Inconceivable! (13 page)

“May I sit?” A line just above his jawbone pulsed; he held his teeth together tightly.

I nodded and felt a lump in my throat. He had on his cap, coat, and glasses, the same disguise he wore the night we met. Seeing the frumpy get-up made me even more nervous about having this conversation. A lot had happened. I had more to lose now than I did the night we met.

“I got your note.” He held up the napkin, looking at me expectantly.

“Right. I just want you to know I didn’t write the story. Without my knowledge or consent, James had another intern, Paul, follow us. He saw us leave the foundation office, then he spoke to one of the patients when she left the building. Of course, he didn’t tell her that he was a reporter―and that’s terribly unethical. Then, he got the nasty quote from the assemblyman over the phone, and put the story together.” John looked at me intently, which only made my nervousness flare. “I’m really sorry about the story. I wish there was a way to fix this.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your explanation.” The hurt in his eyes didn’t disappear.

“And I quit my internship. I can’t work for a publication that doesn’t abide by basic journalistic standards of conduct. They treated you and your family very badly. I don’t want to be a part of that.” I reached out and took his hand. “What I do want is to spend more time with you.”

And there it was. The moment when he’d either accept me or reject me. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath, steeling myself for a possible (probable) rejection.

He squeezed my hand. “I don’t know if this can work. You’re in a risky line of work as far as my family and I are concerned.”

“I talked to my advisor this morning. She says she can pull some strings and find another internship for me. I’ll find out Wednesday where I’m going to work. I plan to continue working on my investigative story. But I’m not going to cover you and your family.”

He reached over and cupped my cheek with his palm. “Still, this won’t be easy.”

I laughed. “I don’t do easy. Just ask my parents. I turned down a full ride to the University of Missouri Journalism School because I wanted to study in Toulene.”

“In that case, I have a proposal. How do you feel about spending some time together this weekend?”

“Absolutely! I’m up for anything.”

I curled my legs underneath me as I nestled into the oversized chair. Aging hipsters and university students floated through Soleil, our favorite coffeehouse, as Tilda and I sipped our drinks. We were a fixture there on Wednesday nights, our designated time to catch up since we both kept crazy schedules.

She looked at me intently. “The way I see it, this is a win-win for John. He gets the girl and he squashes your blog. What’s not to love about this story?”

“Tilda. Are you serious? Can’t you be a little excited for me? I’ve got a new internship and I get to spend time with John. That’s a win-win for me.”

She grinned. “I suppose. At least now I know he can’t use you to plant stories since you’re not covering his family.”

“Okay. Professional considerations aside, can we unleash our inner sixteen-year-olds for a minute? The prince and I are dating!” I whispered the words, scared to death someone would overhear.

I’d signed the contract Tuesday evening when the Meinrad family attorney, Lars Franke, visited my apartment. He went over the details line by line. I was free to tell my parents and my closest friends all of whom I named in the contract: Plato, Sam, Tilda, and Sara. Lars told me the palace staff would have to run background checks on each of them before giving me clearance to share my news. Thank goodness none of them were wanted by Interpol.

“Of course, I’m excited for you. I’m also relieved you can still work on your investigative project.” She set down her mug and rubbed her hands together. “Tell me what he’s like. I only know him as the broody prince who drops into the National Assembly building to gripe about policies his family doesn’t like.”

Broody? I couldn’t imagine it. She had her Assemblyman Aalders-colored glasses on when she saw the prince.

“He’s funny, actually. He’s kind of formal when he speaks, but I think it’s adorable. There’s also a lot of depth to him. Even you’d be impressed.”

“Depth. Like how he wants to be a farmer?”

“Oh, c’mon. I thought the same thing when I heard about his Ph.D. in environmental sciences, but he’s serious about his work. He told me about the experiments he’s doing out by the coast.”

“You’re already defending him? His hooks are in deep.”

“Okay. I like him. So sue me.”

“I’m a solicitor. I could do it.”

“Before you drag me into court, I need your fashion advice, counselor. What do you think I should pack for my weekend at the palace?”

John’s handwritten invitation confirming our weekend together at Belvoir had arrived Tuesday, along with a dozen white calla lilies.

“Something sweet but sexy. You want to look good if an
Xpress
photographer shows up.” Tilda stood, taking a final swig of her coffee. “I’ve got to go. I promised Plato and Sam I’d help them shop for their new flat. You can borrow my teal wrap dress for your palace extravaganza. But only if you agree to give me full details and most importantly, tell me if he talks politics or policy.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll tell you. And don’t even joke about a photographer showing up. If the paparazzi find out we actually
are
dating, I’m guessing someone will live tweet the weekend from the bushes outside the palace gates.”

stuffed another pair of undies in my rolling duffle bag, and double checked I’d packed the nightie I just bought―cute but comfortable, playful but not overly sexy. I had no idea if John would even see it. Before zipping the bag, I nestled my gift for John among the folds of my sweater. I was eager to surprise him, but I’d have to wait for the perfect moment.

“Goodbye, my lovelies.” I caressed the slender neck of a calla lily and poured fresh water into the vase.

Downstairs, I looked right and left―
no paparazzi!
―and got into the waiting car. The photographers had better things to do on a Friday night. I did owe those obnoxious reporters a small debt of gratitude. Their work enabled me to learn more about John’s ex-girlfriend, Claire Léglise.

After our day in Ghent, I took a Google-guided tour through Claire and John’s relationship. It’s a special kind of torture to see the guy you just started dating in photos with a woman who’s supermodel beautiful. There were snapshots of them at restaurants, on a beach, in the back of a black car. I decided to put on my blinders and block Claire from my mind. For my own sanity.

Entering through my usual door at the side of the palace, a woman I’d never seen before greeted me. She was shorter than me but older, probably in her mid-forties.

“Good evening, miss. I’m Astrid and I’ll take care of everything you need this weekend.” A German accent coated each word.

She was a servant, part of the palace staff. Do I shake her hand or give a quick head nod? I settled on an awkward little wave. “It’s nice to meet you Astrid.” Growing up middle class in Missouri meant servants were as foreign a concept to me as driving on the left side of the road.

“Follow me, miss.”

She led me up a couple of short staircases and down a hall, stopping in front of a big brown door. Stepping inside the room, my eyes shot upward, registering the gold foil on the molded ceiling. I was a long way from the white popcorn-covered ceiling in my childhood bedroom. A wave of warmth ran through me at the sight of lively flames in the brick fireplace. A four-poster bed outfitted in pink, silky fluffiness dominated the room. While I slowly drank in the decor, noting with appreciation the bouquet of fresh stargazer lilies on the dresser, Astrid parked my duffle on top of a luggage rack. She opened the doors of a massive wardrobe.

“You may hang your clothes here. If you need me to iron something, please leave it on the bed. Otherwise, dial 201 on the house phone. I’ll come right away.” She closed the door as she left.

As I unpacked, there was a knock at the door.

“Who’s there?”

“May I come in?” John’s voice was muffled through the wood.

“Of course!”

John swooped into the room, wrapping me in his strong arms. He planted a kiss on my lips. My body responded by pressing into him to express my inappropriately intense desire. Would it be too forward to pull him down on top of me in front of the fire?

“We’ve been apart entirely too long. Nearly six days,” he said, securing a loose lock of hair behind my left ear the same way he’d done Saturday night.

“I missed you too.” My hands wrapped around his upper arms; I loved the firmness of his biceps.

“So, let me tell you what I’ve got planned. Tomorrow night, we’re having dinner with Henri and my father. They both have very busy schedules over the next month, so I want you to meet them while they’re home. But for tonight, how about a casual dinner, just you and me? You can wear what you have on and we’ll eat in the breakfast room. Afterward, we’ll watch a movie.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ve been dying to hear about your week. Since I can’t email or text, it’s kind of hard to keep up with you.” I hated the part of the contract that banned us from texting, calling, or emailing each other. Recent phone hacking scandals made it too risky.
Damn you, muckrakers!

“I had a good week. I’ll tell you all about it at dinner. I’m going to go so you can get settled.” He took a deep breath. “What do you put on your hair? I love the way it smells.”

“It’s a new shampoo. It’s called whatever’s-on-sale-this-month-at-Boots.” What else would you expect from a working girl who buys toiletries at the corner pharmacy?

“I’ll send Astrid back in thirty minutes to walk you down to the breakfast room. Unless you think you can find it yourself?”

“Are you kidding me? I have a horrible sense of direction. I could end up wandering through the subterranean tunnels to another country.”