Chapter 19Sofia
Chapter 19
Sofia
The door to my bed chamber opens and immediately, both Lemon and Pepper spring to life, their tails wagging as they bounce from their beds by the fireplace, and shoot across the floor to greet Dana, my lady’s maid. She’s wearing her habitual black-and-white uniform, and holding my breakfast tray in her hands.
“Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” she says with a curtsy, despite the fact I instructed her to call me Sofia within a week of her first joining the palace staff. “And hello there, you two ragamuffins,” she says to the dogs, who respond with tail wags. “You’re up early.” She places the tray on the end of the bed I made when I arose a good hour ago.
“Good morning, Dana. Yes, I have a lot to do today. In fact, I’m going to be gone all day today, not back until late tonight.”
“That is a busy day. Where are you off to?”
Dana has been my lady’s maid for the last five years since I returned from university. She’s only two years younger than me, and recently married her high school sweetheart. I know she’s trustworthy, and she’s totally got my back, as Maddie would put it. If I ask her not to share where I’m going with anyone, I know I can trust her—and besides, the information could be used if we run into any trouble. Not that I’m expecting trouble, of course. But I am sneaking away without my bodyguard. Father would have a fit if he knew.
“Look, Dana. I’m going out of town for the day to a village in the mountains called Monteluce, and I would really rather prefer it if you didn’t mention it to anyone.”
“Of course. Your secret is safe with me.”
“I knew it would be. Thanks.”
“Is Bartholomew going with you?” she asks.
“I thought I might leave Bartholomew at home for a change. Give him a break.”
She creases her brow. “You’re not taking him?”
“I won’t need him where I’m going. You see, I’m not going on official royal business. It’s a sort of… vacation. Just for the day.”
She raises her brows. “That sounds lovely. But, ma’am, I am concerned for your safety.”
“Don’t be. I’m going with a friend.”
“A friend? ”
“Yes.”
I’m not going to tell her my friend is Marco. She would only jump to conclusions, and I’m not going to tell her about our quest to solve the riddle. It all seems like a movie plot rather than real life.
Her brow creases with concern. “With all due respect, there’s more media interest in you than usual right now. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
I press my lips together to stifle a smile. “I’ve got a disguise.”
If she looked surprised before, that’s nothing in comparison to the look on her face now. “You’re going on vacation for the day in disguise?” she asks, annunciating each word carefully.
I take her by the hands. “Dana, I know it sounds crazy, and so unlike anything I would do ordinarily. But please, you’ve got to trust me. I’ll be gone for a day and then I’ll be back and everything will go back to the way it normally is.”
“All right,” she says after a beat. “Let’s see your disguise then.”
I pull a blonde wig I wore at a fancy dress ball a couple of years ago, and a pair of large sunglasses from my handbag.
Dana eyes the items I’m proudly holding up in my hands. “A wig and a pair of sunglasses.”
I beam at her. “That’s right. Genius, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps?” Dana replies diplomatically.
“I’ll try them on for you.” I pad across the Persian rug to the full-length mirror, where I push my hair inside the wig, adjusting it so it sits correctly, and slide the sunglasses on. Turning to her I say, “See? I don’t look like me at all.”
She bites down on her lip and my heart sinks.
“You don’t think it looks any good, do you? ”
“It just doesn’t look very realistic, that’s all. You look like someone who’s trying to go unnoticed, and I imagine that’s the last thing you want.”
I pull the wig from my head and remove my sunglasses. “What would you wear?”
“You’re most often seen in public with your hair tied up in a neat French twist, just like the one you’re wearing right now.”
I lift my hand to the back of my head and feel my hair tucked tightly away.
“What if you wore your hair loose?”
“Loose?” I cough, as though the mere idea of not wearing my hair in a tidy French twist or bun is completely outlandish.
Dana’s lips curve into a smile. “You look beautiful with your hair down, and I’m one of the few people who actually gets to see it, other than your family at times. You could wear your sunglasses with your hair down and wear more casual clothes, like jeans and a T-shirt. The sorts of thing Amelia wears.”
Jeans and a T-shirt are possibly a step too far.
“Let’s try the hair first, shall we?” I reach for my head and pull out four or five bobby pins that are holding my hair in place and shake it out.
“See? Beautiful.”
I turn to look in the mirror and see a woman dressed in a demure pale blue dress with a crew neck and puff sleeves, with a pair of pale blue matching pumps on her feet, her thick dark hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders.
When I turn back to Dana, she’s no longer in the room. “Dana?” I call.
She reappears in the doorway a moment later, holding a pair of pale, frayed jeans, a plain T-shirt, and a dark green sweatshirt with a hood.
I quirk an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Trust me. You won’t look like Princess Sofia in the least, and that’s the plan, right?”
“I suppose it is.” I take the clothing from her and quickly change into the jeans, T-shirt, and sweatshirt. Dana produces my running shoes, which I slip onto my feet.
“Perfect,” she declares, and I turn to my reflection in the mirror once more. This time I’m met with an entirely different person. Gone is the prim and proper princess-appropriate dress, replaced with a much more casual, relaxed, and altogether more everyday looking woman.
Lemon sniffs my leg, probably trying to work out in her doggy brain why I look different.
“What do you think, girl?” I ask as I pet her head.
Her response is to continue sniffing me, which her sister also begins to do.
“Well, Lemon and Pepper like it. I think,” I say. “Where did you get these clothes?”
“From Amelia’s lady’s maid.”
I turn to her, aghast. “You didn’t tell her anything, did you?”
She shakes her head. “Of course not. I told her I needed to borrow the clothes for myself, and after throwing me a questioning look, she handed them to me and told me not to get them dirty.”
“It’s a good thing Amelia and I wear the same size. Thank you, Theresa,” I say with a smile, naming Amelia’s lady’s maid. I slide the sunglasses on top of my head and sling my handbag over my shoulder. “Right. I need to go.”
“You call me if there’s any problem at all. Promise?” Dana says .
“Promise.”
Seventeen minutes later, I pull my car into a parking space outside a three-story Victorian brick building, with little balconies in neat rows running the full length of the street.
Although I’m excited to be heading to Monteluce with Marco to finally find out what the scrolls says, I admit the idea of being with him for an entire day is both exciting and terrifying. I only just reaffirmed in my head my conscious choice of the man who is right for me on paper. Now I’m about to go on the sort of adventure I’ve never been on in my life, to an unknown village deep in the mountains with the one man who makes my heart sing, but a man who is so very wrong for me.
I refuse to overthink it. We are going on a mission to solve the riddle. Nothing more.
With the engine still running, I pull my phone out of my handbag and am about to text Marco to let him know I’ve arrived when the glossy black front door of the apartment block swings open, and he steps outside, throwing me a quick wave.
He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, sneakers on his feet and his usual smile in place. My heart gives an involuntary squeeze at the sight of him, and I give myself a stern talking to.
He climbs into the passenger seat beside me and lets out a low whistle. “Excellent car, Principessa ,” he says, using the nickname he gave me, the nickname that makes my chest tighten. “A 280SL in British racing green.” He runs his fingers along the dashboard as though petting a fine horse.
“I like it,” I reply stiffly.
He seems to remember I’m also in the car. His eyes rove over me, making me suddenly shy. “This is a different look for you.”
“Good or bad?” I try to keep the vulnerability from my voice. Without my Princess Sofia armor, I can’t help but feel exposed, even when it’s just Marco and me.
Or perhaps especially when it’s just Marco and me.
“You look beautiful. Different, but beautiful.” His lips lift into his knee-weakening smile, and I grip the steering wheel, trying my best to ignore his effect on me. Of course it’s a losing battle. Those hummingbirds in my belly begin to flap their wings as though they’re at a Taylor Swift concert.
I lift my chin as I pull the car out into the quiet street. “Sorry I’m a little late,” I tell him to move the conversation along as he buckles his seat belt.
“Two minutes late. I think I’ll survive,” he replies lightly. “Is this a Pagoda model from the late-sixties, or an earlier one?”
“It’s a Pagoda,” I answer confidently because I might not know that much about cars, but I do know the model of this car. I chose it after all.
“What year is it? ’68? ’69?”
“1968.”
“Nice. Is it equipped with the original inline-six engine, or has it been modified?”
I regard him blankly. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“Is it in original condition, or has it undergone any restorations?”
“Marco, all I know is I love this car, even if the air conditioning is non-existent and it only fits me and one other person.”
“I’m glad I’m your other person today. This car is a total classic.”
“It is. ”
He rubs his hands together, grinning. “Ready for our big adventure?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply, coming to a stop at a red light.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“What sort of favor?”
“Could you rev your engine for me?”
“Why ever on earth do you want me to rev my engine?”
“Because you might not have noticed but this is one sexy car, and you should rev sexy cars as often as possible. In fact, it should be a law. Perhaps you could ask your parents to see to it?”
I laugh, but it comes out as a girly giggle. I clear my throat in embarrassment.
“Just one rev. You know you want to, Principessa .”
“I’m not in the habit of revving my car, but why not?” I put the car in neutral and press my sneaker clad foot on the accelerator briefly, the engine leaping into action, emitting a deep growl that escalates and escalates to a vibrating roar. It’s thrilling and I feel like a rebel, waking the neighborhood up.
“Come on. You can do better than that.”
“I’m certain your neighbors will think that’s quite enough.”
“They need to get up and get on with their days. See it as community service.”
“Okay.” I press my foot tentatively down once more and the engine springs to life.
“More!”
This time, I pump the accelerator with rapid pulses that blend into one continuous hum with a high-pitched wail. If I thought it was thrilling before, this is nothing short of exhilarating. I’m in my car with a gorgeous man who thinks I’m beautiful, behaving in an entirely un-princess-like manner, set to embark on an adventure to solve a royal riddle.
Does it get better than that?
“Now we’re talking!” Marco grins at me and I find myself grinning back.
Who knew doing something as loutish as revving a car engine could make me feel quite so giddy, so alive? I sweep my eyes over Marco and wonder whether it would feel quite so wonderful if he wasn’t here with me.
But I already know the answer.