Ruling the Princess

by Christi Barth

  Genny accidentally laughed out loud. Sometimes Ambra got more full of herself than the actual princess in the room. So watching Kelsey push back at her was, well, karmic justice? “Makes sense. It is finger food.”

  They giggled together for a moment. Ambra just draped her tall, skinny frame over the recumbent bike with a loud huff. “Well, if we can’t have sustenance until we leave this room, I’ll make it fast. Lord Theo is the real deal when it comes to work. Graduated top of his class.”

  “Which one?”

  “All of them. Graduate schools threw money at him. Companies wooed him. He’s that magical combination of brilliance, a hard worker, and yet still well liked by all.”

  Damn it. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same man? Tall, dark, and determined to hate me?”

  “Lord Theo Holst, heir to the duchy of Krainst. Oddly, though, he’s spent most of his life out of the country. There’s no local chatter about him. Only reports from outside Moncriano.”

  “Good thing your reach is extensive. Emilio and his yacht were last in, where, Portugal?”

  “Monaco. For the Grand Prix.”

  Genny couldn’t help but go off-track a little. “Did he propose again?”

  “Every time. And every time, I tell him that all his millions will never be good enough without a title.”

  Kelsey gasped. “You said that to the man you spent the night with?”

  “Repeatedly,” Ambra said with an exaggerated sigh.

  “But you must like him, if you’re having sleepovers with him.”

  “He scratches an itch. His chef is sublime. But I know what I want in a husband, starting with an impressive title.” She extended her arm to wave a finger through the air at Genevieve. “I’m just waiting for Her Highness here to make her pick of European nobility so that I can move in on what’s left.”

  The crack of her neck as Kelsey snapped her head around was audible. “Is that true? You have to marry a prince?”

  “That’s debatable.” Something Genny had been debating with her grandmother ever since getting her first period. “Christian’s expected to toe the line and stick with noble blood. I may have some wiggle room.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “It’s really quite fine for her. Most of us didn’t grow up hoping to marry the help.”

  Talk about getting off track. With a stern glare, Genny said, “Ambra. That’s enough. Tell me more about Theo.”

  “He doesn’t have a social media presence himself. But other people post about him. Quite a lot. Genny, the man’s a player.”

  That explained his expertise with the kissing. Not that it mattered. Not that she cared. Genny tucked in her feet and bent over to stretch her inner thighs. “He’s, what, my age?”

  “Twenty-eight. Six months older.”

  “I wouldn’t expect him to be a monk.”

  “I’m telling you, he’s an international level player. Fast and frequent. There were mentions—and photos—from England, America, Switzerland, France, Canada, St. Maartens—”

  Genny cut her off with an upraised hand. “I don’t need a geographical countdown. I get the picture.”

  “Nobody registers complaints, but he goes through women as quickly as we went through bottles of champagne last New Year’s.”

  She’d had a two-day hangover. It had been one of Christian’s most epic parties. At some point, they’d built a pyramid of the bottles in the ballroom, and it reached the ceiling. “Goodness,” she murmured faintly.

  “I could tell he had moves,” Ambra said knowingly. “Oh, he was nothing but polite and friendly when we chatted on the Fourth, but there’s something about the way he moves. There’s this overall air of…”

  “Competency.” How had that slipped out?

  “That’s the perfect word. You just know his hands can handle a laptop and a lap.”

  Genny giggled again. It helped prevent her from slipping up and admitting just how well he could…not to mention how she knew…

  “Someone that careless with people shouldn’t be trusted to be careful with the royal coffers, let alone the reputation of the House of Villani,” Ambra continued in a suddenly serious tone.

  Well. That dried up Genny’s giggles and brought her crashing back to reality. Because thinking about sneaking any more kisses with Theo could only be a fantasy.

  Yes, he’d distracted her. Yes, he’d surprised her.

  No, it could not matter.

  Thank goodness Ambra had kept her eye on what mattered. Ambra always had her back. And in the crazy, overly publicized, under-a-microscope world that the House of Villani occupied, that meant the world to Genevieve.

  “As much as I dislike it, I can attest that Theo has seemed nothing but focused and devoted to the process of this audit.” Choosing her words carefully, Genevieve continued, rather slowly. “Do you really think his bed-hopping is indicative of his overall character?”

  “I think he doesn’t respect the Crown. I don’t know why. But Genny, that’s who you are—it’s your identity, your life. The cold shoulder he’s shown you is not an appropriate response from a nobleman of this country.”

  Genevieve thought back to their horrible first meeting in his office. “That’s true. I’d assumed his disdain was for all things royal, but you may be right.”

  “That disdain is dangerous. Coupled with what I can only interpret as a tendency to be flippant with people and emotions, then yes, I think he can’t be trusted with this audit.”

  Why did hearing that bother her so much? Probably because the man who’d toured the parents’ pavilion at the hospital with her had not at all seemed careless with people or emotions.

  He’d sat down in the ridiculously tiny chairs and played with the children. Flirted smiles out of exhausted mothers. Told patients and parents alike how humbled he was by their bravery.

  And when they finally left after three emotionally draining hours, Theo had pulled her against his side and held her for the entire ride back to the palace.

  “The king vetted him,” Kelsey pointed out. “And Ambra, you said that Theo has a reputation for being good at his work.”

  “He can make numbers do whatever he wants. We don’t know what he wants your numbers to do, though, do we, Genny? The safest course of action is to have him fired.”

  Oh, for goodness sake. If thumbing your nose at tradition got a person fired, then Kelsey would’ve been shipped back to America after a single day. “That’s far too drastic.”

  “Genevieve, he uses women. Discards them as easily and frequently as an empty coffee cup. A man like that can’t be trusted.”

  Hmmm. Ambra had certainly pushed the right button.

  Trust was Genevieve’s Achilles heel. Any mention of a lack of trustworthiness put her on high alert. It made her reconsider how much she’d softened toward him after their last few meetings.

  Shaking her head, Genevieve pushed to her feet. “We’re too far down the path for that course of action. It would risk backlash on the Crown. Invite questions of what we’re trying to hide things from the auditor.”

  Not to mention that it would destroy Theo—or at least, his career. She liked him too much to mete out that level of punishment.

  Kelsey waved her cast high above her head. “I have an idea. We have a saying back home—you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

  All the words made sense in English, but the overall message did not. “Why would you want to catch flies? Why not just swat them?”

  “It’s an analogy—never mind. But I’ve got to remember to try this one on Elias tonight. He cracks up at local idioms that just don’t translate well.”

  Her sister had only been dating Elias for six weeks. With one eyebrow raised, Genny said, “I think you two should be doing more kissing and less linguistic discourse.”

 
“Got it covered, thank you. The point is that sometimes it’s easier to get what you want by giving in, rather than fighting.”

  “That’s absurd,” Ambra snapped out. “A princess gives in to no one.”

  Oh, she did—if it was her choice. “That’s rather brilliant, Kelsey. Instead of fighting his suggestions, I’ll play along to the hilt…and make them look ridiculous. I know the perfect place to start scaling back.”

  “Great!” Kelsey came closer, peered at her. “I mean, great in theory. But you’ve got this evil genius squint in your eyes. Should I worry about what I just set in motion?”

  “No need to worry. Not anymore. I’ve got everything under control.”

  Strategically, at least. As far as Genny’s feelings…her attraction…her lust for the Royal Auditor, well, that was still very much out of control.

  Chapter Eight

  Theo hoped that Simon had kept his big mouth shut about today’s royal activity. But he doubted it. In fact, he’d put good money on all his friends back in New York being gathered around a giant plasma screen, tossing back popcorn and laughing their asses off.

  Because he was in a morning coat, of all things. Vest, tie, jacket with tails. All because the princess had insisted that he join her at the Order of the Peacock ceremony to witness a cost-cutting implementation on her part.

  The best part about being effectively banished from the kingdom? It’d been skipping all the official royal ceremonies like this one. Ridiculous affairs where egos were stroked, people were lauded for the stroke of luck of being born into wealth and privilege, and everyone dressed up like they thought things were better in the pre-electricity era.

  But he and the princess had declared a truce. So here he was, ready to be bored off of his ass.

  Oh, and holding what the princess swore was a hat but just looked to Theo like an explosion of white feathers attached to an elastic band.

  He shoved it toward her. “Will you please put this on already?”

  “I’d rather wait until right before the ceremony begins. Those feathers are quite unruly. They get everywhere.”

  Theo batted them away from his mouth. “You don’t say.”

  “Be gentle,” Genevieve warned. “That hat is an heirloom. My mother wore it to her very first Order of the Peacock ceremony. It was passed down to me when I was invested on my eighteenth birthday.”

  “Crap. Sorry.” What if he’d broken a feather? Why on earth was the princess trusting him with her dead mother’s treasures? “I’ll be more careful.”

  She tugged at his sleeve. “Let’s get out of the wind. Come around the turret.”

  Theo twisted to look at the curved line of the stone edifice behind them. Although located in the expansive gardens of the Regali Palace, it seemed to be a piece of a castle wall, complete with a battlement and two turrets.

  A line of chairs and a podium were centered in front of it. At least a hundred chairs faced them. Every row had swags of white peacock feathers at each end. Stone urns that came up to his shoulders sprouted arrangements of white roses, more feathers, and ferns. Footmen circulated with trays of champagne. Trumpeters flanked the path back to the palace.

  It was surreal. Theo had moved in circles of high society and wealth his whole life. Fancy parties, sure. But a royal ceremony was a whole other level of weirdness. Everything he hated when it came to extravagance.

  It was impossible not to start a balance sheet in his head. And this was simply what he saw outside. Inside, lunch was being prepared for the official post-ceremony celebratory banquet.

  How much did white peacock feathers cost? He’d never even seen one in a zoo. Were they on the endangered species list?

  Even as he thought it, a pair of peacocks jumped down from the trees to land on a low wall separating the courtyard from the garden. Much of the assembled crowd clapped as the birds unfurled their…wings?…insanely wide and high.

  “Holy shit, they’re real.”

  Genevieve gave him side-eye as sharp as an elbow to the ribs. “We wouldn’t maintain a centuries-old ceremony around a mythical bird. The Order of the Phoenix is a Harry Potter thing. Do you know nothing about our chivalric orders?”

  “Correct.”

  He knew about economics. More than a decent amount of general politics, what with all the coverage about the upcoming vote to join the European Union. But Theo did not regret in the least his gap in education when it came to honorary knighthoods for the sake of…whatever.

  “There’s a program on your seat,” she said coolly. “Make sure you read the history of the ceremony.”

  “Will there be a quiz?” he snarked as they settled inside the shade of the semi-turret.

  Genevieve still wore her perfect princess composure, but her tone skewered him like a kebab. “You can’t judge things if you don’t know what they’re about. Your family’s been in the Order for generations. So that’s both a professional and a personal reason to bone up.”

  Theo didn’t enjoy being put in his place by the princess. But something about the way she did it—so prim and polite—pushed his buttons in all the right ways.

  Maybe because Genevieve looked so innocent. Mostly. The white ruffled blouse and below-the-knee skirt in a black and white floral pattern were modest. But the tight skirt showed off her curves. The stiletto fuck-me pumps showed off her legs. The purple sash of the Order slashed diagonally between her breasts.

  With a not-at-all facetious nod of his head, Theo murmured, “Point taken, Your Highness.”

  Then his spine automatically straightened, at the instant his brain registered the sight of his parents aiming right for them. His father wore the purple sash of the Order, with its gold emblem hanging from his neck, as well as the silly looking white velvet poofed beret.

  His stepmother, dripping in pearls, dropped into a deep curtsey and held it without a single wobble while his father caught up by snatching off the hat and bowing at the waist. “Your Highness.”

  As they stood up, both practically vibrated with excitement. Or nervousness. Probably both. His dad had spent the better part of his life keeping Theo away from Moncriano’s royal family. Now here he stood with the hand of the princess tucked into the crook of his arm.

  When the prodigal son returned, he did so in fucking rock star style.

  “Your Highness, I’d like to present my parents, Duke Alain and Duchess Francia of Krainst.”

  Genevieve shot him another splinter of side-eye. “I’m acquainted with all of the nobility of Moncriano, Lord Theo.”

  In other words, to quote his New York friends, duh.

  Eyes ricocheting back and forth between Theo and Genevieve, Alain said, “I hope my son hasn’t been boring you, Your Highness.” He finished it off with a soft, self-deprecating laugh.

  “Not in the slightest.” Genevieve patted his hand with a warm familiarity that probably triggered heart palpitations in the man. “Lord Theo is a…diverting companion. And, of course, we’re lucky that someone with his skills was willing to come so far to aid in our audit. You must be so proud of him.”

  Whether it was merely drilled-in manners or a genuine compliment, it was incredible to have the princess stick up for him.

  Bet Dad never saw that coming.

  It’d go a long way to softening the old man up so that Theo could corral him after the ceremony about his ideas to help out their duchy. Which had a greater urgency if he was truly set to inherit it. Something he still hadn’t fully wrapped his brain around.

  Now that the princess herself had given her stamp of approval, there was no way his father could object.

  Hopefully.

  In theory.

  Francia popped open her fan of—you guessed it—white peacock feathers and swooshed it with the vigor of a courtesan back in the day at Versailles.

  A fan? Really?

  True,
he only saw his stepmother on ski and beach vacations over the years. But he’d sure never seen her rocking a fan before. Not even on fancy-dress nights. Or was it a ceremonial, traditional wifely counterpart to her husband’s medallion?

  Damn it, he really was going to have to read the program.

  “It is such a lovely day for the ceremony, Your Highness. Such a treat to see the palace gardens in the full bloom of summer.” Then Francia…simpered.

  Yes, the word was old-fashioned.

  No, he’d never seen anyone do it before. But there could be no other description for the way her lips pursed, her head tilted, and her lashes fluttered.

  Wow. Champagne would not be enough to get him through this afternoon. He should’ve brought a flask. Of Jägermeister.

  How did the princess do it?

  The afternoon they’d spent together at the children’s hospital was one thing. Her interaction with the parents and children had been so meaningful. They’d clearly been buoyed by their time with her, no matter how fast. And though it drained Genevieve, her heart was also obviously filled by seeing her kind words and basic touch perk them up.

  But the inane conversation these people lobbed at her about literally nothing of consequence? The princess had an entire afternoon of that ahead of her? That was the end game of all the flowers and feathers and musicians and expense?

  Theo did not get it.

  Not the point of the day, nor the title itself. Nor did he get how Genevieve held up. How she never wavered in her warmth and politeness and utter princess-perfection.

  She gave every one of her subjects, from lowborn to high, equal measures of care and interest. Damned if she didn’t give them all the royal treatment.

  And—now that he thought about it—that was worth more than any of the expensive trappings and fancy freaking falderal around them.

  There’d be no way to line-item “the princess effect” on his spreadsheets.

  Genevieve beamed at Francia. “We have talented gardeners who nurture every bloom. The only credit I can take is for being smart enough to appreciate it every morning when I come out here.”