Chapter Six

Be careful what you wish for.

Some fuzzy old Chinese proverb that she’d always mocked for being too negative was messing with her. Big time.

Kelsey stared at the door that had snicked shut only a moment before. The white door with beautiful gold, curlicued molding that, for all she knew, was probably covered in actual gold leaf. Staring at the door was far preferable than turning around to face the unexplained giant racks of clothes.

She’d wished for a life with excitement, a nonstop reckless pace, a constant hubbub of activity. She’d meant for that wish to come true in Manhattan. Instead, some laughing, sarcastic genie had farted out a vastly different version of her wish.

The first meeting with the highest-ranking members of the House of Villani—because it had been made clear to her that there were plenty of lesser-ranked members yet to come—definitely felt like it happened too fast, too soon.

Then the kiss with Elias…well, that wasn’t too soon, exactly, since the possibility of it had been tickling around the edges of her brain since Kelsey first clapped eyes on those firm, chewable lips.

It had definitely ended too fast, though. Then her replacement bodyguard had rushed her inside to meet with a frowning man in what looked like a graduation robe who’d lectured her about Moncriano’s history. This happened while Kelsey was given twenty precious minutes to shovel down a scallop salad (delicious), one flaky biscuit (she would’ve given Mallory’s left arm for three more—why didn’t being a princess entitle her to freaking seconds?) and a single glass of fruity iced tea.

From the little Kelsey gleaned, Moncriano sounded a lot like Switzerland. Permanently neutral and friendly. Okay. At least they didn’t have a blood-drenched history like ancient Rome. Although she kind of wished they’d pick a side when it truly mattered. Maybe she’d missed something important when the buttery biscuit blacked out everything but her taste buds for a few seconds.

Then a frowning woman in a pale-lavender suit escorted her to a study to quiz her. What languages did Kelsey speak? What degrees did she hold? Could she ride? Shoot? What was her level of archery proficiency? Any certifications such as scuba or rock climbing?

Shockingly, Lady Tamara did not even crack a teensy grin when Kelsey proudly mentioned her fireworks launching certifications she’d gotten to personally ensure that the Fourth of July celebrations went off without a hitch. It was one of her favorite holidays.

Geez.

Did she have to give that up? Would Kelsey get in trouble now for celebrating her American heritage? So far she’d enjoyed exactly none of becoming a princess—aside from the kiss with Elias. And she was pretty sure that her being a princess had not been a driving force behind his lust.

So yes, her day had been fast-paced with constant activity. The problem was that Kelsey had chosen none of it. Plus? Her big dream had been to be a bystander in New York. To sit back and watch the excitement unfold around her like a twenty-four-seven play.

All of this excitement was happening to her. Technically, the basics of her wish had come true. But with an ironic, twisty execution that flat-out sucked, which meant that right now, staring at the door was preferable to turning around and dealing with whichever unwanted surprise was next.

“Dear, you don’t have to wait to be announced.” The gentle voice lilted with a stronger accent than Elias and Christian had. “Come in, come in.”

Kelsey tried to rub out the frown line between her eyebrows that felt like it went all the way through her skull as she turned. The room itself looked like a wide, enclosed hallway. A receiving room? Lots of oversize portraits and more of those kick-ass chandeliers, but not much furniture at all. Just a few lavender velvet chairs along the walls.

And oh, good. No scary grandmother. Just the nice Duchess Mathilde. “Hello. This is…not what I expected to find in here.” The unfamiliar and already painful heels clicked against the elaborate parquet floor as Kelsey edged away from the door.

“The clothes?” The older woman bustled forward to grab her hand and pull her along faster. “Normally we’d do this in your own suite of rooms, but with the quantity needed, well, sufficient space took priority over comfort.”

“Do what? I’ll admit I don’t remember the schedule.” That sounded plausible. And far more forgivable than the truth, which was that she hadn’t even looked at the thing before Elias sent it off to Mallory’s safe keeping.

“We have to completely outfit you with a new wardrobe. Well, that’s not possible in an afternoon, of course, but you’ll have at least the basics while we get the rest custom-fitted.”

Was that her first in-person royal “we”? Just then, the fifth rack of clothes rolled forward to reveal a tiny desk and three women clustered around it. They looked impossibly chic. There was what movies had always portrayed as a European flair about them. An artfully draped scarf on one. A patterned tunic that flowed over hot pink cigarette pants on another. The third boasted a statement necklace that Kelsey wouldn’t be brave enough to wear even at Halloween.

Had they been briefed on her? Was there a photo in that folder on the desk that showed her in the yoga pants she’d slept/deplaned in? Were they judging her?

On the other hand, wouldn’t the whole freaking country be doing that if King Julian actually rolled her out as the lost princess?

And would they find her sorely lacking as princess material?

Before drowning in a panic spiral, Kelsey remembered her tried and true approach to projects. One step at a time. One task at a time. She reached out to stroke the sleeve—holy crap, was that cashmere?—of a jacket. The clothes were absolutely beautiful. About a hundred miles out of her league, but beautiful.

Not wanting to hurt her aunt’s feelings, she asked cautiously, “Why is this necessary? Aren’t my own clothes here from New York by now?”

“Only an American commoner would presume to call that box of fabric clothing.” The sneer in Genevieve’s voice preceded her sister coming from around the farthest rack. It was quickly followed, however, by a matching sneer of disdain that pulled all of her features downward, sort of like that Dali painting of melting clocks. Only bitchier.

Kelsey could let it pass. She could take the high road and not respond to the obviously intentional poke.

On the other hand, she’d stood up to the freaking king this morning. She’d decided to start as she meant to go on. If that was a good enough way to treat the king, it was the right way to go with her sister. While true that she’d been raised a commoner, and an American, the one thing Kelsey was not was a pushover.

“Only a discourteous snob would insult someone’s personal belongings. Or are basic manners just an American thing?”

Red washed across Genevieve’s face. Not in a single, rosy perfect blush, but in hot-looking blotches. Even better, she didn’t say another word. Kelsey notched that as a win.

Duchess Mathilde crooked a finger to beckon over the three…courtiers? Dressmakers? Style servants? Kelsey had no clue. Which was pretty much par for the course for how her day was unfolding. “Your clothes are being pressed. The Royal Protection team who packed didn’t have, shall we say, a delicate touch. But you are about to have a full to bursting schedule. We don’t expect you to know the requirements of every function. It is the Villani family’s duty, and my utter pleasure, to supply you with a wardrobe for the social calendar we’ve thrust upon you.”

Smoothly done. Kelsey knew darn well she’d just been handled. So expertly, though, that she didn’t mind it at all. “You’re the family peacemaker, aren’t you?”

“I like everyone to be comfortable. In their heads”—she tapped Kelsey’s temple—“and in their clothes, as well.” She held up a lacy dress the color of sunshine, then switched it out for an identical one in a paler daffodil hue.

Scarf lady started to pull off Kelsey’s sweater. It was disconcerting, to say the least. “I can do that for you.” Awkwardly, she twisted away and tugged off the cardigan. She’d watched every Downton Abbey episode at least a dozen times. It had always baffled her that the lords and ladies would stand there while other people dressed and undressed them like dolls. It wasn’t as though slipping out of a sleeve required a ton of effort.

“Dear, let Marie help you. She has to take all your measurements. European sizing is a different scale than what you’re used to. We must start from the ground up.”

That sounded long and involved, and like something Kelsey had no intention of suffering solo. “Why isn’t Mallory here? Doesn’t she need new clothes, too?”

“Mallory doesn’t need anything from us. She isn’t a princess,” Genevieve said, her tone dripping spite. She popped up in between the racks when she had venom to spew. Like a snake, hiding in the grass until it was ready to strike. “She’s no one.”

That was probably the cruelest thing Kelsey had ever heard. Also, the absolute most incorrect. Her family—the one she’d grown up with and loved every day that she could remember—was her Achilles’ heel. Her softest, most vulnerable spot. Any attack on them was the same as dropping a match into a cylinder of rocket fuel.

She’d defend them with her whole heart, for her whole life. It was that simple.

It was also a fact far more pertinent to share with the room than her neck circumference.

Kelsey stepped away from the semicircle of outstretched measuring tapes to confront Genevieve head-on. “I realize I’m a guest in your house, which is the only thing keeping me from plowing you to the floor. But let me be perfectly clear about Mallory. You don’t ever, ever say a single nasty thing about her or to her. She matters more to me than literally every person in this country.”

Looking down her nose—only possible because her needle-sharp stilettos were at least two inches taller than Kelsey’s heels—Genevieve said, “Oh, it’s always been clear that you are the important one. Even though you weren’t here.” Without bothering to leave space, she brushed shoulders with Kelsey as she hurried from the room.

What. Just. Happened?

The duchess sighed as she patted her roundly shellacked helmet of gray hair. “Ladies, I see that we’re missing refreshments. Would you please go ask the footmen to get us some lemon water?” The stylish gaggle immediately withdrew, so she had to raise her voice to catch them at the door. “And a bottle of Riesling?”

That was…an unexpected choice. While Kelsey was more than ready for an alcoholic panacea to the day, her aunt requesting it made her wary. “We’re going to need wine for this talk?”

“I might. I’m not sure you will. I already see the strength of your spirit.” The older woman patted her hand, then used it to pull her over to one of the gilded chairs along the wall.

That was a lovely thing to hear. Mathilde seemed nice, approachable, even. So she volleyed back a little honesty. “I’m not always strong,” Kelsey said as she sat. “I wouldn’t have been strong enough to come to Moncriano without Mallory by my side.”

“You’re lucky to have had that relationship, to have someone who bolsters you. Princess Genevieve was not so lucky.”

Boo-freaking-hoo. Okay, that was immature. Insensitive. Thank goodness she hadn’t slipped and said it out loud. But her older sister’s snitty attitude made Kelsey want to revert to the childhood they hadn’t shared and just spat with her. “She’s a princess. Isn’t there a whole castle full of people for her to lean on?”

“Full of people, yes, but not the one person who mattered the most. She has always felt the hole in her life left by her missing little sister.”

This time a snort did slip out. “She’s got a funny way of showing it.”

“Genevieve has had to live her entire life shadowed by your disappearance. Every choice, every move she made was colored by the overhanging threat of another kidnapping. Many choices were taken from her, which was always explained away as a result of what happened to you, ah, Kelsey.” Mathilde leaned hard on the name, as if wanting to prove that she could say the right one.

The effort was appreciated. As much as her words themselves were not. “You’re saying it’s my fault that Genevieve’s a bitch to me?”

“Of course not, dear.” Another pat of the hand. “But she believes it is your fault. You’re just going to have to prove her wrong, show her why it is best to bury the past and move forward shoulder to shoulder, as true sisters.”

“Great. I’ll just add overcome decades of deep-seated bitterness to that schedule the grand duchess gave me.”

“That would’ve made your mother very proud.”

Um, number one? Did sarcasm not translate well in Moncriano? Because Kelsey had absolutely not been serious. And B? Pretty crafty of her aunt to administer a dose of dead mother guilt. She had to give Mathilde props for that.

…

A pillow to the face was not an acceptable replacement for an alarm.

Even when the throw pillow was a cloud of tufted silk. Being hit was jarring, period. Kelsey sat bolt upright, arms up to ward off another attack. Because this was not her first rodeo with her sister.

“I’m pretty sure these pillows cost more than our apartment’s rent. I’m also sure there’s got to be a ‘no hitting the royalty’ clause in whatever etiquette manual they live by here.”

Looked like somebody had paid attention to Kelsey’s wardrobe rant about equality among the Wishner sisters, because the same pajama fairy had visited Mallory. Her navy satin set matched the lavender set that had been laid out in waiting for Kelsey once she was finally allowed to escape back to her rooms.

Mallory dropped the pillow and climbed up—yes, using the actual tiny step at the foot of the bed—to sprawl next to her. “Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. I haven’t talked to you in an entire day. It was like they scheduled us to purposefully keep us apart.”

Leaning back against the upholstered headboard, Kelsey scrunched up her nose, because something definitely smelled off about that situation. “You noticed that, too, huh?”

“Oh yeah. For the record? That was the House of Villani’s one gimme. Due to the surprise and suddenness of having you back maybe having caught them off guard. But one day is all they get to hoard you all to themselves. I can’t help you adjust to this if I’m not by your side.”

And just that fast, something settled deep within Kelsey. She and Mallory were a team. They’d always been a team.

Going it alone yesterday had been rougher than rough. Moncriano really was a whole new world. One where Kelsey didn’t have the faintest idea of who to trust, who to believe, and most of all, how to avoid accidentally causing an international incident.

But side by side with Mallory, she’d be more confident. More discerning. More able to not just tread water, but swim amidst these unfamiliar and no doubt treacherous waters.

Basically, she needed a buddy. And if that made her sound like kindergartners crossing the street in pairs? Well, she dared anyone else to discover a whole new family and fly across the ocean to a whole new country and discover that her brand-new sister hated her…and handle it even a teensy bit better than she was.

Oh. Oh. Kelsey wriggled up even straighter. Because, even separated from Mallory, she’d had someone in her corner to lean on, at least for a little while. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

“One thing? Are you kidding? I want to be filled in on every moment. On every meal, every glance, every gilded wall sconce you saw.” Mallory reached out to touch the carved post that held up the fringed canopy. And there was considerable awe in her wide eyes. “We’re in a freaking palace, Kelsey. We’re basically living out a Hallmark channel movie. The only thing missing is the tall, dark, titled sexpot ready to kiss you senseless.”

“That’s what I have to tell you.” It was weird to admit. Confusing. Talking it through with Mallory was the only way to get clarity, especially since Kelsey had zero idea of how to reach out to the man himself.

Did she have to wait to talk to him until he showed up for his next protection shift? Was there a code on the bedside phone? Dial 184 for bodyguards, dial 186 for tea and scones?

“You can’t kiss anyone with a title.” Mallory underscored her point with a severe finger wag. “You’re probably related to them. Or at least, for safety, you should assume that until we do the research.”

Ewww. “Pretty sure I’m safe with my bodyguard. Double entendre totally intended, BTW.”

Mallory’s hands flew to her mouth as something close to the squeal of a boiling teapot escaped her lips. “You kissed Elias?”

“Yes.”

“Was he amazing?”

“Yes.” Kelsey traced the outline of a golden peacock in the bedspread. “It started out sweet, and then things got real. Real hot. Scorchingly hot. Then he stopped, said it was wonderful, but a mistake, and practically sprinted away.” She locked eyes with her sister, hoping to read an answer in the flurry of fast blinks. “What the heck is the takeaway supposed to be from that?”

Mallory’s eyebrows had shot up to meet the edges of her mussed bangs as Kelsey’s story progressed. They plummeted back down into a pinched frown. “Let’s unpack this one step at a time. Where did this knee-melting kiss happen?”

It was easy to pull out the memory. Kelsey was certain she’d remember every moment of it for the rest of her life. Not just for the kiss. But for his listening and understanding as well. “Under a flowering trellis in the formal gardens. The air was scented, the birds were trilling. Basically, the most beautiful place possible.”

Fanning her cheeks, Mallory said, “Okay, so hot and romantic. I approve. But as much as I approve…I think it’s dangerous,” she added, slowly drawing out the words.

Her sister’s nervousness—no, skittishness—about the potential to be mugged or burglarized in Manhattan had been annoying, but at least understandable. For Mallory to be pulling the same shtick behind gated walls literally guarded by an infantry was ridiculous.

“You actually think some crazed person who doesn’t even know who I am could get past all the palace security to get the jump on us while I’m kissing my bodyguard?”

“Uh, no. Not at all. But I think it’s dangerous in that he more or less works for you. Or at least your family. So you two getting together puts Elias in a difficult situation, job-wise. Long-term? That could put you in a difficult and dangerous situation, heart-wise.”

Geez. Talk about taking the protective older sister thing to extremes. Yes, in the sixth grade, when Kelsey crushed on Nate Bierson and then he touched her hand when they were on the sidelines during flag football, she’d written Mrs. Kelsey Bierson over and over in her journal. With a heart over the “i,” thank you very much.

But the next day he’d sat with Barbie McCloud at lunch, and she’d used a fat black Sharpie to scratch out the entire journal page.

“We kissed. Once.” She stuck her index finger in Mallory’s face for emphasis. Just the one finger, with the rest folded away. “For three solid minutes of sheer nirvana, but only once. It’s way too early to be worrying about the state of my heart.”

“It is never too early for me to worry about that. Do you remember David Czimenski in the tenth grade? He kissed you, invited you to the backward dance, and then dumped you two hours later when Heidi Marshall asked him out. You were crushed.”

“I was fifteen.” Why were they both suddenly thinking back to their childhood? Was this quick, familiar dip into the past a way of dealing with the fish-out-of-water feeling that being the Alcarsa Palace gave them? And if so, could they maybe dip into memories where Kelsey didn’t come off quite as pathetic? “I think I’ve got a more stable emotional footing now. Dumb things like that are supposed to happen at fifteen.”

“He hurt you. That’s why I TP’d his house.”

Nice to have that mystery solved. Dissolving into giggles, Kelsey fell sideways across Mallory’s lap. “That was you? I thought you told Mom you had nothing to do with that. I mean, his parents called the cops.”

“Which is why I said I didn’t do it. I’m not stupid.” Mallory gave a gentle tug to the ends of Kelsey’s hair. “But your broken heart needed to be avenged.”

Her sister was a badass. Kelsey rolled back onto her semicircle of down pillows. “Thank you. For future reference, I’m good with the two of us just going for mani-pedis, or having a Kahlua-and-cookies night.”

“Duly noted. Now to finish up with your bodyguard. Him walking away was probably one hundred percent about him and his duty. Men like Elias always have hang-ups about duty. And he may not even be allowed to be anything other than your bodyguard.”

“Since I’m his duty, I think that’s at least a little about me.”

With a wry smile, Mallory poked her in the shoulder. “You should talk to him.”

“That’s the same advice you always give.”

“Because it’s always true. Work, family, friends, sex…being open and talking about a problem has a cure rate of about one hundred gajillion percent.”

A knock on the door had Mallory dragging the covers up to Kelsey’s neck. “Come in.”

“You don’t know who it is,” she said in a furious whisper. Because she was far, far from ready for this sister-time to come to an end. “Why did you tell them to come in?”

“Because it’s coffee and croissant-o’clock. Who else would it be but breakfast?”

A short man in a lavender-and-white striped vest with a ruthlessly sculpted goatee hurried across the thick carpet. “Good morning, Miss Wishner. Miss Wishner.”

Kelsey didn’t dare look at her sister. How were they not supposed to giggle at that identical greeting? “Hi. Now that you’ve seen me in my jammies, could I maybe get your name?”

“My apologies, Miss Wishner. I’m Sir Evan McCandless, your private secretary. I’ve been briefed on your, ah, background, but most of the palace staff are still in the dark. Might I add that it is a relief and a thrill to have you home.”

At least he hadn’t bowed to her. “Thank you.”

“I’ve brought your schedule.” He put a white folder—identical to the one her grandmother had handed over yesterday—on the bed.

“That is very much not the croissant I was hoping for. Also, I already have a schedule.” Somewhere. Or Mallory had it. Honestly, Kelsey didn’t even know which drawer to look in to find her underwear.

“You had a draft.” His blue eyes rolled, as though the very idea of it was absurd. The dry humor in Evan’s tone made Kelsey wriggle up straighter to fully engage with him. “The best we could whip together on short notice. We’ve now had a full day and night to refine it.” He walked around to the other side of the bed and set a considerably thicker binder next to Mallory’s legs. “This is an introduction to royal protocol. It should be a good primer for the two of you.”

That looked—and sounded like—it’d require actual studying. And even when done in a four-poster bed with what Kelsey hoped would be a magically appearing chocolate croissant, studying still sucked. Her brain rocked at the creative. Rote memorization? Not so much.

“On a scale of one to ten, how important is it that we read it?”

Thank goodness, Mallory was a step ahead of her. Hopefully Evan would be like a really good waiter who had the balls to tell you the truth when asked to choose between two items on the menu.

Evan’s personality came blazing out at them as he busted out a snort/eye roll combo. “My advice is to think of it as your full-time job to get up to speed on royal protocol.”

Oh. Oh. Time difference aside, it was Monday now. Which meant her job back in the States had to be told that she wouldn’t make it in today…or any day for the next two weeks. It proved just how upside down her life was that Omni Creative and her stack of clients hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“I need to call in sick.”

Giggling, Mallory corrected her. “You need to call in royal.”

“That’s not a thing, and you know it.”

“It is now.”

“Please, nobody believed Chad had anything other than a wicked hangover when he called in with purported Dengue fever the day after his bachelor party weekend. So I promise you nobody would believe I somehow became a princess since I signed off on Friday.” Kelsey scooted across acres of bed to retrieve her phone from the nightstand. The one that still didn’t have a return text from her parents.

“I should check my emails, too. There’s a day of orientation, a.k.a filling out paperwork this week for my new job so I can hit the ground running. We’ll come up with a more solid excuse than Dengue fever as soon as I come back with my phone.” Mallory slid off the bed and sprinted out the door.

“Evan? Sir Evan? What should I call you?”

“Anything you’d like, Your Highness.” He tugged at the bottom points of his vest. And then winked. “Although a good teacher might point out that if you read the protocol manual, you’d find the answer.”

Kelsey liked his style. “That behemoth’s not getting cracked until I spend a good hour on the internet catching up with my real life. But a good student could be bribed into looking at it this afternoon if you’d tell her how to get coffee. Is there a Keurig in a kitchenette at the end of this wing or something?”

“The ‘or something’ would be a fully staffed kitchen capable of handling a banquet for one hundred fifty, and a reception for six hundred. I’ll have breakfast for you and Miss Wishner sent up.”

“Thanks.” Her mind was already scrambling through what possible explanation she could give to stall half a dozen projects simultaneously. Projects that she’d been excited about. The deadline on one was this week. She’d have to play the family emergency card. Kelsey had the strong suspicion that the contents of the folder didn’t leave her with free afternoons to stay up-to-date on her project list. But she hated lying to her clients and her boss. Hated leaving things undone. Thrusting her responsibilities onto someone else.

Being a princess was complicating everything. Immensely.

Just like kissing Elias had complicated things. Immensely.