The Making of a Princess (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

A
MANDA
SAT
OUTSIDE
in the cool morning air. Spring bloomed around her, vibrant colors spilling from trellis boxes and potted planters up and down the street. She enjoyed this spot high on the hill with its view of the ocean. She enjoyed sitting in the fresh air.

And still she fiddled with the ruffled cuff of her sweater dress. Darn Michelle for making her self-conscious of her wardrobe choice. The soft gray mini dress with three rows of ruffles at the hem, paired with black high heeled boots and a flowing purple muffler was the perfect look for an idle Sunday morning.

So maybe it wasn’t her clothes choice making her nervous at all. Maybe it was the fact her hot date was late.

Not that Michelle was off the hook. Amanda went through five outfits before deciding on the gray dress. Nothing had felt right. And that wasn’t like her, neither the indecisiveness nor the fussiness. She had a long, lean frame that clothes loved, and a sense of style drilled into her by a grandmother obsessed with decorum and good taste.

“Amanda.” The deep voice made her name a caress. She looked up and there stood Xavier silhouetted against the morning sun, his shoulders broad beams in an expensive suit.

“Xavier,” she breathed.
Oh get a grip, girl. No man respects a pushover.

“Good morning.” He reached for her hand, bent over it before taking his seat.

It was Old World gestures like that that got to her.
He
got to her—his somberness offset by an edgy dangerousness. She had no doubt he was very good at his job.

But she prided herself on being mature, so it was time to act like it.

“Please forgive my tardiness. A last-minute call from home.”

“I understand. It must be hard to be away for months at a time.”

“Yes.” He waved over a waitress, ordered coffee and a Danish. “However, I am a soldier. And it is a prestigious assignment. I am honored to serve my country.”

“A soldier?” she asked. “I thought you were a security officer.”

“I am an officer of the
Garde royale à la Couronne
. As were my father and his father before him and so on, for six generations.”

“A personal guard to the crown—impressive. The exhibit is lovely.” She gestured to the newspaper she’d brought with her. “The preview is a great success. You must be proud to be trusted with your country’s treasures. Your Prince must have great faith in you.”

He was silent for a moment and she worried she might have insulted him. But then he leaned forward as he reached for her hand and played with her fingers.

“That is exactly so. Though many people have felt that it was a lowly assignment.”

“I can’t see you ever being given a lowly assignment.”

He smiled, this time with both his eyes and mouth. She felt he’d given her a special gift.

“A soldier does both the big and the small, because it is all necessary to complete the mission. Of all the generations in my family, I made Commandant at the youngest age.”

“And that’s an accomplishment?” she asked, though she could see it was.

“Yes. My father is proud of me, my grandfather a little upset.”

She laughed and pointed at him. “And you are happy with both reactions.”

He shrugged, but a small smile curved the corner of his mouth. “For six generations a son in my father’s line has joined the Republican Guard. My family is proud of the exemplary service they have provided to the crown. It is important I demonstrate great skills to honor the Prince’s faith in me, and my family before me.”

“Wow. But no pressure, right?” He spoke with pride, but there was something, an underlying tension she picked up on that made her wonder if there was more to his story. It prompted her to ask, “What would you do if you weren’t a soldier?”

His expression went blank. She actually felt the question stunned him. He shrugged. “An engineer, perhaps, because I have always liked knowing how things work. However, there was never any question of this. It is my duty and my privilege to serve the Prince.” He inclined his head again. “But I am a boring topic. We shall speak of you now. What is it you do, Amanda Carn?”

“I’m the assistant curator for the Children’s Museum of Art and Science.” She lifted her orange juice. “I just celebrated my first year anniversary.”

“Congratulations.” He touched his mug to her glass.

“A royal guard!” She exclaimed as a thought came to her. “That’s perfect. We’re doing career presentations at the museum all this month. Would you be willing to come and talk to the kids?”

He considered her for a moment. “When do you have these talks?”

“Tuesdays at four in the afternoon. Please say you’ll think about it.”

“I will look at my schedule.” He promised. “So you like children. Do you have any of your own?”

“No. But I’m an honorary aunt.” It thrilled her to say so. “Michelle, you met her last night, is marrying a man who has a child.”

“She is brave to take on a ready-made family.”

“Funny, I think she’s lucky.” And he’d hit on another of her fantasies, a big happy family. “I can tell you she’s very much in love.”

“Then she is, indeed, lucky.” He said it simply, sincerely. She liked that he didn’t jeer.

“Do you have children?” Turnabout was fair play.

“No. I have never been married.”

An interesting response. Was he just sharing information, or were children and marriage linked in his mind? “Do you feel one is a pre-requisite for the other?”

“In my family it always has been. Plus, Pasadonia is a small country. We are not as progressive as the United States.”

“Not everyone here is open-minded. I was raised by my grandparents. They’re not very progressive at all.”

“I understand. My mother would be disappointed in me if I did not treat a woman with respect in all things.”

“She sounds like a strong woman.” Amanda worked hard to keep the wistfulness from her voice. Her biggest regret in life was never knowing her mother. Her parents.

“She is tough. But she has a huge heart. She is the soul of our family.” He set his empty mug on the table. “Why were you raised by your grandparents?”

“They’re all the family I have. My mother died when I was just a baby.”

He watched her intently, his honey brown eyes focused completely on her. “I am sorry. You must miss her every day.”

She nodded, a lump forming in her throat at his simple understanding. Even though she’d never known her mother, Amanda did miss her every day.

“And what of your father? You have not mentioned him.”

She sighed. She hadn’t known him either, and yes she felt the hole he left in her life, but he was such a mystery that’s all she usually focused on. Except for those bitter, lonely minutes when she speculated he must be dead, too. Otherwise why wasn’t she with him? Why didn’t he come for her?

Xavier leaned forward, his interest apparent. And heady. Especially after the university boys she was used to.

Pleased by his undivided attention, she revealed more than she normally might.

“I don’t know my father,” she declared. “My mother never told my grandparents who he was.”

“How difficult for you. I cannot imagine not knowing one of my parents. Have you made any effort to find him?”

Xavier felt like a thief stealing an innocent woman’s secrets. He was a soldier, dammit, not a spy. He did not care for the subterfuge required for this assignment. He already knew the answer to all the questions he’d asked. He’d had a complete dossier of her in his hands before the exhibit ended last night.

After he sent the picture of Amanda to his Prince, His Highness admitted he’d met and wooed an American or two in his early twenties. The Prince also had a copy of the dossier and had viewed a picture of Haley Carn, Amanda’s mother. He admitted she looked familiar but could not state with certainty that he knew her twenty-six years ago.

He requested Xavier obtain and forward a DNA sample to Pasadonia. In the meantime he was to maintain surveillance and gather more information.

It was the thing of nightmares.

She shook her head in answer to his question. “I’ve thought of looking for him, but it always upset my grandmother so much when I asked that I stopped probing.”

“So your choice is to give up your search or cause your grandmother distress.”

Perhaps if she were a different person he’d find it easier. But he liked her. He found her refreshing, honest, giving, surprisingly bold. And loyal. She’d given up a personal quest to soothe the sensibilities of her grandmother.

“There was no reason to upset her over something I may never know the truth of. But now I’m out on my own, I may try to find out something more.”

“Do you have a clue where to look?”

He disliked deceiving her. His gaze landed on her full lips. Especially when he’d prefer to spend time with her for an entirely different reason.

Duty demanded his cooperation, so he would do as his Prince, his friend, requested. It was Xavier’s hope that he would quickly be able to prove that her resemblance to the royal family was simply a coincidence.

And then they could move on. She’d be none the wiser, and he’d spend the remainder of his time in this country pleasantly occupied in getting to know her better.

“I think I might. When I was getting ready to move, I took some stuff up to the attic to store. I started to poke around a little, and I found a box with some of my mother’s old diaries and journals.”

“Sounds promising. Do you think she put your father’s name in one of the journals?” That might answer the question for them all. But of course, the Prince would need the DNA proof as well.

“I doubt it. My grandmother would have looked. Unless she’s lied to me all these years, which isn’t totally impossible. She’s very protective of my mother’s memory.”

“But not of you?” He found it odd that the dead should take precedence over the living. Yes, we honored and missed those who went ahead of us, but not at the expense of those still with us. Or so he’d been taught.

Amanda dipped her head and played with a spot of water on the table. “My mother was her only child. I’m the one who stole her from my grandparents.” She lifted her gaze to his and he saw a world of loneliness in the depths of her sky blue eyes. “It’s not that they don’t love me on an intellectual level, it’s that they can’t allow themselves to feel so strongly again. They aren’t emotional people.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Some people are this way. My family is very emotional.”

“That must be nice.” Her eyes lit up. He was happy to chase the shadows away. “Do you have a large family?”

“Yes. There is mama and papa and my younger sister, and her entire brood of children. Plus lots of aunts, uncles, cousins.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“Yes. And sometimes quite loud.”

“Wonderful,” she repeated. “So Uncle Xavier. Tell me about your nieces and nephews.”

“What is there to tell? There is one of each. Jon is the youngest at one. And Bridgett is four.”

“Ah ah.” She shook her finger at him. “You pretend disinterest but it’s obvious you dote on them. Especially the youngest, Jon.”

“Yes.” How did she know he had a special affection for Jon, who had his grandfather’s naughty grin? “I have missed them.”

“But no wife or children for you.” She sent him an arch glance. “Are you a player, Xavier?”

“I have no time for games in my life. And too much respect for my mother.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew Yvette LeDuc would be disappointed in his behavior, even though he acted in the line of duty.

Enough. Except for one last task, he had done all he could for now, all he was willing to do. He deliberately glanced at his watch.

“I must go.” He stood and she rose with him. As he hoped she would. He tossed money down to cover their meal and took her hand to lead her to the walkway out front.

She’d worn her lustrous mane of red gold hair free around her shoulders.

“I enjoyed this.” She smiled up at him, all innocent charm.

“As did I.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek, lifting his hand to her hair, feeling like a beast as he did so. The silkiness wrapped around his wrist, catching in his watch. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

She hesitated long enough for him to remember she’d issued this invitation for coffee at her friend’s prompting. Finally she nodded.

“Yes. Ouch!” She reached for her hair when he began to lower his hand.

“My apologies.” He stopped and carefully extracted his hand, taking care not to pull her hair once he’d caught a few strands in his watch. “Such lovely hair. And now I have a memento of our morning together.”

* * *

“Amanda, please carry the tray of dressed olives,” Ingrid Carn directed from the other side of the counter. Statuesque in a tailored navy pantsuit, her silver hair short and stylish, she was a striking woman. “I’m so pleased you could make it this evening. We haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I came for Sunday dinner last weekend,” Amanda reminded her grandmother.

Doing as directed, she picked up the tray and followed the older woman from the stainless steel and granite kitchen to the parlor where light walls and fabrics offset dark wood and heavy furniture. There was nothing dainty about Ingrid Carn.

“I do hope we’ll see you more than the occasional weekend,” Grandmother said tightly. “Your grandfather misses you. Posture, dear.”

Automatically Amanda straightened her shoulders as she sat. Always it was her grandfather’s emotions at risk, never her grandmother’s—an obvious detachment ploy, and to this day it hurt every time she did it.

Especially tonight, since Amanda had given up her date with Xavier to attend her grandmother’s little fête. Not that having a little extra time to consider her decision to see him again was a bad thing. She enjoyed her time with him, perhaps too much. His confidence, the way he listened, his dangerous air of alertness contradicted by his love of family made him fascinating—just as his accent and Old World courtesies made him charming.

A lethal combination for an unsophisticated girl.

What could he possibly see in her?