Chapter 9

The scene after the ball had ended it with Ingrid. The next day she’d left the palace in a huff, bound for…I wasn’t surprised to realize that I didn’t care where she fled. Ingrid was a resourceful woman. I didn’t fear for her at the world’s hand—the other way around, perhaps. A week after our return from the retreat, her picture was on the front page of the Mirror, looking like a widow in a black bikini on the bow of a tobacco heiress’ yacht. In lurid headlines, she announced our breakup and hinted at another woman. On the last page at the bottom of her sad story was a picture of no less than—

“Ginny.” I tossed the paper down on the dining table.

Papa looked up from his paper. “I thought you might find that interesting.”

“Damned interesting. I didn’t throw her out of the palace. She broke up with me.”

“Because you danced with another woman in the Royal Waltz, no less. An impromptu performance, I might add.” He smiled, shaking his head. “I won’t say I regret her leaving, but you must have known…” he let the sentence trail.

“I didn’t think. I just acted.” I shrugged. “I know that’s not what I’ve been trained to do, but it was—”

“What you wanted at that moment. I understand.” His gaze grew distant, his thoughts in some other place. “Right now, you can live more in the moment than I’m allowed. One day, your every action will be under surveillance and being judged. To a certain extent, it is now.” When I started to protest, he held up a hand. “I have faith in you, son. I know you’ll be a good King for our country.”

“Thank you.” I smiled but he still seemed to be somewhere else. What firelight dreams was he reliving? “That means a lot to me.”

He looked at me, really into me, the kind of study that peels back the skin. I waited for him to speak, but he rose and excused himself. As I watched him go, something about the exchange troubled me. When he’d gone, I pulled the National News across the table. There on the front page was a large picture of Ginny and the ambassador. Guilt twisted my stomach. I hadn’t spoken with her since our return from the mountains. I needed to sort things out. She did as well. Something else about the picture disturbed me even more.

Who was the fresh-faced young man on her left? He was the All-American type. Blond. Pale eyes. Muscles—and he stared at her as if she were the center of his universe when he should have been smiling for the camera. I flipped the page. The headline to the article shocked me. I realized my jaw was tight and forced it to relax.

A smaller photo of Ginny and me in the Royal Waltz—the same photo Ingrid had released to the tabloid—headed an article titled in bold print “Prince Alexander has Competition,” and there was another picture, this one of Ginny and the All-American Boy. His arm circled her shoulders. They leaned close for the camera. Not a professional photo at all. My guess was someone’s phone camera.

A little grainy for the newspaper but quite clear enough for me to see that I did have competition.

The Joker had a better hand in this game of cards. He could openly show his affection.

The Jack, bound by a different set of rules, could not.

It was time for me to start making up my own rules. I folded my napkin beside my plate, tucked the newspaper under my arm, and stood. “Hey, Siri, call the American Embassy.”

Before the line connected, I hit End Call. Who did I think I was? If the Heir Apparent called the ambassador’s assistant, a flurry of press would bury her. The Royal Waltz had been a Royal Announcement in effect. With Ingrid no longer in the picture, the media was poised for my next declaration. If I made the slightest move, Ginny’s face would be splashed on tabloids worldwide.

Yes, Mr. All-American Boy had the advantage.

***

Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, polishing the walls a fiery gold.

My father and I had hidden from the press in the library. As a result, we were engaged in a fierce game of chess. I disliked playing the game with my father. He was good, but when I did win, I hated beating the King. His King held my Queen in check. Frowning, I studied the chessboard for a move that wouldn’t lose me the game. I could beat the average player, but my current opponent was a strategy wizard.

I blew out a breath, shaking my head. “I concede.”

“Rematch? But I purpose we adjourn to my study for a sherry.”

“I know when to surrender.” I perched on the edge of my chair, preparing to rise. “I have the TV appearance at four. Afterwards, I’d planned to school my new polo pony”.

“Then I’ll see you tonight at dinner.” He nodded absently, and I turned to go.

“Son.” He called before I reached the door.

When I faced him, he stood, strode across the room, and placed his hands on my shoulders. “I’m not blind or insensitive. You’ve been distracted and seem a bit despondent.”

“I’m a little off, I suppose, but I’ll rally.”

He frowned. “You’re not pining for Ingrid?”

Ingrid was the last person on my mind, but apparently Papa thought I was lonely. I shuddered to think that soon nubile young princesses or debutantes would again litter my path. “No, absolutely not.” I shrugged. “I can’t tell you what’s wrong. I honestly don’t know.”

“You need some time away, Lex. You devote quite a lot of energy to your position. None of the family has visited your sister in Paris. Why don’t you be the first? I’m sure Eugenie can show you her town. You two were always close. Perhaps, she can rescue you from the doldrums.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “If Desjardins needs you, I know where to find you.”

I shook my head. “I have my pony to school.”

“Hire someone.” He made a shooing gesture.

“A long weekend in Paris does sound appealing.”

“Phone Eugenie now.”

“Great idea. I think I’ll call Eugenie now.”

The King waved the hand bearing the ring of state at the open door. “Go before I see the list of functions and change my mind. Come home yourself again.”

My smile faded. “I want me back, too.”

Instead of going to my office as planned, I hurried to my chambers. With a sigh, I looked at the stack of mail to be answered. Later. I asked my phone to call my sister.

The predicted thunderstorm broke, a volley of rain slamming against the mullioned windows. Lightning streaked across a sky suddenly bruised black. I perched on the edge of my desk as the phone continued to ring. An image of Ginny in her emerald gown segued into an image of her in her satin peignoir.

I could no longer resist in the name of duty. My finger hovered above end call when my sister exhaled Hello, sounding breathless.

“Greetings, sister-dear. Did I interrupt something fun?” I rose, pacing my cage.

“Did you pop out of bed with your new mistress to ring me?” The line crackled, obliterating a word. “Two calls in a fortnight. What did I do right? Nothing comes to mind.”

“Of course, you did something right. You were born my sister.” I stalked to the window, looking down on the inner courtyard. The palace was built in the shape of a rough H.

“There’s absolutely nothing I’d rather be.” Her voice dripped sarcasm.

“I thought I was your hero.”

“When I was five.”

“Speaking of fun, do you have weekend plans?” I picked up a book, left it where I’d found it.

“No, in fact, I don’t.” She exhaled a heavy sigh. “Please don’t tell me I’m being invited home for Sunday dinner.”

I laughed. “How do you usually get the Royal Summons?”

“By phone but not from you. I can’t remember them using you to get to me.” Again, she raised the shield of sarcasm. Something was bothering my little sister.

“What’s wrong, baby girl?” I flung myself down on the bed.

“Nothing.”

“Wrong answer.” I glanced at my watch. Soon, Marcus would appear to help me dress for the four o’clock appearance. A wave of rebellion washed me under. My sister needed me. The people wouldn’t care what I wore.

“Oh, Lex, I have to be the unluckiest in love.” The sound of the ice dispenser almost obliterated the rest. “A jerk I did have plans with just canceled.”

“May I take his place? We’ll talk about it when I get there.” He tensed at the sound of approaching footsteps. “If talking doesn’t help, I’ll hunt him down and kill him.”

Eugenie finally laughed. “Are you serious? Are you asking me if you can come to Paris this weekend?”

“I am. Hey, I’ll buy.”

“You always were the big spender.” Something clunked against the phone. “I’ll have you know I’m making it very well on my own. Thank you very much. I just toasted your arrival. When? Is now too soon?”

“A bit. How about tomorrow afternoon.” The dreaded knock sounded. I levered to my feet and gestured to Marcus, mouthing one minute.

“I’ll toast your romantic conquests. I have a fine aged Scotch,” Eugenie was saying.

“My romantic conquests. Ouch, you are sharp today.” Did my sister really think of me as a playboy? “Father offered the plane to deliver me to you. I think he tires of my dark mood.”

“Why are you in a bleak mood? Did the pretty redhead reject you?” She gave a loud snap of her fingers, a favorite gesture of hers. “Unheard of! I must switch on the telly. This will make the ten o’clock news.”

“She didn’t reject me, but it’s complicated as you well know. Our positions get in the way—hers at the ambassadorship and mine at birth.” I waved Marcus toward the wardrobe.

“My darling, you were born and bred to be king.” The sarcasm had gone from her voice. In her own way, she was sympathizing with me. “I’m glad you had the nerve to be born first. I wouldn’t want the job.”

“At times nor do I, but as you said… At any rate, is Friday okay for my arrival on your doorstep?”

“Paris high-rises don’t have doorsteps. Look, Lex, I love you. That should cheer you up.” She laughed softly. “I can’t wait to have some quality time together. Friday is great.”

“High rise?”

“A brand-new building. Very modern, not stuffy-old.”

“I should have known. I’ll say goodbye for now. Marcus is here to help me dress for a TV speech. If you were here, you could go in my place. I’ll see you about three o’clock Friday afternoon. Enjoyed our little chat. ‘voir.”

She wished me bonne journee, and I ran off.

Marcus crossed to the armoire, produced a charcoal gray suit for my approval. “Does this one suffice, sir?”

“Please.” I toed off my shoes. “How is the family?”

“Excellent, Sir, excellent. Thanks for asking.” He laid out the clothes while I undressed. “I’m very proud of my eldest. He’s been accepted to the university. He plans to become a chef.”

“That is excellent.” Sitting on the bed, I tugged off my trousers. “Congrats, to the student.”

“With this shirt and tie…” He laid a crisp white shirt on the bed and fished a red silk tie from the selection.

I nodded, shrugging out of a polo shirt, imprinted with the team’s name and in the team’s red and blue.

“I never phoned her, you know,” I said.

Marcus shook his head. “Perhaps, you should. She seemed a nice person. Makes a change.”

I chuckled. “Quite a change from Ingrid. Do you suppose after two weeks she’d want to hear from me? It would appear there’s another horse in this race.”

“Oh?” Marcus arched a brow. “No, I don’t think it has been too long. As to the competition, you’re the crowd favorite. I’d bet on you, sir.”

An unbidden memory of Ginny in her satin gown teased me. I remembered the night we’d spent just talking. “I quite enjoy her company.”

Marcus consulted his watch. “Ring her. I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear from you.”

“I’d be pleased to hear her voice. Her accent is charming.” Intent on righting a wrong, I strode to my desk and grabbed my phone.

“Sir? Ready for your shirt?” Marcus held up the crisp white garment. “I meant call her after the appearance.”

“It will be too late. The embassy will be closed.” I sighed, laid aside the phone, and dutifully shrugged into my shirt. “I don’t have her number.”

Marcus tied my tie and added my coat.

I hummed a few bars of one of my favorite songs. “I feel like the lyrics were written for me.”

“Turn the Page, Bob Seger,” Marcus said. “Good song. I can see how you might think he wrote it for you.”

***

After leaving the TV studio, I accomplished a miracle. I made it to the private entrance to the palace without being caught speeding. I’d only been stopped once by a new member of the force. Most of the officials recognized the Maserati.

On one hand, I hoped this fit of madness would pass; on the other, I had to force myself to walk not jog from the valet to my chambers. Though impatience whispered in my ear, I greeted those I passed. But I didn’t stop to chat when my aunt tried to detain me.

“I’ve only fifteen minutes to make an…engagement,” I said, and to emphasize my hurry, I picked up a trot and said over my shoulder. “Later, Aunt Heloise.”

I flung open the door to my sitting room, leaned against it, and took a deep breath. Reasoning with myself did no good. I pushed off the door and strode to my desk. Grabbing my mobile, I wandered to the window. If I’d hoped for a return of sanity, it didn’t happen.

I checked my watch. Four fifty. Now ten minutes. “Hey Siri, call the American Embassy.”

“On it,” Siri replied.

“Well, be quick about it.”

“Calling,” the pleasant female voice informed me.

Ginny’s formal, professional voice greeted me, and my heart lurched to a halt. Why had I delayed calling her? Many reasons. Good reasons. None of them were good enough now.

“Hello, Ginny.” Keep it simple. An image of her in my arms stalled before my eyes. “Hope you are well.”

“Alexander?” she gasped. “Lex, the Ambassador is on the phone. I’ll buzz him.”

“No, Ginny, wait.” I sank down in the window seat. “Actually, I called you.”

“You’re calling me yourself? Where’s Marcus? Or your secretary?” The questions tumbled out on each other’s heels.

“Marcus and my secretary are fine somewhere else in the palace.” I laughed aloud, looking down into the courtyard full of singing birds. “I am calling you without any assistance. It was difficult to tap the Embassy contact, but somehow I’d managed.” I paused to organize a speech, in the end giving up and saying simply, “I’ve thought of you. A lot.”

***

Ginny’s POV

On a crowded street in any city in any country in the world, Ginny would have known his voice. The blend of English and his country’s lyrical accent was distinct as his own pitch. The feelings she’d fought now trembled inside—alive and awake and making her a fool.

“I am well, thank you.” I’ve thought of you every minute, never dreaming you’d call. Her brain attempted to stall, but she gave herself a swift mental kick and jumpstarted her communication skills. “The Calhouns and I watched you on TV. You’re a dynamic speaker.”

“Thank you. I’ve only been speaking for a short time—like since I was a child.”

She heard the amusement in his voice and laughed softly. She remembered how his smile lit his eyes bluer, and her romantic heart melted. In exquisite detail, her body recalled his embrace, the caress of his hand, and the brush of his lips.

“Are you free on Wednesday?” She imagined his smile. “I’ll show you my city and its nightlife. I have it. We’ll have dinner at my favorite restaurant—a mountain-side café with one of the best views in the country.”

Ginny’s head gave a dizzying spin. Excitement like fear blazed through her. She hoped he hadn’t heard her quick intake of breath. Could you faint from sheer happiness? She was soaring and never wanted her feet to touch the ground again. Where was Chrissy? She couldn’t wait to tell her friend that Lex had asked her to dinner.

A thousand replies flashed through her mind. She settled for, “Sounds beautiful. What is the name of the restaurant?”

“Vue en étoile,” he said in French with the Desjardins flavor. “I’m positive you’ll love it. The food is awesome, the atmosphere intimate and cozy.”

“It sounds divine.” Her gaze roamed the reception area, but she saw only Lex in a romantic, candlelit café…across the table from her.

“About seven? It’s a thirty-minute drive, and we’ll want time for a drink before dinner. I prefer to dine around eight. Is that too late for you?”

“Not at all. I’ll see you around seven tomorrow.” She picked up a pen, doodling flowers on a legal pad.

“Looking forward to seeing you again,” he said.

In the background, church bells pealed the hour. She imagined him standing at the long windows overlooking the courtyard. From her desk, she could see the church. Could he see the spire gleaming in the afternoon sun or hear the bells? Five chimes. The workday was over. If only he were waiting for her now…

“Ginny…” His beautiful voice was sensual, soft.

“Yes?”

“Nothing. We’ll have time to talk at dinner. Marcus is gesturing at his watch. I’ll say good evening before he does handstands to capture my attention.” He laughed, enchanting her, then, “I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

“Me, too.” Her heart echoed in her ears, sounding as wild as the thunderstorm battering the city. Surely, he must hear it booming as far away as the palace. “Bye for now, Lex.”

John strolled out of his office, twirling his umbrella. “Ready for damp trek home?”

“I don’t think a few yards counts as a trek.” She linked arms with him. “Chrissy and I are calling a cab to hit a happy hour.”

John tipped an imaginary hat. “Watch out, Delacorte.” As he closed and locked the door, he asked, “Do you girls want me to drive you?”

She patted his arm. “Now how cool would we look if her dad drives us?”

“Way cool.” He nodded sagely.

“Way cool is kind of out now, too.”

“I’m batting a hundred.” He opened the Parsonage’s door. “After you, mademoiselle. Say, Ginny, did I hear you say Prince Alexander? Did he call.”

Dead giveaway, she flushed to the roots of her hair. Hesitantly, she said, “He called…me.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to pry. Well done. I suppose this gives you the lead in your competition with Chrissy.”

“Only by a mile.” She grinned and bolted for the stairs, dying to tell her best friend the good news.

***

Everywhere, everything was glittering chrome or an intriguing opalescent blue. Soft jazz played by a trio billed as from New Orleans wafted through the glamorous crowd. The bar near the Palace was known as a hot spot for the wealthy and their admirers. Chrissy had found the place on the internet. Séjour boasted fifty-plus five-star reviews. They’d passed the beauty pageant at the red ropes out front.

“The article I read about this place said the Prince and the Princess come here.” Her friend stirred her drink with the tip of her pinkie.

Ginny had yet to tell Chrissy that Lex had called. Some strange new feeling had stopped her at the top of the stairs, and she tabled the info for later discussion. The news was far too important to drop in the rush of getting ready for a night on the town. Besides, Chrissy had been joyously extolling the virtues of this bar.

“The blue light stains your red nails purple,” Ginny said.

“Well,” Chrissy waved her fingers, “Aren’t I special?”

Ginny sipped her lemon drop martini, set it aside, and propped an elbow on the minute surface of the table. The tall and spindly tables made the towering seats looked like toadstools. She glanced in a mirror across the room, but their reflections were hazy blue. Did she look relaxed and happy or tense as piano wire? Whichever. The time had come. She conjured how eager she’d been to tell her best friend.

Taking a deep breath, Ginny said, “Chrissy…” but the desire to tell the world about Alexander had long ago vanished. Rather, she wanted to hold her secret close, languish in its warmth, and relish the excitement and sense of wonder.

Chrissy arched her brows, aiming a questioning look at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Uh, I…like this martini. How’s your Cosmo?” Ginny licked a bit of sugar from the rim of the stylish aquamarine glass.

“That’s not what you were going to say. I’m your best friend. Ginny, girl, I can tell when you have something on your mind. What’s up?” Chrissy smiled at a guy at the next stalk of a table, then pinned her with that look.

“Nothing really.” Ginny shrugged, suddenly given a reprieve. “Uh-oh, here comes your admirer.”

Chrissy glanced over her shoulder. “He’s cute. Oh, he stopped to talk to somebody else. His loss.” She lowered her gaze, a fingertip tracing the top of her glass. It produced an odd wailing ring. “Who cares? Right, girlfriend, we’ve met our handsome prince. What do you think? I think he looks good enough to eat.”

“He meets our expectations.” Ginny pictured Lex in his velvet robe. “Maybe exceeds them.”

Chrissy wagged a finger at her. “I gave you first chance and a head start even. If you’re not going to make a move on him, I will.”

Ginny paled. In her heart, Lex had always belonged to her. If her friend made a play for him, she’d definitely succeed. Chrissy had a no-fail record. “Chrissy, I—”

Her phone jangled, putting a whoa on disastrous announcements. Ginny grabbed her handbag from the floor, plopped it on the table, rummaging through the contents for her cell. “Damn thing’s fallen to the bottom.” She found and held it to her ear. “Hello.”

“Ginny.” His voice, sounding bedroom sexy, summoning another more intimate image of his shaft. “I’m sorry to disturb you. Apparently, my phone wanted to speak with you. It dialed the last number in memory…yours.” A slight pause filled with strains of Beethoven. “Where are you? It’s very noisy.”

“Lex,” she spoke without thinking, shot Chrissy a look, but the neighboring table guy had involved her in conversation, a real feat since the band started its next set. “We’re at Séjour. Have you been there?”

“Never. It’s a notorious barre du ramasseur.” His tone and her limited French told her plainly Pickup bar. “Didn’t you know?”

A clatter in the background surprised Ginny. Loud noise and the Palace du Roma didn’t seem to belong in the same sentence. The palace was elegant to the nth degree.

“I didn’t know. We didn’t know. It seems okay.” She peeked over her glass at the fellow talking to her friend, hoping he held Chrissy’s attention for a while.

“I’ll say goodnight.” Lex’s voice grew distant. “Enjoy yourself.”

“Wait,” but the call ended.

Ginny lifted her gaze. Her friend was studying her…expectantly or accusingly? Had Chrissy somehow heard her part of the short conversation with Lex? Ginny smiled weakly. The music switched to bluesy, the tempo inviting. Couples and singles streamed onto the crowded dancefloor. Forcing herself not to chair dance, she smiled vaguely at the couples gyrating to the beat.

“Mademoiselle, I am Henri.” Their visitor introduced himself in heavily accented English. “If I may say, you are exquisite. That hair. So…” He appeared to be struggling for a word, finally concluding, “Rouge.”

Oh, no, Henri didn’t just kiss his fingers like a Frenchman in a trite B-movie!

“Yes, my hair is red.” She tried to go back to watching the dancers, but he turned from Chrissy and focused his eager hazel regard on Ginny. Not good. Chrissy was accustomed to being the center of attention. Worse yet, her friend had dropped the checkered flag on their race to the finish line—the trophy Prince Charming’s heart. Knowing Chrissy, she’d hand Henri to Ginny on a silver platter or feed him to the devil if it put her where she wanted to be. On the front page as Alexander’s new lover.

I just want him. His arms, his lips, all of him.

This time, Ginny refused to back down. In a game of hearts with Chrissy, she didn’t have a chance in hell, but Lex was everything she’d ever wanted. To Chrissy, he might be the biggest fish she’d ever landed, but he’d only be another heart dangling on her chain of hearts. Just a token to her beauty.

Blonde versus Redhead. News at eleven.

Chrissy’s eyes widened. A hand dropped on Ginny’s shoulder. She whirled, almost upsetting her tall, spindly stool, and met a royal blue, a fiery blue, gaze.

“Good evening, ladies,” Lex said. “May I join you?”

In an open-necked white shirt and a navy jacket, he looked delicious. The other women in the club seemed to agree.

“I thought you didn’t come here,” Ginny blurted, then recovered from shock and a double dose of pleasure, “Please, sit. It’s great to see you.” Why are you here?

***

Alexander’s POV

I pulled a stool near Ginny and hooked a leg over what there was of a seat. “I was in the neighborhood. The palace is only about seven minutes from here. Salud.”

Ginny tapped her glass to mine. “Salud.”

Chrissy shook back her luxuriant blonde tresses and reached behind to fluff them. “Salud.” She was all sweet smiles, but the fool with her simply stared at me.

I reached a hand across the table to him. “I’m Lex Leandres.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness, I know who you are.” He gave me a weak smile. The man’s superpower had to be invisibility. “It’s quite a pleasure to meet you.”

“You are?” I prompted.

“Henri Margeaux, at your service.”

I revised my opinion. Henri’s superpower wasn’t being invisible. I had the feeling any moment he’d snap a smart salute. When I’d have turned back to Ginny, Chrissy pinned me with a big, beauty-queen smile and said, “It’s been two weeks since the retreat. It’s been that long since we’ve seen you.”

“I’m sure you’ve been busy as well.” I sipped my scotch. “Life gets in the way of pleasure.” I didn’t give her another chance but smiled at Ginny. “What are you drinking?”

“A lemon drop martini. It’s very good. What’s your poison?”

“Scotch with a splash of water. Eugenie introduced me to a certain brand when she was home for Christmas. Her visits are rare.” I traced the rim of the glass with a fingertip. “The bartender didn’t stock my brand, but this will do nicely.”

“Your Highness.” Henri leaned across the table to better be heard. “What do you think of the strained relations with Russia?’

“Pardon me for not answering that question, Henri. I’m here to relax. In Monday’s televised speech, the King made the Crown’s feelings about Russia clear. I’d prefer not to rehash it now.”

“Of course, of course.” Henri withdrew across the table, turning his attention to Chrissy, who was staring at me.

I noticed that others had started crowding closer but not uncomfortably so. I was proud of my people. They didn’t crowd around, making a nuisance of themselves. Perhaps, it was because every day they rubbed elbows with movie-star tourists and diplomats. I glanced at Jean, one of my security men, standing supposedly relaxed at the table next over and had to stifle laughter. He looked terribly uncomfortable and out of place, almost as much as our own Invisible Man Henri.

“I liked your sister,” Ginny said. “Does she plan to visit soon?”

“I very much doubt it. Her presence requires a royal decree. Papa tries not to aggravate her rebellious spirit. Eugenie is very passionate about not being royal.” I gave a short laugh, glanced across the table, but Henri had engaged Chrissy in a dull conversation. “I don’t quite know why she tries so hard. Desjardins is a male progeniture state. She’ll never stand to inherit the throne.”

“She seems to expend a lot of energy on a cause without a cause.” Ginny smiled, hypnotizing me again.

“Exactly. She doesn’t relish all the hoopla. Life in a fishbowl, as she puts it. I understand to a large degree.” The band switched to a slow number. This was my chance to hold Ginny without raised eyebrows. “Would you like to dance?”

“I’d love to.” Her smile and her green onyx eyes were dazzling.

I took her hand, guiding her to the crowded dancefloor. In fact, there was no room left on its Plexiglass surface, but when we started to dance on the carpet, people made room for us.

“Dancing with the Crown Prince has its advantages,” Ginny whispered against my ear, sending a pleasant shiver over me.

I laughed. “I thought they recognized the ambassador’s assistant.”

“Oh, yes, that’s it.” She stroked a hand down my back, causing more than a shiver. Our bodies were welded together. I wished we were horizontal.

In a few more turns, she asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“The benefits of horizontal versus vertical.”

She chuckled and pushed back in my arms to smile up at me. “I’m all ears.”

“You have lovely ears.” I turned her back to the band, oblivious to all but their music, and let my hand wander below the curve of her waist.

“You make me feel like I live in a different century, one of elegance and grace and charm, so missing from our society today.”

“Ah, Ginny my dear, you are a dreamer.” Didn’t they say it takes one to know one? Maybe this pretty dreamer would recognize and rescue my romantic. He was trapped beneath a veneer of years and years of formalities—how to act, how to talk, even how to walk.

She lifted a hand in a vow. “I am a dreamer and proud of it. There are few enough of us left.”

I smiled but instantly sobered, afraid that the smile had been too wistful. “You could be a bad influence on me.”

“I wouldn’t want that.” Mischief danced in her eyes, her smile so deliciously wicked.

“I would.” I breathed a kiss into her hair.

The song came to an untimely end. Holding Ginny—she felt so good in my arms—and trying to hold back time, I could have danced all night. I held back, waiting for the next song, but the band announced they were taking a break.

“We might actually be able to talk and hear each other.” Holding both of my hands, she danced backwards a couple of steps, leading me toward the table.

Ginny perched on one of the barstools. I stood behind her with my hands at her waist. Staking my claim? Most assuredly. On the high-topped table, littered with Henri’s beer bottles and our drink glasses, the alarm on my phone buzzed. I glanced at my watch, shocked that it was nearly midnight. “I have to leave soon.” I pecked a kiss to her cheek. “Early day tomorrow.”

She slid to her feet. “Must you go?”

Our tablemates were still on the dancefloor, hugging close to canned music. As they turned, I saw Chrissy’s face. She didn’t look happy.

“It doesn’t appear Chrissy really likes Henri,” I said.

“I’d worry about her if she did.”

I laughed, and she shook her head. “Sorry I have to go. Will you be all right?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“A Henri might approach you.”

“I know how to say no.”

“You sound like Eugenie.”

“Yes, sir.” She gave her copper tresses a sexy toss. “Ginny does sound like Eugenie.”

“Wiseacre.” I whipped my phone onto my palm, activating the camera. “Selfie time. Smile for the camera.”

She winked at me and smiled at the camera’s eye. “Cheese.”

After I snapped the selfie, I checked my Photos file. “Great shot. Thanks.” I showed her our smiling faces. Chrissy might not look happy, but we did. It was the first time I’d been truly happy since…I remembered the Spring Ball when I’d begun searching for more in my life. Was Ginny the something I’d needed? In the photo, even I could see that the smile actually reached my eyes, and I knew it wasn’t a trick of light.

I glanced at the dancefloor, passing over curious stares. Holding onto each other and laughing, Chrissy and Henri stumbled toward the table.

I shot Ginny a glance, whispering, “Time to worry. Chrissy looks as if she likes him now.”

Ginny looked up and laughed. “There’s no accounting for taste.” She put a hand to her mouth. “That was mean.”

“Simply the truth.” I traced a fingertip along her cheek. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you.”

The sudden lovebirds arrived. Chrissy shot Ginny a glance that she thought I’d missed. The sexy blonde wasn’t interested in Henri. She simply envied Ginny. That was an arrogant thought, I knew, but I’d grown up knowing that some people fell in love with you merely because you were royalty. That was one of Eugenie’s problem in the romance department. It’s hard to tell the difference. With Ginny, I believed I’d found a genuine person who liked me for who not what I was.

Of course, I knew that this evening I’d sealed her fate, but I couldn’t resist. With Chrissy, the Invisible Man, and all of Sejour as witnesses, I bent to brush a kiss to Ginny’s sweetly parted lips. When I ended the kiss, she looked up at me and smiled dreamily, showing pert dimples. Yes, I meant to claim possession. Yes, I wanted everyone in the crowded pick-up bar to know that this redhead was off limits. She shivered, and I stripped off my coat, draping it around her shoulders. Now, clearly, she wore my brand. On the breast pocket was a badge of my personal coat of arms.

“Goodnight, Ginny.” I stroked her hair back from her face, losing myself anew in those incredible green eyes.

“Goodnight, Lex.” She blinked as if she’d been startled awake from a dream. “Don’t forget your coat.”

“Keep it. I’ll get it tomorrow night.” I dotted a kiss to the tip of her pretty nose, turned, and strode from the bar, confident that Ginny was now a marked woman.

In my car, reality had set in. I couldn’t behave as I’d just done. In the morning, some amateur photographer, using his phone camera, would become famous for the grainy photo of Ginny and me, kissing in the blue light at Sejour.

“Speaking of photos,” I muttered as I pulled up the selfie I’d taken. “You’re one pretty redhead, Ginny. I’m looking forward to tomorrow night.”

Bright and early tomorrow, Ginny might have to face the press outside the embassy because I’d dared live in the moment. Worse, perhaps, tonight she must face her friend. Chrissy had not been pleased for the happy couple. My heart lurched, thudded past a beat. Were we a couple? By sunrise, we’d be an item.

Driving home, I considered asking her to accompany me to Paris, but Eugenie had problems. My sister needed me, which she rarely did anymore. As kids, I’d been her big brother hero figure. As an adult, she was the tough, world-savvy heroine of her own life, forging her way alone. As the mantel clock chimed twelve silvery tones, I crawled into a cold bed, thinking of getting horizontal with Ginny.