Chapter 12

“Do you need help with that case?” Eugenie pointed at my luggage.

I chuckled, balanced the case on one roller, and gave it a spin. “That would be nice, sister-dear. I’d wondered when you’d offer.” Taking the suitcase’s handle, I steered toward her guest room. At the door, I turned. “I like your pink-and-gray decorating scheme, especially the accent wall surrounding the fireplace. It really emphasizes the pink glass wall each side. Did you hire a painter, or was it dark gray when you bought the unit?”

“I’m quite the capable runaway.” With movie star flare, she tossed her blonde tresses. “I painted that wall with a ladder borrowed from the handyman. That vaulted ceiling finally stumped me. I had to hire a painter to get to the top. Let me know what you think of your room. I repainted it myself.”

“I’m impressed.” I gestured at the tinted sunlight streaming through the exterior wall. “You must feel like you’re always wearing rose-colored glasses.”

“I like it that way.”

“Eugenie.” I hesitated in the full glare of the sun, looking at the world through my own rose-colored glasses. “Why isn’t Ginny queen material?”

“Please, you’re not that naïve. Go. Freshen up. We’re doing Paris tonight.”

“I thought you wanted to talk to me about your romantic problems.”

She grabbed something from the fruit ball, aiming it at my head. I ducked aside, flung up my hand, and caught the projectile grape.

“Flying fruit.” I popped the grape into my mouth. “I have a new expletive. Flying fruit, I thought you loved me.”

“Go.” She aimed a finger at the door.

I liked the guest room. The walls were a slightly darker gray than the living room. The accent wall behind the bed was modern in design, a deeper gray with wide charcoal stripes. The sleigh bed, an interesting grayish brown with the palest blush comforter, called my name. I suspected I’d need a nap before the night was over. My sister held her doctorate in partying. When I’d brushed teeth and swept a comb through my longish locks, I returned to the living room to find Eugenie with a newspaper in hand.

And dressed for clubbing in a short black leather dress.

“You look awesome.” I whistled.

“The Mirror.” She waved the tabloid. “They love the Leandres family. You’re the focus of this afternoon’s headlines. You and Ginny gazing into each other’s eyes over a candlelight dinner. What do you suppose the ambassador will think when his secretary outranks him?”

“That I have good taste.” I stretched full-length on the dark gray sofa, resting my head on the arm.

“Seriously, Lex, if you get serious about this girl, you’re going to have problems.”

“I think I already am…” I met my sister’s penetrating gaze. Eugenie could warn people with a glance. It must be the chill blue of her eyes. My mother shared this attribute. “Serious about Ginny, I mean.”

“You’re riding for a fall.” She lurched off the matching loveseat and came to kneel at my side. “Please don’t do this—”

I held her chin between my index finger and thumb. “You are the doomsayer today.”

“Don’t do this to her. Please don’t do this to yourself. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

I’d rarely seen my sister this earnest. She gazed into my eyes until her phone rang, spoiling the effect, but not the impact on me. She looked back at the loveseat. The angle gave me a good look at her eyes. Tears clung to her lashes. A burning pain indistinguishable from fear drove down through me. I didn’t want to trouble my sister. I wasn’t keen on the thought on pain, but at that moment, I thought only of Ginny. Had my selfishness already cost her a friend and jeopardized her job?

“Eugenie.” I blew out a long breath. “I think either way—if I stay with it or back off—I’m going to be hurt. I daresay so will she. Ginny represents much, much more to me than a passing fancy. As I said, in a way, she stands for freedom. You know all about wanting to be free, but unlike you, I can’t run away.”

She rose in one liquid, abrupt motion. “Oh, Lex, I don’t envy you.” Extending her hand, she said, “Hurry. With any luck, we can outrun our troubles—and the media.”

“I’m sorry. I jumped in and didn’t give you a chance—"

When I stood, she threw her arms around me, gave me a tight squeeze. “Noodle, noodle,” she said, rubbing her head against my cheek as she had when we were small.

I stroked her fine, soft hair as I had then. “Now, tell me about your troubles.”

She rested her head on my shoulder, and again I thought of Ginny. “I don’t have any.”

“No man troubles I can fix with a swift blow from a sword?” I smiled down at my baby sister.

“None.”

“I’m sorry. I guess eligible noblemen in Europe are a dying breed; otherwise…”

“Otherwise, Papa would still be littering my path?” She laughed, but sadly, I thought. “He is. Our love lives are his favorite hobby. Do you wonder if every woman you meet only wants you because you are a prince?”

“That’s not my first thought.” I sighed. “My second, perhaps.”

“There’s Ginny.” She smoothed a hand across my shoulder. “Do you wonder?”

“At first, perhaps.” I pictured her backlit by the fire and shook my head. “No. She’s very genuine. I believe she would find the pretense difficult. Ingrid was a definite yes. I used her; she used me, each of us keeping our feelings at a safe distance. Is that what you think? Eugenie, you’re beautiful and intelligent.”

“Shush.” This time I knew her smile was sad. “Every man I meet I compare to Xavier. No, no, don’t say I should go back to him and damn the torpedoes. It’s as impossible as you and your Ginny.”