Nona:
He's not as bad as I'd thought.
Me:
High praise.
Nona:
Go. Learn all about your prince. And don't forget to enjoy yourself while you do so.
Enjoy myself? Has Mr. Beckman's tea gone to her head? There’s going to be nothing enjoyable about the next thirty days.
But I don’t want Nona worrying about me, so I tap out a reply.
Me:
I'll do my best. Love you XOXO
Nona:
Love you too, Val XOXO
I fire off a quick message to our neighbor, Rudolf Beckman. He surprised me with his eagerness to check in on my grandmother, his face positively glowing when I toldhim I'd be away for a while, only able to come back every now and then.
Me:
Thanks again for being there for my nona, Mr. Beckman. Please message me if there are any issues. I'm not far away.
Rudolf Beckman:
It's my pleasure. Violetta is doing well and says to tell you the roses are blooming beautifully.
I arch a brow. First tea and now he's calling her Violetta. He's always called her Lady Romano.
Me:
It's good to hear the roses are winning the battle against the weeds. Thanks again.
Twenty minutes later, my roots are successfully blonde again, I've dried my hair and scooped it up in my Fabiana ponytail, and I unpack my pitiful belongings in rooms that could probably house a Vegas casino.
There's a knock at the door, and I make my way across the expensive Persian rug in my bare feet. Swinging it open, I expect to see some uniformed member of the palace staff to take me on the tour of the palace the King insisted I take on my arrival.
Instead, it's Prince Maximilien himself, looking both handsome and about as enthusiastic to see me as someone attending their own tax audit.
He's changed from his puppy-wrestling attire of yesterday into trousers and a crisp white shirt that shows off his tan skin and dark eyes—and does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he's attractive in a way that should probably be illegal under international law.
And then I remember that he's the entitled prince who demanded I hand over his puppy yesterday like I was some sort of dog-napping criminal mastermind, andwham!Hisgood looks instantly reduce to a minor irritation I can readily ignore.
Instinct kicks in and I bust out a curtsy, which probably looks rather ridiculous, dressed as I am in a pair of light cotton shorts and the once blue T-shirt I always wear to dye my hair, complete with peroxide patches and a frayed collar. "Your Royal Highness."
His lips quirk in obvious amusement as his eyes sweep over me, and I wish I were in my Fabiana Fontaine armor. A simple skirt suit and heels, with my glasses firmly in place. "I see I've caught you at a disadvantage."
"Not at all," I say without even a hint of a smile. Why should I smile? It's clear neither of us are exactly thrilled to be working together, even if we both have something to gain from the endeavor. Plus, he's being rude about how I'm dressed. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Pleasure, aka, why are you darkening my door when we will both have to endure one another's presence in a meeting tomorrow?
"I've been asked to show you around the palace, Ms. Fontaine," he says with grudging politeness.
