Chapter 10
Ginny’s POV
As the grandfather clock in the hall struck twelve golden notes, Chrissy turned the key in the antique brass lock. The cab ride from Sejour to the Parsonage had been tense. Chrissy said little, merely stared out at the night scrolling by. If Ginny hadn’t been thrilled that Lex had followed her to the night club, she’d have felt wretched. In their years of friendship, Chrissy had never given her the silent treatment.
She wanted to rush upstairs and luxuriate with her thoughts, but she needed to talk this out with her best friend, though what she’d say she didn’t know. Chrissy was the reason she was in Desjardins. By working at a bank, she’d paid for her plane ticket, but the Calhouns had welcomed her as a second daughter. In fact, they were responsible for her meeting Lex in the first place. Ginny hated that Chrissy had taken this stand about Lex, especially since her growing feelings were fragile. Any discouragement might damage the tender sprouts.
John and Isabel were plugged into a very banal, very bad sitcom. At least she was watching TV. His head lolled to the right. The ambassador was making better use of his time and dozing. Chrissy paused in the doorway to the sitting room, Ginny behind her.
“Hi, Mom. Dad asleep? We’re going to raid the fridge for leftovers.” Chrissy waved to her parents. “We had fun. Different but fun. You’ll never guess who showed up. Tell all as soon as we eat.”
“Glad you enjoyed yourselves. There’s cold roast beef. You can make sandwiches,” Isabel said.
Chrissy turned, avoiding Ginny’s gaze, and clicked down the hall in her four-inch heels. Ginny was sunk in worry but refused to be miserable. She dreaded when the dam burst, and Chrissy let the venom flood out. With all that had happened in a few short hours, how was she to tell Chrissy she also had a dinner date with the Prince tomorrow night?
In the kitchen, Chrissy strode to the fridge on a mission. Without speaking to Ginny, she cut roast beef and spooned potato salad onto blue paper plates. Turning on her heel—higher heels than Ginny could possibly wear—she jerked paper towels from the wooden roll. Ginny might not have been ecstatic if the tables were turned and Chrissy had scored Lex, but she wouldn’t have become a deaf mute.
“Bon Appetit.” Chrissy shoved a plate and a paper towel across the counter to Ginny. Taking the other, she perched on a wooden stool at the center island.
“Thanks, hon.” Ginny stirred her potato salad. Between being deliriously happy and wretched, she didn’t feel like eating. “Did you know that bar is a meat market?”.
“Don’t believe everything you hear. Even if it does come from a prince.” Chrissy shrugged. Her voice sullen, she snapped, “It’s not a meat market.” She set her smartphone to her music downloads, and a song currently popular on the Desjardins charts filled the Wedgewood blue kitchen.
Ginny was reluctant to compete with the music, her thoughts spinning around how to tell Chrissy about tomorrow night’s date. For a few minutes, they ate in the noisy silence of today’s hits. Isabel made the best potato salad.
“You can start talking anytime. How and when did you and the prince get so chummy?” Her friend pinned her with a haughty, just plain mean look. “I thought I knew you, Ginny MacDonald. I don’t really know you at all.”
“Chrissy, until this afternoon, I hadn’t seen him since the retreat.”
“Why would he follow you to the nightclub? You sleeping with him?”
“No,” Ginny gasped. “I guess he wanted to warn us.”
“BS.”
“Chrissy, don’t be like this. He called, and when I told him where we were, he dropped by.” Ginny massaged the sudden ache in her temples. “That’s all. Why are you mad at me?”
The other woman took a bite of her sandwich and turned up the music.
“I was as surprised as you were when he showed up.” Ginny’s appetite took another dive, but she nibbled the roast beef hanging out the bottom of the sandwich.
Chrissy harrumphed. “Tell me another one.” She looked at Ginny, and her eyes were wicked. “What do you take me for? A fool?”
“Of course not. We’ve always been the best of friends. I respect you—”
“I thought we were the best of friends, but apparently not.”
“How can I tell you anything if you don’t believe a word I say. Okay.” She took a deep breath and plunged. “I have a date with Lex tomorrow night.”
“I have a date with Lex tomorrow night,” Chrissy parroted. “You hussy.”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, but we haven’t had a chance.” She laid her utensils aside. “He called me earlier today and asked me to dinner tomorrow night. Then his phone redialed the number while we were at the bar.”
Her friend threw down her napkin. “You let me make a fool of myself, telling you I’d decided to go after him. All the time knowing you had a date with him tomorrow. Ginny, how could you?”
“I was trying. And when you told me, I felt wretched.” She looked away, unable to bear the accusation and hurt in her friend’s eyes.
Chrissy stabbed a potato, but her gaze never wavered from Ginny’s face. “So, you’re still going?”
“Of course, I’m still going.” She shrugged. Her shoulders were so tense they hurt. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Tears sprang to Chrissy’s eyes, and her face crumbled. “You’ve hurt me so bad. No one else has this power over me. I just didn’t expect you to humiliate me, sneak around behind my back…” She broke off on a sniff.
Ginny jumped up and put her arms around her friend. “Are you asking me not to go?”
Chrissy sniffed again but said nothing.
Remorse and pain swirled with anger. She wouldn’t have hurt her friend for the world, but Chrissy was being unreasonable. “This isn’t a game to me. I think I…I really care for him.”
“Think? Girlfriend.” Chrissy’s red nail tapped Ginny’s chest. “I do hate to see you get hurt. He lives in a different world. You don’t have a prayer. He’s only trying to get in your pants, can’t you see that?”
“I think I do have a prayer…” Doubt crept up Ginny’s backbone on a shiver. A little pain cramped her heart. “He’s not trying to get in my pants. I’m only going to dinner with him.”
She laughed, tossing her golden locks. “You don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning.”
What was most likely the cold, hard truth struck Ginny with the force of a blow, taking the wind right out of her sails.
***
Alexander’s POV
The next morning, I awoke early, dressed, breakfasted with the family, and took refuge in my office. Solace was not to be found, chased down, or captured. My thoughts constantly circled to Ginny. Her copper hair, her green eyes, or her slender figure encased in an emerald ball gown, and her smile.
Wednesday proved one of those days. dealing with one crisis after another, a day when the Midas touch wasn’t mine. Nothing I touched turned to gold. At five o’clock, I retired to my chambers to shower and dress for our dinner date.
When the mantel clock chimed six, I stood in front of a floor mirror, checking my appearance. If only Eugenie was here to do something outrageous and create a diversion, but alas she wasn’t, and I had to somehow ditch the media on my own. I wanted some private, alone time with Ginny. If wishes were horses… I switched on TV to glance at the local news and stopped short in my tracks. On the screen was a photo of Ginny and me dancing at Sejour.
“No,” I muttered.
Ginny had already been exposed to the harsh realities of living in the spotlight—without my help to prepare her. Had she seen the news? If so, how had she reacted? She was the American ambassador’s assistant. Was there a conflict someone could unearth? If so, the media would soon ferret it out.
***
Ginny’s POV
Ginny massaged an orange-ginger bath gel into her skin. Tonight, her ego still smarted from Chrissy’s brutal attack. Today, Chrissy had acted as if nothing had happened, but Ginny was hurt that her friend had turned on her. Even now, getting ready for something she’d dreamed of all her life, the tears threatened. If it weren’t for Lex, she’d be on the next plane home. She stood, shampooed, and rinsed her hair.
“What shall I wear? I didn’t bring much.” Head tilted back and eyes closed, she let the gentle rainfall of water warm and comfort her. Without access to Chrissy’s wardrobe, she’d look like a pauper. She laughed to herself. The Prince and the Pauper. She’d never read Mark Twain and didn’t want to live the title. She sighed, grabbed a fluffy white towel from the rack, and dried her tears. She might appear a pauper, but she refused for Lex to see her red-eyed and stuffy-nosed from crying over a cat fight.
From her limited wardrobe, she chose a simple black Maxi-dress with long sleeves. “Reject.” If the restaurant was atmospheric and romantic, and she was dating a real prince, sequins and beads might be okay. She pulled down her only cocktail dress, a short affair in Paris green.
When she’d applied her makeup and combed her hair, she stood back from the mirror to assess the damage. Her eyes sparkled as much as the sequins. Excitement leapt along her arms, lifting goosebumps. In minutes, Lex would arrive and whisk her into his glittering world.
Ginny smiled at her reflection. “And I’m ready. Oh, lord, how ready I am.”
***
Alexander’s POV
Since she’d mentioned him once before, I suspected Ginny would enjoy a ride in Diable Rouge. My only choice was to rethink my ban on street parking. I whipped my red devil into an empty space on the cobbled lane and hopped out in a threatening twilight. Dark clouds coagulated on the horizon, promising one hell of a storm. I grabbed the golf umbrella from behind the passenger seat. Swinging the umbrella at my side, I strode across the street, dodging a car on the way. I could imagine Jean’s face. He was there somewhere with at least one other of the security team.
When I rang the bell, the butler answered with a formal, “Good evening, Your Highness.”
“Good evening. I’m here for Miss MacDonald, if you would let her know, please.” I stopped myself before I tapped the tip of the umbrella to the black-and-white tiles. Impatience was definitely one of my faults, and I was anxious to be alone with Ginny.
The sound of two pairs of high heels announced Ginny and Chrissy. There was even a different sound to their shoes. Chrissy was the first into the hallway. She rushed to me and took my hands. I brushed my lips to her fingers, anticipation and my heart beating louder. I turned. Ginny waited. Her smile grew when our eyes met. In her short, beaded dress of Paris green, she held my heart in check.
“Ginny.” I stepped forward.
“Lex,” she breathed and advanced one step. “Good evening.” Her smile erased the aftereffects of a bad day.
I’d forgotten how beautiful she was. “Shall we go? Chrissy, we won’t linger. We’re driving into the foothills for dinner. Would you tell the ambassador to expect us back late?”
“Don’t wait up,” Ginny said and smiled.
“I won’t.” Chrissy gave her a weak imitation of a smile. She sounded entirely sullen.
It was beginning to appear that the ambassador’s beautiful daughter was a spoiled brat.
“Lex, good evening.” John strode down the hall, hand outstretched.
“They’re driving to the foothills—I’ve no idea how far that is.” Chrissy sent a brilliant smile my way. “For dinner and will be home late.”
The ambassador looked at his daughter. Surely, he heard the pettiness of her tone. “I hope not too late. Just be safe.”
I nodded. “Always.”
Isabel Calhoun appeared at her husband’s site.
Both he and his wife looked dazed. How amusing, but I’d blindsided the poor man. He was surprised his secretary would dine tonight with royalty while his beautiful daughter stayed home. It was a struggle to contain a laugh. Chrissy, ah, lovely golden Chrissy looked like a disgruntled cat. How and who would she strike? My plan included not getting close enough to be her victim.
I offered by arm to my pretty red-haired date, making the d-word perfectly clear. Until that moment, I hadn’t even thought date, but tonight I was courting Ginny MacDonald of Charleston, South Carolina. Tomorrow, her name might be spreading like wildfire across Desjardins, but I was determined it would be worth it. I meant for this evening to be enchanting.
Bidding our shocked audience ‘goodnight’, I escorted her into the first fat drops of rain. The storm held, but sheet lighting glazed the troubled sky. A large drop struck the top of my head, tickling as the water crawled down my scalp. Finally, I could laugh aloud. I could be myself with Ginny, and I believed she’d like the real me. The formalities of my position often chafed like ill-fitting shoes. Few were privy to the real me.
Polished by the rain, the cobbled street, an avenue between stately homes, gleamed in the gathering darkness. Most of the houses, like the ambassador’s residence were of gray stone. Cars from elegant BMWs to my racy Maserati lined the street. A black sedan sat wedged into a tight space near my car. Irritation flashed over me, but I didn’t hurry my date to the car. The snoops were after a gossip moment. I’d give them one or two. As I passed, I glared at the tinted windscreen. The media could and would follow, but I refused to allow the intruders to spoil my evening.
“Let’s sing in the rain.” I danced a few steps, leading Ginny by her hand.
“Should we?” Grinning, she cut me a sideways glance. “A couple of men are watching us from a car across the street.”
I shrugged. “Probably reporters.” Freedom, however false, made me giddy. I waved a dismissive gesture at the newsmen. “Don’t mind them.”
“I thought that might be the case.” She reached and dashed a raindrop from my cheek, sealing our newsy fates. “But if you break into song, they’ll accuse me of drugging you.”
Her touch electrified me. Tiny thrills chased over me. “You have drugged me, but the formula is your own secret.” My hand closed on her long, delicate fingers. “Did I tell you that you are a knockout in that sparkly dress?”
She winked, her green eyes alight. “You look pretty sharp in your blue blazer and khakis. Is that the royal crest?”
I was reluctant to tell her. I didn’t want to impress her for all the wrong reasons. “It’s my coat of arms. A girl in America embroidered on my underwear.”
“You’re kidding.” She grimaced.
“I can show you.” Hooking a thumb in my waistband, I tugged playfully.
A door on the black sedan swung open. A man hopped out, camera flashing. I shifted Ginny to my left side, trying to shield her. At that moment, the skies opened up, dumping sheets of rain. We were in the exact center of the street with approaching traffic. I hooked the umbrella I didn’t have time to unclip over my arm and scooped Ginny into a bridal embrace, sprinting to the Maserati, heedless of the cameras.
“What are you doing?” She laughed, her eyes wide.
Like a copper banner, her hair flagged in the storm wind.
“Saving us from drowning,” I said, and despite the rain running beneath my collar, I sang, “Just singing in the rain. I’m happy once again.” I broke off. “I’ll have to hum the rest. From there, I don’t know the lyrics.”
She gazed at me in slack-jawed amazement. “I didn’t think princes could have such a wacky sense of humor.”
“Only in Desjardins.” I let her slide to her feet and opened the car door. “In you go.”
“Gladly.” Regardless of the rain trickling down her face, she gave me a heart-stopping smile and gracefully glided into Red Devil, her glittering dress sliding up and showing a silken leg. “I knew you had one but wow.”
I happened to glance back at the Parsonage. A curtain fell in an upstairs window, but not before I glimpsed an indistinct face. “Someone back home is really concerned for your welfare. They watched you safely across the street.”
She sighed heavily. “Chrissy. Hers is the front bedroom on the right.”
“That’s it.” A strange shiver crawled down my neck along with the rain. It was a cold sensation—as if I’d seen a ghost hovering in that window. I trotted around the hood and slid into the passenger seat. “Are you uncomfortable? Would you like to go back and change? We don’t have to make Chateau d’Argent tonight. There’s always another night.”
Her expression softened, her eyes darkening. “I’d like to go unless you’ll drip on the carpet.”
“If you’ll excuse me, it’s a bit damp out here.” I trotted round the hood, opened the door and hurried into the car. “Ginny, may I introduce Diable Rouge, the Red Devil.”
She stroked the console. “Nice to meet you, Devil. Nice set of wheels, Your Royal Highness.”
“How soon they forget.” I flung an exasperated gesture though she’d know I was joking. “My name is Lex. Do you always forget your date’s name?”
“Only when he’s memorable.” She winked.
“Thank you, I think.” I grimaced.
When the engine roared to life, she made a delighted little sound. I turned to smile at her, and the look in her eyes took my breath away. Many women had looked at me that way, but none of them with such honesty. Gazing into her eyes, I felt like the handsomest man in the world. I decided I liked the feeling.
“Tally ho.” I swung the Maserati into traffic, and three car lengths back, the black sedan slithered in behind me. I shook my head. “I think we have to outrun the paparazzi.”
She gripped the seat, white-knuckled, pretending to be afraid. “Don’t let them catch me, no, don’t let them catch the Midnight Rider,” she sang the old song.
“You’ve quite a nice voice.” I shook my damp hair back from my face. “Unlike yours truly.”
She laughed, merrily and musically. I loved her laugh…as well as many of my date’s other attributes. Was I ready to get involved again, with all the inherent problems? This relationship would do more than raise eyebrows.