A Princess for Christmas - Jenny Holiday Page 0,48
Leo stood his ground. Raised his own eyebrows. Thomas opened his mouth like he was going to protest but got control of himself, nodded, and murmured, “You’ll find the fireplace already laid with firewood and kindling. There are matches in the box on the mantel.” He moved to the door but stopped to point out a velvet rope that was hanging out of the wall there. “Simply ring if you need anything.”
And Leo was alone. Finally, blessedly alone.
Which was when it happened. The thing that definitely, conclusively, absolutely told him he had made a mistake. That he was way out of his depth here.
He tried to eat a piece of soap.
In his defense, there was chocolate everywhere. He’d noticed it in Gabby’s room, and Marie had told them on the flight to Zurich that the Christmas chocolate theme in Eldovia extended beyond cocoa. Various artisanal chocolate makers made truffles and other treats to celebrate the season. A box of those truffles rested on the bedside table.
He had eaten every one of them, and they were freaking delicious.
Then he’d moved into the bathroom, intending to wash his hands and face after the long journey. There were more truffles in the bathroom, laid out in some kind of crystal bowl.
Well, when in Eldovia . . .
And . . . fuck.
There was a knock on his door while Leo was rinsing his mouth out. The phrase “rinse your mouth out with soap” came to mind, but what did you call it when you were rinsing your mouth to try to get rid of the soap that was already in there?
He swung open the door to reveal Marie. She was wearing jeans. He had to blink several times in order for his brain to process the sight of Casual Princess. Though she wasn’t really casual-casual. Those were what he would call fancy jeans and she was wearing a blouse and blazer on top, and her hair, which in New York had either been down or twisted into a bun, had been styled into an elaborate Princess-Leia-style over-the-head braid. But, still, a princess wearing jeans. Skinny ones. Leo let his gaze slide down, but only because they were alone, and because he’d gotten the sense, in New York, that Marie liked it when he checked her out.
And because she was so . . . check-out-able. “You look good,” he said, because it was true.
Hello, dimples.
“So do you,” she said.
“No, I don’t. I look like a schlub from the Bronx who has been on planes for eleven hours.” And who can’t tell the difference between soap and chocolate.
“My father is on his way home and has texted to invite us for predinner cocktails in an hour’s time, should you care to join us.”
Should he “care to join them.” Leo could think of few things he would care to do less, but he didn’t really have a choice here, did he? You didn’t come to the Eldovian royal palace and refuse a summons from the king. “Will there be more pomp and ritual?” he asked.
“Not really. It will just be us.”
He suspected her definition of “pomp and ritual” was different from his, but he merely asked, “Will there be beer?”
“There will, in fact, be beer. I’ve made sure of it. I have an old friend who owns a pub in the village, and she’s started some small-scale brewing. We also have various Oktoberfests and Hefeweizens on hand.”
Leo had been kidding, of course, with the beer question, but he was oddly touched that she’d gone to the trouble.
“And,” Marie went on, “I am told that the cook, who is a lovely woman who thrills to new challenges, is outdoing herself concocting nonalcoholic creations fit for young New Yorkers with discerning palates.”
“You are a good egg, Princess.” He had the sudden, ridiculous urge to rest his hand on her cheek, but of course he checked it.
“And if you’re not too tired,” she said, “after dinner I can take you down to the village and show you around. That way you’ll know how to escape when you need to.”
“And where do you go when you need to escape?”
It was out before he could help it. He was fairly certain she didn’t escape. That duty and the sad king and the beautiful but impersonal palace were the boundaries of her universe.
But she surprised him by grinning playfully. “I’ll never tell.”
What was the matter with her?
Had Marie’s time in New York made her forget everything about her life?