To Catch a Princess (12 page)

She needed. A lot. She speed-dialed her friend.

“Hey,” she said, her voice husky with tears as Vanessa answered.

“Hey, yourself. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. Are the pictures that bad?” She hadn’t had a chance to get a real look at the tabloid Peter had been holding.

“They’re…bad. If you want to think the worse that is and you know how people are, Tatiana. They’re all over the Net as well,” Vanessa said, upset alive in her voice. “Good grief, girlfriend. What were you thinking?”

“You don’t pull any punches, do you?” Tatiana said dryly.

“I don’t think you’d want me to lie to you. The shit really hit the fan here when Alexander saw them. He’s frikkin’ furious.”

“It wasn’t anything, for crying out loud. Besides, we’re adults, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, I know. But he was really angry with Peter for quote unquote ‘comprising you.’”

Comprising her. Funny. If anything,
she
had been the aggressor last night.

“Peter didn’t compromise me. At least not that morning,” she added with a sniffle and an unwilling chuckle.

“Oh, my God, T! So something
did
happen? Tell me! Or maybe not. I know how private you are about things like this. Why these photos upset you so much.”

“They are upsetting. Because something did happen between us. But I can’t— It’s impossible. But now everyone is planning the wedding and I don’t know what to do.”

“Why is it impossible?” Vanessa sounded puzzled. “Peter seems really nice. I know he’s not a prince or anything, but—”

Tatiana swallowed, realizing her friend didn’t know about him. “Except he
is
a prince. Peter is really Pyotr Romanovich, son of the Grand Duke.”

“OMG. You mean he’s the guy your parents want you to marry?”

“Yeah. He told me after we got here. He’s been lying to me all these years.”

“I don’t think he meant to hurt you,” Vanessa said after a thoughtful pause. “You two weren’t really buddies, not like him and your brother.”

“You’re
defending
him?” Tatiana said, her anger rising.

“No, I’m not. What he did sucked, but… OMG, in those photos. The way he’s looking at you. I think he loves you, Tatiana. I really do.”

“He said he cares for me. A few minutes ago,” she confessed, sadness replacing anger. Despair that two people with such deep feelings for each other could end up torn apart over secrets. “But he also says there’s more he’s not telling me, Vanessa. How can he care for me and still be keeping secrets from me? He doesn’t trust me.”

“Girlfriend, give him a chance. Maybe he has good reasons for all this,” she urged.

“I have to go, Vanessa,” Tatiana said, needing some time alone to sort things out.

“I’m here if you need me,” her friend said sympathetically.

“I know.”

Chapter 14

With only three days left before the fashion show, the jewels had begun to arrive via bonded couriers, or with the royal family members themselves.

As Peter stood in the lobby, watching for any sign of the man from the day before, he familiarized himself with the royals. Tatiana stood beside Tony and greeted them upon their arrival. Her disappointment in him was evident, even with the distance that separated them as she stood across the lobby greeting her guests. Her remoteness only grew as the day progressed.

Clearly the tabloids had been seen by some of those royal guests, and the less tactful of the bunch would be sure to mention it to her. Peter should be at her side, fending off those attacks, but every time he approached, she hurried away or found some other way to keep him at a distance. Such as choosing Tony to be at her side for the arrival of the guests and their glittery baubles.

He should have expected her treatment after the sharp words they had exchanged that morning, but it still bothered him that she hadn’t allowed him to explain. He’d hoped that once he did, as he had with Alexander, things might get smoothed over. Although he had the sense that if Alexander were here in person, his friend might still kick his ass for good measure.

Satisfied that Tatiana and Tony had the situation under control, Peter decided to take a walk to check and see how the transfers from the couriers to the display cases in the ballroom were going.

As he entered the hallway, he noted the presence of additional security and how they efficiently kept guests moving out of the area. Along the hall leading to the amphitheater, another trio of guards was likewise handling the situation. Peter walked to the door leading to the staff areas and the hidden service corridor that connected all the large rooms, and flashed his credentials at the one guard stationed there. The man raised his hand to stop him and said, “May I take a look at your ID?” Peter unclipped it from his badge and the man did a thorough inspection before letting him pass.

Pleased, Peter walked the length of the corridor and found everything in order. He doubled back to the service entrance for the ballroom where another guard stopped and asked for his ID. He again cleared himself through and into the space, where an assortment of security guards and hotel staff were dealing with the delivery of the jewels from the couriers and the guests. One clerk was dutifully noting the contents while someone who looked like a jeweler examined them to confirm they were real before handing them over for placement in the secure display cases.

He understood the need for the inspection by the jeweler. More than one case of insurance fraud involved heists of fake jewels in order to receive a payout for the loss while the real items remained in the hands of the owners.

Strolling up and down the aisles, he took note of the splendor of the items, including a familiar looking set of jewelry.

He stopped to peer through the thick, smash-resistant glass at the tiara, necklace, bracelet, and ring sporting a fortune’s worth of diamonds and rubies. Ruby had been his mother’s birthstone and his father had gone to great lengths to have this particular collection made for his wife’s fortieth birthday. Peter remembered the excitement of his father sharing the secret of the gift with him. Showing him the marvelous pieces before Peter had helped wrap them in gaily colored paper and ribbons.

He had been eight years old when his father had presented the gift to Peter’s mother.

She had smiled, but it hadn’t reached her eyes. Vacant eyes which had grown ever more distant as she withdrew from her family and a world which had overwhelmed her with the constant demands of public events, the ever-present paparazzi, and the biting criticism of a small, but vocal, group of royals.

His mother had been institutionalized two years later, no longer able to cope with the world around her. The constant public intrusions into their lives had made her afraid of virtually everything, and weakened her tenuous hold on reality, until her mental illness had stolen her away from them.

He was thirteen when she had passed away quietly from the life she could no longer handle.

Grief-stricken, his father had sent him away to the same boarding school Alexander was attending. The gap in their ages meant they only saw each other occasionally. But even those infrequent contacts were enough for Peter to recognize the heavy mantle that a prince was forced to wear as he came of age.

It was there he decided early on to adopt a persona sans his royal title. His hope was to avoid the kinds of pressures that had driven his mother over the edge. He’d hoped to create a more normal and private life for himself and anyone he came to love.

In time, he became just another of the rich children sent away to study abroad. When he graduated and moved on, he had used the common form of his name and followed the path he decided to pursue for his life—that of a law enforcement officer.

It had angered his father, the Grand Duke, but Peter could not imagine living that other life anymore. He enjoyed being a police officer, and using his real identity complicated that profession in many ways.

“Detective Roman? Is something wrong?” asked the security guard who had approached him during his silence.

“Nothing. Just admiring these pieces,” he said, and moved on to the others. Satisfied that the area was secure for the moment, he hurried off to check out the other preparations.

…

It was the third time Alexander had called.

Tatiana hit the ignore button on her cell phone as she had for each of the earlier calls.

Moments later, the phone chirped again, this time warning she had a message.

From Alexander again. A photo message.

She relented and opened the message to find a picture of her beautiful new niece wearing one of the pink outfits she had hastily purchased before flying to Monaco. She looked adorable. Beneath the photo was a text message.

I miss you already, Aunt Tatiana. Please hurry home soon and please don’t be so mad at my daddy. He loves you a lot. Love, Nadia.

That snake, using his little daughter to try and butter her up. Sadly, it worked. Just the sight of her gorgeous little niece dragged the first smile of the day from her.

Well, not true. If she had to be honest, she had been smiling the entire morning before the disastrous tabloid photos had ruined everything.

Do not think about Peter
, she reminded herself.
He refuses to be totally honest, so he doesn’t deserve your patience or attention
.

Armed with that anger, she relented and phoned her brother.

“Thank you for calling,” he said. “I know you probably don’t want to talk to me right now—”

“You’re right. I don’t. I’ve already gotten the lecture from Mother and Father.”

“You have to admit, those photos were—”

“Perfectly innocent. We were talking on the balcony. Is that so wrong?”

“No. Of course not. But you had to know it would seal your fate in terms of the marriage arrangement.”

“I can’t marry Peter, Sasha. I won’t.”

“Give yourself time to get to know him, Tatochka. He’s a good—”

“He lied to me.”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. If you care about someone and trust them, you should be able to tell them anything,” she said, and hated that her breath caught and nearly strangled her. Before she could control the well of emotion, tears were running down her face again and she dashed them away with her free hand.

“Tatiana, are you crying? Please, please don’t cry. This will work out.”

She sniffled and then sucked in a deep breath, struggling to get the words out. “No, it won’t. I can’t be with someone who can’t share his life with me, Sasha. Especially not after—” She hesitated, certain that her brother would not take the news well.

He surprised her with a heavy, heartfelt sigh that carried across the miles separating them. “I understand, Tatochka. I wish he had used more common sense in how he handled this. Hell, in how
I
handled it. While I hoped the two of you might hit it off, I never thought it would happen so quickly.”

Quickly was an understatement.

“Why did he hide who he was? And why is he not being open with me about his reasons?”

A long hesitation followed. Even before Alexander spoke, she suspected what his answer would be.

“I love you, Tatochka. I only want what’s best for you, but this is between you and Peter. I agree with you that he’s the one who should be answering these questions for you.”

She pushed her brother, trying to get him to cave on his stance. “You say you love me—”

“I do. Besides, I don’t know the reason. I can only guess at it, so it wouldn’t be fair—”

“Fair?” she bit out. “Nothing about this has been fair to
me
, Sasha.”

Silence followed her words. “You’re right. And I’m sorry about that. But you and Peter need to settle this. That’s the only way things will ever be right between you.”

“Good night, Sasha. It’s late,” she said and ended the call. She stared at the phone, Sasha’s last words echoing through her brain. The only problem was, she didn’t know if any amount of talking could ever make things right again.

Chapter 15

The small warehouse where Shea was meeting his crew was located in the Port de Fontvieille, just a short distance away from the casinos and the hotel where he was staying. Since parking was an issue in most of this area, he had chosen to walk to meet his team.

The walk gave him a chance to scope out the over-the-top yachts sitting in the marina, the exclusive designer shops along the streets, and the upscale apartment buildings that crept out into the azure sea and up the rocky hillsides. Everywhere he looked, everything was scrubbed clean and shiny. Colorful flowers and strips of perfectly mowed grass brightened the streets and homes.

Fly and Hammer were already in the warehouse. They had wrangled together a trio of boxes as temporary tables and chairs in order to play a game of cards.

He looked around for the last member of the team, but Mouse was nowhere to be found. The wheel man was probably having a hard time finding a parking space. As long as Mouse found spots for their escape vehicles, Shea wasn’t too worried about his delay today.

“Heartman,” Fly greeted him and held his hand up for a high five as Shea approached.

“Fly. Hammer,” he said, returning the high five and acknowledging the men with a quick nod. “Any news from Mouse?”

“Texted me to say he was stuck in traffic. He’ll be here soon,” Hammer said.

Although this heist was really going to be more of a one man operation, all three men had been loyal to Shea, and he intended to share the spoils of this last job with them. To do that, he had worked out an assortment of ways they could assist, even though he’d be the one fulfilling the mission.

“You’ve got the goods?” he asked Fly.

The man nodded, bent, and stuck his hand into a backpack. “Henri swears no one will notice the difference,” Fly said. He pulled out a rectangular box wrapped with plain brown paper and twine, and handed it to Shea.

Shea glanced at Hammer. “What about the cameras for the security system? Were you able to hack into the feed?”

Hammer smiled and wiggled his fingers as if working a keyboard. “Of course, Heartman. I’ll e-mail you a link so you can access the feeds on your smartphone.”

“Perfect,” Shea said and glanced at his watch, wondering at how much longer it would take Mouse to arrive. If this was any indication of the kind of traffic he might face on the day of the event, he’d have to arrange for yet another speedier way of getting out of town.

He had no sooner finished the thought when Mouse scurried into the room and rushed over. “Sorry, Heartman,” he said and handed over a set of keys and a map.

Shea looked over the map and the locations Mouse had indicated. A nondescript black sedan was be parked at each spot. He dangled the keys in the air and Mouse jumped, way twitchier than usual. “You okay, Mouse? Anything wrong?”

“No, boss. The keys will work on all three cars. They’re not your run of the mill sedans, either. I’ve put something extra beneath the hoods, so you’ll be able to outrun most anything, even one of those Formula One cars they love so much in these parts,” he said, referring to the annual May Grand Prix.

“Fabulous, Mouse. I can’t say enough what a pleasure it’s been working with you all.”

Fly jumped up and jammed his hands in his pockets. “Are you really serious, Heartman? This is your last gig?”

“I hope it’s the last one for all of us. Once you see your paychecks, I suggest you all consider a few wise investments and retirement.”

Hammer held out his hand for a handshake. “You’ve been lucky for us so far. I guess it makes sense not to press our luck.”

Mouse jerked again, unnerving him. Something was clearly going on with the guy, but Shea stayed silent. Better to just check out the cars over the next day or so to satisfy himself all was in order. He told himself to ignore the warning bells in his head that maybe there was more to fear. He told himself it was only natural for him and Mouse to be worried about their last job.

After shaking hands all around, the team members left as they always did, exiting the building one by one at well-spaced intervals so as to not call attention to themselves.

Shea took his time strolling back to his hotel, stopping here and there to finalize the last details of what he needed to do to gain access to the backstage area. At one pharmacy he stopped and purchased hair dye. In another store he paid cash for an electric hair trimmer kit. A vintage clothing store held other pieces of his planned disguise and provided him with a punk-looking leather jacket.

Feeling inordinately pleased with himself, he dropped off his purchases at his small, upscale hotel. Like the casinos in the center of Monte Carlo, it had the lavish gilded corniches and ornate woodwork at various parts of the structure, inside and out. That splendor was offset by the plain egg white plaster of the walls, but those walls were meticulously well kept.

Since it was still early, he strolled to a bar located close to the Jewel of Russia. Over the course of the last week, the assorted dressers and make-up artists working the fashion show had chosen this particular bar as their favorite watering hole. Although there were still a few days until the show, the models, dressers, stylists, and designers had already been here for a week or more, completing details of the outfits, make-up, and hair that the models would wear during the event.

The bar had the feel of an old English pub with rich, dark woods and comfortable booths meant for just sitting and enjoying a pint or two.

He settled himself into a seat in one corner of the bar where the locals had escaped the influx of new patrons. He fit in well with his clean-cut looks and preppy clothing, which was nothing like the flamboyant clothing and over-the-top appearance of those working the show. But although he was enjoying himself, he was working, too. He had been listening to their discussions and discovered the identity of the man working with the designer assigned to the jewels Sergei wanted. That man was part of his master plan. Unbeknownst to the man, of course.

Shea sat there sipping his pint, listening to the chatter of both the locals and the fashionistas, watching the man he had singled out, memorizing his mannerisms and accent. Paying attention to every detail, so on the day of the show he could not only swap out the jewels, he could also swap out himself for this man.

As the man stumbled out of the bar, slightly unsteady, Shea paid for his drink and followed at a discreet distance. He already knew where the man was staying. He had his schedule down fairly pat.

On the morning of Tatiana’s event, he’d make his move.

The guy wouldn’t know what hit him.

…

Tatiana had spent the morning ignoring him.

Again.

With the show now only two days away, Peter had to do something to get her talking to him again. And not just to settle their personal differences. Although she had listened to his suggestions on security much as she would any expert’s, he wanted to take additional steps to make sure she was safe during the event itself.

The jewels might be important to some, but she was more important to him than all of the supposedly precious items in the ballroom.

He engaged his transmitter and called Tony. “Can you tell me where Princess Tatiana is?”

“She’s in the ballroom reviewing the dresses and jewelry with the designers,” the security chief responded.

“Thanks. Can you arrange for a car as soon as possible? The princess and I have to go for a short drive.”

Peter’s father kept a small villa in the hills near Eze, a picturesque village on the Cote d’Azur. He had spent many a summer there with his mother before her illness had ended family vacations. It was a perfectly private and quiet place for him to bring Tatiana in order to explain everything. And to avoid the paparazzi milling around the Jewel of Russia property, eager for more juicy gossip for their rags.

“I can have a driver—” Tony began.

“I’ll drive, thanks. Something secure, but sporty. The road’s a little tricky where we’re headed.”

“Certainly, Detective. I’ll have something ready for you in approximately twenty minutes. I assume you want it by the service entrance to avoid the cameras?”

“You assume correctly, Tony. Thanks.”

He was about to end the call when another thought came to him. “Tony, hold on. There’s one more thing.”

“Yes, Detective?” the security chief said with some measure of annoyance.

“How hard is it for you to get me a Baby Glock?” That particular pistol was small enough for Tatiana to tuck into either her bag or an ankle holster on the night of the event. Although nothing in the history of the Thief of Hearts said he was prone to violence, things sometimes went south. If they did, Peter wanted Tatiana to be able to protect herself—and others, for that matter.

“You mean a legally registered weapon?”

“I do,” Peter said, although if push came to shove, he’d figure out a way for Tatiana to take his Sig-Sauer. It was much larger and the recoil might put her on her ass, but at least she’d have protection.

“I can have one for you by tomorrow morning,” Tony said. “There is also a small private shooting range not far from the hotel. If you’d like, I can also arrange for you to have some time there tomorrow.”

“Perfect, Tony. I appreciate the help.”

With that taken care of, Peter hurried down from the third floor and made his way past the various security checkpoints to reach the ballroom.

When he entered, Tatiana was with one of the designers, who appeared less than pleased, judging from the just-sucked-a-lemon look on his face.

But with a few words and a bright smile, Tatiana smoothed over his upset and the man nodded, walked away, and came straight toward Peter as he stood by the exit.

Tatiana turned and saw him. Her smile disappeared in one swift heartbeat, and her face paled with conflicted emotion.

He hated seeing her look at him like that, and hoped that when he explained, she might find it possible to understand and forgive him. Although he understood all too well how she could feel he didn’t trust her. He’d feel the same if their positions were reversed.

She threw her head back in a regal tilt and marched toward him, her pace steady and measured. When she neared him, she said in a strained voice, “Detective.”

“Peter,” he corrected. “We need to talk.”

“Seems to me you should have been talking to me long before now.”

“Please, Tatiana. All I’m asking for is a little time alone so I can explain. If you still can’t forgive me after that, I’ll understand.” But he’d keep on trying to get her to forgive him, no matter what it took.

She peered around the ballroom and then stared at a point just behind him, avoiding eye contact. “There are still lots of things to do here. I have some designers coming in a little later—”

“An hour or so, no more. It’s almost time for lunch anyway. We can go and get something to eat,” he said. He had phoned the villa earlier that morning and asked the caretaker to arrange for lunch to be ready on the veranda. The man had been surprised, but pleased, to hear from him. Understandable. He hadn’t been back to the villa in over a decade.

She finally inched her head higher to look at him, but there was no quarter in her gaze. “You have until three and not a minute more.”

He’d take it. Motioning for her to accompany him, he walked her down the service hallway, but instead of turning toward the lobby, he guided her in the direction of the back exit in the delivery bay.

They went outside and Tony was waiting with a gleaming red Bentley convertible. The top was raised, but once they cleared the paparazzi, he’d put it down and enjoy the sites visible from the Moyenne Corniche while they drove to his family’s villa.

Tony opened the car door for Tatiana, and Peter took a moment to call the villa’s caretaker to make sure all was going as planned. The caretaker was an old man whom he’d once considered a friend, and whose wife had been almost like a grandmother to him. The caretaker’s voice was filled with glee and he confirmed that all would be ready by the time Peter arrived with his lady. For a moment he wondered if it was a mistake to go there and see how it had changed. In his mind’s eye he still saw it as it had been when his mother was alive, and he feared losing those memories of her and their time together.

But it was time to face those memories and share them in the hopes Tatiana understood and forgave.

Hanging up, he swung around the back of the car to where Tony stood. The security chief handed him the keys. “There’s a GPS in the dash in case you need directions.”

“Thanks, but I think I remember the way.”

With a nod, Tony strode off and Peter slipped into the driver’s seat. Tatiana was all buckled and ready to go.

He started the car and eased out of the delivery area, hoping for a clean get away. Luckily, only one or two paparazzi had been lingering in the vicinity and he was able to whip past them and down the road before they could call over the others. He only hoped they wouldn’t try to follow.

The road they were taking had an assortment of dangerous curves with no guardrails. If you missed one you’d find yourself hurtling down a mountainside.

The Bentley was a smooth ride that handled well through the tight turns in the Monte Carlo streets. He imagined what it might be like to be a Formula One driver navigating those turns at racing speeds, the crowds lining the picturesque streets, cheering him on.

When he reached the road to climb toward the village of Eze, he looked back to make sure no one was following. Satisfied they would have no problems during the trip, he pressed the button to put the top down and then gave the engine its freedom, accelerating through the straightaway with a throaty purr of the motor. The landscape rushed by in a blur of spring green and bright floral colors. He had almost forgotten how lovely the gardens were and how they softened the harsh rocky hillsides leading to the monolith at the very top of the principality.

After the turn onto the Moyenne Corniche, he slowed to handle the sharp curves on the road. One wrong move and they could crash and burn,

Kind of like what would happen to his heart if Tatiana didn’t react well to his confession.