Chapter Four

Kelsey’s navy wedges didn’t make a sound on the thick carpet. Nothing made a sound. For a place with over six hundred rooms and what had to be a staggering number of staff, it was eerily quiet.

“Your Highness?” Somehow Elias, with his crack bodyguard instincts, had picked up that she’d slowed to trail half a dozen steps behind him.

“Just…I need a second.”

Kelsey paused for a final mirror check. Didn’t take much, considering the lengthy hallway alternated sets of French doors to an elaborate garden with ten-foot-tall mirrors. Mirrors with frames that were thick gold swags of some kind of flower. They were spectacular, over-the-top museum pieces, at the very least. Just like everything else she’d seen so far in Alcarsa Palace. Or castle. She wasn’t clear on the distinction, and that was about ten thousand and one down on the growing list of questions she had.

Not to mention the single, overarching question Kelsey had for her parents. Specifically, the Wishners. What had they done?

How was she supposed to face her new family without an explanation from her old family? Her loyalty to the Wishners was rock solid, on a foundation of so much love it could never waver. But didn’t she also owe loyalty to the people—strangers—blood relations who’d searched for her for twenty-four years?

It’d twisted her up so much that even jet lag hadn’t given her more than a few hours of uneasy sleep. At least the fancy clothes should distract from the bags under eyes.

She wore a pale-blue skirt and sweater set that had been left on her bed while she showered this morning. Mallory had received a visit from the magic clothes fairy, too. Everything had been in exactly the right sizes. That had struck them as uber-creepy until Kelsey remembered that Elias’s guards had stayed behind to oversee packing up their apartment.

Did she love that two muscled strangers now knew her bra size? No. Not at all. But Kelsey was thrilled to not be meeting the rest of her…family in those damn yoga pants. They’d gotten the lipstick shades wrong, though, so a pale, subdued ghost of herself reflected back in the mirror.

“Come in with me,” she said to Mallory.

“Nope.” Her stubborn, annoying sister crossed her arms over a matching sweater set in a pale apricot that set off her long, auburn hair. The hair Kelsey had always envied. Had always wondered why she hadn’t inherited from the Wishner family gene pool, too. “This is a private moment. Like when you met the prince yesterday.”

Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Look how well that went. I don’t want to replicate that sub-par level of non-success.”

“Christian will be in there, right? So you can consider this your do-over with him.”

That was intriguing. She did that all the time with her graphic designs for clients. Started one, realized it was a boring mess, and started again. They always got better the second time around. Although sometimes it took four or five false starts…

Kelsey poked at the drooping corners of her eyes. Pushed them up and grimaced. “I’m not a morning person, and I’m jet-lagged.”

“Not an excuse.” Mallory turned her away from the mirror. “You are a night owl. And it’s ten hours difference, which makes it eleven p.m. in Manhattan, as well as in your body clock.”

They’d had dinner on trays in Kelsey’s amazing suite of rooms, slept in stunning canopy beds, and had cocoa and croissants for breakfast. All that pampering had done wonders for Mallory’s mood, apparently.

Kelsey, on the other hand, had spiraled into sheer terror as the hours ticked by toward the “family audience in the throne room.” And terror made her bitchy.

Scowling, she said, “You’re determined to be cheerful, aren’t you?”

“Mostly because I’m not the one who has to meet a freaking king today. I’d be shaking in my shoes if I did. But since it’s just you going under the royal microscope, it’s easy to be perky.”

“Did you fly thousands of miles to help me or to annoy me to death?”

“The jury’s still out on that. Last I checked, the two weren’t mutually exclusive.” Mallory’s giggles echoed, bouncing off the marble down the hallway.

Elias was suddenly at her shoulder. He tucked his head down so his mouth was at her ear. Warm breath popped goose bumps up all over her as he said softly, “You look beautiful. You look like a princess. Please take my word for it and keep walking?”

“God, I’m sorry.” It was so easy to forget that her quirks and moods could affect someone else’s job performance. She didn’t have anyone who reported to her at Omni Creative. This responsibility for someone else was brand new. Drivers and maids and bodyguards weren’t anything she’d asked for, but it appeared they weren’t going away. If anything, they were replicating faster than the aliens in Star Trek.

“You need never apologize to me, Your Highness.”

Oh no. Never, never would she turn into the kind of person who didn’t apologize, who didn’t thank everyone who did things on her behalf. Kelsey gave herself a mental slap on the knuckles. She didn’t intend to shirk that responsibility again. “You’ll get in trouble if I’m late?”

Elias straightened, tilting his hand back and forth. “It’s bad form to keep the king waiting.”

Interesting how Elias balanced that tightrope of not actually accusing her of screwing up, while still making her aware that she had. Kelsey didn’t want to let him down. And as reluctant as she was to meet the royal family, she certainly didn’t want their meeting to start out on the wrong foot.

Time to get this show on the road, especially since she’d now run out of clichés.

“As it so happens, I don’t condone lateness. Too many of my colleagues pull that artistic temperament crap. Punctuality is common courtesy. So let’s hustle.”

It only took five more sets of the door-and-mirror combos before they stopped in front of a set of doors topped with an elaborate crest. A man in a morning coat—which Kelsey proudly identified thanks to a recent re-binge of Downton Abbey—opened the doors and sort of semi-bellowed, “Miss Kelsey Wishner.”

Mallory beamed, giving her two thumbs-up for luck. With his own version of a go-get-’em nod, Elias widened his stance, assumed the fig leaf pose famed throughout centuries of art…which, of course, led Kelsey’s mind right back to wondering what he’d look like in that pose naked. For purely artistic reasons, of course.

Low-grade lust also served to melt away the worst of her nerves. As a person who always said her thank-yous, should Kelsey later inform Elias of how the prospect of seeing his hairy, muscled thighs helped propel her into the throne room?

Upon entering, it was easier for her art-loving eyes to drink in the massive room than the loose semicircle of people at the opposite end. Deep purple carpet was stamped along the border with golden pinecones. Tall windows overlooked the mountains on one side, and the ocean from the other. In between the windows were colorful flags that she guessed belonged to cities or provinces. Four enormous crystal chandeliers ran the length of the room, bringing her gaze to two—thankfully empty—thrones on a dais. Just above and behind one hung a portrait of a lovely woman with a blond updo supporting a crown.

A woman who looked enough like Kelsey to be, well, her mom.

That jolted her to a stop in her march across the carpet. Who was she kidding? That had to be the queen. Her mother. Her long dead mother, according to Elias. But yet here she was, being somewhat included in the family meet and greet. It was almost enough to jostle out a wholly inappropriate giggle.

Kelsey kept walking, encouraged by a smile from Christian. She’d been hoping for a cozy discussion on a couch over coffee. This was…pretty much as far away from that as you could get. Especially when her original plan for today had consisted of painting over some questionable stains on their bathroom walls.

Stepping forward, Christian cleared his throat. “King Julian, I present Kelsey Wishner, whom I solemnly vow and attest is your daughter.”

About five paces away, she stopped in front of the older man and curtsied.

The king didn’t say anything. He did keep staring at her, though.

What the hell? Mallory had practiced with her last night. Kelsey was positive that her curtsey was, if not on par with a prima ballerina, more than acceptable. What had she done wrong? Was it the borrowed clothes? And why was the woman who had to be her sister looking at her with such disdain?

This whole thing hadn’t been her damn idea. She’d forgive the lack of coffee and bagels, but she did not deserve to be stared at like a zoo animal shedding its skin. Kelsey’s temper burned off the rest of her nerves faster than a marshmallow went from toasty to scorched over a campfire.

Finally, in a soft, reedy voice vibrating with emotion, her father said, “You’re really her. You’re really here. I can hardly believe it.”

Kelsey nodded. “I am right there with you on that.”

He reached out an arm, as if to touch her, and then dropped it back to his side. Clearly, touchy-feely was off the agenda for the Villani family. But if not a group hug, then what next?

The silence stretching out was excruciating. In movies, scenes like this had soundtracks. Maybe an elegant string quartet in the background to match the regal room. Or swelling strings, overlaid by brass that portrayed the surge of emotion hypothetically swamping her relatives.

Couldn’t they at least open one of those enormous windows to let in a little bird song?

Thankfully, Christian came to her side to fill the gap. He led her down the line, one by one.

“Princess Genevieve, your sister.”

The woman was flat-out stunning. Kelsey could think of two occasions she’d come close to looking that flawless—prom night and college graduation. Both had required the help of professionals at the mall with both hair and makeup. And since graduation had been three years ago, Kelsey’s lack of attention/inadequacy in that area was a much more familiar feeling.

Genevieve looked so much like her, only polished and more refined. The same blond hair and violet eyes. A pearl necklace circled her throat, matching the fat pearl studs in her ears. Her pale-green suit had a peplum flare at the waist. Beige pumps had heels skinny enough to use in needlepoint. The only thing that marred the look was the thin, downward twist to her mouth.

Having been briefed on the all-important birth order and protocol, Kelsey curtsied to her older sister. “I look forward to spending time with you.”

After all, Mallory was her best friend. Another sister would just be loading on the goodness, right? Two cupcakes were always better than one.

Lips barely moving, Genevieve said, “My schedule is run through my private secretary.”

Ouch. Elsa from Frozen had nothing on the bitch ice princess of Moncriano. If that was the way it was going to be, one cupcake was fine. Two would just make her fat. Or make her face break out.

Christian nudged Kelsey’s elbow to move her on to a woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a plumper build. “Duchess Mathilde, your aunt.”

A series of brisk nods was accompanied with a wide smile. “Oh, my dear, this is such a joyous day.” Two lines of fat tears tracked down her cheeks.

Well, Kelsey certainly didn’t want to make the woman cry. But it was gratifying to get some sort of emotional feedback. No hug yet. Although Mathilde did keep clasping and unclasping her hands at her waist. That had to count for something. “Trust me when I say I’m not worth crying over. I’m fairly ordinary.”

“There is nothing ordinary about the Villani royal family,” snapped the next woman in line, her snow-white hair feathered back from her stern face. “Not after holding this country together for almost seven hundred years.”

She wore black, and a blinding diamond pin on her lapel. Or was something that big and flashy called a brooch? And shouldn’t there be a rule about saving the more than four-carat jewelry for after lunch? Like the one about saving white tie and tails for after six p.m.?

“Gran, you’re not making a speech to Parliament. Dial back the rhetoric a little.” With a faint smile of apology, Christian said, “The Grand Duchess Agathe, your maternal grandmother.”

Kelsey curtsied again. If she stayed in Moncriano, she’d need to add squats to her exercise regimen to get her in shape for all this knee bending. “Nice to meet you.”

“Jumping to conclusions, aren’t you? As for my part, I shall withhold judgement until the end of this meeting.” She thrust a shiny white folder embossed with a golden seal at Kelsey. “It took a great deal of effort on my part to get things organized on such short notice. Do not be late to any of these appointments. Punctuality is the rule here, not the exception.”

Too bad she couldn’t say the same about warmth and courtesy.

Kelsey gripped the folder with both hands. “Better three hours too soon, than one minute too late. William Shakespeare agreed with you. As do I.”

That earned her a sniff. No way of knowing if it was good or bad, though. Her grandmother gestured to the folder. “That’s only for the next two days. Obviously more will be added, culminating in the public announcement of your return. Then we’ll set you up with a real itinerary.”

It was odd. They acted as if this was a done deal. As though this life was automatically better than the one Kelsey had worked and planned for in New York. When, in fact, all the croissants and new clothes in the world couldn’t just take the place of her lifelong dream. A dream she was in no way ready to give up.

Pride in family was a universal concept. She understood where they were coming from. Kelsey just wished that someone would put in a tiny bit of effort to understand where she was coming from.

The king broke off from the line. Kelsey was a little surprised an alarm didn’t sound as he left formation. “I’m sorry your old room was unavailable, but we didn’t think you’d want to sleep in what used to be a nursery. It’d be far too small for your current needs.”

Current needs? Mallory had discovered after their first supply run to an authentic NYC bodega that the twenty-four pack of ramen was too wide to fit on the kitchen shelves. They’d stashed it at the bottom of the coat closet. That was where her head was with “current housing needs.”

She swallowed back a laugh before answering. “The rooms are beautiful, Your Majesty. Far more than I need. I think the bathroom is the size of my entire apartment back in Manhattan. If you want to save it for a real VIP guest and move me somewhere else, that’d be fine.”

“Valentina, nobody is more important than you.”

Kelsey tried not to do an obvious crossing-the-street-left-right-left with her head, if not with her eyes. But who was the king talking to? Had someone else join—

Ohhhhh. That must be her name.

Her original name. Her princess name. It certainly sounded royal. Lilting, even.

Shocking beyond words, however, to hear her name for the first time in twenty-five years. How had Elias never so much as mentioned it to her? Or for that matter, how had she not asked? “Kelsey” was cute and spunky and not royal at all. She should’ve realized that immediately.

It wasn’t Elias’s fault. It was all hers. Okay, maybe she’d throw Mallory under the bus for at least 20 percent of the blame, too.

She needed to be on her toes. Stop letting change and information steamroll right over her. Stop letting everyone else take charge and herd her along. It was still her life. And she was the only one in charge of that.

Kelsey would be respectful and courteous and try her damndest. But she needed to stick up for herself way more. Get out in front of this avalanche of everybody else knowing more than her about, well, herself.

Crap. Being two people at once made it super hard to even think in normal sentences.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. That’s a very sweet sentiment. But may I ask a favor?”

“Of course. Anything you want is yours. Everything here is yours.” When the king said that, Kelsey caught her big sister’s discernible twitch from the corner of her eye. Not big on sharing, huh? Or just not a fan of all things Kelsey-centric? “Name it, and you shall have it.”

He really did talk like a king. Kelsey wondered if he kept up all that formality during, oh, game night or playing tennis. Was that stiffness and distance a part of King Julian? Or something she could ascribe to the horrible awkwardness of him loving a stranger and not knowing what to do with that?

“I’d like you to call me Kelsey.”

“Absolutely not,” snapped her grandmother.

Genevieve tilted her head the slightest bit so she could condescendingly glare down her nose. “That’s not a royal name at all. It certainly doesn’t fit here in Moncriano. It sounds like it belongs to a slutty girl on a reality television show.”

What. A. Bitch. Kelsey didn’t even have time to react to the slur before her aunt jumped in to protest.

“Valentina, my dear, you don’t realize how special your name is,” said Mathilde. “It was our great-great-grandmother’s. And she was an Italian principessa twice over.”

Their accents, while faint, made everything being thrown at her seem even more, well, foreign. Kelsey had a sudden flash of longing for Elias.

Not a rip-off-my-clothes-and-take-me-now type of longing. Well, that kind, too, now that she thought about it. But to have him next to her as somebody to be on her team. To guide her through this room that felt conversationally booby-trapped. Like invisible lasers crisscrossing a museum after lights-out.

“Valentina—” the king began, but Kelsey cut him off by taking three steps forward, going almost nose to nose with him. Was that even allowed? Was there a personal-space rule that she hadn’t yet been told regarding all persons above her own rank?

Well, tough.

Taking a stand required a little drama. Just a little. She wasn’t going to make a king talk to the hand or anything.

“Pardon me, Your Majesty, but I’m not the baby you lost twenty-five years ago. I’m a grown woman. With my own history, career, and most of all, my own name.”

It got quiet again. Eerily quiet. The lineup of her relatives all wore matching, slightly open mouths and wide eyes. Worst family portrait pose ever, but Kelsey wasn’t worried. She didn’t regret one bit drawing that line in the sand. The only thing she did regret was the flicker of utter sadness that sort of melted across the king’s face.

It was gone in a matter of seconds, though.

Christian finally saved the day. “Why don’t we all agree to call you Kelsey while we get to know each other? The staff were already commanded to use that name in order to help keep your return under wraps. We can discuss how to address you formally when it’s closer to the announcement.”

Her father nodded. “That’s acceptable. I may slip up a time or two, but it will be purely by accident, I promise. I’ve had a picture of you in my head, a certain way, for a very long time.”

Kelsey would take the compromise. For now. “And I’ve been this version of myself my whole life. Changing on a dime will be a challenge for all of us, I imagine.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Lo and behold, the king reached out one hand and gave her a gentle pat on the arm. If he could bend, so could she.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Crap. How long did you have to know your dad before it was okay to lie to him? The answer was probably well north of the ten minutes that totaled her relationship with the king. “Well, I did, but only to make sure you heard me, loud and clear.”

“There’s a good chance the gardeners in the fountain court heard you,” Genevieve sniped.

Kelsey had earned her win for the morning. She’d let that one slide. Turning to Christian, she asked, “Uh, what announcement?”

“The official announcement to the world of the return of the missing Villani princess. It will be in two weeks.”

Her grandmother sighed. “It would be nice to have more time to prepare, but there’s little chance of keeping the secret any longer.”

“Official? You mean a press release?”

“An official edict,” the king corrected. “As well as an introduction to Parliament, and a formal reassumption of your place in the royal family.”

Every time Kelsey thought she’d caught her breath, another big wallop of information left her panting in surprise.

What happened to easing into the whole family thing first? Icebreakers, maybe. Whatever the royal version of that was—croquet and tea? Why didn’t she have the chance to get to know these utter strangers who claimed her as theirs before worrying about the rest of the freaking country?

So she only had two weeks to decide whether or not to do this? To take on this whole other life and leave the one she knew—and loved—behind? Tackling the problem of being— becoming—a princess in less time than it took for cottage cheese to spoil?

That was it. Kelsey couldn’t stand here and listen to any more without hard-core help. “Is there any possible way we could finish this over coffee? The stronger, the better?”