Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
ANDI
As I exchange pleasantries with Reece’s parents—thank you, years of etiquette coaching—his words pound in my brain. “Even if I saw her as more than a business acquaintance…don’t get me started on her family.”
The sad thing is, I agree. Getting involved with anyone on the eve of my return home would be stupid, but hearing him say the words sears my heart. Despite all the push and pull between us, I thought the spark was bright on both sides. Our almost-kiss certainly reinforced that impression. Did I really think he was attracted enough to ignore my impending departure?
Kind of. At least I hoped he might be.
And I know, deep down, exactly what the family comment means. No normal American would want to get involved with an ex-royal. We come with way too much baggage for anyone except a publicity hound. But it still burns as if he’d classified my family with drug dealers and axe murderers. Or reality show stars.
“Where is that delightful accent from, Andi?” Reece’s mother, Fiona, asks me in her even more delightful British one.
“I grew up in Freiberg,” I say. “Near Austria and Germany. But I spent a few weeks here in Rotheberg every year, so my English is pretty Americanized.”
“Mine, too. Twenty years in Texas will do that.” Fiona gestures to the table. “Will you join us?”
I glance over my shoulder. “I’d love to,” I lie, carefully not looking at Reece. “But my parents are in town, too, so I’m eating with my family.” The last word comes out with a little more force than I intend. I flash a brilliant smile at the group. “Enjoy your schnitzel. It’s almost as good as back home.” With another general nod and a wink at Reece’s silent father, I swirl around and stalk toward my family’s table.
“I like her,” Reece’s dad drawls as I walk away.
I bite my lips and refrain from doing a fist pump. Your father knows what you’re missing, Reece . Then I wince—that sounded terrible even inside my head. Like one of those taboo romance novels Celeste always hid in her backpack. I plop down on the banquette beside Teo.
“ Wer ist das ?” Vatti asks.
I glance at Teo, raising a brow. He gets the message. Turning to my parents, he replies in the same language. “Reece Turner. We met last spring. He’s remodeling a house on the east end of town. Andi’s helping him.”
My parents exchange a narrow-eyed look. Mutti frowns. “What kind of helping?”
I shrug as if it’s no big deal. “We mudded the drywall this week. Then painting and installing cupboards next week.”
Mutti blinks. “Where did you learn to do this, Sonnenschein ?” Her use of the old nickname—Sunshine—makes my tense shoulders relax a bit.
“She’s been watching endless YouTube shows,” Teo says. “Late into the night.”
“Poor Teo, two nights of having me on his couch.” I roll my eyes.
“Why are you on Teo’s couch?” Vatti raises a finger and shakes his head to forestall the young man who approaches to take our order. “What happened to your apartment?”
“I can’t afford the apartment.” Not that he’d approve of it if he’d seen it.
“This Reece doesn’t pay you well enough.” Mutti glares over her water glass at Reece’s table.
“No, Mutti, it’s not… I’m not working full-time for him, so it’s not enough to cover the rent. I’m saving money by staying with Teo.” A little flush of warmth goes through me in response to my father’s nod of approval. “And since I don’t have a green card, I’ll be going home soon anyway.”
“I didn’t know you wanted one.” Vatti signals to the hovering boy and switches to English. “We are ready to order.”
Just like my dad. He’s ready, so he assumes the rest of us must be, too. Hard to believe Mutti is the actual royal in their relationship. But she doesn’t stop him, so she must have her meal picked out as well.
I scan the menu and choose an old favorite. “I’ll have the nachos please.”
Teo asks the expected question. “You order nachos at a German restaurant?” They’ve teased me about this for years, but I’ve never found another place that does bratwurst and Swiss cheese on corn chips.
“And a Coke Zero.” I smile as I return the menu to the waiter. “The Goat serves some of the best nachos in town.”
“Don’t tell the Martinezes that.” The waiter jerks his head at a table across the way where a boisterous, dark-haired family enjoy their evening off. Catching Vatti’s frown, he takes Teo’s menu and darts away.
“Rancho Bavaro does excellent nachos, when you’re in the mood for a more authentic flavor,” I admit.
Vatti lowers his shaggy brows and leans across the table to fix his gaze on me. “Do you want help with a green card?”
Do I? As Teo pointed out, I have the whole European Union to choose from. Maybe I could go back to school and study art in Paris. My Dutch is probably good enough to get an office job in the Netherlands or even northern Belgium. And my German is impeccable, of course. I even speak enough Spanish and Italian to get by in those countries.
My gaze strays to Reece and his parents, chatting with another waiter as she delivers their food. I try to tell myself that my growing feelings for a man I’ve only known a few weeks should have no bearing on this decision. Part of my desire to leave the royal family was to prove my independence, not to pin my dreams to someone new. But the idea of moving back to Europe—and away from Reece—feels wrong. So wrong.
I lean across the table. “What would I need to do?”
* * *
On Monday, I drive the Rusty Pumpkin to Reece’s house, arriving at a leisurely nine a.m. While I was living at the house, we didn’t have a set schedule. Reece usually rose early and had coffee brewed by the time I got downstairs.
This morning, I debated coming over at all. Obviously, we hadn’t had time to discuss any form of payment beyond room and board, so I’m not sure he really wants me here. But I need income, and I know the family can afford to pay me. If he wants me to stop showing up, he’ll have to fire me. The idea that he might do that leaves me shaking in my boots for reasons that have nothing to do with money.
When I get out of the car, the front door swings open and Slim appears. A baggy gray sweatshirt hangs low over his scruffy Levi’s. With a grunt, he raises a mug at me. “Coffee?”
I smile. “A kindred soul. Yes, please.” I follow him to the garage where he pours me a fresh mug of fragrant black brew. I add a little sugar from the ceramic bear. “Where are Fiona and Reece?”
“Went to pick out paint. You make them what d’ya call ’ems—swatch thingies?”
I take the mug. “The color palettes? Did they pick one?”
He nods. “Fi wants to start painting upstairs.”
I frown doubtfully as I sip my coffee. “I guess they could start with the bedrooms. But we have a lot of work to do in the bath before we start painting.”
“Yup, they know. But Fi wants to paint.” He says this as if his wife’s desires are more important than mere practicality.
“I suppose I should get to work.” I gather a sanding block and some fresh paper, then set my mug on the table. “Reece was right—you make the good stuff.”
“Thanks.” He follows me into the kitchen, leaning against the doorjamb to watch.
I pause beside the half-finished counter. “Did you need something?”
“Nope.”
I’ve met people like this before. I’m never sure if they realize how unnerving their quiet scrutiny and single-word answers can be. Sometimes it’s best to just hit them head-on. “You’re just going to stand there and watch me work?”
He lifts his cup—probably to hide the smirk I can hear in his single word of response. “Ay-yup.”
I drop my sanding gear on the cardboard standing in for a kitchen counter and cross my arms. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Just curious.”
“About what?”
He looks me over, taking in my second-hand jeans, my pink Fighting Edelweiss T-shirt, and the flamingo bandana covering my hair. “If a princess knows how to drywall.”
I gape at him for a moment, wondering how this Texan would know who I am, then figure it out. “Reece’s sister?”
He nods. “Katie loves you. She’s gonna be mad if she don’t get to meet you.”
“Does Fiona know, too?”
“Sure. She spotted you first.”
I bite a finger. “Does Reece know you know?”
He frowns as if that was hard to follow, then jerks his chin. “We talked about you at dinner.”
Great. At least it’s all out in the open, and I don’t have to pretend anymore. “Good.” I pick up the sanding block and hold it out to him. “You can show me how to do this.”
He comes closer. “Put the paper on?” He takes a new piece of sandpaper and folds it. He flips it back the other way, reinforcing the crease, then rips it neatly in half. “First you tear it to the right size. Then you tuck it in here.” He slides the end of the now perfectly sized paper into the groove on the block, wraps it around and tucks the other end in.
Slim finds another block and we spend a few minutes smoothing down my pre-filling. He grunts in satisfaction. “Not bad for a first-timer. You know where he keeps the mud? We can tape, now.”
I help him carry the supplies to the counter, and we hunker down and get to it. Reece’s dad is easy to work with, offering the occasional suggestion but never complaining or yelling. We tape all the seams on the peninsula and start on the corner beading around the new opening above it.
“What about the door?” I stand in the opening beyond the column that supports the second floor. There’s a small gap between the drywall and the wooden uprights.
He taps the two-by-fours. “We’ll finish this with a casing—wood trim around the opening. After we paint.” He looks around the little room. “I think we’re about done with this. Have to sand again tomorrow, after it dries, then we’re ready for the new floor and counter.”
“When will we paint down here?” I scrape the last of the mud back into the bucket, then slap the lid on top.
“Two schools of thought on that. Could do it now—well, after sanding tomorrow.” He grabs a rubber hammer and gently pounds the edges of the bucket lid to seal it. “But we might damage the walls when we move countertops and flooring in. If we wait, we could drip paint on the new floor and counter.” He shrugs. “Six ’a one, half-dozen t’other. Mostly depends on when supplies arrive.”
As if in response to this comment, the front door opens. “We’re back!” Fiona sings. Then she spots me. “Oh, Andi, I’m so glad you’re here! These color boards are gorgeous!” She waves a piece of pasteboard as she flies across the room and wraps me in a hug. Her head barely comes to my shoulder. Then she pulls back and shoves the swatch board at me. “I picked this one.”
I take the rectangle of paint and fabric swatches I created to see which of the three options she selected and smile. “This is my favorite, too. Isn’t that saffron fabulous?”
“Reece thought it might be too bright, but I think it’s perfect for the kitchen. Even with the new opening to the living room, it’s too dark in there. I told him it needed a pop of color, didn’t I, darling?”
As she speaks, Reece appears in the doorway, carrying a gallon paint can in each hand. “You did, Mum. Several times. She also told the paint mixer at the hardware store, and the kid at the coffee shop, and the guy at the gas station.” He leaves his burden by the front door, shaking out his hands as he enters the room.
“Oh, I left the coffee in the car!” She darts past her son like a hummingbird, still buzzing as she goes. A muttered comment gets lost in the movement.
“What did she say?” I look from one man to the other.
They both shrug in movements so synchronized their relationship is impossible to deny. “She’ll tell us when she gets back,” Reece says. “If it was important.”
Fiona reappears, bursting into the room with a carrier full of cardboard cups. She flits around the room, handing them out to each of us, detailing our order as she does. “Latte for Slim. Black with one sugar for Andi. Earl Grey for me, and a London Fog with an extra scoop of vanilla syrup for the sweet tooth.” She hands the last cup to Reece.
I look at my cup in surprise. “You remembered how I take my coffee?”
Reece grunts and looks away as his cheeks go pink. “Black with one sugar. It’s not that complicated.”
“Unlike yours.” Fiona pats Reece’s cheek. “My big strong boy with his sugary sweet drink.”
I bite back a smile.
Slim takes a long sip and nods contentedly. “Ready to paint, then?”
“Soon as we finish our coffee break.” Reece flips the plastic away from the old couch and settles down in a corner.
“Gotta take a break from your hard work playing chauffeur?” Slim leans against our newly sanded counter.
“Ay-yup.” Reece’s one-word answer sounds exactly like his father.
Slim’s jaw tightens in what I think is his version of a smile, and he sets his cup on the windowsill. He ambles over to the paint cans Reece deposited by the door and peers at the lids. Then he picks up both and carries them into the kitchen. When he returns, he’s wearing gloves. “More in the truck?”
Reece nods.
Fiona’s bright eyes dart from him to me, and she scurries after her husband. “I’ll show you where they go.”