A princess.
If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would think it unthinkable. Unimaginable.
And yet, for all he doubted it possible, for all he could see, she was doing a good job. Whatever issues she’d faced during her first shift were clearly behind her. Tonight, the crowd was less frenetic, the guest house with the generator problems having apparently sorted its issues, but still the Princess was run off her feet with the hungry crowd.
She wasn’t being precious. She wasn’t holding back. She was fully engaged in her work, and with conversations with her tables. More than a few clients, he’d noticed, had ordered the paella. On her recommendation? The diners wouldn’t be disappointed. What he’d tasted last night of his meal had been perfection.
She hadn’t lied about how good it was. It was no surprise it had reminded her of home.
And again, he had to admit a kind of grudging respect for her. He’d assumed her plea to work her shift tonight was no more than a ploy for her to delay their departure and allow her more time to attempt to escape.
And while there was still an element of truth to that—she’d made it crystal-clear that she didn’t want to be removed from her bolt-hole and delivered home and she was going to use any delaying tactic that she could—it was also clear she was good at her job. She might have had a rocky start, as his driver, Tom had alluded to, but clearly, she’d picked up the skills required of her very quickly. Something he hadn’t expected of a pampered princess.
She didn’t look like any pampered princess now. She looked like any other hard-working waitress, a notebook in her hand, pen behind her ear at the ready.
Why was she here? Why had she run? Her tale of a brother wanting to marry her off was medieval, if not prehistoric. So, was her brother right, that she was envious that he would take the crown when she wasn’t able to? A woman who thought she should be the ruler of Rubanestein and yet, here she was, waiting on tables. Hardly the actions of someone who believed she was top of the tree rather than a worker bee. Unless that was part of an act to impress him, to convince him that she was fully invested in her work? He pondered that possibility as he watched her dart between tables, efficiently taking orders, delivering pizzas and paellas, bottles of water and glasses of wine.
No, he decided, that didn’t make sense. She appeared too capable in her work here. More than that, she clearly enjoyed it. This was no act.
Which raised even more doubts in his mind about her brother’s story. Where the hell was that report he’d requested?
But even without that report, he sensed there was something he was missing. What was the real reason for her running?
He watched her gather up plates from a table. Her blonde hair was tied back, but coiled tendrils had escaped to fall about her face as she dipped lower. He caught the moment she glanced over at him. She looked away and straightened the second she saw him watching her, before walking stiffly to the kitchen.
Oh yes, Princess, he thought,I’m watching you.
And maybe the only good thing was, it was no hardship to.
The night was growing old. The tables were thinning out, customers donning waterproof coats and jackets before exiting into the wild night air to board guest house buses or hire cars. Nobody was walking or had cycled tonight.
And the weather wasn’t improving. From the few meteorological sites he’d been able to access during dinner, the cyclone was circling closer, the winds growing wilder. Some reports expected the winds to blow out overnight, while others expected conditions to persist for another day or two.
He didn’t want to think about what that might mean. A twenty-four-hour delay had been bad enough.
The Princess appeared at his table to collect his empty plate. ‘Would you like coffee or dessert, sir?’
‘You don’t have to act with me,’ he said, tossing his napkin on the table. ‘I’m not your target audience.’
She swiped her hands on her apron and smiled. ‘I’m just doing my job.’
He didn’t bother to smile back. ‘And I’m just doing mine. As soon as this weather moves on, you’re going home.’
Her smile brightened as if he hadn’t just tried to puncture her mood. ‘So, no coffee or dessert then?’
‘No,’ he growled, annoyed that she hadn’t reacted. Okay, so she was probably feeling smug that the weather had delivered a twenty-four-hour delay in their departure, and by all accounts, there was a chance the same might happen again tomorrow, but he wanted her to show some vulnerability.
He wanted her to react. He wanted her to stop fighting the inevitable and accept that she was being taken home whether she liked it or not.
Damn it.
He wanted her to understand that he wasn’t some plaything she could use to get her way. She needed to understand that he was no Luke or Mateo that she could use and bend to her will.
Instead, she was too confident. Too sure of herself for someone he’d taken to be young and innocent. Not that she’d turned out to be innocent given her experiences with the likes of Luke from Bondi and Mateo the barista, and certainly not after her late-night intrusion into his own bedroom last night. The Princess had been on the run for weeks. Goodness knows how many encounters she’d had along the way.
Was she imagining that he would be the next notch on her belt? Did she believe that if she managed to seduce him, that he’d change his mind about delivering her home?
Because if she thought that, then she wasn’t just crazy. She was certifiable.
