Princess Thief: Stealing Your Heart (7 page)

“Is
there a problem?” Guillermo wondered.

“I
apologize, sir, but I did promise to get the music selections to the
concertmaster by 4 PM.  Would you mind if we cut this short today?”

“Not
at all.  Please, do what you have to do.”

“Very
good, sir.  I look forward to next time.  Your highness,” Echeverría bowed. 
“Miss,” another bow.

He
left Juliette and Guillermo alone in the room.  They looked at each other
awkwardly for a moment, then began slowly walking towards the door.

“How
are your studies going?” Guillermo asked.

“Fine. 
A little overwhelming.”

“I’ll
bet.  We’ve got 10 days to pour 10 years worth of material into you.”

They
took a few steps in silence, then Juliette prompted,
“You seem busy.”

Guillermo
ran a hand through his hair and sighed. 
“You have no idea.  It’s been a parade
of dignitaries and aristocrats, one after the other.  On the surface, they want
to pay their respects but in reality, they want to take my temperature.”

“Your
temperature?”

“To
see what my intentions are.  To see if I’m going to cause them any trouble. 
I’ve assured them that my focus is on my practice in North Africa and that I
have no interest in making any sweeping reforms to San Morrando.  It’s all very
tiring.  I leapt at the chance to rehearse for the wedding just to get away
from it for an hour.”

“Look
at you, talking like you’re a real person with a heart and all,” Juliette
grinned.  “Luckily, I know the truth.”

He
chuckled, then smiled warmly at her. 
“Yes, luckily.”  He paused.  “You know,
I-”

“Sir!”
Armand interrupted, dashing into the ballroom holding a tablet PC in his hand. 
“Sir, there is something you need to see.  Ah, Miss Juliette, you’re here as
well.  Good.  This concerns you, too.”  Armand set the tablet down on the stage
and flipped the screen around so that everyone could see.

The
website banner read,
“Channel
6 News.”  Armand tapped the embedded video and it began to play. 

“Breaking
news,” the female anchor began.  The headline next to the anchor’s head said,
“The Next Princess?”

“Channel
6 has exclusive new details on who Prince Guillermo’s new bride might be.  We
go live to Eulalia Prieto in Morrando la Vella.  Eulalia?”

Juliette
pointed at the screen and exclaimed,
“That’s my flower shop!”

“Thank
you, Reina.  I’m standing in front of the Jardin de Verdure flower shop in
Morrando la Vella owned by the rumored bride-to-be, one Juliette Thierry.”  The
video then cut away to a prepared piece.  “Juliette Thierry is-”

“Oh
my God.  That’s the picture I had taken for the merchant’s association,” she
paused as the announcer droned on.  “I hate that picture.”

“-
and her bio on the Morrando la Vella Small Business Association website states
that she graduated from Université Paul-Valery in Montpellier, France.  She’s
25 and, as you can see from her photo, very pretty.”

The
video abruptly cut back to the live feed. 
“Now, the flower shop, which is normally
open on Tuesdays, is closed today lending credence to the rumor that Miss
Thierry has already moved into the Palais d’Or.”

“Eulalia,”
the anchor asked as the video went to a split screen between the studio and the
on-the-street reporter, “do we have any information on how they met?”

“Not
yet.  However, my sources tell me that the prince and Miss Thierry shared an
intimate dance at Sunday night’s royal ball.”

“Thanks,
Eulalia.  Great report.”

The
video ended.

Guillermo
exploded,
“Unbelievable,
Armand!  We couldn’t even keep it a secret for 48 hours.  Who leaked it?”

Armand
looked pained. 
“It
could have been anyone, sir.”

“She
hasn’t even completed her first day of lessons,” Guillermo lamented.

“I
know, sir.  And I do apologize.”

Guillermo
faced Juliette. 
“I
am truly sorry, Juliette.  I had hoped to give you at least a week to get used
to all of this.  Please accept my apology.”  The sincerity in his voice gave
her pause.

“I-”
Juliette couldn’t find the right words to respond, so she just nodded.

Armand
asked,
“How
would you like to proceed, sir?”

“We
have no choice.  We’ll have to move up the announcement.  What does the
schedule look like?”

Armand
picked up the tablet, tapped the screen twice, and showed it to Guillermo. 
“As you can see,
there are no options for tomorrow, but on Monday you have the charity picnic
for the children’s hospital.”

Guillermo
grimaced. 
“Isn’t
there anything else?”

“I’m
afraid not, sir.”

“That
will have to do, then.  All right, that will be our coming out party.  We’ll
have our first photo op there.” 

Guillermo
and Armand began walking briskly out of the ballroom together. 
“We have to get
on top of this.  If the media runs out of control, who knows what they’ll
uncover.  Tell the press secretary I must meet with him this evening.  And get
the Parliament press secretary — what’s his name?”

“Señor
Azarola, sir.”

“Yes,
Azarola.  Get him on the phone.  We want him in the loop as well.  Tell him to
expect a call tonight.”

The
two men turned the corner, leaving Juliette alone.

This
is getting out of hand.  I have got to get to that necklace!

Later
that night, around 11 PM, Juliette slipped out of her bedroom into the hallway
and crept downstairs.  As she turned the corner to the east wing, her heart
sank: there was a royal guardsman stationed just outside of the gem room.  He
nodded to her and smiled as she walked past. 

She
paused, gave a shy smile, and asked,
“Excuse me, but where is the library
again?”

The
guardsman pointed down the hall. 
“Third door on your left, miss.”

She
followed his instructions into the library.

Damn! 
Someone is still standing guard.  But wait — what if
…?

She
grabbed a book of poetry off the shelf and headed back.

As
she approached the guardsman again, she flirted,
“It must be tough standing here
all night
.
”

He
smiled. 
“Oh,
no, miss.  I’m used to it.”

“You
don’t get bored being here
all night
by yourself?
”

“Don’t
worry about me, miss.  I’ll be fine.”

Damn! 
Get the hint!

Outwardly,
Juliette smiled sweetly. 
“Well, good night, then.”

“Good
night, miss,” the guardsman bowed.

Frustrated,
Juliette headed upstairs and went to bed.

*  *  *

The
next day was a blur of lessons: Latin, posture, table etiquette, and royal
history.  She didn
’t
see Guillermo or Armand at all.  And every time she sent a discreet glance in
the gem room’s direction, there was always a royal guardsman standing there.

At
dinner, she pulled up the Channel 6 News website on her smartphone.  (True to
his word, the prince had returned her cell phone to her just as he said he
would.)

She
played the embedded video on the homepage.  There she was again — that same
awful picture — with the headline,
“The Prince’s Bride: Confirmed!”
plastered on the screen.  The news anchor promised fresh footage from the
Children’s Hospital Charity Picnic during tomorrow’s lunchtime hour.

Looks
like Guillermo got that press release out.

She
paused, startled by herself. 
“Guillermo,” she whispered.  Why did that word feel
so strange — and yet, so exciting at the same time?

Juliette
stood at the entrance to the purple tent that served as the royal dressing room
and peered outside.  From her vantage point, she could see the long stage where
the pie eating contest would take place.  A continuous row of folding tables
and chairs were positioned side-by-side; she counted 20 seats.  At the very
back of center stage sat two red makeshift thrones, one for her, one for
Guillermo.  Juliette
’s
eyes focused on the crowd of reporters standing just in front of the stage,
eagerly waiting.

“Are
you ready?” Guillermo asked from behind her.

Juliette
patted her dress and adjusted her tiara one last time. 
“Yes, I think
so.”

“Relax,”
he squeezed her arm.  “You’ll do fine.  Just remember to let me do most of the
talking.  If you don’t want to answer a question, just pretend you didn’t hear
it.  And smile.”

Before
she had a chance to respond, Guillermo grabbed her hand and tugged her
outside.  Flashbulbs went off immediately; reporters began narrating as the
couple climbed the four steps to the main stage.  Juliette smiled nervously and
squeezed Guillermo
’s
hand.

“You’re
doing fine,” he assured her under his breath.

Guillermo
led her to center stage and paused in front of the red thrones.  The couple
stood there, waving to the small crowd made up of about 10 picnic attendees and
30 reporters, producers, and cameramen.

The
reporters began shouting questions:

“Where
did you meet?”

“Who
are you wearing?”

“How
are you finding castle life?”

Following
Guillermo
’s
advice, Juliette answered only the questions that she had rehearsed.  “I love
Palais d’Or.  Everyone has been so good to me.”

More
questions, more cherry-picked answers.  After only three minutes of rapid-fire
questions, she felt utterly drained; it was a chore to maintain her smile. 
Mercifully, the emcee stepped to the center of the stage and spoke into the
microphone with a booming voice,
“All right, all right, everyone, gather
round, young and old, boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen!  It’s time for the
Children’s Hospital Charity Picnic opening event: the pie eating contest!”

Cheers
arose from the sparse crowd.  Off to her left, Juliette could see excited
children running towards the stage, their parents calling after them. 
“We’ll begin the
contest in 10 minutes.  The sign-up sheet is available at the front of the
stage.”  The reporters reluctantly peeled back to make way for the
participants.

“How
are you holding up?” Guillermo whispered.

“Fine. 
I just…  I wasn’t expecting this.  Is it like this all the time?”

Guillermo
chuckled. 
“No,
they’re particularly intense today.  They want to know everything about you. 
You did well.  You told them just enough.”

“I
hope so.”

“Well,
you can relax for now.  There shouldn’t be any more questions until after the
contest has ended.”

Juliette
sat back in her throne and surveyed the fairgrounds.  La Ma
çana Park was
four acres of lush green grass set in a valley south of Mount Serrera.  She was
seated at the far west side of the park.  Tall trees lined the far east side. 
Two hundred feet in front of her, in the center of the park, a small roller
coaster had been constructed, suitable for children from ages 6 to 9.  The
maximum height of the track was only about 10 feet off the ground; still, she
could hear children screaming with delight as their cars made their way around
the curves.

To
her left, she could see two rows of colorful carnival booths: games, food, and
entertainment.  At the end of the path between the booths was a petting zoo. 
“Touch the giant
llama!” a sign at the entrance promised.  To the left of the petting zoo was
the red-and-white striped First Aid Tent.

Directly
behind her throne were 2 more tents: the purple Royal Tent and a giant yellow
tent for the picnic volunteers.

Juliette
focused on the other large stage diagonally across from her at the south end of
the park about 300 feet away.  She could barely make out stagehands moving
equipment around when suddenly she whispered,
“Oh my God.  Don’t tell me-”

“What?”
Guillermo leaned over.

The
stagehands on the south stage unfurled a banner:
“François the Magician!”

“You
cannot be serious,” she said.  “Who invited Uncle François?”

“I
did,” Guillermo grinned.

“But-”

“Oh,
come on.  I’m not an idiot.  Your uncle wasn’t buying a word I said the other
day.  I know he doesn’t trust me.”

Juliette
shot him a look but said nothing.

Guillermo
continued,
“Look
at it from his perspective: I’m blackmailing his beloved niece.  He probably
despises me for it.  So, if this is going to work, he’s got to be on board with
everything.  Having him here today will give him a chance to see us together,
to see that you’re not being mistreated.”

“I
can’t believe you’d just spring this on me like this,” she fumed.

“We
have 19 signatures,” the emcee announced into the microphone.  “Is there anyone
else who wants to participate in the pie eating contest?”

“Yes!”
Juliette raised her hand.  “The prince said he would like to participate!”

Guillermo
glared at her for just a moment, then chuckled. 
“You got me.”

The
crowd applauded. 
“How
about that!” the emcee said.

Guillermo
stood, smiled, and waved at the crowd.  The emcee directed the prince to his
seat. 
“And
that makes 20!” the emcee announced.  “Let the pie eating contest begin! 
Ladies, please bring out the pies.”

One
by one, 10 teenage girls filed out of the yellow tent, each carrying 2
miniature blueberry pies.  They set the pies in front of the contestants as the
emcee reviewed the rules.  The reporters perked up and trained their cameras at
the stage again, seeing that the prince was now joining in.

“When
I say go, begin eating your pies as fast as you can using only your mouth.  No
hands allowed!  The first person to clean their plate wins!  Is everybody
ready?”

A
collective
“yes”
came back from the enthusiastic children.

“Ready. 
Set.  Go!”

The
children dove in face first.  Flashbulbs went off as proud parents shouted
encouragement.

Juliette
noticed Guillermo was being extra cautious, taking tiny bites from the top of
the pie.  She stood, looked at the crowd, held her index finger up to her mouth
to shush them, and crept up silently behind Guillermo.  The next time he bent
down to take a bite, she grabbed the back of his head and shoved his face into
the pie.

“Don’t
be shy, honey!” she grinned from ear to ear.

The
crowd roared with laughter.  She released her grip.  When the prince came up
for air, his face was completely covered in blueberry filling, even his
eyelids.  He chuckled as the filling dripped off of his chin and onto his shirt
and tie.  Juliette grabbed a nearby napkin and wiped away the pie from his eyes
and nose.  He looked up at her, smiled and said,
“You got me again!”

Juliette
giggled.

The
pie contest continued.  After nearly two minutes, a young boy raised his hand
and shouted,
“Done!” 
The emcee walked over, surveyed the pie tin, and announced, “We have a winner!”

The
cheers from the crowd (and some disappointed groans) dissolved into polite
clapping.  The emcee produced a gold-colored trophy and handed it to the proud
boy.  Juliette stood by Guillermo
’s side, clapping.

Juliette
backed into the Royal Tent carrying a glass bowl. 
“I managed to
find some warm water and a clean rag in the workers’ area— Oh!”

As
she turned around, she saw Guillermo standing there with his shirt off:
muscular arms, well-defined pecs, with just the right amount of thick black
hair on his chest and abdomen. 
“I didn’t realize-” she stammered,
blushing bright red.

“Don’t
worry about it,” Guillermo smiled easily.  “We are engaged, remember?”  He took
the bowl and towel from her hands and placed them on a folding table.  She
stood behind him, watching his broad shoulders flex as he splashed water on his
face several times, then dried off with the rag.

She
bit her lip.

Keep
it together, girl!  Remember what you
’re here for!

He
wiped his face, tossed the towel on the table, then grabbed a clean shirt from
the portable rack. 
“I
always bring at least two shirts to these kinds of events,” he explained.  “Any
time there are children around, things are bound to happen.”

He
shrugged into the white collared shirt, buttoned up the front, then rolled up
the sleeves on his toned arms.  He hastily tucked the shirt in his pants and
asked,
“How
do I look?”

Like
a dream!
she almost squealed.  His collar was open, revealing the slightest bit of his
chest hair; his Adam
’s
apple, his neck.

“Here,”
she reached up.  “You still have a little crust in your hair.”  She brushed the
crumbs away, trying desperately not to look up into his eyes.  “There.”  She
stepped back.  “That should do it.”

“Thanks.” 
He glanced at his watch.  “We should go.  We promised the reporters another
hour of footage.”  He held out his arm and smiled.  “Shall we?”

Juliette
and Guillermo headed south towards the row of carnival booths, the reporters
and their cameramen following at a respectable distance.

All
around her, Juliette saw joyful children running and playing.  Some attendees
had spread out blankets on the grass; children sat eating from their picnic
baskets while the mothers gossiped with each other.  She couldn
’t help but
smile.

The
first booth they arrived at did face painting; a young blond girl sat perfectly
still as an artist painted a monarch butterfly on her cheek.  Her two friends
stood nearby, one with a teddy bear, the other with a rainbow on their cheeks.

To
her right, a clown wearing a top hat and big floppy shoes was tying balloon
animals, surrounded by children staring up at him in rapt attention.

The
second booth she came to sold huge, colorful lollipops and cotton candy.  An
excited child tugged at his mother
’s arm and pointed.

“Oh,
look, Guillermo,” she nodded, “a ring toss game.  I love those!”

Guillermo
reached in his pocket and handed the carny a bill. 
“One turn,
please.”

The
carny handed an eager Juliette five smooth wooden rings.  She stood at the
front of the booth and gently tossed the rings towards the bottles.  One, two,
three, four — all of the rings bounced off and clattered to the ground.  She
held her breath and tossed the final ring.  It landed on a bottle!

The
carny rang a bell. 
“Another
winner!” he announced cheerfully.  He handed Juliette a tiny red toy car.  She
showed it to Guillermo and then laughed.

She
turned and scanned the crowd.  A group of four girls walked by chatting, all
with helium balloons tied around their wrists.  An excited boy ran up to his
mother, begged for more money, then rushed off to buy something new. 

Ah! 
There
’s
one.

Juliette
walked over to a young boy of about 7 looking downtrodden, holding his mother
’s hand.  She
squatted down and smiled, “Hi there.”

“Hello,”
the boy said back.

“Would
you like a toy car?”

The
boy nodded.

“OK. 
Here you go.”  Juliette held out her hand and the boy took the car from her
outstretched palm.

“Thank
you,” the boy’s face lit up.  “Mommy, look!”  He held the car up for his mother
to see.

Juliette
and the boy
’s
mother exchanged pleasantries while Guillermo looked on.

Eventually,
the couple continued their stroll down the line of brightly colored booths,
pausing here and there.  It felt so natural to be with Guillermo like this that
Juliette almost forgot about the reporters
’ cameras that were trained on them.

Finally
reaching the end of the row, the pair stopped in front of a booth. 
“I’ll challenge
you,” Juliette pointed and grinned.  The booth had five squirt guns mounted in
a row.  Opposite each squirt gun was a wooden clown’s face with his mouth wide
open and a balloon tied to the top of his head.  Whenever water was squirted
into the clown’s mouth, the balloon on top of its head would fill with air. 
The goal of the game was to shoot so much water into the clown’s mouth that the
balloon would pop.