HOLIDAY ROYALE Read online

  He chuckled. “I like you, Luce.”

  She beamed. “It’s totally mutual.”

  “And I think that spending time together over this long weekend is a way to find out if there could ever be more than friendship between us.”

  Yeah, okay. She fully got that he was only being nice to her. And his suggestion of the two of them together for the weekend, just having fun, wasn’t what she’d come for.

  But so what?

  It would be wonderful to spend a whole weekend at his side. And maybe a little of his smoothness and elegance would rub off on her. That certainly couldn’t hurt. She might not get the whole sex-for-the-first-time thing over with, but at least she could acquire a little sophistication—if that was possible in a few short days.

  She sipped her coffee and he sipped his. When she set her cup down, she said, “So, then. Sunday I’m flying back to New York. And you’re saying it will be you and me, together in a dating kind of way, today, tomorrow and Saturday.”

  He inclined his dark head. “Starting this morning with the Prince Consort’s Thanksgiving Bazaar on the rue St.-Georges.”

  * * *

  Dami leaned close to her. “Ignore them,” he whispered. “Simply pretend they’re not there.”

  They stood side by side on the cobbled street, in front of a booth that sold handmade Christmas ornaments. By then it was nearing eleven in the morning. Lucy couldn’t resist a quick glance over her shoulder.

  The street was packed with milling holiday shoppers and the air smelled of savory meats, fried potatoes and baked goods from the numerous food booths and carts that jostled for space with the stalls offering jewelry and handmade soaps, pottery and paintings and all kinds of bright, beautiful textiles. People chatted and laughed, bargained and shouted. And there were children everywhere, some in strollers or baby carriers, some clutching the hands of their mothers or fathers. And some running free, zipping in and out among the shoppers, cause for fond amusement and the occasional cry of, “Watch out, now,” or, “Slow down a tad, young man.”

  Even in the holiday crowd, though, it was easy to pick out the photographers lurking nearby. Each had a camera in front of his face, the wide lens trained on the Player Prince.

  Dami elbowed her lightly in the side. “I said ignore them.”

  “But they’re everywhere.”

  “Yes, my darling. But they know the rules within the principality. Here they are careful to keep their distance. Believe me, it’s much better than in France or England or America, where they come at you without mercy, up close and very personal, firing questions as they click away.” His voice was low and teasing and almost flirtatious. Or maybe she was just reading into it after their discussion of earlier that morning. Most likely, Dami wasn’t flirting at all but only being kind to her.

  And she was going to completely take advantage of his kindness and love every minute of it. “What happens if they approach you?”

  “Someone from the palace guard or my brother Alex’s Covert Command Unit will appear from the milling throng and escort them directly to the border.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yes,” he assured her. “Just like that.”

  Dami had three brothers and five sisters. Lucy had yet to meet them all. “Alex is your twin, right?”

  “Yes, he is. We’re identical, though no one ever has any trouble telling us apart. Alex has always been the serious one. And you know me.” He gave a supremely elegant shrug. “I make it my mission in life to take nothing seriously.”

  “What is a Covert Command Unit?”

  “A small, specially chosen and trained corps of Montedoran soldiers who are always at the ready to take action in a critical situation.” He said this in his usual lighthearted tone.

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded at a passing couple and they nodded back. And then he told her, “All the family’s bodyguards are from the CCU. And my sister Rhia’s husband, Marcus, is one of them—and, Luce,” he said indulgently, “will you please forget about the men with the cameras? To keep slipping them sideways glances only encourages them.”

  She laughed and caught his arm and grinned up at him. “I can’t help it. Dami, you know how I am. Homeschooled. Most of my life, I hardly ever left the house—except when I had to be rushed to the hospital. I have a lot of life to catch up on. Everything fascinates me, even pushy men with cameras.”

  The merchant in the booth, a large woman with a wide, lined face, held up a pair of snowflake earrings, delicate and silvery, accented with tiny rhinestones that caught the late-November sunlight and twinkled festively. “Highness. For the lady...?”

  Dami nodded. “Very pretty. Yes, she’ll have them.” He handed over the money without even a glance at Lucy for approval.

  Lucy almost protested, but the woman in the booth looked so pleased and the earrings were pretty and not that expensive. Also, it did seem good practice for becoming sophisticated to pretend to be the sort of woman who casually received trinkets from a handsome prince.

  The merchant put the earrings in a small cloth pouch and passed them to Dami, who gave them to Lucy. She thanked him and they moved on to the next booth, where she spotted a bright scarf she wanted and whipped out her wallet. The vendor glanced at Dami, as though expecting Dami to buy it for her.

  Lucy did speak up then. “Please. Here you go....”

  The vendor scowled and kept looking at Dami, who put on an expression both grim and resigned. The merchant took her money with a disapproving shake of his head. And Dami bought a child-size leather belt studded with bits of silver.

  She almost turned to him then and asked why the merchant had wanted him to pay for her scarf and what was with the child-size belt. But then, what did it matter, really? She knew already that he was generous to a fault. And maybe the belt was for one of his nephews.

  As they moved on, he bought more gifts for children, boys and girls alike. He bought toy trucks and cars and any number of little dolls and stuffed animals. He bought a tea set and three plastic water pistols, Ping-Pong paddles and balls, packets of crayons, colored pencils and a stack of coloring books.

  She finally asked him, “Who are all these toys for?”

  He only smiled and advised mysteriously, “Wait. You’ll see.”

  She might have quizzed him some more, but she was having far too much fun finding treasures of her own. Just about every booth seemed to have at least one small perfect thing she wanted. The bazaar was giving her so many ideas for new designs featuring the colors and textures all around her. A kind of glee suffused her. It was like a dream, her dream, from all those lonely shut-in years of growing up. That she would someday be well and strong and travel to exciting places and be inspired to make beautiful things that women all over the world would reach out and touch, saying, Yes. This. This is what I want to wear.

  But wouldn’t you know that Dami got quicker at detecting her choices? And the merchants all seemed to expect Dami to pay. They ignored the bills in her hand and grabbed for the ones in his.

  She finally had to lean in close to him and whisper, “Okay. Enough. I mean it, Dami. If I want something, I am perfectly capable of buying it myself.”

  They stood, each weighed down with bags and packages, beside a flower stall where glorious bouquets of every imaginable sort of bloom stood in rows of cone-shaped containers. He bought a big bouquet of bright flowers, then took her arm and guided her to the side, out of the way of the pressing crowd. “Do you realize that this bazaar was established over thirty years ago in honor of my father, in the year that my oldest brother, Max, was born?”

  “How nice. And what does that have to do with why you keep buying things for me when I have plenty of money of my own?”

  “It has everything to do with it.”

  “I don’t see how.” />
  “My dearest Luce,” he said with equal parts affection and reproach, “Thanksgiving is, after all, an American holiday. Yet Montedorans embrace it and celebrate it. They do this for my father’s sake. And this bazaar was named for him because he gave my mother happiness—and a son, very quickly.”

  “How virile of him. And why do you sound like you’re lecturing me?”

  He actually shook a finger at her, though his eyes glittered playfully as he did it. “My darling, I am lecturing you. We celebrate Thanksgiving in Montedoro for the sake of my father, and this bazaar exists in respect for my father. And when a Bravo-Calabretti prince attends the bazaar, he tries to buy from each and every vendor, in thanksgiving for the gift the Montedoran people have bestowed on us, to trust us with the stewardship of this glorious land.”

  “Well, all right. Wonderful. You bought a bunch of things. And you paid for them. In thanksgiving. But no way are you expected to pay for my things.”

  “Don’t you see? Each item I buy blesses the vendor. The more I buy, the better.”

  She laughed. “Good one. I’m actually helping you out when I let you buy my stuff.”

  Along with the usual all-around hotness, he was looking very pleased with himself. “That’s right. And the vendor, as well. Surely you cannot deny us these blessings.”

  She stared at him. He looked at her so levelly under those straight dark brows. His mouth held a solemn curve. But the usual mischief danced in his eyes. She accused, “You’re making this up.”

  “Why ever would I?” Lightly. Teasingly.

  She still wasn’t sure she believed him. But he had a point, she supposed. Why would he make up a story like that? And the vendors really had seemed to want him specifically to be the one to pay.

  She tried to explain, “It’s just that you always look like you’re teasing me, Dami. Even when you’re serious.”

  “Because I am teasing you—even when I’m serious.”

  She shifted the mountain of bags in her arms in order not to drop any. “You’re confusing me. You know that, right?”

  He bent a fraction closer and she caught a hint of his aftershave, which she’d always really liked. It was citrusy, spicy and earthy, too. It made her think of an enchanted forest. And true manliness. And a long black limousine. “Try to enjoy it,” he said.

  “Being confused?”

  “Everything. Life. All these people out for the holiday. Sunshine. This moment that will never come again.” Suddenly, she wanted to hug him close. There was something so...magical about him. As though he knew really good secrets and just might be willing to share them with her. He added, “And won’t you please believe me? The Thanksgiving Bazaar is in my father’s honor and the more I personally buy here, the happier the merchants will be.”

  She groaned, but in a good-natured way. “I think I give up. Buy me whatever you want to buy me.”

  He inclined his dark head in a so-gracious manner that made her feel as if she’d just done him a whopping favor. “Thank you, Luce. I shall.”

  By then they’d strolled the length of one side of the rue St.-Georges and bought goods from about half of the booths. Dami set down the bouquet of flowers and a few bags of toys and got out his phone. He made a quick call. A few minutes later two men appeared dressed in the livery of the palace guard.

  The guards carried their packages for them, falling back to follow behind as they worked their way up the other side of the street, buying at least one item from each of the vendors. The ever-present photographers followed, too, snapping away, their cameras constantly pressed to their faces, but they did keep enough distance that it wasn’t all that difficult to pretend they weren’t there.

  Midway back up the other side of the street, they came to the food-cart area, a separate little courtyard of its own in the middle of the bazaar. The carts reminded Lucy of old-fashioned circus cars, each brightly painted in primary colors, some decorated with slogans and prices and pictures of the food they served, others plastered with stenciled-on images of everything from the Eiffel Tower to jungle cats. Dami bought food from each cart—pastries, meat pies, sausages on sticks, cones of crispy fried potatoes, flavored ices, tall cups of hot chocolate. There was no way the two of them could have made a dent in all that food. But conveniently, groups of Montedoran children had gathered around. They were only too willing to help. Dami bought food and drinks for all, while the food sellers smiled and nodded and accepted his money. Were they grateful to be so richly “blessed”? Or just pleased to be doing a brisk business?

  Lucy decided it didn’t matter which. Dami had been right. She was enjoying the experience, reveling in this moment that would never come again.

  When they left the food carts, the children followed, falling in behind the palace guards with their high piles of packages.

  Dami spotted someone he knew across the street. He waved and called out, “Max!”

  The tall, gorgeous man with the unruly hair and mesmerizing glance bore a definite resemblance to the prince at her side. He returned Dami’s greeting and then went back to his negotiations with a vendor who sold scented soaps and bath salts.

  Lucy asked, “Your oldest brother, right?” Dami nodded. “Will he make the rounds of every booth?”

  “And buy something from each one.”

  “No wonder the vendors feel blessed. I mean, there are nine of you, brothers and sisters together. That’s a lot of blessings.”

  “We don’t all attend every year. But we do our best to make a showing—and come on now. We still have several booths to go.”

  They visited the remainder of the booths, piling more packages into the arms of the two guards. When they’d finally made a stop with every vendor in the bazaar, it was nearing two in the afternoon. Neither of them was hungry, as they’d done a lot of sampling when they’d fed the children at the food carts. Thanksgiving dinner at the palace took place in the early evening, so they didn’t have to hurry back to get ready.

  “What next?” Lucy asked.

  Dami sent one of the guards off with Lucy’s purchases and orders to have them delivered to her room. “This way,” he said, and took Lucy’s hand.

  It felt lovely, she thought, almost as though they really were together in a romantic way, her hand in his strong, warm one, the guard with all the bags of toys behind them, and a trail of laughing kids strung out along the street, following in their wake. It wasn’t far down to the harbor, and that was where Dami led them, to a little square of park along the famous Promenade, which rimmed the pier where all the fabulous yachts were docked.

  “Right here,” he said at last, indicating an iron bench beneath a rubber tree. They sat down together and the guard put all the packages at their feet as the children found seats on the grass around them.

  And then Dami began passing out the toys and coloring books, the dolls and stuffed animals, with the guard helping out to make sure everyone got something. A ring of adults stood back out of the way, and Lucy realized they were the parents of the children. Some parents had little ones in their arms or in strollers. The guard made sure even the smallest ones received a toy.

  It was all so charming and orderly, like some fantasy of sharing, the children laughing and chattering together, but in such a well-behaved way. Once or twice she heard raised voices when one child wanted what another one had. But all Dami had to do was glance in that direction and the argument would cease.

  When all the bags were empty and every child had a gift, Dami asked the gathered children, “Would you like to hear a story?”

  A happy chorus of yeses went up.

  And Dami launched into a story about a little boy and a magic book, a laughing dragon and a secret passage into a special kingdom where a kind princess ruled with a gentle hand. There was an evil giant who never bothered to bathe or brush his teeth. The giant capture
d the princess. And the little boy and the laughing dragon rescued her with the help of spells from the magic book.

  When the story was over, the children and the ring of adults applauded and the children cried, “One more, Prince Dami! Only one more!”

  He obliged them with a second story, this one about a brave girl who saved Montedoro from an evil wizard who’d cast a sleeping spell across the land. Applause followed that story, too, and a few called, “One more!”

  But Dami only laughed and shook his head and wished them all a richly blessed Thanksgiving. The children went to find their parents and Dami took her hand again and pulled her to her feet.

  “That was wonderful,” she told him. “Did you make up those stories yourself?”

  A so-Gallic shrug. “I’m not that clever. They are Montedoran folk tales, two of many. A century and a half ago a Montedoran named Giles deRay gathered them into a couple of volumes, Folk Tales of Montedoro. We all know the stories. It’s something of a tradition over the holidays for the princes of Montedoro to pass out gifts they’ve bought at the bazaar and tell the children a few of the old tales.”

  “What a beautiful tradition.”

  He was watching her, a half smile curving those killer lips of his. “You find everything beautiful. I think, Luce, that you are the happiest person I have ever known.”

  His words warmed her. “I prefer happiness. It’s so much more fun than the alternative.”

  “You sound like Lili, my brother Alex’s wife—Liliana, Crown Princess of Alagonia.”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve heard of her. And Alagonia is an island country off the coast of Spain, correct?”

  “Yes. We—my brothers and sisters and I—grew up with Lili. My mother and Lili’s mother, Queen Evelyn, were great friends. Lili was always the nicest person in the room. Of course, she ended up with Alex, who was not nice at all. The good news is that he’s much better now since he’s made a life with Lili.”

  “Are they happy, your brother and Princess Lili?”

  “They are, yes. Ecstatically so.”