The Cinderella Princess (7 page)

Laughter filled Emily’s gaze. “You realize we’ll be meeting Princess Bettina at the engagement presentation. We’ll be able to see if you’re right or not.”

Not only complicated, but trouble. In the time since Emily Rodgers had woken him, Luc learned four things about her.

She was sharp—book smart and common sense wise. Her comeback to Vivianca about no princesses living in America had been brilliant and kept an injured child’s fantasy alive. He couldn’t wait to see Emily’s choice of bride candidates.

She was an unapologetic workaholic. Being jet lagged after transatlantic travel hadn’t stopped her from pulling out her tablet and mini-keyboard the minute they boarded the jet. She never seemed to relax.

She was also curious. He didn’t need a PhD in psychology to know the number of questions she had for him were growing exponentially. But she hadn’t asked him anything since leaving the cottage. He appreciated her restraint and would tell her what he could without admitting that his family needed him to be seen as a royal screw-up, not a caring philanthropist, for the sake of the monarchy.

She was nicer than he thought and nicer than she claimed to be. She’d been friendly and shed tears, then tried to wipe her eyes without anyone noticing. But he had.

The fact he’d taken so much time cataloging a woman he’d just met was interesting in and of itself.

“Is there anything you’d like to see in Lake Como, Emily?” he asked.

Her gaze zeroed in on him. “Your engagement ring on the finger of a princess, countess, or duchess.”

He could add one-track mind to his list of things about her. “I’d like to see that too. And don’t forget the ring finger of a baroness, marchioness, viscountess, and viceroy also works.”

Emily tucked her tablet in her large purse. “Wouldn’t that be vicereine?”

He was impressed she knew the term. “Viceroy is gender-neutral so either can be used.”

“Learn something new every day.” She zipped her bag. “With so many feminine royals to choose from, we’re bound to succeed. The project seemed to have overwhelmed the royalty consultant. She should have had dates lined up prior to filming, not been so haphazard in her approach. Many royals had been left off the original princess list. I created a database for us to use, and I’ve already contacted twenty women.”

“When was the last time you failed?” Luc asked.

She rubbed her lips together. “I can’t remember.

“That’s what I thought.”

The limo stopped. Luc climbed out of the car.

The villa was an imposing structure, rectangular with three stories of public rooms, dining areas, bedroom suites, and two kitchens. The luxurious accommodations were meant to impress potential brides rather than make his life more pleasant. But since he couldn’t leave the premises, he would have to make the most of activities available here.

He stood in front of Venetian double doors. The scent of hanging wisteria—sweet like a freshly cut spring bouquet—mocked him. A glance over his shoulder at the lake heckled his lack of choices on what was the antithesis of a royal holiday.

The natural beauty couldn’t hide the truth. This place was nothing but a prison, one with cameras pointed at him 24/7. His visitor times brought potential fiancées, women he was supposed to impress with his wit, humor, and good looks. Maybe they should put him into solitary confinement and throw away the key.

Duty. Honor. The foundation’s children.

He stepped inside. The smell reminded him of home, a mix of antiques, tapestries, lemon oil, and floral arrangements.

Symmetrical staircases on either side leading off a center aisle greeted him. Luxurious red runners trimmed with gold lined the stairs.

Luc removed the coveralls, glasses and cap. He tucked in his shirt, adjusted his tie and brushed his fingers through his hair. He would save the disguise for future use. No one had looked at him twice.

Except Emily.

He nearly laughed. She must be a fan of laborers not royalty, but that kind of person would fit with her work habits.

“Oh my goodness.” Addie sounded breathless. “Look at the paintings on the ceilings and the moldings.” She looked up and spun slowly. “This is a real life Pemberley.”

“Yes, only Italian in design, not English.” Luc glanced at Nick. “Though you brought your own Mr. Darcy.”

Nick laughed. Emily too.

Speaking of which, time to speak with her about Vivianca.

“Leave your bags for the staff to attend to,” Luc said to Emily. “I want to show you one of the gardens.”

Her mouth slanted. “Now?”

“Yes. Do you have other plans?”

Hesitation flashed in her tired eyes, but she set her purse on her suitcase. “No. Lead the way.”

He took the left staircase, led her through one of four sitting areas, then outside. The sun reflected off the tile, and he loosened his tie. “You’re going to get warm wearing black.”

She shrugged. “The color travels well. I’ll survive.”

He studied her clothing. Remembered something from a trip to Paris last month. “Your shirt reminds me of something I saw during Fashion Week.”

“It’s from a new designer.” Her gaze narrowed. “You’re into women’s clothing?”

“Women models.”

“I see.”

Did she? If so, that would be another strike against him. He headed toward the garden he’d discovered his first day at the villa. “Do you cook?”

“That’s a non sequitur.”

“I want to show you the kitchen garden.”

“If microwaving frozen meals and reheating take-out count, then I cook. Otherwise, I don’t.”

“I don’t. Unless you count making reservations, but someone does that for me.” Though he knew how to make grilled cheese sandwiches. Andre, a boy his foundation helped, loved those, but Emily didn’t need to know that.

Luc went down a short staircase carved out of rocks. Creeping thyme with small lavender flowers grew along the edge and cascaded down the steps. He used to follow the palace gardeners around when he was little. “But I like knowing where my food comes from.”

He stepped onto a flat area with rows of vegetable plants and fruit trees. “The villa has ten gardens. This one is used to make our meals.”

“A sustainable villa.” She sounded impressed.

He’d been. “Take whatever you like. The figs are especially good. If you like figs.”

“I do.” Emily inhaled deeply.

Her shirt separated in the gap between the buttons giving him a glimpse of black lace. Sexy. Unexpected. Very sexy.

She exhaled. “I smell lavender.”

“The flagstone path to the left leads to a herb garden.” Maybe they should head down there where she could smell more plants. “There are clippers to cut your own.”

She gave the trail a two-second glance, then looked at him. “So Vivianca…”

Right to the point. Luc walked between two rows of plants, and Emily followed. He needed to be cautious with what he said. Too much was at stake to tell her the whole truth.

“Vivianca is one of the children assisted by my foundation called Dream Big Alvernia. I met her last year after her accident.”

“How many children do you help?” she asked.

The question was not unexpected. They shared a common goal, but their reasons for wanting to succeed were different. Their methods would be too. “You and I need to reach an understanding about my foundation.”

She bent over and pushed the green top of a carrot out of the path. “What kind of understanding? I’m here to make sure the show is a success. The more I know about you and your foundation, the better I’m equipped to find you a bride.”

What had she said earlier? A true professional. He wondered what was in this for her—a raise, maybe a promotion. Truth was, he didn’t care. Protecting his family and the foundation were his priorities.

“I want the show to be a success.” He watched her smile widen. “But Vivianca, the other children, and the foundation are off-limits from the show.”

Emily’s expression fell. “That’s…stupid.”

He hadn’t expected that much honesty. “Not from where I stand.”

“Then take a step to your right so you have a new perspective.”

She sounded not only annoyed, but also upset. “My perspective is fine. Your motivation for wanting to use my foundation and the children concerns me.”

“My priority on the show is no different from any project I work on—to have a successful outcome.” She walked toward him, her shoulders back and her chin lifted. “In order to do that, I need to sell you—past, present, and future—to the princesses. What you’re doing, how you’re helping these children and their families, will impress a woman.”

“Are you impressed?”

“Yes, and surprised as hell about that. That tells me my instinct is spot on. Your interactions with these children is the perfect way to let princesses see your potential as a husband and a father, not just a fun date for New Year’s Eve.”

Pride puffed his chest. The foundation was a topic he’d never discussed with anyone outside his staff. Hearing Emily’s view made him stand taller and wish he could tell people. But his family needed his reputation to be tarnished for a little while longer. “Imagine how happy my future wife will be when she finds out about it.”

“That’s only if you find a woman to marry.” Emily’s voice rose like a television commercial that kept getting louder to grab your attention. “You can’t buy the kind of positive PR and praise you’ll receive if you go public.”

She didn’t understand. “I’m not doing this for accolades.”

Her head tilted. “Why are you doing it?”

She thought so little of him. He didn’t know why her opinion mattered.

“Helping Alvernians, especially her youngest citizens, is the right thing to do.” His voice came out more forceful than he intended, but he wanted to get his point across. What he did was private. “No one needs to know about the foundation. Not the public nor the show nor my family—”

Damn, he hadn’t meant to say that.

Two lines formed above the bridge of her nose. “Your family doesn’t know?”

He stood in the shade of a lemon tree. “My parents and siblings believe the fundraising events are an excuse to throw a party. They wrongly assume the donations are funneled to other charities.”

She came toward him. “Why haven’t you told them?”

He fingered a leaf. The top was smooth, but ridges lined the bottom.

Emily touched his arm. “Why?”

“No one has asked.”

A beat passed. And another. “I’m asking.”

His gaze met hers. Focused. Locked.

Luc saw no pity in her eyes, only compassion and interest and something unexpected…respect. A connection he didn’t understand drew them together.

She squeezed his arm. “Please tell me about Dream Big Alvernia.”

The air was cooler in the shade, but his temperature shot up, maybe twenty degrees. His awareness of this woman kept increasing. Her palm on him. The breaths she took.

Focus.

This is about the children, not me.

Or her.

“I have a staff.” He cleared his dry throat. “They care what happens to these children, are willing to put in extras hours to help the families.”

“What do they do?”

He half-laughed. “A better question would be what don’t they do.”

Smiling, Emily lowered her hand and picked a fig from a nearby plant. He missed her touch. “Going public with Dream Big Alvernia is the right move. You’ll reinvigorate your bride search. Princesses will be proposing to you.”

He laughed at her tunnel vision. “You are driven. I’m lucky to have you on my side.”

“Then let me help you. Advertising is what I do. I’m damn good at it, too.”

“You’re modesty is remarkable.”

“Modesty gets you fired in my business.” She wiped the fig with the inside of her shirt. A band of ivory skin flashed. “A coordinated campaign will help your search for a wife and tap into a larger donor pool so your foundation will thrive.”

“One of these days it may come to that, but not today.” He would have no choice but to do as she suggested if he failed to find a wife, and his father disowned him. “Do not mention the foundation or children to anyone. Understand?”

Emily didn’t say anything. Her teeth dragged back and forth across her lower lip.

“Promise me,” he said.

A beat passed. And another. She looked up at him. “If mentioning the foundation is the only way to marry you off—”

“We’ll discuss our options then.”

Her lips pursed. She looked both haughty and kissable.

He smiled, thinking about how she would taste. Warm, more savory than sweet, perhaps with a touch of spice and a dash of vinegar. Her kiss would likely surprise him, like the woman herself.

Emily’s mouth twitched like she wanted to say something.

He had a feeling Emily would be red-faced furious if she found out he was thinking about her kiss. “What?”

“You’re making a big mistake.”

“Perhaps.” He appreciated her willingness to state her opinion, even if he didn’t agree with her. “But this is my mistake to make. I will take the blame if I fail.”

And somehow try to make sure no one else experienced the fallout.

*

In her suite
that evening, Emily opened her bag and pulled out an old stuffed animal. The cat’s worn fur looked more gray than white, but she adored Miss Mousie.