Chapter 7
Seven
AURELIA
The children are in bed by eight, a bit past their normal bedtime, but the tour has my carefully planned schedule a little out of whack.
I get a quick shower to calm my nerves; my heart has been threatening to beat out of my chest all afternoon, not at all quieted by my first step inside a church in years.
It had taken every ounce of the resilience I’ve cultivated over the years to keep my composure for the sake of the children.
Even so, stepping into the enormous, austere, beautiful cathedral today had stolen my breath, and not in the fun way.
The rituals and the hymns and the prayers may have been different from my Southern Baptist upbringing, but the sentiment was the same, and the god was the same, and I’m certain the hearts of many of the people inside were mostly the same.
At a quarter to nine, I give up on the spicy book Margaret had thrust at me last Sunday; even the surly gazillionaire finally opening up to his new sunny assistant isn’t enough to quiet my racing thoughts.
I dig through my suitcase, finding a pair of dark skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder Aran sweater my aunt had insisted on buying for me when we went to Ireland a few years ago.
Satisfied my outfit choice is cute yet not overeager, I head to the bar early.
Maybe if I can get one drink in me before meeting the prince, I can approach this whole thing a smidge more clear headed.
The bartender sets my old fashioned in front of me with a wink. Three cherries float on a toothpick in my drink. Margaret would be pushing me to talk to him; three cherries is a clear flirtation tactic, but my mind is firmly elsewhere.
As I sip the bourbon cocktail, I go over my arguing points again, reminding myself of the pros and cons of whatever arrangement Prince Friedrich and I are about to strike up.
“Is this seat taken?” a rumble of a voice asks next to me.
“Oh, I’m actually just—” I stop short as I peer into the face of the prince’s security officer.
I realize I haven’t actually heard him speak other than this morning when he was screaming at me.
He is still in his all-black clothes, but his shoulders are more relaxed, and his brows aren’t creased in their usual scowl.
His stereotypical military high-and-tight is a bit longer on top than I’m sure regulations allow, but I don’t imagine the prince being especially strict about such things.
Not when he himself is sporting hair bordering on unruly.
The guard, who I can safely assume is the Brenton I’m to be meeting, takes the barstool next to me without waiting for my response. “Frank saw you on CCTV, and I decided to come a bit early.” He orders tonic water and a lime.
“You were watching me?”
“We’re watching everything, Miss. But most especially you, yes.”
I take a slow sip, my anxiety rising again. “Why me most especially?”
“A foreign woman who wants to get close to His Highness? Why wouldn’t we?”
I shrug. “Fair.”
“We’ll sit down here for a minute and finish our drinks,” Brenton explains. “Chat a little. Make it appear casual, like we’re meeting here and you’re going upstairs with me.”
“You don’t think someone will notice?”
“No, someone certainly will notice, that’s why we have to make this look natural. As if I’m here to pick you up for myself.”
I nod my understanding. “So, we should find something to talk about then.”
“Perhaps you should flirt a little.”
I cough. “Perhaps you should flirt a little.”
He scowls into his glass, the ice tinkling along the sides as he gives it a little swirl.
“You don’t do this for him often, do you?” I press.
“Never, actually.” He sucks down the last of his alcohol-free beverage and motions for another.
“I figured, or else you would have a better script lined up.”
Captain Brenton Mercer doesn’t strike me as a man who smiles often, much less laughs, but I catch one corner of his mouth twitch in what might be a smirk on any other person.
“No, Miss. We’re going completely off book here.
” His second drink arrives, and he takes a sip. “Where are you from, Miss Sumner?”
“The United States.”
He scoffs. “Yes, I gathered that by the accent. I meant where in the US?”
“Louisiana.”
“Is that all I get?”
“Is this an interrogation?” Turns out I’m not half bad at this fake flirting thing, and I’m perhaps a bit too proud of the tick in the captain’s jaw at my kidding.
“Consider it a security interview,” he says. “We will, of course, be running a full background check before whatever you have with His Highness goes much further.”
“Naturally,” I reply over the rim of my rocks glass.
“And I’ll have a nondisclosure agreement for you to read and sign before you see him tonight.”
I raise an eyebrow. As if I could forget that the man I’m about to start kind of seeing is an actual freaking prince, the mention of an NDA is a stark reminder that while every little girl wishes to be a princess, this is not a fairytale.
“Sounds rather thorough. Shouldn’t you have brought that with you so I could start reading it over now? ”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “And draw attention to what we’re up to?”
“Right,” I agree, popping the last cherry in my mouth. “Well, shall we then?”
I remind myself to play the part as we leave the bar together.
Standing as close as I dare as we walk to the elevators, I don’t even flinch when he places a hand on the middle of my back.
His gentle touch is guiding, but not commanding, and I’m silently grateful he’s chosen not to go with the arm around the waist route.
“You’re a natural at this,” Brenton says as the elevator doors close behind us, and he drops his hand.
He taps a keycard on a pad above the buttons, then presses the one marked ‘PH’.
The ride is silent, the protection officer back in his usual parade-rest stance as he faces away from me directly in front of the doors.
The elevator dings, the doors open and he stands on the threshold, head completely still as he scans the hallway before stepping aside to let me out.
There are only three doors on this floor.
One marked ‘stairs’ with the usual hotel fire plan next to it.
Another is labeled ‘housekeeping’, and the last has a man standing in front of it.
I recognize him also from my run-in with the prince this morning.
He hands me a leather-bound folder with a pen clipped to the front. I glance behind me to Brenton.
He nods at the folder in my hands. “NDA, as we discussed.”
“Right.” I make it through the first page before the legalese starts to jumble together. “Can you just give me, like, a quick summary?”
“This is a legal contract, miss,” the other guard intones. “You’ll want to be certain of all the details.”
I chew the side of my lip. Just then, the door opens and the prince steps into the hallway, stealing the very breath from my lungs at the sight of him in a plain black t-shirt stretched so tantalizingly across his chest and shoulders.
“Oh, leave the poor woman be, Frank,” he says to the officer at the door before turning one of his dazzling smiles on me.
I feel a flutter low in my stomach and a blush rising to my cheeks. I return with my own shy smile and dip into a curtsy, which he waves off.
“Just initial all the way down on each page and sign at the end. It’s all pretty standard stuff. I’ll hit the highlights for you later.”
I give a nervous laugh. “Thank you.”
When I pass the finished document back to the guard at the door, he holds out his hand as if expecting something else as well. I look up at him, puzzled.
“Your mobile, Miss. No unsecured phones while you’re alone in private.”
I clasp my cell phone. “I need to be on hand, in case Lady Maier needs help with the children.”
Brenton comes to my side. “One of us will come get you if the need arises.”
I nod slowly and hand my phone over.
Prince Friedrich claps his hands together. “Great, now that’s all settled, if you’ll excuse us, men.”
He takes my hand, and I can’t help the thrill running up my arm at his touch. Once I step inside his suite, I’m once again stricken by the opulence of his arrangements.
The main room contains a living area, kitchen, and dining space in an open floorplan with windows spaced along all three outside walls, giving an incredible view of the city lit up below, the river a dark ribbon cutting through.
The wood floors are polished to a high shine, and I imagine slipping around in my socks Risky Business style.
Prince Friedrich watches me from the bar in the corner of the living room. A slight smile curves his lips. He pours two glasses of what I assume to be whiskey of some sort in cut crystal tumblers.
“Rocks?” he asks, holding up one of the glasses.
“Neat, please.”
“I knew I liked you,” the prince says with a wink.
I preen under his smile, feeling warm all over. The fluttering I had felt earlier begins to move farther down.
He gestures to a white leather sofa sitting perpendicular to an intricately carved fireplace and facing one of the larger windows with a stunning picture of the cathedral lit up in the night, looming over the Ardsmure River.
The moon sparkles on the water, and the city noises are dampened from our height.
We sip our whiskey. It’s a bourbon, probably a pretty expensive one by the rich color and smooth flavor.
Once again, our silence is easy, like we can simply be together, comfortable in each other’s space without needing to fill it.
But the conversation we had started earlier in the day also needs finishing, before I lose my nerve.
I toy with the cuff of my overlong sweater sleeve and tap my big toe inside my shoe. “So, back on what we were talking about on the train.”
“Yes, I believe you were propositioning me.”
My mouth drops open, and I let out something like a croak. “I-I was not propositioning you!”