“My sister is Tooty Jackson.” Sharon hurries to add, “The king of your country is quite a fan and he requested she come and perform for his court.”
“Tooty Jackson is your sister?” I ask, astonished. Of course, I know who she is. How could I not, being that my dad is King Alfred—a tidbit I do not share. Dad has always been a huge fan of American country music.
“Your son is Romaine Choate and your sister is Tooty Jackson? That’s an impressive family you’ve got,” I tell Sharon.
“I write Tooty’s songs,” she declares proudly.
I turn to Claire. “You must be very proud of your family.”
“So proud.” Her tone is one of pure sarcasm.
Ruby, on the other hand, is staring at me like I just announced I was a shape shifting werewolf standing under a full moon. “Where’s your accent?” she demands.
“I’ve lived in America since college. It’s faded.” I don’t mention the tutors who helped speed that occurrence along. The reason I came here was to enjoy a life of anonymity for as long as possible. Being that most Americans have never heard of my country has made that a pretty easy feat.
Ruby pulls her phone out of her purse and tells it, “Alexa, tell me about Malquar.”
The voice on her phone replies, “Malquar is an island lying off the coast of England. It has a population of four point eight million people. The economy is primarily seafaring with a large tourist trade.”
“Tourist trade?” Ruby demands. “How can it be a tourist attraction and I’ve never heard of it? I’ll have you know I’m pretty well-traveled.”
“We have mostly European visitors,” I tell her. “Americans tend to like the bigger attractions like Paris or London, so we’re not a popular destination for them.”
Ruby scrunches up her face and demands, “How do I not know this about you? I pay you, for Pete’s sake.”
“Actually, my checks are made out to a private company.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s easier for me to pay taxes in two countries that way.” I’m making that up. The only reason I’ve had my American employers make my checks out to my LLC is because I don’t want them finding out who I really am.
My identification reads HRH Prince Geoffrey Reynard Arthur Bere Hale of Malquar. There’s absolutely no way to keep my identity private with a mouthful like that.
“Do you ever go home?” my boss wants to know.
“I spend all of my vacation time at home,” I assure her.
“Geoffrey”—Ruby stops talking long enough to take a large gulp of wine— “I feel like I don’t even know you. All along I’ve thought of you as family and now I find out you’ve been harboring secrets. I’m not happy with you, young man.”
If she knew how many secrets I’ve been keeping, she’d really be put out. After all, it’s not every day you hire a pastry chef who turns out to be a supermodel and a chef who’s secretly royalty. The Willamette Valley lodge is apparently not your run-of-the-mill establishment.
“I’m sorry I’ve never told you more about myself,” I apologize, hoping it will console her.
“I’ve never met your parents!”
“That’s about to change,” I tell her. “My folks are going to visit for my birthday. You’ll meet them then.” I don’t mention that they’re coming to take me home. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I’m hoping for a miracle that will allow me to stay.
While I love my family very much and I miss them quite a lot, I’ve never been in love with the royal life. Being third in line for the throne should allow me to lead a private existence, but in my country, when any royal child reaches the age of thirty, they are expected to move into their own residence and take up the full extent of duties their title demands.
In my case, those duties entail getting married and having a family, which is something I’ve avoided while living abroad. I’m expected to marry a Malquarian. I’m also required to take my seat on the Council, which is our version of Britain’s House of Lords. I’ll spend copious amounts of time at social events that barely interest me and, for all practical purposes, I won’t have time to cook.
My mother, the queen, has assured me that I can cook for my own family, but I won’t be allowed much beyond that. Being a chef is not an occupation suitable for a member of the royal house.
My life is not unlike a Hallmark movie except for one major difference. Hallmark movies always end with a happily-ever-after. I fear I won’t be so lucky.
Chapter Five
Sharon
Leaving her daughter to take a shower, Sharon heads outside to soak in the hot tub. The contrast between the forty-degree night air and the steaming hot water bubbling around her helps to drain the stress from her body. While beautiful, the drive up to Oregon left her with a couple of new knots in her shoulders. That daughter of mine is tightly wound, she thinks.
With her head resting against the rocky ledge of the spa, Sharon stares up into the night sky. All she sees are clouds with only an occasional glimmer of moonlight breaking through.
Closing her eyes, she thinks back to the week she and Tooty spent as guests of the Malquarian royal family. The rocky seaside coast was not unlike Ireland, although it was warmer. The castle, however, was right out of a story book.
She and Tooty had a suite of rooms that made them feel like princesses. They lay in Tooty’s giant canopied beds and laughed at what their younger selves would have made of two little girls from rural Tennessee growing up to be guests of European royalty. In their youth, their biggest dream was to one day visit the Grand Ole Opry. Now, Tooty is one of their most in-demand performers.
On the airplane to Malquar, Sharon and Tooty had Googled the countries of Europe and found out there were forty-four of them. They could only list thirty-two off the top of their heads. Many of the ones they didn’t know started with the letter M, including Malta, Moldova, Montenegro, and of course Malquar.
The week they spent there was pure magic and Sharon recalls how she’s wanted to go back ever since. Unfortunately, with her and Tooty’s work schedules, they haven’t been able to fit it in. She makes a mental note to tell her sister that she met a man from Malquar in Oregon and decides they should contact the king to see if he’d like another concert.
Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands.
Claire
I wake up and immediately start stretching my limbs like a cat preparing for a nap in a sunbeam. When I roll over, I notice my mom’s bed is empty. I hope she’s out running a 5K or climbing trees or something and not sitting in the living room of our suite. I need a few minutes to replay dinner last night without her commentary or questions.
I’m not sure what it is about Geoffrey that annoys me so much. It started when he tried to substitute the meat I’d ordered for Romaine’s wedding, claiming his supplier couldn’t get what I wanted in the amount I’d ordered it in. He sounded so condescending when he told me he was giving me a better cut that I’d wanted to kick him.
The memory of wanting to yell, “Look buddy, I’ve worked with more chefs than you can imagine. Once I sign a contract, I expect you to deliver on your end no matter what you have to do to make it happen. The customer is always right,” runs through my thoughts.
Yet, I didn’t say any of that. There was enough drama without adding gasoline to the fire.
Geoffrey was very social last night, and my mom ate it up. Imagine him being from some tiny country she hasn’t stopped talking about since she visited there five years earlier. Mom was his biggest fan after hearing that. She asked nonstop questions about what life was like growing up in Malquar.
Geoffrey answered every one of her queries without showing impatience. However, when I asked why he left, he almost bit my head off, making it clear he had his reasons, ones he wasn’t going to share with me.
I haven’t heard a sound in the other room, so I’m guessing my mom is probably hang-gliding off a waterfall o
r something. All I know is she’s not here.
After washing my face and running a quick brush through my hair, I change into some yoga pants and a hoodie before heading down to the dining room. I text Tara.
Me: Are you at work? I’m coming down for breakfast if you can take a break.
She replies immediately.
Tara: I’ll look for you in five.
I love that Tara and I are going to be working together. Romaine could not accept that she wanted a normal life. So, instead of honoring her wishes, he pushed her, and lost her.
I’m happy my friend has found a man that fits her so well, but I’m still mad at my brother. I would have loved to have had Tara for a sister. While I love Lutèce, she and I couldn’t be more different.
The hostess seats me at a table by the floor-to-ceiling picture window that overlooks the Willamette Valley. After she walks away, I stare out onto the vista below and try to come to grips with the fact that I live here now. It’s extraordinarily beautiful, but it’s so remote compared to the life I’m used to.
“Hey, stranger.” Tara leans down to give me a hug before sitting across from me. “How did you sleep?”
“Really well. I don’t remember dreaming, which rarely happens.”
Tara orders two lattes from our server, who was right on her heels, before telling me, “Those are the best nights. I’m so happy you took the job here, but if I’m being honest, I’m surprised you did.”
Nodding my head, I shake out my napkin and put it in my lap before picking up one of the mini muffins from the basket our waitress dropped off. “Of course, you remember Jack …”
“Yeah.” The look on her face suggests she wasn’t impressed.
“He’s recently found himself an extracurricular activity in the form of Megan Shiner.”
“The girl from the vampire movies?”
“Yup. Jack apparently likes his conquests young. I must have aged out of what he deemed a desirable range when I turned twenty-nine.”
“Gross.” Tara shivers with revulsion. “Isn’t Jack almost forty?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“And Megan is what, twenty-two?”
“Twenty,” I tell her while screwing up my face into what I hope is a suitably disgusted expression.
“What did he say when you gave your notice?” Tara asks.
“I didn’t tell him I was leaving. I informed human resources, then took my vacation time so I could walk away without seeing him again. He should be hearing about my departure any day now.”
Tara lets out a low whistle. “Girl, you’ve got guts. Just so you know, you’re better off without the creep. The last time I was at one of your events, I swear he put his hand on my butt and copped a feel.”
“You never told me that!” I accuse.
“When I called him on it, he insisted it wasn’t him. The only other guy near us was a waiter so I was fairly sure he was lying, but I didn’t want to make you mad in case it was an accident.”
“Three different women told me he did the same thing, and I didn’t want to believe them. I probably wouldn’t have believed you either.” How pathetic is that?
“We women do a lot of justifying and compromising in relationships. Most of the time it seems like we’re the only ones. Why is that?” Tara asks as she pops an entire mini muffin into her mouth.
“I think there’s some rogue DNA that runs through our veins that makes us want to please our man at all costs.”
“We should want to please our men,” she replies, “just not at the cost of our own happiness. James made me crazy when I first met him, but now that we’re a couple, he bends over backwards to do nice things for me.”
“Did Romaine do nice things for you?” I can’t help but wonder.
“Your brother is a great guy, but he’s primarily interested in doing nice things for himself. He never cheated though, so he’s got that going for him.” Then she says, “I bet you’ll find a nice guy right here in Oregon.”
I wave my hands in front of my face like I’m being attacked by a swarm of bees. “No, thank you. I’m on a solid man break.”
“What about Geoffrey?” she asks while winking.
“What about him?”
“He’s cute. I might have made a play for him if James hadn’t come along.”
“Really? I don’t see it.” I have to force myself not to make a face like I just sucked on a lemon. Or twelve.
“You can’t see that Geoffrey is gorgeous?” she demands, like I’ve just declared baby bunnies aren’t cute.
“He’s good looking,” I concede. In truth, that golden brown hair of his is so thick and shiny I could imagine running my fingers through it. I don’t tell her that, though. Instead, I say, “I’m not in the market for a gorgeous man.”
“You prefer someone disfigured?” she jokes.
“I prefer someone who doesn’t get a lot of attention from other women. That might heighten my chances of him staying faithful.”
“Oh, Claire,” Tara reaches over and squeezes my hand, “strength of character has nothing to do with what a man looks like. Take James. Women flirt with him right and left and he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on.”
“That’s because he’s dating an ex-supermodel.”
She shakes her head. “It’s because he doesn’t consider what people look like on the outside to reflect who they really are. Also, he’s just plain clueless,” she laughs.
“Well, if a gorgeous clueless man asks me out, I might say yes. But, I promise you that person isn’t Geoffrey. He acts like he’s doing the world a favor just by sharing the same air they do.”
Tara shoots me a confused look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve worked with the man for months and I can assure you he’s as nice as can be.” When I don’t respond right away, she adds, “He was lovely last night. Ask your mom what she thinks.”
“I don’t care what she thinks. I love her to death, but I do not welcome her input in my social life.”
“I get that. But just know that a man who’s nice to your mother is generally a man worth knowing.”
I turn my attention to my menu and change the subject. “What should I order?”
Instead of answering, Tara looks behind me and waves to someone. I turn around and see Geoffrey walking in our direction. Am I never going to get a break from this guy?
Chapter Six
Ruby
“Do you remember that old TV show called Speed Love?” Ruby asks Chris while standing at the front desk.
“Sure. Milton Franks was the host. He cracked me up every time he yelled, ‘No one likes a man who fires his gun too fast!’”
Ruby laughs. “He was the best. I loved when a woman couldn’t make up her mind and he’d say, ‘Girl, get your nose out of the mirror and make a decision!’”
“Why are you asking me about Speed Love?”
“I think we should do our own version of that show right here at the lodge,” Ruby answers while clapping her hands together with the enthusiasm of a freshly wound toy.
“You want to film a television show here at the lodge?” Chris sounds alarmed. “We have enough work to do without catering to a film crew.”
“I don’t want to film a television show here. I want us to throw speed-dating events in the ballroom. I bet Claire would know exactly how to execute such a thing. After all, the whole reason I hired her was to fill our event calendar.”
“Spartan isn’t that big of a town, Rubes. Where are you going to find all the singles who’d be interested in such a thing? I’m sure we’d get enough for one or two nights, but after that everyone is going to have either already dated the participants they were interested in or have written them off.”
“Spartan is surrounded by bigger towns, Chris. Salem and Albany are close by. I bet once we’re known for our events, we’ll get people to drive from as far away as Portland and Eugene.”
“Ma
ybe. I thought you had your eye on throwing dinner dances and such.”
“I do! But if we have speed dating events as well, then we’re creating couples to come to our dinner dances, maybe take their future family vacations here. You know, after they have their wedding reception with us.” Ruby waggles her eyebrows with fervor.
“I’ll be curious to see how it goes. Are you going to let staff participate?” Chris wants to know. “Because you know I’d love to set up that daughter of mine with someone nice.”
“Heck, yeah! I’d love for whichever single staff member isn't working the event to be involved. Everyone at the lodge is like family to me and you know I want my family to be happy.”
“I know how much you want to be a grandma.” Chris jokes, “I think setting up your boys was your way of making sure that dream comes true.”
Ruby shrugs her shoulders. “It’s harder for kids today to find their mate. It’s our duty to help them.”
“I pity anyone who tries to stop you,” Chris says. “I’ll help in any way I can, especially if it means getting my girl to settle down sooner rather than later.”
After initiating a fist bump to seal the deal, Ruby heads out in search of her new event coordinator. Just because Claire doesn’t officially start for a couple of days doesn’t mean she can’t start thinking about things.
Geoffrey
After spotting Tara in the dining room, I head over to chat with her and see if she has any ideas about what specials she wants to run tonight. I’m nearly at her table when I see who she’s eating with.
Grinding to a halt, I begin executing some fancy footwork that is supposed to propel me in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, both Tara and Claire turn to stare at me and I’m not sure which way to go. My hasty retreat starts to resemble a complicated disco move. I just need to shoot a pointer finger up into the sky to complete my John Travolta impression. I’m normally so much cooler than this.
“Geoffrey?” Tara calls out with laughter in her voice. “Are you okay?”
It's My Party: A Royal Romantic Comedy (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 3) Page 3
