Chapter 20
May 2nd - Hope Springs Eternal By this time, the tension in the palace vibrated off the Richter Scale. Realization started to dawn on the key players that I refused to play their game. My stubborn fiancée was still at the Parsonage, despite repeated appeals from me to move to a hotel, at least. Surprisingly, the ambassador and his wife had asked her to stay. Chrissy continued her award-winning performance as Ice Queen.
As I brushed my teeth, last night’s disheartening conversation replayed in my thoughts. The soft music drifting from the TV in my living area was classical backdrop to a sad story.
“I received a letter from my doctor today,” she’d said on the phone last night as I paced from one room to another in my chambers.
“Marvelous.” I’d been pacing the library where I’d gone to hide. “You have the medical records. Now, let’s hope the bastards take a foreign doctor’s word for it.”
“Not marvelous,” she said. “They’ve lost my medical records but are diligently searching their files. When they find them, they will include ultrasounds done before and after the DNC. I asked them for a medical report, but until the records are found, the doctor refuses to issue a formal opinion.”
“DNC?” I set aside the speech I’d reread for the hundredth time. I preferred to renounce the throne, for myself and my progeny, rather than have it taken from us.
“Dilation and curettage.” She, too, had sounded distracted—or simply defeated. “A procedure to remove tissue from inside the uterus. A DNC is performed after a miscarriage.”
Last night, holding the phone, I’d remembered that Ginny had planned to be a doctor. Today, because of me, she was the puppet of politicians and other fools. And her name was as black as my outlook.
I shook off the memory and slipped out of my robe. Perhaps, a hot shower would dispel the memory of the sadness in her voice…and her beautiful eyes. These days, the mesmerizing green eyes that had first attracted me to her were shaded by emotion and, too often, tears.
***
May 2nd - Six A.M.
One person alone knew that I was now seriously considering renouncing the throne. Though there was speculation, I’d told no one how close this decision loomed. However, word of the possible abdication—the media yet again used the wrong term—had leaked to the public. The sun had scarcely cleared the horizon when a crowd milled about outside the palace. Not wishing to see today’s headlines or endure my parents, I was milling about in my room.
When a knock sounded, I expected my valet and called, “Come.”
The King halted on the threshold, waiting—for what? He looked neither stern nor authoritative, but simply a father with something on his mind.
I stood and beckoned. “Good morning, Father.” Usually, I would have called him Papa, but I mistrusted the reason for this impromptu appearance.
He gestured for me to return to my seat. “Good morning, Lex. We missed you at breakfast. Eugenie said you were lying in. I see you are awake, but I came to check on you. I’ve never known you to be a lie-abed. Your fans are outside, calling for you.”
I shrugged. “Under the circumstances, I didn’t feel motivated to go out and greet them.”
“But you should.” He took my desk chair, glanced at the papers on the smooth oak surface, and frowned. “Son, I know if the media says it and it’s on the internet, it must be true.” He laughed, a short, mirthless sound. “Son, you mustn’t even think of renouncing the throne.”
“I sincerely hope it won’t come to that.” Grabbing my robe from the foot of the bed, I struggled into the sleeves and tugged the belt tight.
You can read a lot from a man’s body language. My father shook his head sadly. “I’ll have my decision for all concerned by tomorrow.”
“But I thought…” I nodded. “I’ll dress and go out. At least let them see me. Do you think popular opinion would sway Jean-Claude and the posse? I feel like an outlaw. Not a prince.” I went to the sideboard, poured coffee from a silver coffee service into a delicate china cup with a silver rim. I noticed these small details for the first time because it occurred to me that I might not have them in a short time. “Coffee?”
He waved a gesture indicating he hadn’t come for coffee. “What do you propose to do?”
“You told me once not to consider it.” I listened for a moment to the crowd. “I wonder what they’re saying. Do you ever wonder what people say about you?” I’d be giving up a lot for Ginny, but she’d given up her entire life for me. “Change the law. It’s time. Eugenie can be Desjardins’ first queen.”
Father huffed a laugh. “Color me scared.”
“You wrong her.” I indicated the chairs by the hearth. “Let’s sit, drink coffee, and chat about weighty matters. Eugenie will step up to the plate when duty calls.”
A chorus of shouts—my name—rose outside the windows. “Your people,” Father had said. My people were calling for me. A peculiar pain like grief twisted my heart. On that sun-warmed balcony, as they called for an answer, I was a man divided down the middle. It was only a matter of time before this straw man’s stuffing fell out.
If I gave them the answers they’d come for, I might cause a constitutional crisis.
***
Ginny’s POV
May 2nd - Do You Hear What I Hear?
When Ginny darted through the door of the embassy, her general ringtone The March of the Gladiators started serenading her from her handbag. Everyone she knew in Desjardins had a dedicated ringtone. Who’d call on her cell? As she hurried to her desk, she rummaged in the depths of the leather bag. Maybe a big purse wasn’t such a good idea after all. She managed to grab the phone on the last chord before it went to voicemail.
“Hello. Good morning.” While balancing the phone between her chin and shoulder, she scooted out her chair and signed into the network.
“Miss MacDonald?” A man’s pleasant voice—an orator or a statesman—pronounced her name with a Desjardian accent.
Total silence on the other end of the line. Was the man in a church or a vacuum? For no reason, goosebumps prickled her arms. “Who’s calling?”
“Archbishop Lange.”
She froze for an instant. “Good afternoon, Archbishop. This is Ginny MacDonald.” She refused to say what can I do for you because she knew why he’d called. Lex. The government was pulling out the big guns. Her heart jumped into A-Fib. Not a good time for a heart attack. The network dinged, and she typed in her password.
“I believe you know why I’ve called.” Silence really could be deafening. “You must abandon this plan to marry Prince Alexander. If you continue, you will personally be responsible for a constitutional crisis in Desjardins. I appeal to you…”
The Archbishop droned on about the abortion. Ginny raised no defense. The morning newspaper lay beside a stack of files on her desk. John hadn’t returned from a trip back to the States. Again, she didn’t have to ask who’d laid the damning message on her desk. Chrissy. Ginny read the lurid morning headlines, and her morning coffee turned to lead in her stomach. “Will Prince Alexander Abdicate to Marry a Murderer?” stared at her in bold yellow print.
Listening to the Archbishop ask the question that was on everyone’s lips, she made an irrevocable decision.
***
Alexander’s POV
May 1st - Sixish O’clock The instant I stepped onto the plush black bath rug my mobile rang. From troublesome dreams last night that woke me to another nightmare of phone calls and strained conferences, today had been brutal. Ginny and I had had no chance to speak.
As I’d thought a shower had relaxed the tight muscles in my back. What now? Zap, like that, I was tense again. Gliding across the screen was Mon Amour. Ginny. Seconds ticked by while I hurriedly swiped the plush white towel over my face and hands. Still, the instrument almost slipped from my damp fingers as I jerked it to my ear.
“Greetings, mon bebe. I was going to ring you after dinner.” I ran my hand over the dark shadow on my face.
“I only have a minute, Prince Alexander.” The stranger was desperate, rushed, breathless.
“Who is this? How did you get my number? Where is Ginny? You rang me on her mobile.” She’d been kidnapped! Fear drove through me, welding me to the marble.
“I’m a clerk at the Delta counter. Miss MacDonald has just cashed in her return ticket to the States. I thought you should know. She’s on Flight—oh, there you are, madam. Your phone called someone.”
“Hang up.” Ginny sounded as desperate as the rushed clerk. “I have my ID. Thank goodness, it had dropped on the seat of the cab.”
The line went dead.
I threw on whatever clothes came to hand. As I reached the door, my mobile rang, but I’d forgotten it on the cabinet by the bath. I whirled, sprinting back the way I’d come, very aware of the passage of time. Of bloody course it had stopped ringing by the time I reached it. An unknown number showed on the screen. Could be the clerk. Heart in my throat, I rang back as I ran down the winding corridors to the valet.
“Delta Airlines,” the clerk answered. “Yes, Prince Alexander. She’s on Flight 1206 to Paris, connecting to Charlotte. I’ve been following you and the princess in the news. It’s criminal what they’re doing to you. The people are behind you. I think you should know.”
“Thank you,” I said, as genuinely as I’d ever thanked anyone for anything. “I don’t know your name.”
One more turn, and I’d be at the rear entrance. I glanced at my watch. Five minutes wasted.
“Patrice,” the Delta clerk said.
“Thank you from my heart, Patrice. Keep this number. You must dine with us at the palace. Oh, and there will be a reward.”
“My reward will be wedding bells.”
When I dashed into the rear courtyard, Diable Rouge awaited, engine purring. I hopped into car over the door, James Bond style. The attendant gaped at me. I engaged first gear. “Red Devil, I’m going to test your mettle.”
***
Ginny’s POV
Leaving on a Jet Plane Ginny stared at the ticket in her hand. Looking at the final destination—Charleston, South Carolina—hurt. Pain was relative. Since she’d made this decision, a persistent ache throbbed deep inside. She suspected the pain would be chronic, lasting as long as she did. The thought of loving or marrying another made her sick to heart.
She’d been lucky to catch a last-minute flight from Desjardins to Paris. After a short layover, she’d be in the air twelve hours and forty-five minutes to Charlotte, then a short flight home. What she said to her parents when she arrived unannounced on their doorstep didn’t matter. At least, she was away from Desjardins where she’d done so much damage. Lex wouldn’t renounce his throne, and in time, their romantic idyll would be only a memory.
She slid her ticket and her passport across the podium to the attendant, was waved ahead into security, and continued without setting off any buzzers. First hurtle in a race she didn’t want to run. She shoved the ticket into a pocket in her handbag and squared her shoulders Goodbye Desjardins. I’m leaving my heart with you.
From now on she’d be a heartless bitch. She laughed at herself, but made the mistake of mumbling, “It’s for the best.”
The dreaded tears clouded her vision. Yesterday, she’d been a princess, regardless of the ugly names she’d been called. Today, she was back to being Cinderella, but a disillusioned Cinderella without a dream to hang her future on. As she tugged her carry-on along the causeway, she glanced at the disinterested faces around her. In the midst of the hustle of a foreign airport, she felt small and horribly alone. How sad that her last sight of Desjardins was an airport. Her slumped shoulders ached under the weight of her stuffed handbag…or the weight of memories.
“I must do this,” she muttered as she found her gate on the overhead display. “For Lex.”
Turning tail and running wasn’t her first choice. Leaving twisted her heart and brought tears to her eyes, already swollen and red. The Archbishop’s call had clenched her decision. Not poor John, who’d believed her and advised her to stay, saying, “Prince Alexander has this.”
To avoid any curious media, she’d pinned up her hair beneath a floppy straw hat. The wide brim did a lot to hide her face. In her faded Jeans and College of Charleston sweatshirt, she didn’t look much like a princess.
Ginny had broken her own heart to save his. She couldn’t allow Lex to abandon a throne for her. Eventually, he’d regret choosing a woman over a kingdom. She’d resolved to give up the man, but her opponents couldn’t force her to stop loving him. Those feelings and what might have been would haunt her for the rest of her life. Head down, eyes blind to the floor beneath her feet, she found her gate and took a seat by the window. Fishing her phone from her handbag, she discovered three missed calls from Lex. By now, he’d know she’d bolted. Pray God he didn’t try find her. She was strong enough to leave him once, but not twice and not gazing into those blue eyes.
“May I sit here?” A young woman with a sleeping baby strapped across her front looked down at Ginny and frowned. “You look familiar somehow.”
“I have one of those faces.” Ginny smiled. “Please sit down. How old is your baby?”
“Two months old.” The mother stroked the tawny down on the child’s head.
Another sharp pain squeezed Ginny’s heart. In a year, she could have been this woman with a baby. “Handsome boy.”
“Carl and I are flying to Paris to meet his father. He’s in the U.S. Air Force.” She sounded proud of her aviator husband. “The first time he’s seen his son.”
Ginny didn’t know what to say, and the dreaded tears threatened again. She merely smiled and changed the subject. The new topic brought no relief. “I’m going home to South Carolina, US of A.”
“I thought you had an American accent, but it’s different than most I’ve heard.” The woman brushed a strand of dark blonde hair back from a pretty face innocent of makeup. “You don’t sound as if you want to return home.”
“I don’t. I’ve fallen in love with this country.” She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Sometimes, you have to do what you don’t want to do. Are you a native?”
“Yes. I love my country. So did Brad, but he shipped out before Jarl was born.”
Ginny shot the woman a questioning frown. “You didn’t want to accompany him?”
“I wanted to be with him, of course, but I didn’t want to leave my home.” Offering a handshake, she said, “I’m Jeanne.” Her blue eyes sheered to the overhead TV broadcasting a newsflash.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention. Until further notice, all international flights are grounded. I repeat. All international flights are grounded. Check with the agent at your ticket counter.” He rushed on, “The police are looking for this young woman.” A media photo from the polo match appeared on the screen. “Ginny MacDonald is approximately five-feet six-inches tall with red hair and green eyes. She was last seen at the Delta Airlines counter. It is believed she may be boarding a plane to Paris. If you see her or know her whereabouts, please notify the airlines and the police at once.”
Jeanne studied her. “I know where I’ve seen you. You’re Prince Alexander’s American fiancée. Why are you running away if you don’t want to go?”
Ginny shrugged, biting her lip. When she could speak, she said, “It’s the best thing for the prince, for the country, and eventually for me. It just hurts right now.”
“Because he was threatening to abdicate?” Jeanne’s gaze wasn’t judgmental. In a stranger’s blue eyes, Ginny saw sympathy and understanding.
“I couldn’t let that happen.” She tilted her head back on the seat. “How did you know he was considering renunciation?”
“Word has leaked out about the struggle. His people would support the prince, given the chance. He is much loved.” The baby gurgled, and she patted his back. “Shush.”
“Don’t turn me in.” A tear drifted down her cheek. Her lips trembled. “Please.”
“If you feel you must leave, I won’t. Please be sure. He grounded all international flights. How and where will you run? Besides, will running away solve anything? Won’t he follow you to South Carolina?” Jeanne fished in her bag and handed Ginny a tissue.
Stifling a sob, she mopped at the tears on her cheeks. “He mustn’t. If I stay, this country will be thrown into a battle between the monarchy and the government. Historically, monarchies lose.”
“Ginny, it appears to me that your betrothed is quite willing to tell them where to stick it.” Jeanne laughed. “A little phrase I picked up from my husband.”
The screen flickered, and Lex’s handsome visage appeared. “Ginny, if you get to Paris, Eugenie will be waiting for you.”
Ginny squeezed her eyes closed. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t do this if she had to hear his beautiful voice. Where was she to hide? He was still speaking. To the country now, it would appear. She had to this. I must.
Gently, her new friend touched her hand. “Ginny…”
“Fair warning. Eugenie is tough on runaways.” His voice! nearer than the TV.
Her eyes snapped open, and Lex was standing in front of her. He was smiling, and he was breathtaking. And he’s mine. Damn the torpedoes. No, she couldn’t face running away from him a second time, not with those blue eyes gazing into hers. He offered his hand, helping her to her feet. She was too glad to see him to protest his arrogance. Grounding all international flights!
“If you wanted to visit Paris, we could have taken the jet.” He arched a mischievous brow, then in front of God and everybody kissed her…a long, loving kiss that left her breathless.
“It was a nice night for running away.” She gestured at their surroundings. “Desjardins has a nice airport.” She winked. “But I’ve seen all of airports I care to.”
He circled an arm around her waist, pressing her close. “When I discovered the Archbishop had called you, I thought I’d lost you, Ginny. The crown no longer mattered. I’d have handed Jean-Claude my signed renunciation at that moment.”
Overcome with emotion, unable to speak without tears of joy, she nodded.
“No tears.” His arm tightened. “This is a no-tears airport.”
She turned, introducing, “Lex, this is Jeanne. She’s a supporter of our cause.”
He smiled, extending his hand to her friend of two hours. “My pleasure, Jeanne.”
The woman looked starstruck. She brought her hand to her lips as if she’d kiss where his fingers had rested. “I’m honored to meet you, Your Royal Highness.”
His smile broadened, his eyes twinkling, and Ginny realized exactly why women couldn’t resist him. “The honor is mine. Please give my assistant a call.” He fished in the pocket of his jeans—she’d never seen him in jeans!—and handed his new fan a card embossed in gold. “Johanna will arrange a time you can join us for coffee. I look forward to seeing you again.”
Smoothly, he’d personalized the invitation, so that Jeanne felt like the only woman in the world. Dreamy soft silk glided naturally from his lips. He was mesmerizing. One day, he’d make Desjardins a king to be reckoned with. Unless she stayed… Her heart stuttered. With the Minister of Government and the Archbishop on board against them, their problems hadn’t magically disappeared.
“Lex,” she whispered. “I have to go. It’s the only way.”
“I’m going with you.” A butterfly kiss landed on her nose. “Where are we going?”
His smile and his eyes melted her heart. Behind that devilish grin, she glimpsed a man afraid of losing, like she was afraid, then nothing could have possibly moved her from his side. Snuggled against her prince, she allowed him to guide her to the exit where a limo and a line of black cars a mile long waited. As he ushered her through the revolving door, the same airport attendant announced that all international flights were cleared for takeoff.
“You are bad.” She grinned up at him.
“You left me no choice,” he said seriously.
Twice on the way home, Lex asked her to choose a hotel, pointing out likely destinations, all of which looked exorbitantly expensive. He carried cash to pay, but she’d refused. Pride wouldn’t let her accept his help before they were married. The papers would call her his murdering mistress if she did.
Shortly after eleven, they arrived at the Parsonage to find John and Isabel waiting at the door. They’d seen the event on the ten o’clock news. She felt wretched for worrying them. Her bid to save Lex’s crown had been a colossal failure. One good thing. Chrissy was out. She could escape, if it was only to her room, and settle in to think.