“Vanessa didn’t even realize she was trembling until she grabbed hold of Mark’s arm, needing something solid to hold on to as the room seemed to spin around her.
“This was ground zero for Marital Madness—the biggest bridal sale in the city. It only comes once a year and the shoppers race for the deals,” the reporter said in her eager TV voice.
Film footage showed the mayhem. And there in the middle of it all was Vanessa. Well, not her exactly. Her Yankees baseball cap was all you could see. And Mark’s back, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“This couple seemed caught off guard by what was going on around them,” the reporter said in a voice-over.
“You’ve got that right,” Mark muttered, remembering the adrenaline shooting through his body when he’d lost sight of Vanessa. He hadn’t felt that way since his earliest days in the Marines, when he’d been stationed in the Gulf.
Yes, he’d been caught off guard, all right. By a woman who adored French fries and knocked him for a loop with her kisses.
“Don’t show our faces, please don’t show our faces,” Vanessa was whispering, her hold on his arm tightening.
“Hey, Princess, chill out,” Mark teased her. He couldn’t help himself. That was how he reacted when faced with fear. He used humor to defuse the situation.
Vanessa, however, didn’t appear to appreciate his stress-management style. Drawing herself into what he called her “regal” mode, she stiffly removed her hand from his arm. He immediately missed the warmth of her fingers on his bare skin.
“I am perfectly chilled,” she informed him.
Her voice was certainly chilly enough, it was darn right arctic.
“Look, they’ve gone on to another story,” he said. “No one could have identified us from that brief shot of the back of our heads. It was a close call, however. I told you we shouldn’t have gone shopping.”
Vanessa might have let things slide, had he not added that last sentence. But there was no way she was letting that one go by unanswered. “You should have noticed that a camera crew was there. That’s your job.”
Her comment stung because he’d already thought of that fact himself. But aloud he said, “Sure, blame me.”
“Why did you agree to do this job?” she bluntly demanded.
Mark deliberately kept his face impassive, but inside he froze. Had she somehow guessed what was really going on? No, she couldn’t have.
“I agreed because Prudence asked me.” And because I was ordered to. Suspecting that Vanessa would take off, King Leopold of Volzemburg had also suspected she’d contact her good friend Prudence and through her, one of the Wilders. That’s why he’d bugged her phones at the hotel. The king was one step ahead of his rebellious daughter. Mark had been ordered to keep tabs on Vanessa and to report directly back to her father. Those orders came via Mark’s C.O. from the highest members of the U.S. Government and the U.S. State Department.
“Sometimes you act as if you’re here against your will.” Her gaze was direct, daring him to lie to her.
“I’m a Marine,” he reminded her. “I don’t do anything against my will.” Little could Mark know that his words would come back to haunt him one day soon.
“I still say that we should have watched the end of the Lakers game instead of the first inning of the baseball game,” Vanessa said four hours later.
To which Mark replied, “You had the remote control.”
He’d given it to her as a peace offering and they’d spent the past few hours channel surfing on cable TV.
“Let’s see what else is on…” She flicked past CNN and a home shopping channel before stopping. “Ah, Chocolat,” she sighed. “One of my favorites.”
“More food?” he groaned.
“No, Chocolat the movie.” She pointed to the screen. “Haven’t you seen this yet? It’s wonderful.”
Juliette Binoche radiated on the large TV screen. “She’s a looker,” Mark noted approvingly.
Did that mean he preferred brunettes to blondes? Vanessa wondered before becoming caught up again in the story of a woman showing up in a new town with the temptation of chocolate.
“Did all that chocolate make you homesick?” Mark asked when the movie ended.
She shook her head. But the love scenes with Johnny Depp had vividly brought to mind the kisses she’d shared today with Mark.
And here she was, spending the night with him. Yes, he said he’d be sleeping out here on the couch and she’d be in the bedroom, but still…there was something inexplicably intimate about sharing the apartment with him. And watching that romantic movie with him had only increased her awareness of Mark and the situation they found themselves in.
Vanessa also loved the way Juliette Binoche’s character learned to make her own path in life, and not merely to follow in her mother’s footsteps. It was a message that spoke strongly to Vanessa’s heart.
Her heart was vulnerable to Mark. How wonderful it would be if she were just a young woman working in New York, free to choose any man she desired. And heaven knew she desired Mark. How empowering it must be to have that kind of freedom.
Of course, the case could be made that as a princess she did have a certain amount of power of her own. A royal proclamation would not get Mark’s attention, however. His friend, Dr. Rosenthal, had already told her that Mark was the proud one in his family. She could just imagine how he’d respond to being pursued by a princess.
Besides, Vanessa had her pride as well. Mark clearly had a certain amount of charm and confidence where women were concerned. She was not the first female to notice his dark blue eyes or powerfully built body. She probably was one of the few females to have knocked him on his derriere, however. That realization gave her pleasure.
“What are you smiling about?” Mark asked suspiciously.
“I was just remembering how I knocked you on your…keister.”
“I fell down, you didn’t knock me down.”
“Fall down a lot do you?” she teased him.
“Only when you’re around.”
He was looking at her in a way that both disarmed and aroused her. She caught her breath at the flare of hunger reflected in his eyes. Did he look at every woman this way, or did this mean that he was experiencing the same attraction she was?
“You have a way of knocking a guy off balance,” he murmured.
“I do?”
He nodded, his gaze lowering to her mouth. “Yes, you do.”
“I wasn’t aware of that.” Was he remembering their kisses as she had? Did he want to kiss her again?
“Well, now you know.”
“Why are we whispering?” she asked.
“Because then I have to lean closer to hear you.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
He shook his head, as if to clear his jumbled thoughts. “No,” he ruefully acknowledged. “That’s probably not a good thing.” He reached across her for the remote and clicked off the television. “I think we’ve watched enough for one night.”
She was tempted to watch him all night. And not just to watch him, but to kiss him, to feel his body close to hers.
Tomorrow was another day, she reminded herself. There was no need to do anything without thinking things through a bit first.
“Don’t you have cable TV where you come from?” Mark was asking.
“When I’m traveling, I’m never in my hotel room long enough to watch TV,” Vanessa replied. “At home we have a few televisions in the palace, but none have cable. My father doesn’t approve of the cultural influence and excessive violence of the American media. He thinks he can keep our country timeless like Camelot. He can’t. The people of Volzemburg have satellite dishes on their homes. They get all these stations and I don’t. You can’t keep the world out.”
“Maybe your father is just trying to be protective.”
“Overprotective is more like it,” she muttered.
“So you two never got along?”
“Having a king for a father makes for a strained relationship,” she told him. “How about you?”
“My dad is a retired Marine, and I’m sure he believes that outranks a king.”
Vanessa had to laugh. “I remember your dad from Prudence’s wedding. He seemed nice.”
“Nice?” Now Mark was the one who laughed. “That’s not how I’d describe him.”
“How would you describe him then?”
“Honest, blunt, dependable, loyal.”
“All admirable characteristics.”
“Yes, they are.”
“He must be proud that all his sons are Marines.”
“He wasn’t thrilled with me becoming an officer,” Mark admitted.
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “We come from a long line of enlisted men.”
“So? I would think that would make your accomplishments all the greater.”
“Not in my dad’s eyes.”
“I know how that feels.” Vanessa’s eyes met his, her gaze filled with understanding. “Being judged by someone you love and coming up short. It hurts.”
She waited for him to brag that Marines don’t get hurt, but he didn’t make that claim. In fact, he just clammed up, as if regretting having said as much as he had. Sensing he wanted some space, she said good-night and retired to her bedroom. Before leaving the living room, she turned back to look at Mark over her shoulder, but he was already totally engrossed in a laptop computer he’d pulled from his duffel bag.
Mark thought about Vanessa’s words all night as he tossed and turned on the couch. There was no way his dad had anything in common with King Leopold. Sure, maybe the two men were autocratic and used to getting their own way. But Mark’s dad would never do the stuff the king had done to Vanessa, spying on her, belittling her.
So his dad had certain expectations where Mark was concerned. Bill Wilder had expectations for all his sons. There was nothing wrong with that. That’s what a father did.
Yet Mark could still remember the look his dad had given him when he’d first told him his decision to apply to OCS, Officer Candidate School, in Quantico, Virginia. It hadn’t been the look of a proud father. He’d appeared puzzled, maybe disappointed even.
And there had been the comments about Mark’s latest tour of duty—a staff job with a general in Washington. His brothers had good-naturedly teased him about being a “staff weenie.” Of course, he’d immediately had to wrestle them to the ground to prove his physical toughness.
But it irked him that he’d had to prove anything.
So he was a little less rough around the edges than his brothers. So he’d developed some social graces they lacked. So he wasn’t pursuing an exciting combat command at the moment. He had a plan here.
Staff jobs were more advantageous to his military career in the long run. He’d worked with a special-warfare unit dedicated to combating terrorists. Rewarding work, yes. High adrenaline, for sure. Security had always been an area of special interest for him.
He was involved with security now, even if he was working at a staff job. This assignment with Vanessa could be considered a security operation. He had to keep her secure in order to keep the relations between the United States and Volzemburg smooth. And while it was true that a country whose major export was chocolate might not be a major ally at first glance, closer inspection showed that Volzemburg’s geographical proximity to Eastern Europe made it important.
How had he gotten himself into such a sticky situation? He hadn’t done it on his own, he’d been ordered into this mess.
Not that his orders included kissing Vanessa. The princess. He needed to keep thinking of her as the princess and not as Vanessa, a woman he was attracted to.
He was not attracted to her, he harshly ordered himself. And if said attraction did exist, it was to cease immediately. He could not allow himself to feel anything for her.
Maybe the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her again was due to the fact that he’d gone too long without a woman. That must be it. That had to be it. Anything else was unacceptable.
Mark sighed. This had all the makings of a very messy mission.
But then Mark didn’t join the Marine Corps because he thought it was going to be easy. He expected it to be tough. No pain, no gain. Above all, you must never quit or give up.
Leadership was a critical part of being a Marine. And the ability of the corps’ leaders to inspire those under their authority made the Marine Corps a success disproportionate to its size. After all, it was actually the smallest of all the branches of the armed services, yet it had the biggest reputation and the highest morale.
Jeez, now he was sounding like a recruiting commercial.
His inability to sleep was entirely Vanessa’s fault. He’d only been with her for one day, and already she’d disrupted his thought processes.
That wasn’t all she’d done, either. She’d surprised him, a man who prided himself on never being surprised. And she’d kissed him. How could he have known that she’d turn out to be so…tempting?
A Marine was used to resisting temptation and enforcing self-discipline. He was a “Mustang,” an enlisted man who’d worked his way up the ranks to become an officer. He was expected to lead men who considered themselves as tough as nails, so he had to be even tougher. And he was. Normally.
The problem was that nothing about this situation was normal. It wasn’t normal for him to have the slightest doubts about the appropriateness of his mission, or to have his loyalty waver in the slightest bit.
Mark sighed again and shoved off the tangled sheet to hit the deck for a series of push-ups. While he was awake he might as well maintain his strength. He had a feeling he was going to need a lot of it to handle this sexy princess.
When Vanessa woke the next morning, she wasn’t sure where she was. Then it all came back to her. She was playing hooky with a hunky Marine. Which explained the erotic dreams she’d had last night in the lapping confines of the water bed.
She’d worn her I Love New York T-shirt to bed. Somehow she’d managed to pack only the top to her purple silk pajamas and not the bottoms. She didn’t have much experience packing for herself and clearly she didn’t have the hang of it yet. Of course, she had been working under extenuating circumstances at the time. Mark had been demanding that she hurry up, and she’d still been recovering from the kiss he’d given her…and she’d returned.
Enough of that. She sat up. She could learn how to pack. She was an intelligent woman. She could do the things normal women did. Like cook.
She’d seen part of a gourmet-cooking show while channel surfing last night. The short segment had shown how to make French toast, and it looked easy enough. She could do that. She would do that. Right after taking a shower.
After selecting her clothes, she carefully opened the bedroom door and peeked down the hallway. She could see that Mark was still sleeping on the couch. He didn’t look very comfortable. She resisted the temptation to cover his bare chest with the sheet he’d mostly kicked off and instead scurried into the bathroom.
Thank heaven she’d brought along a few basics—soap and a toothbrush. The soap was hand milled in Volzemburg and smelled of carnations. After her shower, she put on a crisp white shirt, paired with her new jeans. They were the new capri length and had a flirty fringe at the hem that moved as she walked. The outfit was fun and represented her newfound freedom.
She was a woman in capri pants, hear her roar. She could do anything. Next up, breakfast.
Mark was still asleep on the couch as she walked into the kitchen and took stock. She didn’t question why there were eggs in the fridge already, she just checked the expiration date to make sure they were still good. They were. So was the bread and the milk. Mark must have run out last night and gotten some food after she’d gone to bed.
Good. She had all the ingredients for French toast. It took her a few tries to get the egg-soaked bread from a shallow bowl into the frying pan but she finally managed it. And it took a few tries to get the hang of using the spatula to turn the bread over without mangling it in the process. But she finally did manage.
Syrup. She needed maple syrup. There wasn’t any.
“What’s going on?” Mark demanded as he joined her in the kitchen.
She was momentarily distracted by his bare chest and legs. He was wearing a pair of military-green boxers and a frown. That was all. His vivid blue eyes were glaring at her as if she was responsible for everything that had ever gone wrong in his life. The Marine was clearly not in a good mood. And he was just as clearly incredibly sexy first thing in the morning, grouchy mood or not.
“What’s going on?” she repeated, stalling for time to get her thoughts together. It wouldn’t do to be caught drooling over him. “I’m cooking.”
“You?” He was clearly skeptical. “Do you know how?”
“Of course I do.” She didn’t tell him she’d picked up this bit of knowledge from the TV last night. “We need some maple syrup for the French toast.”
“Did you look in the kitchen drawer?” he asked.
“No.” It seemed a strange place to store a bottle of syrup in her opinion.
“The guy who lent me this place collects those condiment containers from fast-food places.” He looked through an assortment of ketchup and mustard packets before saying, “Aha!” He triumphantly held up several small plastic containers of maple syrup. “This stuff probably never saw a maple tree, but it is syrup, and it should taste good on French toast.”
“You should get dressed,” she briskly told him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled.
By the time she’d set out dishes and mugs on the tiny island that served as an eating area, Mark had taken a shower and gotten dressed.
“You did that fast,” she noted, impressed by his speed as well as his sexy appearance. His dark hair was still wet.
“The Marine Corps doesn’t encourage dawdling.”
Her eyes traveled down his body, finally registering what was written on the dark blue T-shirt he wore. When It Absolutely Positively Has To Be Destroyed Overnight—U.S. Marine Corps.
She laughed so hard her sides hurt, and her eyes watered. Not at all a dainty princess laugh.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, trying to regain her dignity.
“Don’t be.” He smiled at her. “You’ve got a nice laugh.”
Her father had once complained she sounded like a horse neighing when she laughed, not at all appropriate behavior for a royal. So she’d learned to control her laugh as she had every other aspect of her life, to keep it restrained and proper.
“I set the coffee machine on automatic last night, so it should just about be done perking now,” Mark was saying.
“That was clever of you.”
“That’s me. A clever Marine.”
“Maybe you should be known as the clever one in your family instead of the proud one,” she teased him, and then wondered at the shadow that passed over his face.
The truth was that Mark had gotten teased about being the smart one in his family, a family where strength was valued over all else. None of his brothers were dummies by any stretch of the imagination. But Mark stood out. He’d always wanted to know more. As an officer candidate he’d studied under the blanket with a flashlight at night while the others slept.
He knew about the derogatory comments made by others, often in other branches of the armed forces, about Marines. One frequently used comment was that Marine was an acronym for Muscles Are Required, Intelligence Not Essential. Of course, anyone voicing said opinion was likely to end up on the wrong end of a fistfight.
“Did I say something wrong?” she asked.
His expression hardened as if he regretted letting her see what she had. “No. The French toast isn’t half-bad.”
“Not half-bad? It’s delicious!” she declared, eminently proud of her culinary accomplishment. “The French toast made by the royal chef doesn’t taste half this good.”
“I wouldn’t know.” Mark paused for a healthy sip of his black coffee before taking another helping. “I don’t eat much food prepared by royal chefs.”
“Actually our chef is very good,” she said.
“I’m sure he is.”
“It’s just that I made this French toast.”
“Yes, you did.”
“It’s silly, I know, to feel this strong a sense of accomplishment over something as trivial as French toast.”
“Never underestimate the importance of a good breakfast,” he solemnly told her before digging into his meal.
She watched him eat. What exactly was it about this man that got to her as no other had? Certainly, his blue eyes were gorgeous. The easy-to-look-at lines of his face lent him a reckless attractiveness. And he had a good body. An incredible smile, a sensual mouth, especially his full lower lip. He also had nice hands, she was just noticing that now. Lean, long fingers.
Put all the bits together and you had a man who was like a magnet—pulling at her center, drawing her ever nearer.
He was more than just sexy or attractive. He was powerful. In both the way he carried himself and in everything he did.
Even now, eating breakfast, he still looked as if he could lay down his fork at a moment’s notice, grab a machine gun and lead a squad to glory. This man was a warrior at heart.
The warrior and the princess—both accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. The resulting interaction was bound to create friction between them.
Vanessa smiled in anticipation. Sometimes friction was a good thing.
“I’m queen of the world!” Vanessa announced from the front of the ferryboat taking them out to the Statue of Liberty later that morning.
She was rewarded with a faceful of rain as a sudden downpour dropped from the sky as if a heavenly hand had unzipped a pocketful of rain.
“Do you think that was a sign?” she laughingly asked Mark as they both hurried to the cover of the cabin.
Mark thought she looked utterly adorable as she stood there, her baseball cap stuck in her pocket so it wouldn’t blow off, her sleek hair caught up in two pigtails with a big apple hair fastener he’d bought for her at the souvenir shop back at Battery Park where they’d caught the ferry.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Do I have something on my face?”
She had happiness written all over her face in big bold letters. What a difference a couple of days made. She’d been so pale when he’d first seen her at her hotel suite, with hollows in her cheeks and dark circles under her eyes. She looked like another woman now. One who’d shed a ton of stress.
He’d seen it before, in the men he commanded. The constant need to be alert, to always keep your guard up took its toll. Combine that with a lack of sleep, and the “fog of war” set in. But that had been in combat conditions. For the first time he was realizing that Vanessa truly had been under a great deal of stress and that her position as a princess had left a mark on her. She’d been a woman at war with herself.
“What is it?” she demanded, almost looking cross-eyed in an effort to look at her own chin and nose. She didn’t have a mirror with her to check her face. And Mark was looking at her so strangely.
Maybe she should excuse herself and go check a bathroom mirror. Normally her lady-in-waiting packed the contingency items like a makeup bag and mirror in her purse, leaving Vanessa free to worry about other things.
“Nothing,” Mark finally replied. “You look fine.”
“Do I look like a typical tourist?”
“I don’t know that you’ll ever look typical,” he said with certain wryness.
“I thought I looked very typical,” she said, prepared to make her case for normality of appearance.
“You look…cute.”
She grinned.
“Come on,” he said. “We’re about to disembark. Starboard side. Right side,” he translated for her.
“How do you know that?”
“The Marine Corps began as a sea service. We use a lot of the same terminology squids do.”
“Squids?” she said, confused.
“A Marine’s way of referring to Navy personnel.”
“Said with affection, no doubt.”
“Absolutely,” he said with a wicked grin.
“Why, you are just a fountain of information this morning,” she said. “Not only do you know your starboard from your left, you also know how to make good coffee.”
One dark eyebrow lifted. “A word of advice in the compliment department, it carries more weight if you don’t sound so astonished when making the compliment.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. So you’re a diplomatic Marine, hmm?”
“Again, a compliment carries more weight if you don’t sound quite so astonished when you’re saying it.”
“I’m just saying that I’m impressed by your diplomacy. Prudence led me to believe that Marines were a tough-as-nails bunch.”
“That we are, ma’am.” He cupped his hand under her elbow as he chivalrously assisted her down the plankway.
The sun came out again just as they stepped on land. They walked past the concession building toward a circular area with a flagpole in the center. A profusion of colorful flowers bloomed around the walkway. But it was the sight of the Statue of Liberty directly beyond the American flag that brought an emotional lump to Vanessa’s throat. She blinked away an unexpected dampness in her eyes that wasn’t caused by the earlier rain.
“You okay?” Mark asked.
She nodded. “My mother was an American citizen. I guess I was just hit with a wave of patriotism for my American heritage. I was actually born in New York City when she returned here for medical reasons. The pregnancy was a difficult one, so my father had her come here.”
“How did an American woman end up marrying a king?” Mark had seen the facts in Vanessa’s security file, but they didn’t tell the story of her life.
“They met at Ascot in England,” Vanessa replied. “My mother said it was love at first sight. My father broke with tradition and married outside of European royalty.”
“If your father did that, then maybe he’s not as straitlaced as you think he is.”
“He seems to have forgotten that part of himself,” she said quietly. “He’s changed since my mother’s death. We all have.” Vanessa wondered what her mother would have thought about her daughter playing tourist on Liberty Island.
A cloud scuttled over the sun as a group of school-children passed by, jostling Vanessa. Mark gathered her close.
The Statue of Liberty represented the idea of a safe haven for so many millions of people, and here she was, an American-born princess who’d never felt a safer haven than here in her Marine’s arms. She closed her eyes and savored the brief moment—the sounds of the soaring seagulls mingling with the steady beat of Mark’s heart beneath her ear.
“You okay?”
She could feel as well as hear his husky voice. Why hadn’t she noticed the awesome range of his voice before? It could soften to incredible gentleness or harden with powerful authority. It was the kind of voice that brought women to their knees.
“You okay?” he repeated.
She nodded. Much as she might want to, she couldn’t just stand here in his arms all day. Reluctantly, she moved away and smiled at him.
His responding roguish grin made her heart perform somersaults.
“Come on, let’s go.” He held out his hand to her.
She took it, and felt the special connection between them clear to her very soul.
They entered the museum at the base of the statue just as a guide started his spiel.
“The sculptor Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi had originally envisioned that this statue would mark Egypt’s Suez Canal, but history and politics got in the way. He then looked to America.”
Vanessa couldn’t imagine Lady Liberty being anywhere else but here, welcoming newcomers to America.
“Upon entering, you no doubt noticed the torch,” the guide continued. “It is the original torch, which was replaced during the refurbishing of the statue in the 1980s. The statue’s iron skeleton was designed by Gustave Eiffel who built a little tower in Paris.”
Vanessa smiled. She’d been to the Eiffel Tower several times. But it hadn’t had the same effect on her that the Statue of Liberty did. Perhaps because the statue represented what she was looking for—freedom and liberty. The freedom to be herself, to be loved for herself and the liberty to live her own life.
“Where to now?” Mark asked as they departed Battery Park. The view of the Manhattan skyline on the return trip had struck Vanessa with its beauty. So had the view of Mark’s face in profile against that skyline. Power and beauty. A potent combination.
She doubted her Marine captain would appreciate her thinking him beautiful. She grinned and linked her arm through his. “Is there any place you’d like to go?” she asked him. “Besides that strip joint you were telling me about,” she added with a teasing grin.
“We could make a quick stop at the Met.”
“I’d like that.”
They stopped at the museum store first, where Mark insisted on buying her a necklace with a miniature silver shoe dangling from it. “Your glass slipper, ma’am.”
“But you’ve already gotten me souvenirs today.”
“This is different,” he said gruffly. “Just graciously accept it.”
She curtsied. “Thank you, kind sir.”
“Do you want me to put it on for you?”
“Yes, please.” His fingertips brushed against her nape as he struggled with the neck chain’s fastener. The chain was short so he didn’t have much room to maneuver. Vanessa didn’t mind. She just stood there, in the midst of the crowded store, basking in the glow of his meticulous attention as tiny shivers of pleasure chased each other up and down her spine. Her reaction to his touch wasn’t diminishing with exposure. If anything, it was increasing.
“There,” he finally said. “Let me see how it looks.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her around to face him.
She fingered the necklace, which was a shorter length than her mother’s St. Christopher medal, which she wore beneath her top. “How does it look?”
“Perfect.”
As she smiled at him, she marked this as a perfect moment in her life. There hadn’t been many, so when they did occur, she always took note.
Once inside the museum they held hands as they strolled around the collection of impressionist paintings. Vanessa had seen them once before, on a diplomatic visit when she and her mother had been given a private tour after regular museum hours before going to a special gala ball for the Volzemburg Ballet, something else her country was famous for. She hadn’t been back to the Met since then.
“Something wrong?” Mark asked. “You seem awfully quiet all of a sudden.”
“I was remembering the last time I was here, when I was fifteen and came with my mother for a private tour. I remember wanting to stay in front of one of Monet’s paintings and just soak in the joyful color and light radiating from it. But we couldn’t stay because we were on a tight schedule and there was a gala event waiting for us. My mother promised we’d come back again, but she died in a car crash a short while later.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed his hand in appreciation. “It’s just that I still miss her, even after all this time.”
“What about the rest of the American branch of your family?” Mark asked, although he already knew the answer from her files.
“My mother was an only child, and her parents died in a plane crash shortly before she did.”
“That must have been tough for your family.”
“Royalty doesn’t show grief, it’s not allowed. It’s an emotion, and any emotion is to be avoided at all costs.”
“Sounds like the Marine Corps.”
“Yes, but you chose to enlist in the Marines. I had no choice.”
Mark wondered if he truly had had a choice. He’d done what was expected of him, and then swerved from tradition by becoming an officer.
Where were these insurgent thoughts coming from? He’d never questioned his place in the Marine Corps before.
It was her. Vanessa was questioning her own life choices, which made him question his. Too bad he didn’t have any answers.