But tonight was not for reminiscing. Nor comparing her sixteen-year-old self with Imani. She had a date, no, not a date, an appointment, with a prince.
“We’ll talk later, okay? But no Justin alone. Hey, take the trash out when you go.”
In her room, door closed, Gemma sank to the edge of the bed. She’d hurdled her first talk with her girl about boys and life. One down, a million to go.
* * *
John
Being a good prince who’d trained in the military and the law, he considered himself a capable conversationalist. As he dressed for the evening, he aligned possible topics for dinner. Ways to bring up the House of Blue, Mum, and how the scenario with Scottie could have a happy ending for all.
Even though he was pretty sure happy endings didn’t exist.
The main thing to remember was Scottie was not the enemy. She was Mum’s daughter. His sister.
Dad texted just before John left to collect Gemma, asking for an update on Scottie.
Seeing her tonight.
Good, let me know how it goes.
Dad, are you Mum’s envoy as well? Sooner or later she’s going to have to make her own overtures.
She knows but she felt a bit tired after our walk today. We went too far. She took a long soak and headed to bed.
Hmm. Didn’t sound like Mum, the woman, the queen of boundless energy. She worked tirelessly. Even on holidays she insisted on gardening or taking long walks.
Arriving at Gemma’s, John parked beside her BMW and stepped from behind the wheel. Gunner waited in his idling motor.
Of all his musings this afternoon and evening, he’d not planned for Gemma herself. He was halfway to her door when she came out and completely stunned him. He stutter-stepped and caught his breath. Was she always this beautiful?
Wearing a pink dress cinched at the waist with a shiny silver belt, and her hair bouncing over her shoulders in long, shiny waves, she moved toward him with an easy smile, her hips in a soft sway.
“You look nice,” she said.
John glanced down at his khakis and suede Bruno Magli shoes. He should go home and change. Put on nice slacks. Change his shirt.
“Prince? Isn’t this where you say, ‘Thank you, so do you’?”
“You,” he said, reaching for her arm and escorting her to the truck’s passenger side, “look amazing.”
Their eyes met in one of thoseOh no, am I going to kiss her?moments, but she reached for the handle and popped open the door.
“You don’t think I’m overdressed, do you?”
“You’re perfect.”
Perfect? Was she? Why did he choose that word? It sounded so head-over-heels-I-can’t-think. Which was not true. Being out of Lauchtenland had a strange effect on him. Tempted him to move on with his life, perhaps fall in love again.
Thankfully, gratefully, he’d return home in a month, back to his widower apartment where he belonged. If Holland couldn’t live, then neither should he.
Trent O’Shay’s place was a mid-century modern built with the same glass-and-steel design as the office. Gemma said nothing as they walked up the concrete stairs to the long, wide porch. John smiled at her as he rang the bell.
“Thanks for coming with me.”
“Gave me an excuse to go shopping.”
Scottie answered the door in her bare feet, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, her appearance like one who’d been bathed, fed, and rested.
