Chapter 16

Ginny’s POV

Alone in a taxi on a dreary, rainy day. Ginny arrived at the Parsonage. The instant she looked at the door, she wanted to go home to Charleston. Why homesickness caught her here at the bottom of a blue Monday, she couldn’t fathom, but it took all she could summon to get out of the cab. With both feet on the ground, she hesitated. Where was Lex now?

This weekend, she’d hung out in Paris with the prince she loved and a tart but funny princess. Who’d have thought Ginny MacDonald’s dreams would come true? Her sojourn in fantasyland had ended with a hot kiss and a tight embrace at Eugenie’s door. She remembered every inch of his body pressed against hers, and a tear trickled down her cheek as she walked u up the hedged path.

The Desjardins royal jet had whisked them back to reality, Paris merely an affair to remember. At the airport, Marcus had escorted Ginny to a waiting cab. A little jagged spike of fear had rooted her to the ground—that it was all over, and she’d never again taste his kiss or feel his arms around her. As the beautiful countryside scrolled by the window, then the city crawled past, her spirits had lifted. Her feelings were on a rollercoaster. When had she lost control?

As she approached the Calhouns’ front door, pulling her weekend case behind her, Ginny whispered a short laugh. She hadn’t worn half what she’d packed and would have been just as happy to wear less. Within steps of the front door, her phone rang. She delved into her large leather handbag, searching for The March of the Gladiators, her ringtone. Fright, one more ring and it would to voicemail. Her fingers closed around it. “Hello.”

“There’s nowhere in the world you can run to hide from me, little Ginny MacDonald. I’ll haunt your every step. Did you hear? You don’t seem to have heard the first time I called. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Give him up. Or I’ll destroy you. I vow it. I’ll cause you pain.” The voice was European, cultured, and faintly familiar, like someone you’d heard passing by on the street.

Furious, Ginny hit End Call, cramming the phone into her handbag. She wished she’d missed the call. If she’d felt bad before, now she was angry and wretched. She lifted her hand to ring the bell. The door opened before she touched the button.

And she was totally unprepared for the reception she received.

Chrissy glowered at her, blocking the way, holding the door. She looked as if they were sworn enemies not best friends. She stiffened under her friend’s cold scrutiny. No. She might as well face the fact that their friendship wasn’t on the rocks. It was dead and gone.

“Well, the prodigal returns.” The blonde girl’s hands shifted to her hips, her eyes chill and hard as the stone walls.

“Prodigal? You knew I’d gone out of town.” Ginny shrugged as if her heart weren’t breaking. “A mini-vacation.”

“With Prince Alexander.” Chrissy tilted her head, her chin jutting at Ginny.

“I wish.” Ginny rolled her eyes. After all, she’d spoken only the truth. She wished for hundreds of secret getaways with Lex, day-after-day, year-after-year. A pang of fear lanced her chest, stealing her breath and her smile. When they’d parted at the airport, her prince charming hadn’t mentioned seeing her again.

“I’m sure you do,” Chrissy sneered.

“May I come in? It’s raining harder,” Ginny folded the handle of her tug-along weekender. The luggage was pretty and bright with bands of color alternating from black through purple to mauve. Today needed more than a bit of brightening up.

“Sure. You live here.” Chrissy stood aside, but under her breath, she muttered, “For now.”

Ginny rolled her luggage into the foyer, leaving damp streaks on the elegant black-and-white tile. “Sorry. I’ll wipe this up.”

Chrissy didn’t glance at the floor. Arms folded across her chest, she said, “Ginny, I think you should run upstairs and pack. Go home. You’re about to get in a world of trouble with that man. And your intimate relationship with a guy I mentioned I liked, well, it makes things very uncomfortable. I know you work for my father, but…”

All the emotion bottled up in Ginny funneled into anger. “I do not work for your father. I work for the U.S. Government. I don’t have to leave my job until the department asks me to resign.”

Chrissy shook her head as if Ginny were the biggest fool on the planet. “Ginny MacDonald, I thought you were my friend, but you knifed me in the back. I just want to slap your face.” She raised a hand, palm open. “But I won’t.”

Having stiffened for the blow, Ginny relaxed. “You’re blowing this all out of proportion, and I did not knife you in the back. I had a date with Lex before you even declared your intentions.”

How could one go from Heaven to Hell in just four short hours?

“Rub it in, bitch.” Her new enemy spun on her heel, stalking to the mahogany staircase, a graceful remnant of bygone days. She halted at the foot of the stairs, facing Ginny with narrowed eyes. “Go home.”

Shocked to humiliated silence, Ginny simply stared, but did not really see the cruel expression on Chrissy’s once beautiful face. If she ran home with her tail tucked between her legs, she’d never see Lex again, and that prospect was worse than living with Chrissy’s malice. Or was it?

Face contorted by bitterness, the blonde spat, “Jeez.” With a last evil glance, she marched up the stairs and out of sight.

A vision of Lex in his PJs in Paris blinded Ginny to Chrissy’s rancor.

Numb, stunned by the other woman’s rancor, Ginny climbed the stairs, her feet leaden. She had nowhere to turn, nowhere else to go in Desjardins. God, she didn’t want to go home. Alone. The word echoed in her fear and confusion. As she hoisted her luggage to the bed, her cell phone jingled.

With no enthusiasm for anything, she muttered, “Hello.”

“Ginny, you’re home safe?” Lex! “How was your trip? I’m sorry I couldn’t send you in a limo.” In the background, she heard snatches of mixed conversations. “I know you understand.”

“Lex,” she exhaled in relief. The tears she’d suppressed flooded down her cheeks. Her voice caught, then scarcely knowing what she did, she described the horrible scene upon her arrival home, finishing with, “I guess I’ll go home.”

“You can’t. You cannot go home. I—I…I’m sorry about what happened with Chrissy. The entire fiasco is her fault, not yours.”

“Thanks.” She nearly added darling but choked on the word of endearment. “I feel much better, but, Lex, I’ve no choice but to leave. The malevolent atmosphere would shrivel me. And I’d never be able to…”

“See me again?” A bell chimed in the background—a clock, a call for a servant? “That isn’t going to happen. Ginny, I rang to ask if you’d like to go to my next polo match. Perhaps, you and I can persuade Eugenie to visit and sit with you. Saturday is supposed to be a fine day for being outdoors.”

“I don’t care if it’s raining,” Ginny gushed, happiness making her giddy. She clutched a pink lace bra from her case to her heart. “I’ve never seen a live polo match. I’d love to go but won’t that be a statement. I—I’m willing, but you—".

“Yes.” Without pause, he said, “I’m willing to make that statement. In fact, if the ambassador allows his daughter to mistreat you, he’s not only a fool, but, perhaps, the truth will shake him awake.” The strength and command in his voice made Lex sound like a king. “I must be at the grounds early. I’ll send a car for you at two. Match is at three. We’ll have time for a quick champers. The opposing team is hosting a tent party. If there’s anyone you’d like to invite, please do.”

“No, no one.” Ginny could count her friends on one hand, and in Desjardins, they numbered none. She put a smile in her voice. “I don’t mind sitting alone.”

“Yes, coming,” he said away from the phone.

“Lex, are you at your speaking engagement?”

“Just beginning. I must run. Look in the mirror and give yourself a kiss for me,” and again as only he could do, he kissed the word, “Au revoir.”

“Bye, hon.”

As the initial shock wore off, realization slowly dawned on Ginny. Lex was acknowledging their relationship, whatever it was! Sheer joy weakened her knees. She flopped on the bed, her case open beside her, the pink bra still clutched to her breast. If only she had someone to share this feeling with, but the one she would have told… Chrissy had asked her to leave. “I refuse to be sad. You can’t be sad if your dearest dream has come true.”

Smiling, Ginny slipped off the bed, danced to the mirror, leaned over, and pressed a quick kiss to her reflection. “If I were the prince’s girlfriend, what would I wear?”

A little panic seized her. She hurried to the closet to search her meager selection.

***

Alexander’s POV

My copper-haired princess sat on the sidelines in her brown-and-white polka dot dress. A wide-brimmed white hat shadowed her face.

I urged my pony to the side of the field to say hello. When she saw me separate from the other players, she rose. The dress flared beneath a white patent leather belt that hugged her slender waist and fluttered around shapely ankles that I remembered crossed—I censored my own thoughts. Neither the time nor the place. Damn, she was a pretty woman—the most beautiful in a multitude of beauties that probably included a movie star or two. I sat back in the saddle, stiffening my spine to halt my pony. Certain feelings that I was afraid to name had been haunting me since we parted on Monday.

Now, five days later, they surfaced even stronger. With pleasure—and pride—I watched her walking toward me. Her walk was elegant as her polka-dot dress. I knew I’d seen the design on a model somewhere. I was sure it looked better on Ginny, “Hey, you.” She halted quite near my side.

Excellent. She wasn’t afraid of horses. “Good afternoon, beautiful. Why don’t you put your hand on my knee and make it a scandal? We’ll subscribe to Oscar Wilde’s viewpoint. There is only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that’s not being talked about.”

“Oh, you are in fine form today.” She laughed.

“I hope so. We’ll see…” I glanced at my watch. “…in about eight minutes.”

“You’re Number Four. Does that mean anything?”

Our team colors were scarlet striped with navy. “Number Four is referred to as the Back I’m the last in line of defense. I’m a long hitter. I usually I take the hits in. My defense depends on my ability to hit strong backhands. And that’s way more than you asked for...”

She smiled, shaking her head. “I have something for you.” She lifted her palm. A strip of red ribbon gleamed on her palm. “Since we want people to talk. I’m no lady, but when you ride into battle…”

I smiled down at her and completed her sentence. “I can carry your favor. I love it. We’ll begin a new tradition in polo. I’ll tie it to my saddle.” I looped my lady’s favor through the D-ring. “Thank you, my lady.”

Finally, she rested her hand on my knee. “You know you look like Nacho Figueras with blue eyes.”

Nacho Figueras is a well-known Argentine player with a 6-goal handicap. He moonlights with Ralph Lauren as the face for his Black Label line of Polo fragrances.

“Look behind you,” I said. “He may be there.”

“I like your horse better.” She didn’t whirl as most women would do.

“Ah ha.” I laughed, then sobered at a warning. “Seriously, Ginny, keep your eye on the field. Eight twelve-hundred-pound horses charging after a solid ball can spell trouble in the sidelines. Are you alone?”

“You’ll see who’s with me in about three minutes.” She gave me a cat who just ate the canary grin and winked.

A fellow teammate whistled to me. I saluted Ginny with a wink, turned, and trotted to my pony to my place on the team. The loudspeaker announced that the ball would be thrown by Her Royal Highness The Princess Eugenie. Shock almost knocked me from my saddle. My sister was home without being summoned! And at a polo match! The sky was going to fall.

The ball struck the field between the two teams. We charged into play, my new pony quickly showing his mettle and speed as a player on the opposite team attempted to ride me off in a bump. A good bump can shake discs and rattle teeth. He’d made a hard bid to spoil my shot and remove me from the play. He was within the forty-five-degree limit, but we held our own, and I completed my shot, racing for the goal.

Score one for Desjardins.

As I wheeled my pony riding hard for another shot, I risked a glance at the sidelines. In a white chair beneath the royal awning, Ginny sat beside my sister. If I’d been a contestant on one of those TV shows where I had to choose the real princess, I’d have chosen—I had to concentrate on the match. The first of six chukkas sped by in fierce competition, and the others in rapid succession.

Following the match, spectators, players, sponsors, and friends gathered on the field to congratulate the winners and enjoy the ceremonial sabrage, or Sabre a Champagne. The art of Sabrage, opening a bottle of bubbly with the sabre, a small traditional sword, originated in France during the Napoleonic wars. The loud pop of the cork announced a shower of champagne. I laughed as it rained on my damp hair. On the field, I was just one of the players, and the traditions of the game must be kept. The sabre wielder filled the winning team captain’s glass first, then moved on, serving the rest of the team.

After the ritual toast, squinting against the sun, I scanned the crowd for Ginny. As I lifted my glass, I spotted her in conversation with Georges, a member of my father’s royal council. She looked over her shoulder, saw me, and nodded an acknowledgment. In the beautiful and elegant crowd, Ginny stood out as the prettiest, and, though surrounded with nobility and wealth, the most graceful. Images from our intimate Paris getaway flashed before my eyes like so many playing cards. She and Georges turned, walking toward me. I watched her striding across the field, and with each step she drew nearer, the flame in me burned hotter. Well-wishers swarmed around us and the visiting French team. Soon, I was lost in the sea of people, Ginny hidden from sight. I awoke from the spell she’d unwittingly cast when my groom accepted my pony’s reins and led him away.

At a light touch on my elbow, I turned, and time froze. “Ginny.” I knew I’d greeted her far too warmly. I didn’t care. “Did you enjoy the match?”

Her smile was quick and for me alone. “The match was very exciting. You had me on the edge of my seat when that other player bumped into you. It was amazing you stayed on course. Amazing to me that you stayed on your horse,”

“He did rather crash into me. Did you know that bump is the proper term for that play?” I asked, wondering if Ginny had researched the game.

She shook her head, sunlight firing her hair bronze.

I caught her elbow, guiding her out of the way of another shower of champagne and turned to the head councilor. “Greetings, Georges. Did you enjoy the match?”

“Excellent game, sir. You played well as usual.” Georges’ handlebar moustache, in alternating shades of gray, waggled when he talked. Except for the thick white hair atop his aristocratic face, he’d have been a laughable character.

“Not well enough to win,” I said as the champagne bearers served Ginny and Georges.

“You can’t play the entire match by yourself.” Ginny accepted the flute, her long fingers curled sensually around the stem.

By now, Ingrid would have had her hands on me somewhere, but Ginny clutched her white patent leather bag with her free hand and hadn’t touched me except the brief hand to my knee…and beneath the skin. In the middle of a polo field, in a champagne rain, we stood gazing into each other’s eyes while Georges rabbited on about the game. To me, the people around us had become ghosts. Usually, I sensed trouble’s approach—a built-in royal radar that had saved my ass in many sticky situations. Today, Ginny had caused a total systems overload that had apparently taken down my detection system.

“Hello, Prince Alexander.” Chrissy and her father materialized from nowhere in front of me. Her judgmental gaze darted to Ginny, standing as near as only a close companion would.

In the general confusion, I hadn’t noticed their approach. If I’d been more aware of my surroundings and less aware of the woman at my side, I’d have whisked Ginny out of harm’s way. I’d missed that opportunity, must now smile my way out of a bad situation, The French team’s blue-and-gold banner snapped above a white tent. The post-match party was gearing up. Black uniforms scurried among the gathering crowd. Already the soft breeze carried strains of French classical music. Ravel’s throbbing and sensual Bolero made me want to skip the party, ditch everything including our clothes, and jump into bed with my green-eyed sweetheart.

“Hello, Chrissy.” I smiled, wishing I could snub the woman for being unkind to Ginny. “Ambassador.” I aimed the polite question at a point somewhere between the two of them. “Did you enjoy the afternoon?”

“The weather was perfect.” John gestured at the field. “This is my first match. Chrissy insisted I’d love polo. Very exciting. Very demanding sport.”

Chrissy spoke on the heels of his last word. “It must be wild fun riding that fast, the tight turns, and hitting at a moving target at the same time.”

“I like it. I’ve played since junior league. Polo runs a close second to fast cars. This match, ah, the other team owe us champers and caviar. They’ve a lot of nerve beating us on our own turf.” I offered my pretty red-haired companion my arm. “Ginny and I are off to the tent party. Ambassador, Chrissy, would you like to accompany us?”

Of course, I was duty-bound to ask the ambassador, and as much as I hated doing so, I had to include his daughter. If she started anything, I might lose my manners.

Chrissy glanced at Ginny. Even I, not the target of that look, felt the sting of its acidity. I shot Chrissy a warning glance that fell on blind eyes. Damn if I’d allow the ambassador’s spoiled brat to ruin Ginny’s first match.

John glanced over his shoulder at the white tent filling with guests. “Thank you for inviting us along.”

“Of course.” With Ginny’s hand resting on my arm, I stepped forward.

“Would you mind escorting me, too, Prince Alexander?” Chrissy moved to my left side.

If not for twenty-six years of living to be king, my jaw would have dropped. I was accustomed to smiling even when I wanted to cry. Without blinking, I offered her my elbow. Ginny didn’t miss a beat. She gave her friend—ex-friend—a stunning smile. Her reaction impressed me. Why little Ginny MacDonald from Charleston, South Carolina, was adept at politics. Later when we were alone, like tonight I hoped, I’d compliment her smooth behavior. The young woman had beauty, brains, and savor faire—something she brought naturally to the situation.

As we entered the pavilion, people paused to gape at the newsworthy threesome. The gossip hungry must be speculating which of the beautiful women was Ingrid’s replacement…while I found myself with one too many beauties. With the redhead on the right, I must guard my heart. With the blonde to my left, I must guard the redhead. I had no desire to witness Chrissy ripping Ginny to verbal shreds. Ginny wouldn’t defend herself, if only to avoid embarrassing me and the ambassadorship.

As we excused our way to the champagne fountain, a dignitary from Canada stopped the ambassador. Across the pavilion’s carpet of thick green grass, my father caught my eye. A little frown flitted across his face, then he smiled and beckoned. The old fox would enjoy watching a spitting kitty match between Chrissy and Ginny, but that was impossible, so I suspected he’d enjoy just watching.

People stood aside, giving us preference in the food queue, but I waved them on. We joined the end of one queue. I handed a white scalloped plate to each of my companions, and we proceeded with the line choosing from smoked salmon, black caviar, boiled shrimp, baked Brie, and Portobello mushrooms stuffed with crabmeat. There were silver trays of pate on toast, tomato caprese, and French cheeses. Finally, we reached my favorite—crab legs.

Plates in hand, champagne balanced in our fingers, I waved the girls ahead. “Shall we?”

My parents and a few close friends who enjoyed polo were in a heated discussion of the match. As we approached, the dialog faded from animated to silence. I smiled a greeting all around and introduced the ladies to the company. My father gave me a knowing look, then his gaze shifted from Ginny to Chrissy. The blonde added to my introduction that she was the US ambassador’s daughter.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Calhoun.” My father said. “I’d assume the ambassador is near. I’d like to speak with him, not about business but about a golf outing.”

“I’m sure he’d be delighted, your Majesty.” Chrissy batted her eyes at the king and smiled to include me, treating Ginny as if she were an unwelcome ghost. “He’s in the crowd somewhere.”

He nodded, his eyes now for the pretty redhead only. “I’ve spoken with you several times, Ms. MacDonald.”

“Yes.” She tilted her head and smiled. “I’m now officially the ambassador’s assistant.”

I saw the moment my father fell under the spell Ginny unwittingly cast. He wouldn’t object to my choosing Ginny instead of the ambassador’s daughter. He looked at her long after the conversation had moved on. My mother was likely to object. She’d always held by the rules of what royalty should and should not do.

“Ginny will be with us for the summer,” Chrissy added, feigning a woebegone expression. “I know Dad will miss her come Fall. So will I.”

Ginny looked as if Chrissy had handed her a plane ticket home. I’d known but stowed the knowledge safely in a state of denial. The blonde brat had brought home that Ginny would one day be gone. G.O.N.E. Not in my life anymore. The full realization staked me to the ground. I think it was in that moment I made a life-altering decision.

Neither Ginny’s life nor mine would ever be the same.