Inconceivable! (14 page)

Before we sat down to eat dinner, John took me into the kitchen and introduced me to the two cooks and the footmen who would serve our food. Mr. Vermeulen was there. I found out he’s John’s valet, which has nothing to do with parking cars.

During our meal, John and I talked about our week. I gave him the scoop on the hour I spent packing up my things in
The Morning Dispatch
newsroom (awkward), the conversation with my advisor at school (reassuring), and my new internship at
Les Valenciennes
, one of the alternative weeklies (game on).

“What kind of reporting will you do for
Les Valenciennes
?” He moved the asparagus around his plate.

Telling him about my investigative story felt like the journalist’s equivalent of showing a little ankle; I didn’t want to give away all my secrets on our first date.

“I’m going to finish my story on the possibility the lead smelter near Kortrijk is making people sick. Some professors from the Royal University are doing the research. They’re testing soil samples, analyzing health data, looking for patterns, clusters. I keep tabs on their work and I’m in the process of interviewing neighbors who have chronic conditions. As long as I write an in-depth story that gets published, I get internship credit and can graduate in May.”

“Do you feel this jeopardizes our courtship in any way?
Les Valenciennes
opposes the monarchy.” A biting edge made his voice angry.

“Of course not. Whatever they say on their editorial page is completely separate from my story. Look, I gave up a full ride at the oldest journalism school in the United States to move here and study under Europe’s best journalism professors, so this internship is extremely important to me. And this is my big story.”

John scooted his chair, and took a sip of wine.

I fidgeted with my napkin. “I hope you aren’t going to tell me I can’t write this one story while I’m dating you. Because I’m going to write it. I thought I could do an internship as long as I’m not covering you and your family.” The fact I had to defend any part of my educational experience irked me.

“Hatty, you’re free to do whatever you want. But don’t violate your agreement with us. It’s not in your best interest. I’m just asking you to be careful.” He tightened the grip on his fork and knife.

“I will be.” I had no idea why he was being so uptight about my internship, but I needed to diffuse the tension. “Look, I don’t want to do anything to ruin this. I’m just starting to believe you might actually like me.”

“Of course I like you. A courtship isn’t something to do on a whim. That’s why I care a great deal about your internship and how it might impact our relationship.”

As we moved on to lighter topics, it was easy to imagine we were a normal couple, that the people bringing out food and clearing dishes were servers in a restaurant, not palace staff.

After dinner, we walked upstairs to The Flat where we crashed on the big comfy couch. Someone had repositioned it so we were facing the massive flat screen on the wall, rather than the huge windows that dominated the sitting area.

“What’ll it be, my dear?” he said with a forced Ozarks accent.

I giggled. “Well, how about a classic?” I said, trying my best to mimic the way people in Toulene speak English.

“Wait a minute. I was going for an American southern accent. What are you doing?”

“Umm. A Toulenian accent?”

“How, exactly, do you characterize the way my people speak?”

“It’s weird. Like a British accent, but with a pinch of French nasality.”

“Okay. Clearly, I need to schedule a history lesson during one of our dates. It might enlighten you on why we speak the way we do.” He flipped through the movies that were available for streaming. “How about Charade?”

“Sure. That’s an oldie, but goodie.”

“Maybe you can learn something about French accents,” he said with a wink.

I took one of the accent pillows and threw it at him, prompting John to reach over and pull me closer. As the movie started, I nestled into him. Astrid came by with sodas and small bowls of lightly salted popcorn. She pulled the heavy drapes over the windows before turning out the lights, leaving us bathed in the TV’s glow.

About twenty minutes into the movie, John started massaging my neck and asked, “Are you cold?”

I was freezing, but before I answered, he moved me aside and retrieved a blanket from a chest on the other side of the room.

When he came back, he sat down and spread the lush folds of fabric over me as I cozied up beside him again. Those arms of his… so sturdy, strong. Our bodies bent and adjusted so we literally fit together.

My eyes widened when I felt his warm hands slide against the bare skin at my waist, inching a little higher. He leaned close to my ear. “Do you mind?” His voice was low and husky.

“No.” I shifted slightly and my skin tingled as his touch skimmed along my lower rib cage before moving over the curves of my chest. Getting felt up by the prince on our first date? Yes, please.

“Your skin’s beautiful. It’s flawless.” His hands explored underneath my shirt but they didn’t go past the barrier of my bra.

“Flawless? No one’s ever used that word to describe anything about me.” I tried to make my breathing sound normal.

“That’s a shame because it definitely applies.”

Suddenly, his hands gripped my body, and he hoisted me onto his lap, facing him. Through his sweatpants, I felt the biggest compliment I’d ever gotten.

He took my face in his hands, kissing me, pushing my lips apart with his tongue. Both of us took ragged breaths, and I savored the taste of him―no mint this time, just John. The tentativeness of our first two kisses was gone. In the dark glow from the TV, we unleashed whatever secrets made us click, and it was magical. I reached down to pull my shirt over my head.

“Hatty. Stop.” He spoke gently and squeezed my hands to hold them in place.

I froze.
What the heck?
Horror and confusion. Had I completely misread where this was going?

“We can’t.”

“Of course not.” I slid off his lap and stretched the bottom of my shirt down. Total humiliation consumed me. I swallowed hard.

“Hatty. Look at me.” He took my chin in his hand and pulled my face toward his. “This is not how it’s going to happen. If our relationship progresses, then we’ll find ourselves in many
positions
to do this kind of thing.”

I couldn’t help it. A big fat tear slid down my cheek. I hated myself for letting that tear escape. It screamed,
I’m pitiful!
I wiped it away roughly with my hand.

“I want you. I think you can tell I
really
want you. But I’m committed to my wife, whoever she may be, because that act is our most sacred duty to the people of Toulene. It’s how this family survives.” His words pierced my heart. He put the responsibility of his position, the seriousness of sex, and the commitment of marriage into a beautiful package and tied it with a bow. And it wasn’t my gift to open.

“I understand. But you make sex sound like a public event rather than an intimate affair.”

“Tell me: how would you feel if you knew I’d slept with Claire? We were very nearly engaged. Aren’t you glad we didn’t take that step?”

“So, are you a…”

“A virgin? Yes. I’m sure you know about the royals from other countries who fathered children out of wedlock, creating horrible scandals that rocked their countries and, worst of all, the children who had no say in the matter. They became pawns for people wanting to blackmail the royal families. I can’t entrust that part of myself to any woman but my wife.”

I didn’t meet his eyes. My heart’s brisk thuds reverberated through my chest. “Then, that makes me feel damaged.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to make me say it? I slept with Jack.” Then I added in a small voice, “I guess that’s a deal breaker for you, huh?”

I rubbed my forehead at the disclosure of such a personal detail. And the guilt returned right on cue. I did, after all, grow up in the Bible-loving corner of Missouri. My intimate encounters with Jack were also fraught with disappointment because they quickly went from hot lust-and-thrust to just sex, and never evolved into lovemaking. I took the blame for the fast fizzle, and convinced myself our lackluster sex life spawned his infidelity. Didn’t European men get famously bored with their girlfriends and wives? When our relationship began, I was the virgin. I’d always felt it was evident to Jack I had no idea what I was doing. Remembering all the pain wound up in my experiences with my ex pricked my eyes and brought out a fresh tear.

“Oh, Hatty. Come here.”

John wrapped me in a bear hug and I was nearly in his lap again. He stroked my cheek and kissed my lips with intensity, but not the urgency of the previous “lap kiss” that had led to this conversation.

“It’s not a deal breaker. I’m just mad you gave yourself to someone who didn’t appreciate you. And it makes me quite jealous, to tell you the truth.”

“I hate myself for not waiting.”

“You had no idea you’d end up here with me. You had a serious boyfriend, and you did what many people do when they’re in a committed relationship.”

He sounded non-judgmental, but I worried―a lot―about how this would impact our courtship going forward, especially when he said, “Why don’t we say goodnight? I want us to feel fresh for the rest of the weekend.”

He walked me to my bedroom, and neither of us spoke.

I opened the door. “This is good night?”

“I’ll wait here while you change. Then I’ll tuck you into bed.”

I shut the door and peeled off my sweater and jeans, relieved to be out of the clothes I’d tried to rip off earlier. I pulled on the nicely fitted but modest calf-length gown. I also removed my contacts and slid on my black-rimmed nerd glasses. Might as well show him the real me, near-sightedness and all.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

He walked in and scooped me up in his arms, no small feat considering I was only an inch shorter than him. He gently placed me in the bed, pulled the covers over me, and sat down.

“I’m not going to kiss you.” His thumb grazed my lower lip. “Because I know I can’t stop at a kiss. This is very flattering.” His index finger moved to the neckline of my gown, headed toward my cleavage. He lightly skimmed my skin. “Hatty, I’m very attracted to you. That’s why I can’t let things get out of hand. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”

“Since I was ready to throw my clothes all over your floor, I think you know how I feel about you.”

“I’m having a wonderful time getting to know you. I’m looking forward to introducing you to Henri and my father tomorrow. Rest, and I’ll see you in the morning.” He bent closer and gently kissed me on the lips after all.

I followed Astrid down the stairs, mentally gearing up to meet John’s father and brother. John and I had spent the day exploring the palace grounds. I got to see the famous Belvoir peacocks up close as we meandered through the gardens. Our wandering also took us through the new plot of ground his grandmother had chosen for her newest collection of flowers and shrubbery. It sat empty but was primed to go when spring arrived. Then, we walked all the way to the fence at the very rear of the estate. It marked one of the city’s boundaries and bordered a wooded area that looked positively magical with curling vines snaking around trees that stood in dense clumps.

When I returned to my room, I discovered Astrid had ironed the wrap dress Tilda loaned me. Then, she went above and beyond by helping me put my hair into a sophisticated up ‘do. She completed her masterpiece with a sparkling barrette she produced from her pocket. For her next trick, I thought she might whip out a pair of glass slippers or turn a pumpkin into a Rolls.

Astrid escorted me to the dining room’s closed doors. I took a deep breath to subdue my nerves and nodded. She pulled the door open, and there were the three Meinrad men, each one impeccably dressed in a suit. They stood at my arrival.

“You look lovely, Hatty,” John said, extending his hand and walking to me. He led me to the man I recognized from television newscasts. “This is my father, Leopold Hendrik Franz Meinrad.”

I placed my hand in Prince Leopold’s, bowed my head, and bent my right knee in a slight curtsey. God bless Astrid for showing me the proper way to greet John’s father before we left my guest room.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Hatty.”

Fear seized my chest with an iron grip. I had no idea how to address him. I wish I’d thought to ask Astrid. But now I’d just have to ask him.

“I’m honored to meet you, sir. What should I call you?”

He smiled. Being this close to Leopold Meinrad, I saw John’s gleaming grin was an echo of his father’s.

“Will you call me Leo? Almost no one does.”

“Of course. Thank you for inviting me to dinner, Leo.” I could see why almost no one called him that―it was too casual and familiar for the man destined to be Toulene’s next king.

“And this is Henri,” John said.

Henri leaned in and kissed my lips lightly.

I suppressed my surprise at his rather intimate gesture. “It’s nice to meet you, Henri.”

“Oh, no. You have to call me Prince Henri.” Just as John had told me: Henri was amusing and charming.