Going Royal 02 - Some Like It Scandalous (13 page)

“You’re serious?” George scrambled to his feet. “Armand, I don’t want to go to college.”

“I know. You’ve managed to avoid university for several years now and with legitimate reasons like discovering yourself and blazing your own path. How is that working out for you?” Sometimes being the older brother meant being inclined to cut him some slack. Other times it meant using a mallet. This situation called for the latter rather than the former. George had far too much of the former.

“Is this more of your ex-girlfriend’s bourgeois sensibilities? Trying to impress her?” The belligerence wasn’t unexpected, no matter how unwelcome.

“Have a care, George. She is a guest, and she will be treated with respect and courtesy—even when she is not present.”

“After the way she—”

Armand raised a hand. “George, I will take care of your debt. You will go back to school. In the meanwhile, you may stay here until we have sorted your situation out. But under no circumstances will you speak of Anna in those terms or with that tone again.”

Whether it was the solemnity of his statement or the hard stare he gave his brother, it seemed to penetrate. “She dumped you. She walked away and she dumped you.”

“She was twenty-two—we both were and foolish. We thought we knew everything, much as you do now. Do not presume to judge her or myself. I will not tolerate it.” The mutiny in his brother’s expression threatened to take them into a full-blown argument—one Armand did not want to have. Not when he had so many questions of his own. He was allowed to question her, to wonder why she walked out, why she never tried to reach out to him—why the hell she got engaged to not one man, but two. Yes, he could question it. George could not. His younger brother retreated, however. Armand nodded slowly. “Thank you. Let me know about the schools you’re interested in.”

“Armand—”

“George, I’m tired. It has been a difficult set of days and I have many issues which need to be seen to.” He spared his brother a look.

“I’m sorry.” The apology caught him off guard. His brother shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced down. It was hard to forget how many years did separate them, and that George was barely older than he’d been when their father passed away. “I don’t mean to be such an ass. I worry about you.”

His temper relented. “I appreciate your concern—I do—but focus on your education. You’re old enough to be on your own path now. No more...searching—now it’s time to find.”

“I hate homework.”

“Life’s little burdens.” Armand grinned and left him to it. Outside he punched in Peterson’s number and hit the elevator button. “George will give you a name and an account where we need to send a quarter of a million dollars. I want to know everything about the recipient.”

“Absolutely. Should I check with his detail?” The men would answer the questions from the security chief, but the point of personal security was also discretion. He wouldn’t put the men on the spot yet.

Not unless it became necessary.

“No. For now just wait for the information—and George isn’t to leave the tower. He has—” he grinned, “—homework to do.”

“Yes, sir. Your Highness, you should also be aware that Prince Sebastian requested the plane to fly him and his detail to Los Angeles.”

Armand swallowed an oath unspoken. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stepped into the elevator. “When is he due to arrive?”

“Two days. I have it from Eduard that his physician gave him clearance to fly.” Well, that was something.

“Thank you, Peterson.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

The doors closed and Armand hit the button for the penthouse. He had homework of his own...and a story to tell.

* * *

Had it really been just a little over forty-eight hours before that she sat in the waiting room fuming over the upcoming meeting? Being in the same room again after so many years—what would it be like? What would
he
be like? Did she even know him anymore? She’d put a call through to Chad, and he’d laughed off the press interest. Robert hadn’t been available, but she’d spoken to his captain—the only other man who’d known about their engagement—and he’d told her not to worry about anything. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, surrounded by pamphlets, reports and an illustrated, beautifully photographed guide to the Dagmar Foundation, she faced a far more difficult question.

Why did I think everything changed?
Thirty-two was far different from twenty-two. Her worldview was broader. Her understanding of need was greater. She appreciated the little things so much more—
so why did I assume he wouldn’t?

She flipped open the guidebook. The interior featured photography as elegant and bright as the exterior. The first page headline read Opening Day Ceremony.

Of course they held a ceremony.
Armand stood in the center of a larger crowd—he was younger then, much younger. Her Charlie. Dressed in a silky black tuxedo and looking like a million bucks. Her tummy did a flip flop.

Beneath the photo was dated and the caption read:
The Grand Duke Andraste personally cut the ribbon opening the first free clinic for students at the Capital University in Belgium.
This international school caters to students from around the globe.
The opening of the clinic marks the debut of the Dagmar Foundation
,
which intends to raise enough funds to cover healthcare for these students and more.
The grand duke read a small statement when he cut the ribbon—
“
everyone deserves an opportunity to fly.
”

She slammed the book shut and closed her eyes. The date they opened the clinic was her birthday and the saying—her favorite. She used to tease him that scholarship-funded students should number at least one-third on all campuses because those with money could go wherever they liked and everyone deserved an opportunity to fly.

A tear splashed onto the back of her hand and she swiped at it angrily. Determined, she flipped the book back open. He’d handed her this entire stack with the book on the top because he wanted her to know the foundation’s roots. The next page featured an article on the growth of that single clinic and how funds poured in, making it possible to add a dozen more such clinics at European universities catering to all patients—no matter their country of origin.

Filled with similar articles and photographs, the rest of the guide offered a tribute to the Andraste family and the Dagmar fortune being put to work in over thirty-two nations throughout the world. The California scholarship would be the first such project in the United States.

But based on what she read, it wouldn’t be the only project. Armand featured in nearly every photo—as often in the background as he was the subject. He dug trenches in Africa to pipe in fresh water. He waded into a rice paddy field in southern Vietnam, offering grants to teachers to travel and teach there.

He walked through a Russian village with a dozen children flocking around him. But it was the images behind him that arrested her heart—men in dark suits and military gear. They all watched him. The prince without a throne dedicated to saving the world—one cause at a time.

She brushed her finger down the photographed cheek. A knock at the door and she jumped, pushing the guide with a guilty jerk. She glanced at the stacks around her, having systematically worked her way through each section of paperwork and lingering only on the guide. She had a lot to straighten to get out of the bed.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Armand leaned inside, his polite smile dissolving into amusement at her perch. Letting go of the handle, he leaned against the doorjamb. “Did the stack attack you?”

“No.” She made a face. “I got caught up in the reading.” She busied herself trying to put the papers back into the organized manner he’d delivered it. She’d taken out several of the charts to match the numbers, however, and that meant they were in the disarray spread around her.

“I was going to invite you to dinner personally since you didn’t answer my text.” A hint of hurt echoed beneath the words—the barest note of it.

“I turned off my phone.” She winced and fished under the stack behind her until she came up with the device and showed him the black screen. “Apparently all the news outlets have the number now. I think they found my Facebook too.”

“Ah, the beauty of the Internet. Did you make sure to block your phone number on the social media sites?” He folded his arms, seemingly taking up residence in the doorway.

“Personal data isn’t published...” She considered the statement even as she began to say it. She only had a page to begin with because her sister insisted. The whole family used the site, they shared pictures, kept in touch, and occasionally others were added to the circle. She forgot she had it most of the time.

“I’ll ask our tech guys to take a look if you’d like. They can correct the settings and block the traffic so you don’t have to hide from your family.”

Her face warmed and she grimaced. “I’m surprised any of them are talking to me. Penny said Mom chased a half dozen off the farm this morning.”

“If they need assistance—” He straightened.

She waved her hand. “No, they have shotguns and the local sheriff is helping. They’ll be fine. Brandon’s in Afghanistan with his marine unit, so they’d have to go pretty far to bug him, and everyone else is just laughing about it. I have a feeling Penny will be on ACE any day now.” In fairness, her sister had stopped chortling about it—but her impulsive behavior remained legendary in their family for a reason.

“You didn’t tell them about the threat.” It wasn’t a question.

Anna shook her head. “No, it would only worry them. The last thing we need is Penny deciding to fly in and rescue me—or worse, everyone else in my family showing up.” Her brothers would threaten Armand, and Penny would be all agog at the wealth—but it was her parents. She didn’t want to face their disappointment or their determination to “settle” matters. The Novaks were not shy or restrained in any opinion.

“She’s in New York—studying at the Metropolitan School of Art, right?”

He knew that?
Of course he knows that...but...why does he know that?

“Security checks. I wanted to make sure your family was okay.” He answered before she could even give voice to the question.

“But you knew before.” It was a statement.

“I’ve...kept track of you through the years.” His tone hinted at embarrassment, but his expression proved less revealing.

Her lips pursed. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or outraged. The flip-flopping in her belly became a downright hand jive of a dance. “Yes, she’s studying contemporary modernism...”

“Aren’t they the same thing?” The hesitation tickled her. Did she know something about art that he didn’t?

“Well, you would think.” She set another stack aside and wondered just how many papers were in this motley pile. She couldn’t quite make a path to get off the bed. “But apparently, contemporary refers to the materials and modernism refers to the application.”

Armand shook his head slowly. “Not sure I’ve heard of that—”

“Turning trash into art—people have been doing that for years. Penny just took it a step further. She uses trash as a canvas and then makes it colorful garbage.” The corner of her mouth curved. She gave her sister a hard time, but Penny had talent—amazing talent. “And maybe she could do something with this disaster now that I think of it.”

“Leave it for now. Dinner is ready and I don’t want it to get cold.”

“Okay, but if I move, half of this topples onto the floor and it’ll be a bigger mess.”

He walked across the room and grabbed one of the stacks at the end. Balancing it neatly, he set it on the dresser, then held out his hands. “Stand up and I’ll get you out of there.”

Her breath hitched. But he waited patiently while her mind whirled that thought around and she bit her lip.

“I won’t drop you,” he promised solemnly.

Oh what the hell—if he wanted me that bad
,
he could have had me on the table yesterday...
Ignoring the twinge of disappointment that he hadn’t, she uncurled herself and stood carefully, wincing as one set of papers slid sideways. With a wobbling step, she landed right in his waiting arms. Armand balanced her easily and lifted her over the stacks. She wrapped her arms around his neck and their noses bumped.

Laughter bubbled up and she shook her head. “I remain ever graceful.”

He didn’t put her down, and although she’d changed into a pair of pajamas, he didn’t comment on her clothing either. The green silk pajama set covered everything, but the heat of his body poured through it and set hers on fire. “Yes, you do.”

Where her comment was self-deprecating, his sent a thrill skating over her nerves. She bit her lip. They were close—too close—and the hunger she’d glimpsed in his gaze was back. An appetite she shared.

“You said something about food?” They needed to defuse this, right now.

“I did.” He leaned closer and inhaled a deep breath. “You showered.”

“I know, I’m a bit of a mess.” She pushed some of her hair back behind her ear. It fell in curls all around her shoulders. She didn’t have her straightener and she didn’t want to bother anyone. “And I should probably change.”

“No.” His gaze swept over her from head to toe. “I think you’re perfect.”

He started walking and she had to hold on to his shoulders. “But I’m in my pajamas.”

“So?” He navigated the hallway and down the three steps into the living room. “It’s just us and as you can see, you’re dressed perfectly.”

The coffee table boasted two large pizzas, a bottle of wine and two glasses. Three fat candles occupied each end table and the lights were dimmed. He deposited her on the sofa and pointed at the television. “It’s Wednesday—so it’s movie night.”

Movie night.

The one night a week they’d abandoned their studies, ordered in pizza and raided Blockbuster for the latest releases. They always watched by theme—whether that meant horror or romantic comedy. She bit her lip and glanced up at him. He hesitated—waiting.