Ruling the Princess

by Christi Barth

  Theo had laughed along with all his schoolmates back in England at the third-in-line British princess who wore tiaras when she rode her horse, FFS. She’d been quoted as saying that if ever caught without diamonds on, her title should be stripped. And he’d heard from a reliable source—aka a willing victim—that she insisted on being called “Your Highness” during sex.

  That wasn’t Genevieve.

  At least, not the first two examples.

  “I believe that’s a statement of fact, Lord Theo. Not, in fact, anywhere close to a compliment.”

  Damn it, now he was thinking about sex. Sex and the princess. Why would his mind lead him down that path? When he’d spent so many years honing and polishing his bitterness toward her?

  Evidently, his mind wasn’t the part of his body in control right now. Because Theo’s voice dropped into the basement as he rumbled out, “Like I said, I’d need the proper motivation to go there.”

  Her hand shifted, restlessly, on the seat between them. “Of what would that comprise, Lord Theo?”

  They were stopped at a light. So he threw caution to the wind and unbuckled his seat belt. Theo put one arm behind her, along the back of the seat. With his other he reached across her to trace along her eyebrow in a slow half circle to beneath her eye. He was close enough to see that the violet of her eyes was a conglomeration of different shades of blues, a little brown and green. Sort of like looking at the blur of color up close in an Impressionist painting.

  “I’m fairly certain all you’d have to do is smile at me, Princess. An unguarded, authentic smile. Then I’d have no choice but to compliment how out-of-this world pretty you are.”

  Her eyelids drooped lower, just enough for him to notice, being so near, the sweeps of eyeshadow. The pinkish-clay shade of it wasn’t noticeable from further away—unless making her eyes seem even bigger and, well, perfect counted. Theo also noticed a thin blue vein just between her hairline and eyebrow.

  And yeah, it gave him an unexpected rush to take in these details. Details that required a level of access none of those waving people outside the car would ever have. The princess was trusting him, allowing him into her personal space. Talk about a rare gift.

  Still in maybe quarter-speed, Theo flipped his hand to brush the back of his knuckles along her cheek. Her breath gave an audible hitch. Then the pad of his thumb connected with her lower lip.

  After a triple blink, her eyes widened and then slammed into a suspicious squint. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Trying to lure one of those smiles out of you.”

  But something had changed. An emotional switch had flipped, because the princess had stiffened. And her tone had sharpened back into something approximating that of a potential lethal icicle.

  What had triggered it? Theo eased off and re-buckled.

  The tips of her fingers drummed against the seat. And, huh, they matched the shade of her blouse perfectly. “You confuse me, Lord Theo.”

  “Impossible. I’ve been totally upfront with you. About my assignment. About my views. I’m an open book.”

  Unlike her.

  The princess very much had a face she presented to the public. One that completely hid whatever true feelings and ideas burbled under the surface. She bent over backward to come off as, well, perfect. All the time.

  But nobody actually was, were they?

  Raising those long, slender fingers, she ticked off points. “You railed at my lifestyle, my expenditures, the centuries-long obligation my family has fulfilled to this country, even at my sister and her choice of boyfriend.”

  “Hey, I stated my opinions. I didn’t hop on a desk and rant at the top of my lungs.” Which had taken considerable self-control.

  Although, when laid out like that, Theo realized he probably had come off as, well, sort of a dick.

  “Then you kissed me senseless.” She touched her index finger to her lips, as if reliving the feel of him. “Then you apologized and sprinted away. Actions which could easily be interpreted as insulting and representative of regret that you bothered to put your mouth on mine. We’ve met each of the three days since, and you’ve been all business. And now you choose to make a move when I’m five minutes from an official function?”

  Glancing out the window only showed Theo that nothing looked familiar. The road’s curve mirrored that of the river that cut through the capital. Rows of connected pastel yellow, pink, and blue houses. All were topped with angled red roofs with a tiny attic window apiece. A double-decker navy blue tourist bus lurched around the next corner.

  He didn’t have a clue where they were.

  “To be fair, Princess, I have no idea how long it takes to get to this children’s hospital. I’m newly transplanted here, remember?”

  “Do you hate me?” Pink-glossed lips pursed slightly before continuing. “Do you want me?”

  “Does it have to be an either/or answer?”

  Shit. It had taken courage for Genevieve to lay it out, to acknowledge what she obviously felt was a rejection, and to leave herself open to being hurt again, depending on his response. Courage like that deserved more than flippancy.

  Oddly enough, the truth wasn’t clear cut.

  He’d spent so long hating Princess Genevieve Eleanor Marie, second in line to the throne. But the time he’d spent with “just” Genevieve revealed a woman more nuanced, more committed, and more good than he’d ever given her credit for.

  No, Theo didn’t hate the woman he was starting to know.

  Wasn’t that a kick to the nuts?

  He shifted to angle sideways toward the princess, who sat with a vertical furrow between her eyebrows. “I don’t know what to think of you, honestly. You’re only allowing tiny slivers of who you really are, deep down, to be revealed. I’m…intrigued by those glimpses.”

  “I’m not being cagy. Or fake. The public persona of a princess is who I am, deep down. I wake up every morning and do my very best to not let people down. To not disappoint.”

  “That sounds godawful.”

  The right corner of her mouth quirked up. “It can be challenging.”

  Theo believed in hard work, in striving to do his best. But the key was living up to his best, not other people’s expectations. Trying to be what everyone else wanted you to be? Wouldn’t you always disappoint someone?

  “It sounds like you’re holding yourself to an impossible standard, Princess.”

  Very carefully, Genevieve steepled her hands together. Then she took a deep breath. “The House of Villani is the pillar upon which this entire kingdom rests. And for almost my entire life, there have been two deep cracks running through it. Cracks from my mother’s death and my sister’s disappearance.”

  Oh, so no pressure then. Theo sandwiched her hands between his, shaking his head. “That’s not on you.”

  “It is. I don’t think we’d survive another crack. Papa’s role is to be king; Christian’s is to prepare to be king. Mine is to be the putty that smooths over everything else. So that we feel safe. So that nothing else monumentally bad ever happens to us again.”

  “Your sister was just shot at by a would-be assassin.”

  “Indeed. That was…unfortunate. But we held the line. Kelsey didn’t go running back to America. The shooter was locked up. There was no panic in the streets, because the royal family didn’t show panic.”

  Put that way, it made sense. It did, indeed, sound like a job. Job and a half was more like it.

  And while Theo hadn’t much paid attention to the endless reports about the attack—Kelsey’s escape with merely a broken wrist, her American sister Mallory’s slow road to recovery from being the one who actually took the bullets—he knew the coverage had been widespread.

  He did remember footage of Genevieve delivering baskets of treats to the hospital staff the very next day. Hearing that she’d spent
more than an hour shaking hands and greeting the crowds clustered at the hospital every time she went in and out. How she’d done the same thing, spent just as much time at the public prayer service held outside the cathedral.

  That’s when it hit him.

  Genevieve must’ve been terrified. To put herself in the middle of clamoring crowds right after a bullet had come winging out of one?

  Because she’d been on the steps of parliament that day, too. She’d been pushed to the ground by her bodyguard. Had heard the crack of gunshots. Had seen the pool of blood form around Mallory, felt the brush of Death’s shadow right across her cheek.

  “Genevieve,” he murmured, squeezing her hands tightly, “you had to have been scared. Tempted to give in to panic.”

  “Tempted is what I feel when faced with a slice of Black Forest cake, but still demur. Petrified to the very marrow of my bones is a better description of the feelings that swamped me after the shooting.”

  “But you went out and did your job anyway. Without taking any time for yourself to recover.” Even now, weeks after the fact, her face had leeched of color as they discussed it.

  The princess pulled her hands back, folding them on the eggshell-colored cotton stretched across her lap. Her spine straightened, her shoulders arched back, and her chin lifted.

  A pose so perfectly erect deserved to be in profile on a postage stamp.

  “The people needed to see that. They took strength and calm from the royal family showing it. That, Lord Theo, is what is expected of me.”

  “You’re not putty, just filling in cracks. You’re cement and rebar.” Theo snapped his fingers, bumped his fists, then shot out his index finger and thumb. “No, you’re a spiderweb.”

  “Now you’re veering away from traditional compliments. I guess our time of truce is up.”

  “The silk a spider spins, the tensile strength of it, is five times as strong as similar weight steel. Soft, pliable, and incredibly strong. That’s you, Princess.”

  “I said you could call me Genevieve,” she corrected softly, after a moment.

  Their eyes met. Locked. A heavy, expectant tension weighed down the air in the car.

  It was broken by her Royal Protection Officer. “Lipstick check, Your Highness. We’re practically there.”

  “Thank you, Clara.” Genevieve plucked a small case from a pocket in the door and pulled out a slim gold cylinder.

  More so than Clara’s words, that brought Theo back to his job, his duty. Because he’d just been swayed way off course while he admired the hell out of the princess.

  Theo adjusted his tie. “How much did that lipstick cost?”

  “I’ve no idea. And before you yell at me for not being mindful of expense, it was in a gift bag at a charity ball I attended in the spring. The price tag had been thoughtfully removed.”

  “It looks expensive.” The case was clearly metal, not plastic. Embossed. Not something that could be grabbed for ten dollars at the Duane Reede by his office.

  “It probably is.” Genevieve dabbed at the bow of her lips and then tapped them together lightly. “But also long-lasting and ultra-moisturizing, so I’m going to say it is worth it. Unless you’re going to search on your phone for the brand and immediately try and shame me with how over-priced it is.”

  Oh, Theo was tempted. Thirty-two-ounce porterhouse and a dirty martini tempted, to riff off of the princess.

  Hammering her over the head repeatedly with lectures didn’t seem to be getting through, though. So he changed tactics. “Why are you so dressed up, anyway? That silk blouse, the shoes, the pearl and diamond earrings—it’s all so extravagant looking.”

  “I’m not in a cocktail dress, Theo.” She gave a quick pat with a powder puff to her whole face. “This is appropriate daytime attire, albeit kicked up a notch. Like news anchors putting on extra makeup because the cameras make them look washed out.”

  “Appropriate for what—a fashion show? A christening? You look great—you don’t need me to tell you that.” Although Theo thought he could go on and elaborate for many minutes on how great she looked. “But these notched-up outfits are a waste of money. To stay relevant today, to connect to your subjects, you need to be approachable. Relatable. Dressed like your people.”

  There. That should’ve pushed the right button.

  But she caught him off guard by laughing. A lot.

  Not little giggles. Deep, belly laughs.

  “You’re hilarious. Nobody wants to see me in a tank top and jeans.”

  “Oh, I disagree there.” From the way Genevieve’s lips parted, she’d seen the banked heat flare to life in his eyes just from imagining her in tiny straps and a low-scooped neckline that barely draped over her cleavage. “Back in the seventies, gloves and hats disappeared. Don’t you think your people would prefer, hell, expect you to look like them?”

  “I guarantee they don’t expect it. They expect me to represent the crown. With dignity and respect. This way, I’m not skipped over in a crowd. I stand out, just enough, so that those who’ve come to see me can see me.”

  “Have you ever asked?”

  “Polled the country on what I should wear?” This time, it was a giggle that trilled out of her throat. “No. The dress code’s already well established, and I follow it. End of discussion. You won’t get anywhere on my budget by swapping out pencil skirts for cotton capri pants.”

  Wow. Now the princess had pushed exactly the wrong button for him. A dress code? To Theo, that just meant a bunch of rules that somebody else decided and inflicted on her.

  Even though, yes, he realized that was just what he was attempting to do, but in reverse.

  The car stopped. Clara turned around. “The inside of the hospital’s been swept already, Your Highness. We have police doing crowd control, but I wouldn’t recommend lingering out in the open.”

  “You never do,” Genevieve murmured with a downturn to her mouth.

  “The head of the NICU will escort you to the third-floor skyway, connecting to the new building. After a tour of the facilities, you’ll join the families for their afternoon snack time in the dining area. You may choose to drop into some of the children’s rooms on the way out, but the parents have been instructed not to make individual requests, as you’re on a tight schedule.”

  “That was unnecessary, but thank you. I appreciate the out.”

  “What out?” Theo asked as Clara got out of the car.

  “Visiting hospitals is emotionally draining. Some of those children will never leave. Some have never left since being born.” And on the last few words, her voice faltered. “My team tries to protect me, to get me to not linger. But I have the luxury of walking out at any time.” Genevieve thumped her sternum. “I have the gift of good health. So I won’t leave until I’ve greeted every child and parent who is interested.”

  Yeah, that sounded like it could be brutal. Theo hadn’t paid attention to what was supposed to happen at today’s hospital event. Clearly, he should’ve read the fine print on the agenda. “What exactly are you doing here?”

  “I’m officially opening the Queen Serena Pavilion. It’s a place for parents to stay when they have sick children at the hospital. It provides a home-like environment, with a kitchen and dining room and suites so that other children can be close as well.”

  “That sounds great. Pricey, though.”

  Her lips thinned into a pissed-off line. “I should’ve known that your mind would zing right to the expense. We say the price is the promise to pass along word of it to other families in need. There is no cost to the parents.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “We established a charity to run it. Started with a sizable donation from my mother’s trust. Hence the name.”

  After a double knock on the window and getting a nod from the princess, Clara opened the door. A roar of screams and cl
apping slammed into the car like a wall of sound.

  Genevieve didn’t so much as flinch. Her smile was already in place as she gracefully emerged with a wave. Theo lingered, watching the sway of her hips accentuated by the sexy sandals. High heeled and strappy, they had to be her push of the envelope against the staid dress code.

  He approved—whatever the cost.

  The princess did, indeed, linger, working both sides of the rope line, collecting small bouquets and stuffed animals. Theo ended up with full arms carrying them until inside the hospital, where a volunteer piled them in a little red wagon.

  As the princess chatted with a tall woman in a lab coat, Clara sidled up to him. Never taking her focus off the princess, she said with a jut of her chin, “It was her idea.”

  “What was?”

  “The parents’ pavilion. Princess Genevieve was visiting a friend who’d had an appendectomy. On the way out, she shared an elevator with two sobbing parents. They couldn’t afford a hotel nearby, so they were about to drive two hours back home. On the spot, she decided to do something about it. She told them to stay as long as they wanted that night and had a driver bring them back to the palace when they were ready.”

  Holy shit. Royalty didn’t do things like that. They didn’t invite unvetted strangers into their private spaces. They were figureheads who never got involved on a personal level.

  At least, that was what he’d assumed. Until today. Theo inhaled deeply—and then regretted it as the burn of antiseptic hit the back of his throat. “That was generous.”

  “She saw it as practical. Their daughter had surgery scheduled at six the next morning, and it made sense to be only ten minutes away. By the time the surgery ended, the princess had already set up calls with architects and spoken to the hospital chairman about the idea.”

  Theo gave a long, low whistle. “The princess moves fast.”

  “She’s passionate about taking care of her subjects.”

  The group headed to the elevator bank. On the way, Genevieve stopped three times to greet patients in wheelchairs crossing the hallway. A doctor hailed her medical entourage, so it was just the three of them for the elevator ride.