Aha. Kelsey did get it, despite the sticker shock she’d voiced at the custom pumps, as well as literally all the clothes stocked in her closet by their aunt, Duchess Mathilde.
Genevieve toyed with the interlocking circles of her sapphire bracelet. It used to belong to Wallis Simpson, the woman who came close to toppling the British monarchy. Genny wore it as a reminder that passion had no place in the palace.
A princess did what her people needed. Her own desires were secondary. Giving in to them could so easily bring havoc to her own royal line.
But those were her decisions to make. Not Lord Theo’s.
And why did his name sound vaguely familiar?
Genny folded the papers in half. Then she sharpened the crease with her thumbnail. “He’s ordered me to not wear nylons. ‘An arbitrary fashion holdover from the last century that is utterly wasteful.’”
“Don’t we have to wear them? As part of the royal dress code?”
“Yes.” Just like they had to wear slips so that nobody would see through their skirts. With weights in the hems so a strong gust of wind wouldn’t allow the world to see her blue satin panties.
Old-fashioned? Definitely.
Integral to preserving the dignity of House of Villani? Definitely. In this world of cellphone cameras and a relentless internet demanding information every second of every day, it was more important than ever to be careful. Restrained.
With a strong mix of both hope and wistfulness in her voice, Kelsey asked, “Couldn’t you change it? As the senior female member of the royal family?”
“You’re kidding yourself if you think I’m the senior female. That would be our grandmother, the Grand Duchess Agathe. And she would be appalled if I stopped wearing them.”
“You should definitely sic her on Lord Theo. She’d obliterate him with one glare.”
It was tempting. The woman was beyond fierce. But Genevieve was an adult. She couldn’t ask her grandmother to fight her battles for her.
“Aside from the absurd total amount he wants me to cut, there are at least two-dozen bullet points of specificity.” And the worst was burned in her brain. She made another knife-sharp crease, folding the paper over again. “Kelsey, the man wants me to stop using name-brand tampons.”
Kelsey’s jaw dropped. “That’s despicable. Intrusive.”
Not to mention mortifying that her period would be a topic of discussion in a royal missive. “He’s demanding an immediate switch to generic brands of all feminine products and birth control.”
Right. Because the fate of their country being accepted as a member of the European Union—if and only if their own subjects voted in favor of it—rested on her preferred brand of tampon?
It was so ridiculous as to be laughable. If only it wasn’t happening to her, of course.
Stefano came back in. No knock at all this time. And his complexion was dead white beneath his general swarthiness. “Your Highness, I’m afraid he won’t come.”
“Who?”
“Lord Theo.” The older man looked ill. Was he shaking? Clenching and unclenching his hands spasmodically, he continued. “He refused your summons.”
That certainly explained Stefano’s reaction. This was unfathomable.
Unheard of.
Not possible.
And now Genny found herself an even deeper level of pissed that this obnoxious man would upset her secretary so. His world was rooted in order and protocol and, above all else, rules.
It had to be a misunderstanding. “He can’t.” As much to hear the words herself as to explain it to Kelsey, Genny said, “That’s what makes it a summons rather than an invitation.”
“But he did refuse, Your Highness. He said the letter was self-explanatory and he had no time to waste repeating himself.”
“Yowza. That’s a dickish thing to say.” Kelsey visibly startled when both Genevieve and Stefano snapped their attention to her. “What? Does that not translate? Do you need me to explain?”
Shooting up a hand to stop her, Genevieve said, “Please don’t.” At least not in front of Stefano. They could laugh about it later, in private. Because she thought it a perfect description. “The context was clear from your usage. But no, that colloquialism does not have an exact translation in Moncriano.”
“Would you like me to send a member of the Royal Protection Service to fetch him?” Stefano offered. “That would teach the lad some manners.”
“And what—have them rough him up along the way?” If the royal family went around delivering black eyes to everyone who offended them, well, it would be a scandal, to say the very least. And not in any way representative of a confident, caring monarchy.
Kelsey’s hand flew to her chest, splaying across the bright orange and green print of the Lily Pulitzer dress. “They can do that? Elias never mentioned beating up disrespectful punks when he was on duty.”
Her knowledge of the Royal Protection Service came from the fact that Kelsey was dating her bodyguard. Well, her very recently made ex-bodyguard.
It shocked Genevieve how much she was rooting for them. True, Elias was no longer a commoner and thus not entirely out of the question as a match for a princess. He’d been knighted for saving Kelsey’s life in the attempted shooting. Thanks to his heroic action, she’d escaped with merely a broken wrist.
The two of them as a couple was both extraordinary and unconventional—utterly like her sister.
“No, they cannot,” Stefano said, an undercurrent of disapproval in his tone that Kelsey had even brought up the idea.
But there was the rulebook to life in the palace…and then there was the reality of what went on outside the lines. Genevieve knew those lines blurred occasionally.
See Kelsey dating the staff as a perfect example.
“It should not happen,” she amended. “If they ever do, it isn’t with my authority.”
“Too bad. Because I really dislike this guy.” Kelsey took the paper now folded down to the size of a compact and opened it, grimacing as she took in demand after demand. “Even if they didn’t land any punches, giving him a good scare might teach Holst some respect.”
That was it. He only thought he was in control. Genevieve, however, could correct that mis-assumption. “You know what?” She put an arm around Kelsey’s shoulders and squeezed. “You are exactly right. Brilliant, in fact.”
“Agreed—in general.” Grinning, Kelsey reached across her chest to pat Genevieve’s hand. Which resulted in her hard cast banging painfully against Genny’s knuckles. “Want to let me in on how specifically brilliant I am on this particular day?”
Genevieve let go and caught a glimpse of herself in the crackling glass of the Baroque mirror. Anger had pinked up her cheeks as though they’d been slapped. It blotched across the pale skin of her chest, too.
That would never do. The world only got to see what she chose to reveal.
She turned back to Kelsey. Made sure that her tone was even and low and calm. Because Lord Theo Holst didn’t deserve anything more than that. His demands would be dealt with and dismissed with all the attention she gave an annoying fly buzzing around a fruit tray.
“There’s one thing more frightening than being threatened by the Royal Protection Service.”
Kelsey raised an eyebrow, clearly already there but giving Genevieve the satisfaction of saying it. “What’s that?”
“Being threatened by an actual royal. Stefano, get me a car. I’ll change and leave immediately.”
“You’re going to him?” Stefano tugged at the pointed tips of his vest. “Princess, you do not have to—”
“I want to,” Genevieve gritted out as she snatched her phone from the table and headed to the door.
In fact, she was suddenly quite looking forward to putting this…what had Kelsey called him?…bean counter in his place.
Chapter Two
Lord Theo Holst’s first job, when he was still in grad school at Harvard, had a view straight down to the green spread of Boston Common. In Manhattan, from his office in One World Trade Center, he nodded good morning to the Statue of Liberty.
But back home in Moncriano? On special assignment to the prime minister from the president of the European Union? His basement office rocked a high slit that barely showed the stone retaining wall holding back the river that split the capital.
So much for the perks of being on royal duty. Not that it mattered to him. When Theo focused on numbers, the rest of the world didn’t even exist. He didn’t see whichever view was outside his window.
His pride, however? That was bent waaay out of shape. Par for the course, though, since everything to do with the Right, Royal, and Most Excellent House of Villani rubbed him wrong.
It was a lonely and tough job, hating the royal family.
One at which Theo, however, excelled.
A triple slap on the door signaled his best friend, Simon Brunner. Perfect. Simon would distract him from brooding about the spoiled, self-centered Princess Genevieve. “Come in.”
Pretending to doff a hat and bowing grandiosely down to his knees, Simon stopped in the doorway. “You, sir, have balls the size of a bush cricket.”
“A cricket? What the hell, Simon?” Maybe he shouldn’t have brought his friend along on this assignment.
The last thing Theo needed, finally back in his own country after eighteen years, was for unsavory rumors to start flying through the office. He knew Simon was joking, but would the locals understand the dry British humor?
Straightening up and closing the door behind him, Simon said, “It’s a compliment. Their balls are fourteen percent of their body weight.”
“Jesus.” Theo wasn’t sure if he was more horrified trying to picture that mass ratio or that his friend knew such insane trivia.
“You said no to the princess!” Simon came around the desk to clap him on the back. “The way I hear it, you’re the first person in this building to ever say no to a member of the House of Villani.”
That surprised Theo not at all. “Then it was about time somebody did, wasn’t it?”
And yes, the petty part of him had taken a large amount of pleasure in hanging up on Her Royal Highness’s private secretary. Especially since his refusal was wholly justified.
Theo didn’t come back to Moncriano to bow and scrape to the royals. He was here to do a job. One that very well might end up reflecting poorly on the House of Villani.
He could only hope…
Simon dropped into the wooden guest chair. Then he thumped his heels onto the desktop and tilted the chair back on two legs. “I’m taking you out tonight to celebrate your cricket-sized balls. That’s an order, not a request. And don’t even think about refusing my order like you did the palace’s. I don’t have a drop of noble blood in my veins to piss you off.”
“That’s why we’re such good friends.” Theo picked up two files to bat Simon’s feet off. Simon was a great drinker, a decent horseman…and an utter klutz. No doubt he’d kick Theo’s laptop off when he lost his balance and the chair toppled over.
It wasn’t merely likely. It was inevitable.
Pointing both arms straight at his friend, Theo said, “You’re buying? That’s a rare treat. You bet I’ll come out with you.”
Simon ran his fingers through blond hair that always looked like it’d been combed with a cattle prod. “My wallet’s at your disposal, within reason. No ordering eighty-year-old Scotch just to make me feel the pain in my pockets. We’ll save that over-the-top celebration for when you bring the princess entirely to heel. Make her grovel.”
As much as he liked the sound of that, Theo couldn’t blindly agree. He never let his emotions interfere with his job. Numbers were sacred and intractable. “No getting ahead of ourselves. There’s a chance the princess will be reasonable. There’s a chance she’ll realize how much of an idiot she’s been about her finances. That she’ll do everything I request and thank me for showing her the light.”
Simon gaped at him. Probably because he’d spent since the age of ten hearing rants about how much Theo detested and disrespected Princess Genevieve. “What?”
Bracing his palms on the deep grain of the desktop, Theo leaned forward. “There’s also a chance that a space ship shaped like a Shetland pony will crash land in the park, spilling out Bugattis filled with three naked supermodels who beg you to teach them the ways of physical pleasure.”
Simon snorted. “So at least my thing has a shot at happening.”
“More of a shot than that spoiled snot of a princess being reasonable.”
A chat screen pinged on his laptop. And three emails popped up, all with WARNING as the subject. At the same time, his cell both vibrated from a text, and the landline rang.
Weird.
Simon’s phone blurted out alerts like popcorn spilling out of a popper. “What the hell?”
But before Theo could swipe right, a man appeared in the doorway. Boxy suit, overly broad shoulders, and an expressionless face marked him as an obvious member of the Royal Protection Service.
Shit.
For a split second, as his eyes cut to see Simon’s slack jaw mirror his oh, shit thought, Theo believed he was getting arrested.
Sure, it wasn’t the seventeenth century. Royals weren’t allowed—anymore—to go around locking up subjects who pissed them off. At least, not publicly.
But Theo knew there was still a dungeon below Alcarsa Palace. And he knew he’d ticked off the spare heir to the throne.
So yeah, his belly knotted at the sight of the muscle-bound royal thug.
Then he remembered he wasn’t a scared ten-year-old, cowering before the threat of the all-powerful royals. Now he knew his rights, knew several lawyers, and above all else, knew that he’d done nothing wrong.
Calm again, he said, “I’m sure you have the wrong door. Because I don’t have any appointments scheduled this afternoon.”
Taking two steps inside, the bodyguard scanned the office. File cabinets, a coatrack, and a bookcase meant there wasn’t any place to so much as hang his dartboard with the princess’s photo. “Just taking a look around, sir.” Then he murmured into his cuff, “All clear.”
Jesus. This wasn’t a scare tactic.
This was an honest-to-God protection sweep because a freaking Villani was about to darken his door.
The bodyguard stepped out, and a…vision stepped in.
An angel.
One of the most beautiful women in the world, who was twenty times more breathtaking in person than spilled across social media.
Princess Genevieve had an adorably small nose, nestled between those stunning violet eyes. The perfect bow of her lips was painted a deep pink. The color her lips no doubt turned after being kissed for an hour…
Pale blond hair cascaded over her shoulder in gentle waves like a god damned Botticelli goddess. A wide ruffle fluffed over her breasts, fluttering with every breath. The satin sash tied in a bow highlighted her narrow waist. The off-white skirt clung to her curves, and the green sandals drew his eyes to her toned calves and pink-painted toes.
For years, Theo had loathed her and everything she stood for.
But for almost that entire time, he’d also recognized her as beautiful.
Hell, fuckable.
As lovely as the morning dew glistening on the petals of a peach rose. As pure as a mountain stream. As exquisite as a Rossini aria.
Theo wanted the princess.
He hated that desire. But hating it didn’t mean he could deny it.
A slight pursing of her lips indicated annoyance at his long silence and lack of visible reaction to her entrance.
Score one for Theo.
In a tone as icy as the top of the Matterhorn in Januar
y, the princess asked, “Lord Theo Holst?”
That was a shocker. Did she actually not remember him? Or was it merely a power play?
He nodded once. Not in deference, but in acknowledgment. “That’s me. But as you can see, I’m in conference with a colleague.” Theo indicated Simon with an open hand. “Feel free to go back down the hall two doors and request an appointment with my assistant.”
He’d rack up three points for the snub sharp enough to make Simon choke. Sharp enough to send her wobbling on those spiked sandals back half a step.
For a second, Theo thought she’d lose it. Just unleash a thread of pique and entitlement, led by the classic, “Do you know who I am?” It was what he expected.
Two points to the princess, however, for doing the unexpected. Because she sashayed forward with a natural grace that swished her hips side to side like a hula dancer.
“Well, you’ve disrupted my day, so I’m just returning the favor.”
Damn.
Well done, he had to admit. But Theo didn’t roll over that easily. Not for anyone and especially not for royalty.
Theo shifted forward in his seat. “I’m going to skip the obvious ‘two wrongs don’t make a right,’ because I did nothing wrong. Nobody pried you from your starter-throne to come down here. In fact, I was crystal clear in my memo about the lack of necessity to our meeting in person.”
“Almost as clear as I was in my directive that you join me at Alcarsa Palace,” she rejoined crisply. “Which you ignored.”
“I didn’t ignore it. I filed away the fact that you believe you can summon people. But since I’m not a toy poodle, I’m not trained to jump at the snap of a finger.”
“Dogs at least show respect.”
“Dogs also lick their own asses.” Yeah, that one probably had him balancing on the rudeness line, if not stepping over it. Theo wouldn’t talk to any other woman in the world like that if they’d just met.
Except they hadn’t just met. The princess not bothering to remember him was simply more salt in the wound. And, thus, pushed him to be a borderline asshole.
Ruling the Princess Page 2
