The wedding he’d attended with fellow bounty hunter Elda “don’t ever call me Esmerelda” Lark had been much less formal. No ushers announcing folks, just a mad rush of all the attendees to enter the reception hall to get a good seat close to the buffet table or dance floor, depending on personal preference.
He and Elda had chosen seats at the table right next to their target. The man had been completely unaware of their intent even after they lured him outside the reception hall. He’d been clueless until they’d clapped handcuffs on him and led him away. No one at the wedding even noticed he was gone, or at least no one sounded the alarm over his absence.
This would be a different sort of operation. Their goal was to keep from getting kicked out of the reception or shackled by Royal Guardsmen. They also didn’t wish to be sent out of the galaxy on a pricy shuttle and billed for the extravagant ride.
Francine was all for the plan, but he knew she worried about her parents’ pride being stung. She didn’t want them to react vocally and unfavorably to a surprise visit from their former and very disobedient daughter in public.
The lengths she’d gone to attend her younger sister’s wedding had benefited him immeasurably, but she continued to insist how grateful she was for his help.
The invitation he’d garnered only had his name and a plus-one guest of his choice. If the usher slipped up and announced Francine by her full name, Raphael was prepared for that. He hoped she was, too.
Raphael would have to be his most charming and royal self. More charming and royal than he’d ever been in his real former life. If the elder Duvalls balked at Francine’s entrance, he’d have to insist they treat his fiancée with the esteemed regard that befitted a future royal wife. Would they bite their tongues and play along? Or would they make a gigantic scene?
Only time would tell.
He heard the bedroom door open and a very sleepy looking Francine stepped out. She trudged across the room to where he sat waiting for breakfast to be delivered.
“Good morning,” he offered when she seated herself next to him.
“Okay,” she said and laid her head on the table.
She was completely adorable. “You don’t have to get up yet if you don’t want to, you know.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
She smiled, but her eyes didn’t open as she mumbled, “You’re so sweet.”
Before he could say anything else, there was a knock at the door. Francine’s eyes popped open wide, she sat up, swaying in her seat. “Who is that?”
“Relax. It’s the breakfast I ordered.”
“Oh, good.” She slumped forward and put her head back on the table beneath a bent arm.
Raphael didn’t even look through the peephole, just popped the door open.
It wasn’t their breakfast.
Chapter Seven
Francine was not used to getting up early. Working nights had transformed her schedule. It wasn’t even about being an early bird or a night owl. Even before she’d made Earth her permanent home and gotten the swing-shift grocery store job, she’d rarely needed to get up early.
Last night, she’d slept well, just not quite long enough in the great scheme of things to compensate for her abrupt routine change.
Raphael answered the door, opening it only partially. She hoped he’d ordered coffee, because she needed some. No, she needed all of it.
“I say, old chap. The communication device in my room seems to be broken, and I need to contact the front desk urgently.” The sound of the familiar voice made her sit upright in a hurry and come to life.
Uncle Bandore!
“Sorry, my fiancée isn’t up to receiving. What’s your room number? I’ll call the concierge and have someone sent to your room.”
Uncle Bandore didn’t retreat. From her vantage point she could see one richly cobbled shoe and part of a pinstriped suit leg. “Stand aside, man. It won’t take but a few moments and I won’t even look at your fiancée,” the older man insisted.
Once Uncle Bandore had made up his mind to do something, it was nearly impossible to dissuade him. Usually, everyone just got out of his way. It was easier. Francine saw the shoe lift and move to step across the threshold. She stood up from the table, banging her knee on the edge hard enough to make her eyes water. She muffled a groan and crouched to run—or limp quickly—into the bedroom.
Raphael shoved the door, forcing it almost completely closed to keep Uncle Bandore in the hall. “No. You may not enter.”
“How rude!” Uncle Bandore harrumphed loud enough to be heard back on Earth.
