Chapter 4
Ginny’s POV
When she saw him, the sumptuous gold and white room took a carousel spin.
Against all odds, tonight Ginny was in Desjardins. She drew a deep, steadying breath. Though she was in nail-biting mode, thanks to willpower alone, her hands rested relaxed at her sides. Anticipation built as she followed Chrissy down the receiving line. Five curtseys ahead stood Alexander, regal and straight in a red coat with gold braiding. His white trousers fit his slender figure like a dream. Judging from the medals on his chest, he must be wearing his Captain of Horse uniform.
Her pounding heart drowned out the soft background music. Beside Lex, the Princess Eugenie caught her eye and flashed a quick smile. She’d never read the Princess Rule Book, but did a princess single out a guest in the receiving line for a smile? Wait. She was talking about the Rebel Princess. Maybe, Eugenie sensed that she was a web of nerves. Could the smile be a quick reassurance? She was overthinking again. Ginny returned the smile, glad that her bottom lip didn’t tremble.
I’m exactly where I’ve always dreamed of, so why does nothing feel real?
Was it because the crystal chandeliers worked faerie magic on everyone beneath them? The Princess’ hair looked white-blonde against a gown of rich royal blue. She was taller than she appeared in the magazines, probably five-seven or five-eight. Ginny kept her focus on these small details. Otherwise, she’d have simply stared at Desjardins’ Prince Charming.
John and the royal heir exchanged smiles and slight bows as if it were another century of grace and elegance. But wasn’t beautiful Alexander ideal for the part? His bone structure was classic and noble, his posture and demeanor perfect. He simply took her breath away.
And in about two minutes she’d be standing in front of him. Butterflies hatched in her empty stomach, but electric excitement coursed through her. She felt like she was a glowing stick of neon. Isabel Calhoun moved forward in the slow procession to the King. Ginny stepped in front of the Princess Eugenie, ducked a quick curtsey, and looked up. The rebel princess was studying her as intently as a judge might study a murder defendant.
“Good evening, Miss MacDonald,” Eugenie said first, blowing another of Ginny’s Princess Rules all to hell. Her friendly smile settled one of Ginny’s nerves.
“Ginny MacDonald, Princess Eugenie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Good. She hadn’t forgotten her name or stumbled over her short speech.
“Ginny, your gown is absolutely stunning.” Eugenie’s smile insinuated that they shared a secret. “The emerald accentuates your pretty green eyes.” Was it her imagination or did the Princess lower her voice? “In fact, I believe Lex is quite captivated by your eyes.”
“Me? Mine?” Oh, damn, now she was stammering. Shock reverberated like a gong in her head, and her lungs were trying to forget how to breathe. In one more step, she’d be face-to-face with him. “Sorry, Princess. I—”
In a formal receiving line, royals weren’t supposed to say things like that, were they? Ginny didn’t know, but she thought the rebel princess had said exactly what she wanted to—which meant that Lex had mentioned her to his sister!
“I’ve shocked you. It’s what I do best, but no one has ever accused me of lying. Call me, Eugenie. Lex does. Tell him what I said. See what he does.” She whispered a laugh, her eyes pure blue devilment. “Pleasure meeting you, Ginny. I’m sure we’ll meet again…soon.”
Chrissy was still talking with Lex. She batted her big brown eyes, gave her hours-to-curl hair a minute shake, and twitched her booty as she moved on. Yes, indeedy, the game was on, and Ginny didn’t even know the rules! She imagined her friend would make them up to suit her as time went on.
The Princess smiled and nodded a farewell.
The time of all times had come.
Ginny closed her eyes for a split second to compose herself. Then, it seemed as if she’d merely appeared in front of Lex by magic. She prayed the hand she lifted wouldn’t tremble. When Lex took her hand, lightning struck her. Some emotion flashed across his exquisite face but too fast for her to identify. She dipped a courtesy with her gaze downcast. One, two, three. Courage. Ginny looked him straight in the eye, gave her hair a toss, and batted her eyes, Scarlett O’Hara-style. Her lashes were naturally ginger, but a ton of mascara, applied by Chrissy’s loving hand, had transformed them long, thick, and black.
The smile he cast on her blinded Ginny. “Miss MacDonald.” He ducked a bow. “It is indeed a pleasure to see you again. May I say that you look stunning tonight?”
“You’re very kind.” She didn’t have to hope for a blush. Excitement flushed her cheeks. She smiled, holding his bold gaze. “It is my pleasure, sir.”
“Are you enjoying your visit?” The handsomest man in the world positively radiated heat and sensuality.
“Absolutely. Today, Chrissy and I went to the beach.” She tilted her head, flirting with her eyes. “I love the ocean.”
“Indeed. So do I. I wish I’d been at the beach today.”
Should she listen to the rebel princess? Eugenie was his sister. Maybe, he confided in her. Eyes innocent and wide, Ginny said, “Princess Eugenie told me a secret.” She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“I’m intrigued. What secret is this?”
“That you were captivated by my eyes.” She waited a dramatic beat, then, “She asked me to tell her what you did.”
What he did was blanch of expression, but in a breath, he recovered, “Tell my loving snitch that she doesn’t lie.”
In the corner of her eye, she saw Chrissy step forward to the Queen. The time to move on had come. Her moment in the glory of his mesmerizing blue gaze had ended. If she hesitated too long…oh, dear, who was captivated by whom?
“You’re seated at the King’s table.” He caught her hand, lifted it to his lips.
She tensed and glanced over his shoulder, meeting an icy blue glare. Ingrid. His lover was giving her the evil eye—big time. She couldn’t move. Or breathe. Or think beyond dying to feel his lips on her hand. He stopped a breath away from his lips. Looking at her through lashes a woman would envy for, he breathed a laugh.
“May the gods of escort cards be kind to us. I’d like your company at dinner, Ginny MacDonald from Charleston.”
“May the gods of escort cards be with us.” She hesitated, then stepped along the receiving line to the queen.
To reality. What were the chances she’d be seated anywhere near the prince?
Slim to none.
***
From what Ginny now understood of royal protocol, all guests were in their seats before the royal family entered in order of precedence. A white-haired gent named Jacques duMonde escorted her to the King’s table. Chrissy arrived on the arm of the German ambassador. Now, everyone was seated, and expectancy ran high—especially for Ginny and Chrissy. The escort cards that would tell her fate were gold-bordered, white china rectangles, each guest’s name handwritten in elegant calligraphy. She glanced at the one to her right. Lord duMonde smiled at her. She would have sworn that even her eyes were trembling when she looked left. She inhaled sharply. Her head gave a dizzy spin. And she almost fell off one of her glitzy high heels.
HRH Prince Alexander. There in black, white and gold was proof positive of the existence of angels.
The miracle she hadn’t dared pray for had happened.
Muted conversation echoed around her. Everyone was waiting for the Court Crier to announce the royal family. Expectancy beat in the air. She glanced at the other women, comforted by the beauty of her borrowed designer gown—and the emerald-green concoction’s exorbitant price tag. Chrissy had chosen the dress from her extensive wardrobe of formals because it matched Ginny’s eyes. Across the table, she met her friend’s gaze and smiled, trying to convey that she had won the first round in their friendly competition for a man’s attention, that man the Heir Apparent to the Desjardins throne.
The Court Crier announced the King, and everyone rose. King Abelard escorted Isabel to the table. After he was seated, she sat. Next, John escorted the Queen to table, seating her to the King’s right, then taking his position to his left. The seating arrangement so far was the King and Queen flanked by John and Isabel. Ginny forced her arms to rest relaxed at her sides, though goodness knows she wanted to grip the back of her ornate chair.
“The Royal Princess Eugenie.” The man’s voice was a melodic mid-alto, his accent a pleasant mix of English and the Desjardins’ spin on French.
Looking regal and beautiful, as lithe and elegant as a dancer, the rebel princess entered on the arm of a diplomat Ginny had seen at the embassy. Eugenie resembled her mother, while Alexander had taken his father’s good looks. Eugenie was fair while Lex’s hair was dark, but both had inherited the Leandres royal blue eyes. The princess slipped gracefully into her chair.
Anticipation like dread gripped Ginny. She glanced at Chrissy, but her friend was watching the door. She stilled the sudden tremor in her hands, but she couldn’t slow her silly heart.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Alexander,” the Court Crier announced.
Her breath released on a sigh. She didn’t even see the woman he escorted to table. Beneath the crystal light, he looked otherworldly, as distant as another galaxy, then he met her gaze for the briefest instant, and the flicker of a smile passed between them. Coupled with the look in his eyes, that little smile had felt like a kiss.
Ginny sensed someone staring at her and glanced right. Ingrid glared at her from the other side, two places down the table. How had Ginny managed to supplant Alexander’s lover? She was merely a friend of someone important, a second-hand guest, and the other woman’s icy blue gaze told her she was only a redheaded stepchild. Ginny pictured the elegant escort card, her name in florid print. Read ‘em and weep, Ingrid. Lex had smiled at her, not at this lover. Score one for the American girls. With dreams misting her eyes, Ginny returned her attention to Lex, ignoring the jealous blonde.
Princess Eugenie captured Ginny’s gaze and gave her the same secretive smile. She liked the princess. She was a rebel, but no one had ever explained why. Ginny thought she knew. This glitzy, glamorous lifestyle must get really old. From the way you eat to the way you walk down a flight of stairs, a royal’s manners were a strict code. Always being on your Ps and Qs would be exhausting. Life as a royal defined life in a fishbowl.
She felt something brush her arm and froze in the midst of a half-turn. Heat colored her cheeks. She snapped her mouth closed. Her heart squeezed out each word. He’s here. Hot damn! The gods of escort cards had granted Cinderella’s wish. Lex was truly, actually, absolutely at her side. Not Chrissy. Not Ingrid. Ginny! The something that had brushed her arm was the sleeve of his jacket. Envy buffeted her from all sides. She felt it, smelled it, tasted it, and saw it on many faces.
She dared not glance at him, but in the next heartbeat found herself gazing into his eyes. Her head took a dizzy carousel spin. Good lord, was she going to faint? She chanced a quick look at Chrissy. Her friend’s expression underwent an odd change. It would appear there’d been a rule change in their little game. Chrissy looked anything but pleased. Ingrid looked royally pissed. Even Isabel’s smile had chilled. But, when she looked left, she found a warm smile and even warmer blue eyes focused on her...and her alone.
“Bless the gods of escort cards,” she whispered.
With the royal family seated, the guests sank onto their chairs. Ginny was occupied with trying to think of something clever to say and trying to remember to breathe. The Prince unfolded his napkin across his lap, then imprisoned her in a royal blue gaze. Everything inside her melted, including her mind. Caught like a fly in amber, she gave him what she hoped was a reserved and not a scared-ass-rabbit smile.
“Miss MacDonald, I’m delighted you’re my dinner companion this evening.” His accent was a tantalizing blend of Desjardins French with an English flavor, a totally sexy and melodic symphony.
She arched a brow. “Are there any standing stones in Desjardins?”
“Why?” He frowned.
“I want to give thanks to the gods of escort cards.” She pursed her lips on a smile.
He laughed. “That might require a pilgrimage to Stonehenge.”
Ginny surfaced from his gaze long enough to look around her. Every eye in the room was on her—the new and unknown factor. Come tomorrow, her face would probably be splashed on the cover of The Mirror, but she didn’t give a happy damn. Let them talk; let them gawk. For three long years, she’d dreamed of this night. Now, it was happening and damn the torpedoes. She turned back to Alexander to find that he, too, was staring at her. Another piece of her heart melted. She loved the look in his eyes.
The sommelier filled her glass with white wine.
“I understand you studied at the College of Charleston.” He paused while his wine was poured. “I looked it up on-line. Excellent school, it seems.”
“I loved it. When I get home, I’m now off to MUSC.” At his blank look, she explained, “MUSC. The Medical School of South Carolina/Charleston. I begin studies in September.” When she told people about MUSC, she always felt a surge of excitement. Why not now? Tonight, she felt a pang of disappointment.
“I remember.” He grinned—a naughty little boy look. “MUSC, then, is why you can’t be the Ambassador’s butler.”
She laughed, eyeing the wine—a little liquid courage would be a fine thing right now. “Where did you study?” she asked though she knew.
“Oxford. Degree in political science and minor in…wait for it…robotics.” He flashed a smile. “I’m totally absorbed with AI. I want to build my own Data. From Star Trek, you know?”
“That’s the most amazing and interesting thing I’ve ever heard about you.” She fluttered her lashes, took a risky leap. “And I know a lot about you.”
The effect on him was immediate—and exactly what she wanted. His smile grew warmer, his eyes hotter. “Really? Are you interested in A.I.?”
“I watch a TV series about sentient androids. Does that count?”
“Absolutely. I bet I watch the same show.” He inclined his upper body ever so slightly toward her. “Replica?”
She had his total attention now. “That’s it. I’m always glued to the set. Did you see last episode? The Replica stood behind the ex-wife with a knife, and, of course, the camera cut to black. Sorry, that should have come with a spoiler alert.”
“Alexander, the Calhouns are free next week.” The King smiled at his son. The elder Leandres was handsome, and you could tell he doted on his heir, but when God fashioned Alexander, he’d refined the model to perfection. “I’ll make the arrangements with them and fill you in tomorrow.”
Lex nodded. “Excellent. Ambassador Calhoun, I look forward to it.” He turned back to Ginny. “I saw the last episode. I never miss the show. What do you think will happen? You know the Replica has been defective since birth.”
“They are born, aren’t they? They’re sentient, have emotions, and can die. Does that mean they are entitled to rights? If they existed, would you give them citizenship as individual Desjardians?”
“Yes, I would. I believe—” he began, but across the table, her friend interrupted.
“Prince Alexander,” Chrissy added special emphasis to his name. You might think he was made of sugar. It was one of the tricks she used, consciously or subconsciously, to reel guys in. “What is the King arranging with my parents?” She smiled her beauty-queen smile.
They were strange bedfellows for friends. Chrissy was the outstanding one—the cheerleader, the beauty queen, the you-name-it-she-was-it, and now daughter to the U.S. Ambassador—while Ginny wasn’t really anybody except a good student. Now, Chrissy had made her first move in their competition.
Beside Chrissy, Eugenie lifted her blue gaze and smiled at Ginny.
“A secret, Miss Calhoun. I don’t know the details yet.” He glanced at his watch. “Tomorrow I’ve been promised the details.”
Servants appeared with the first course. The menu began with Pernod-infused Norway lobster consommé with vendace roe ravioli and chives. She knew because the menu had been published last night in one of the tabloids.
When the first battery of servers withdrew, Alexander asked, “Do you suppose the gods of dance cards will favor me at the ball?” The mischief in his voice—and in his eyes—thrilled her to the tips of her pink toenails.
She turned fully to face him. “Dance cards? Surely, you don’t really use dance cards.”
“Surely not.” He shook his head. “Perhaps then Apollo, the god of music, will favor me at the ball, and you’ll grant me a dance.”
She laughed hesitantly. “Are we really talking like it was the nineteenth century?”
“We are.” He nodded, pursing his lips against a cheeky smile. “I’m actually quite shy, and this is my round about the houses way of asking you for a dance.”
“Ha! I noticed that about you. Quite shy. Allow me to check my dance card.” She glanced at her empty palm. “Yes, it says here that I have a dance open first, middle, and last. Your choice.”
He laughed and ticked off in the air. “One of each, please.”
“Won’t Ingrid object?” She arched her brows in a question.
Across the table, Isabel Calhoun studied Ginny without the usual affection. Her pale blue eyes were…calculating? What was her friend’s mother thinking—Ginny not Chrissy seated with the Prince? It appeared quite a few people has their noses out of joint—some very unexpected.
“Prince,” Chrissy said. “I have the details. We’re going to the mountain retreat, and you’re escorting us. Isn’t that fantastic? I can’t wait.”
Lex stiffened, but gave no other outward sign that he was disturbed. “Really? I promise to be a good host.”
Was it wise to announce in this number of people where they were going and when? Ginny didn’t know, but she would have been more hesitant that Chrissy.
Beneath the table, his knee accidentally brushed hers. Knee-jerk reaction, she moved away, but what if it had been purposeful? He was trying to stop Chrissy from talking—without much success. She inched her leg closer, so that it just brushed his. He pressed closer. She left her leg against his and moved it slightly. His lightly brushed hers again. They were playing footsie under the table. How decadent, but what fun. While Chrissy babbled on about the visit to the mountain retreat.
Will I get to go? Screw convention. If it was a battle to the death with his lover, Ginny was determined to win. For a heartbeat, she pressed the length of her leg to his.