not for him unfortunately—he was a grumpy schnauzer who refused to be cuddled.’
She laughed but in truth she was seriously distracted, thanks to how good he looked propped like that against the worktop. Blue shirt over blue jeans and tan boots. Height and power. Narrow waist, long and muscular legs. Hair a few centimetres longer than at the wedding. She preferred this length. Clean-shaven—this she also preferred, liking the warmth, the buzz of his skin against hers. He tilted his head in question. He was waiting for her to say something.
What had they been talking about? Dogs. Of course!
Now she just needed to find something to say. ‘So...yes...what...what was the name of the dog you adopted?’
Moving away to grab his phone from the dining table, he came and stood beside her. ‘He was a cross-breed from the local dog shelter.’ Opening up his photo gallery, he scrolled through endless photos.
She caught brief glimpses of beautiful buildings and beaches and powerboats and gorgeous women. Okay, so these women were often in mixed groups, with nothing to suggest that they were more than just friends to Luis. But they were there. They were all part of his life, a life she knew nothing about. Luis had a whole life and friends and relationships she knew nothing about. That thought was odd...and disconcerting.
Finally pausing at a picture, he showed it to her. Her heart melted. ‘Oh, gosh! He’s so adorable.’ The grinning dog looked like a mixture between a Wheaten and a Scottish terrier.
‘Yes, he was...his name was Rocky,’ he said, his voice full of emotion. ‘I hated boarding school, not just because of the stupid need to conform and to obey rules that only made sense a hundred years ago but... I was homesick, for Rocky especially. After I was expelled my father was intent on sending me to a school in America but thankfully my aunt, Princess Maria, and her husband, Johan, persuaded him to allow me to stay with them. And, best of all, Rocky and I were reunited—my aunt smuggled him out of the palace without my father knowing. He was furious when he found out and accused my aunt of spoiling me—he thought I shouldn’t be allowed to have Rocky as a form of punishment.’
‘Were you happy living with your aunt and uncle?’ she asked, hoping that he had been—what must it have been like to lose his mother and then be sent away to another country?
‘Yes...in some ways. I had Rocky, and my aunt and uncle indulged me in whatever sport I was obsessed with at any particular time—I rode, sailed, played soccer and cricket, took up abseiling and kite surfing, and then I discovered a passion for motocross. I know they had concerns for my safety and the appropriateness of my involvement with some of the sports, but they always came to watch me compete.’ He shifted away from the worktop and, grabbing hold of some paper towel and a spray bottle, he began to wipe the kitchen table with quick, wide, arching movements. ‘My father refused to speak to me for over a year. He said I’d brought shame on the family by being expelled from his alma mater.’
‘Why were you expelled?’
Head bowed in concentration as he continued to clean the length of the table that could seat at least ten, he answered, ‘As I already said, I never settled in. The school was constantly calling my father over my behaviour. What finally got me expelled was when I let some pigs from the neighbouring farm loose in the school.’
Trying not to laugh, she asked, ‘And what was the purpose of that little stunt?’
Tossing the paper towel into the bin, he answered, ‘I was bored, and I had a science exam an hour later I was going to fail.’
‘You wanted to be expelled?’
He folded his arms. ‘Yes.’ For a few seconds he considered her, shuffled on his feet, looking increasingly uncomfortable. He looked away from her. ‘I wanted to get home to Rocky.’
‘Did you tell your dad how—?’
He interrupted her, ‘We don’t have that type of relationship. After my mother died, he didn’t want to know about our lives or what we wanted.’
‘Losing your mum must have been hard for him too.’
Something dark flashed across his expression. He refused to look at her. His jaw working, he let out an angry breath. She shrank backwards.
He swung his head back in her direction. His eyes widened. ‘Alice... I’m sorry.’ He unfolded his arms. ‘I’m angry with my father, not you.’ And
then on a sigh he said, ‘And you’re right. Her death did destroy him...and us as a family.’
Butterflies of panic still soaring in her stomach, she breathed against them. Any sign of annoyance panicked her. Impatient customers made her clumsy. Older men especially. She knew she had to stop equating other people to her father. She had thought that she had made inroads in doing so in recent years. But just now with Luis, it was as though she was looking for any sign that he would hurt her. Which was unfair, she knew that, but deep down she was increasingly panicking at how much he was getting inside her head...and heart.
‘Did you tell your brothers about how much you disliked school?’
‘No. Edwin was always trying to appease my father and Ivo was never to be seen. He spent most of his time painting model soldiers in his room and then he became obsessed with rowing. He and I are alike in our passion for sport...and in our desire to get away from Monrosa.’ He turned away and plucked a piece of paper from the noticeboard. ‘The chef has left details on preparing tonight’s dinner. I had better read it and try to decipher his instructions.’
She had never spoken to anyone before about her childhood, hating those memories. She glanced at the white velvet jewellery box, at the snow now falling in slow, dancing swirls, at her gifts to Luis, realising that sometimes, sharing what was deep inside, you could be the most valuable gift of all. ‘I had no one to speak to when I was a child. I know how frightening that can be.’
He studied her before moving towards her, his eyes so gentle, so compassionate, swallowing up her heart. ‘I wish you had had a Rocky in your life back then.’
She swallowed. Laughed in surprise, hot tears pressing against the backs of her eyes. ‘I wish I’d had a Rocky too.’
His hand rested on her arm, his touch one of comfort. ‘I reckon it’s time we started having some fun. What do you think?’
She nodded. ‘Agreed.’ Looking out at the falling snow, she asked, ‘Will we get to go skiing?’
‘Unfortunately I don’t think so.’ Walking over to the window, he looked out. ‘We’ll need to think of something else we can do.’ He turned around, a wicked gleam in his eye.
Christmas Encounter with a Prince Page 9
