Carrie
Iblew out a sigh as I eased my van down the alley.
I was exhausted. As grateful as I was to have been chosen to cater the engagement party for some two-bit princess from a country I’d never heard of, it had been a lot.
The job was complicated by a broken oven at our commercial kitchen and two servers who got into a shouting match right before we started service.
Needless to say, I had to let them go. Then again, it wasn’t a catering job if there weren’t some disasters.
I’d just turned forty and after ten hours on my feet, I was feeling every one of those years. Fortunately my business partner was covering the clean-up so I could go home and relax.
I backed up in front of the garage and hit the button to open the door. I had a bin full of dirty linens I needed to wash. After pulling down the ramp, I hopped inside to pull out the bin, then jumped back in shock. There was a woman in my van.
“What the hell?”
“Uh, hi.” She gave me a little wave. “Sorry for scaring you.”
I walked backwards down the ramp, keeping the bin between us in case I needed it for protection.
The woman followed me down and my eyes widened as I got a look at her.
She was a petite blonde with pale skin, large brown eyes, and an honest-to-God tiara on her head.
It looked real too. My eyes traveled downward, taking in her small but full breasts, trim waist, tiny little feet squeezed into what looked like rhinestone studded pumps.
She looked like something out of a fairy tale.
“Why are you in my van?”
“I needed to get away.”
“From who? The police? Are you in trouble or something?”
“Oh no, nothing like that,” she laughed lightly. “My parents are trying to marry me off to some minor Scandinavian royal, so I took off.”
I looked around, wondering if there was a hidden camera somewhere. Seeing none, I turned back to my little stowaway. Suddenly I recognized her. She was the person whose engagement party we were catering. I’d only caught a glimpse of her, but it was definitely the bride-to-be.
Whatever this was, I didn’t have the energy to deal with it.
“Well Cinderella, this has been fun, but I’m exhausted. Go along now.”
I made a shooing motion with my hands, but the little princess stayed in place.
“Cinderella had two evil stepsisters,” she said. “I have a perfectly nice sister who’s going to be queen someday, which makes it even more ridiculous that my parents are trying to marry me off.”
I couldn’t suppress my sigh. I’d worked hard to eliminate drama from my life. The last thing I wanted was to hear about somebody else’s.
“Well, as much as I care about rich people’s problems, you need to get out of here. Do you need me to help you order an Uber?”
She seemed like the type who didn’t do anything for herself.
The princess’s forehead creased into a frown. “I know how to order an Uber, but I can’t go back to my condo.”
“Why not?” I asked impatiently.
“That’s the first place they’ll look for me.”
That sounded like a personal issue that I definitely didn’t need to be involved in. So I walked around her to close and lock the van, then pulled the bin of laundry into the garage.
“Well, good luck with all that,” I said, pressing the button to lower the garage door.
“Wait!” she called, scooting forward to follow me into the garage. “Can I stay here tonight?”
My eyes popped open so wide I was sure that I must have looked like a cartoon. “What? Are you crazy? No, you can’t stay here.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t even know each other.”
She gave me a charming smile and held out her hand. “My name is Genevieve Louisa San Rafael de Nova, second princess of Saint Marenne. You are?”
Wow, that name was a mouthful. I blinked at her and took her hand, feeling something arc between us as our palms touched. “Carrie. Carrie Owens.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Carrie.”
We stood there staring at each other, hands still clasped, the air between us growing thick and heavy before I finally pulled away.
“Do you really have no place to go tonight?” I asked.
It seemed unlikely, but then again, something about her earnest expression told me she was telling the truth.
She nodded. “That’s right.”
I was regretting my words before they left my mouth. “Why don’t you come inside so we can figure out a plan.”
She made a little squealing noise that shouldn’t have been cute but totally was.
“Awesome. Thank you so much. You won’t even know I’m here, I promise.”
Somehow I doubted that.
Genevieve followed me into the house, looking around curiously. I tried to see it through her eyes. It was a nice house. Simple. White walls, wooden floors, sturdy furniture. Everything was neat and clean. I didn’t like too much clutter.
“This is cozy,” she said.
I studied her, trying to decide if she was being judgmental, but her expression was sincere.
She stuck her hand down the side of her dress, scratching her side, then moved towards the doorway, rubbing her back against the door frame.
“What are you doing?”
She rolled her eyes. “This damned dress is itchy. My mother knows that I have a reaction to lace but still she shows up with this monstrosity.”
“It’s a nice dress,” I said mildly.
“I’m sorry to be a bother, but is there any chance you can loan me something to wear that isn’t itchy?”
“Follow me.”
I led Genevieve into the guest room.
“My sister keeps clothes here for when she visits,” I said, opening a dresser drawer. “She’s petite like you. Help yourself to whatever works.”
“Thank you.”
I headed back to the kitchen, then pulled out my phone to google my unexpected guest. Sure enough, the woman pawing through my sister’s dresser was a princess from some tiny European country.
According to her Wikipedia page, she lived in Seattle and worked in philanthropy.
The pictures on the page showed Genevieve in fancy outfits like the one she was just wearing, sometimes accompanied by her parents and sister.
This woman was either a real princess or an amazingly good imposter.
“Thanks for the clothes.”
I looked up to see Genevieve coming into the kitchen looking more like a normal person.
She was wearing a tee shirt and a pair of my sister’s yoga pants that fit her like a glove, although they were about an inch too long.
She looked younger now too. I’d read on her Wikipedia page that she was in her twenties, way younger than me.
That made her off-limits. Well that and the fact that she was a rich and privileged runaway princess who was possibly mentally ill.
Okay, sure, I could admit I was attracted to her, more than anyone I’d met in a long time.
She was beautiful and innocent looking and charming, and I’d always liked petite women.
Maybe I needed to start dating again, clearly I was starved for someone to crush on.
Genevieve cleared her throat, making me realize that I was staring at her.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, turning to the kitchen. “I haven’t had dinner.”
“Starving. All they had at that damned party was finger foods.”
I looked at her over my shoulder. “That’s what they ordered.”
Her eyes widened as she realized her mistake. “Everything was delicious,” she assured me. “I’m not impugning your food, trust me.”
For some reason I did trust her, which was weird. I should be kicking her out. Shouldn’t have let her inside in the first place. Yet for some reason, I didn’t have the heart to throw my royal stowaway out into the night. I felt… sorry for her. Or intrigued by her. Maybe both.
“Okay, I was going to just defrost something from the freezer.” I opened the door and peered inside. “Do you like frozen pizza?”
Sure, I was a professional caterer, but the last thing I wanted to do after a long night of food service was cook something special for myself.
“I’ve never had frozen pizza.”
What a shock. Guess they didn’t have junk food at her castle.
“Well, you’re in for a treat then, because I know how to make it taste even better.”
I pressed some buttons on the oven to preheat it, then got started doctoring up the pizza while Genevieve watched.
I added shredded cheese and a few sliced vegetables before putting it in the oven to heat.
Then I grabbed two bottles of water out of the fridge and settled at the kitchen table across from my impromptu guest.
“Okay, spill it. If you’re going to stay here tonight I want the whole story.”