The Cinderella Princess Read online

  Focus.

  This is about the children, not me.

  Or her.

  “I have a staff.” He cleared his dry throat. “They care what happens to these children, are willing to put in extras hours to help the families.”

  “What do they do?”

  He half-laughed. “A better question would be what don’t they do.”

  Smiling, Emily lowered her hand and picked a fig from a nearby plant. He missed her touch. “Going public with Dream Big Alvernia is the right move. You’ll reinvigorate your bride search. Princesses will be proposing to you.”

  He laughed at her tunnel vision. “You are driven. I’m lucky to have you on my side.”

  “Then let me help you. Advertising is what I do. I’m damn good at it, too.”

  “You’re modesty is remarkable.”

  “Modesty gets you fired in my business.” She wiped the fig with the inside of her shirt. A band of ivory skin flashed. “A coordinated campaign will help your search for a wife and tap into a larger donor pool so your foundation will thrive.”

  “One of these days it may come to that, but not today.” He would have no choice but to do as she suggested if he failed to find a wife, and his father disowned him. “Do not mention the foundation or children to anyone. Understand?”

  Emily didn’t say anything. Her teeth dragged back and forth across her lower lip.

  “Promise me,” he said.

  A beat passed. And another. She looked up at him. “If mentioning the foundation is the only way to marry you off—”

  “We’ll discuss our options then.”

  Her lips pursed. She looked both haughty and kissable.

  He smiled, thinking about how she would taste. Warm, more savory than sweet, perhaps with a touch of spice and a dash of vinegar. Her kiss would likely surprise him, like the woman herself.

  Emily’s mouth twitched like she wanted to say something.

  He had a feeling Emily would be red-faced furious if she found out he was thinking about her kiss. “What?”

  “You’re making a big mistake.”

  “Perhaps.” He appreciated her willingness to state her opinion, even if he didn’t agree with her. “But this is my mistake to make. I will take the blame if I fail.”

  And somehow try to make sure no one else experienced the fallout.

  *

  In her suite that evening, Emily opened her bag and pulled out an old stuffed animal. The cat’s worn fur looked more gray than white, but she adored Miss Mousie.

  Emily held up the toy. Only one whisker remained. Both eyes had been replaced more times than she could remember. But Miss Mousie went everywhere with Emily and knew all her secrets.

  “Look how the other half lives. We could get lost in this room. A good thing we’re only staying five days or we might not ever want to go home.”

  Home was a one-bedroom apartment located a short distance from her office. Emily placed Miss Mousie on the bed and then changed into pajamas.

  A knock sounded.

  Who could that be? Maybe the villa’s housekeeper wanted to put a candy on the pillow. Emily was never too tired for chocolate.

  She opened the door, clutched the handle. “Luc.”

  He held a tray with a small plate of cookies and a steaming mug. The cookies didn’t look like the traditional chocolate chip ones she used to make with her grandmother.

  “Vivianca called me to see how you liked the cookies. I didn’t realize I was supposed to share. So here I am, milady, with cookies and a glass of warm milk for you.”

  Who did this? Probably the same kind of guy who dropped everything to sit with an injured or sick kid all night because they’d asked. “Come in.”

  His gaze ran the length of Emily. He smiled. “Men’s flannel pajamas.”

  “Huh?”

  He walked to the table by the window. “I was hoping you’d be wearing a see-through nightie from Victoria’s Secret.”

  Emily laughed. “If I were, I wouldn’t have opened the door.”

  He raised a brow. “Sure about that?”

  His voice teased, and she would have loved to say yes except she wasn’t one hundred percent certain. That bothered her.

  Luc placed the plate and cup on the table. “Your nightcap is served.”

  “I didn’t think princes were so self-sufficient given you don’t make your own dinner reservations.”

  “After years of watching butlers, you pick up a few things.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Have a seat.”

  She sat. “Would you like to join me?”

  Luc sat opposite her. “I was hoping you would ask.”

  “You only brought one cup of milk.”

  “Showing up with two glasses and in my pajamas might be presumptuous.”

  “You don’t wear pajamas.”

  Wicked laughter lit his eyes. “Exactly.”

  Trouble, she reminded herself. Enjoy the sweets and forget about the man. Emily took a cookie covered in powdered sugar and crushed nuts.

  She ate a bite. “Delicious.”

  “I told you Alvernia is known for their pastries.”

  “Gretchen is from Australia.”

  “She was attending a baking program when she got married. After she graduated, she worked at one of the top bakeries, but quit after the accident.”

  “What’s wrong with Vivianca’s legs?” Emily asked.

  “Multiple fractures. Nerve damage. She requires more surgeries.”

  “She mentioned dancing again.”

  “She was on her way home from a ballet lesson when they were hit.”

  Emily wrapped her hands around the mug. Maybe the milk would heat her hands. “Will Vivianca dance again?”

  “I hope so.” Luc picked up a cookie that resembled a snickerdoodle. “The doctor’s prognosis is vague, but Gretchen believes Vivianca’s recovery will go better if she’s working toward a goal. Even if that goal might have to change as we learn more about the condition of her legs.”

  “I wish there was something I could do.”

  “There is.” Luc took out his cellphone. “Pick up another cookie so I can send a picture to Vivianca. I’m sure she’s waiting for one.”

  Imagining what might make a seven-year-old smile, Emily struck a pose.

  His grin widened. “So you’re not always professional. You know how to have fun.”

  “There’s a time and place for fun.”

  “Glad it’s with me tonight.”

  Her, too. This was the closest thing she’d had to a date in over two months. She bit into the cookie, then sipped her milk.

  What was she thinking? The word date didn’t belong in any sentence about the prince. Time to get back to business.

  “How many other children did you speak with tonight?” she asked.

  “Are you asking out of curiosity or because you want information about the foundation?”

  “Mainly curiosity,” she admitted. “If you’d rather not tell me, that’s fine. I won’t keep asking, but I’d love to know more. What you’re doing for the kids is wonderful.”

  “Thank you.”

  The gratitude in his eyes touched something deep inside her. Emily forced herself to look away. She yawned. “Excuse me.”

  “The travel is catching up with you.”

  “Caught up and passed me, I think.”

  A text sounded on his phone. He laughed. “Vivianca says your pajamas are cute, but you look tired and I should tuck you into bed.”

  Emily placed her cup on the table. “Maybe if I was seven.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  “An older woman.”

  She wasn’t surprised he was younger. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “I’m ancient compared to you.”

  “A good thing there’s no age limit on tuck-ins.” He stood. “I don’t have to tuck you in, but you need to sleep. Come on, get in bed.”

  Havi
ng Luc walk her to a romantic queen-sized four-poster canopy bed with lace panels might have worried her if she wasn’t so tired and having a hard time keeping her eyes opened.

  He pulled back the sheets. “Climb in.”

  “I can do this myself. I’d rather do it.”

  “I know. But I’m here.” He patted the mattress. “You don’t have to.”

  Her heart bumped. She hesitated, torn between logic and desire. Then decided not to listen to her head for once and got into bed.

  He held up Miss Mousie. “Who’s this bad boy?”

  Oh, no. Emily hoped she was too tired to blush. “That’s, um, Miss Mousie.”

  “Excuse me. Miss M. You are not a bad boy.” Luc looked at the stuffed animal. “But I see you’re well loved.”

  He placed the cat on the pillow, then kissed Emily’s forehead the way he’d kissed Vivianca’s.

  Emily imagined what his kiss might taste like. Probably better than the cookies. On that note…

  “Thanks. For the cookies, milk, and tuck-in.”

  Luc pulled up the blankets and covered her. “Anytime.”

  She snuggled against the pillow. Comfy, cozy, content. “See you here at bedtime tomorrow night.”

  He laughed. “It’s a date.”

  What had he said? Her eyelids fluttered. Darkness surrounded her. Had the lights been turned off?

  “Sweet dreams, Cinderella.”

  The warm, male voice wrapped around her like a hug.

  Was she asleep? Must be dreaming or she wouldn’t be thinking about Luc. A fitting line from Romeo and Juliet came to mind. “Goodnight, goodnight! Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.”

  *

  Luc stood next to Emily’s bedside, aware of her breathing and his. The in-control, organized ad exec had turned into Sleeping Beauty. No prick of a spinning wheel required—only hours of travel, frustration, and work.

  He’d contributed to all three, especially the second. For that he was sorry. She was trying to do her job, and like it or not, he needed her help. At least she’d enjoyed the cookies and warm milk before her energy level drained like an overused cellphone.

  He watched her.

  The blanket rose and fell evenly. Blonde hair spread across the white pillowcase.

  He wanted to touch a strand, but kept his hands against his side. Staying here while she slept was weird enough. He’d done this with the children from the foundation, but never a woman.

  She looked serene. The adjective surprised him, given how she’d acted earlier, but was fitting given her Mona Lisa smile and the artwork hanging on the walls. He wondered what she was dreaming about.

  Him? Not likely. He almost laughed. Probably her job.

  No, that wasn’t fair.

  Emily showed glimpses that she wasn’t a diehard workaholic. Traveling with an old stuffed animal seemed out of character, but adorable. And her reciting a line from Romeo and Juliet hinted at a romantic heart.

  Something tingled deep in his stomach.

  He looked away. None of those things mattered. She was a stranger sent into his life to help him with a difficult situation. Nothing more.

  Yet here he was in her room while she slept. Time to get out of here.

  Luc turned off the lights, walked out of her room, and closed the door behind him. Best to stay out of here in the future. Distractions, especially this intriguing American, weren’t allowed, even if they were…tempting. He had a duty to fulfill. Nothing could get in his way.

  Or his father’s threat would become a reality.

  Chapter Five

  ‡

  The next morning, Luc found himself alone in the villa. He saw staff, but no sign of the production crewmembers, Nick, Addie or…Emily.

  The determined, get-the-job-done set of her chin contradicted the dreamy way she’d looked sleeping. He’d been thinking about her since last night. Not sexual thoughts, either. That confused him.

  He didn’t have many female friends. The women in his life fell into neat categories: relatives, potential lovers, former lovers, foundation staff or mothers of children the foundation helped. Few fell outside those labels, but he couldn’t fit Emily into one of them. Maybe he would when he saw her again.

  Luc glanced into the sitting room decorated in pale yellows and grays. No sign of anyone. He checked the drawing room. Empty, too.

  Where was everyone? Emily?

  He went into the music room. The French doors leading to the terrace were open. Laughter sounded outside.

  Luc stood in the doorway. A breeze was blowing, but the temperature was pleasant. Perfect spring weather. If only he were on holiday and not in a search to save his place in his family and most importantly, the foundation.

  Dylan—the sound guy—was working on cables strung across lounge chairs. Underneath a pool cabana, the three other members of the production crew—Brad, Conrad and Wes—were staring at monitors. Emily stood with them. She laughed.

  Luc’s pulse spurted though he didn’t know why. Perhaps he was tired since he’d woken before noon. Or maybe he wanted to forget about finding a wife and have a fling instead. Letting the villa’s romantic setting go to waste would be a crime. Not that Emily would be willing.

  I’m trying to avoid impropriety.

  Emily rubbed the back of her neck. The motion made her chest stick out.

  Her fitted T-shirt showed off delicious curves hidden by her clothes and pajamas yesterday, but ones he’d experienced up-close-and-personal when he’d fallen on her. A taste would be the perfect first breakfast course, better than a bowl of cut fruit or yogurt topped with granola and fresh berries.

  Perhaps he could convince her to have a little fun.

  With him.

  Emily might not be his type, but he’d happily place her in the potential lover category. Her above-the-knee skirt emphasized her long, toned legs. She didn’t seem the type to hang out in a gym, but he imagined she power walked the hallways of her office.

  Luc stepped onto the terrace. No one seemed to notice him. Not surprising. As a child, he would have thought himself invisible, if not for his mother and the palace staff.

  Emily pointed at the monitor. “You captured the vibe of the villages around the lake.”

  Conrad—a cameraman with a shock of red hair—smiled. “Thanks, Emily.”

  “I like the camera angle you used here,” she added.

  Wes, the other cameraman, stood taller. “That’s my shot.”

  She patted his arm. “These will make great travelogues to go between the dating scenes.”

  “Vignettes like this are all we’ve really got.” Brad Hammond, the show’s producer and on-camera host, looked more like a surfer in his board shorts, tropical shirt and flip-flops. His bleached blond hair matched his whitened toothpaste-ad teeth. “Eating dinner in silence or discussing polo doesn’t make for must-see TV.”

  Her face scrunched. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  The collar of Luc’s shirt tightened. He’d told them no respectable royal would open up on camera, but the crew hadn’t listened.

  “Let’s just say the princess wooing lacks a certain pizzazz,” Wes admitted.

  Conrad nodded. “And no kissing, either.”

  Emily looked at the two cameramen. “You’ve been filming for a month. Surely there’s been something going on.”

  Luc’s stomach twisted. Princesses weren’t going to do anything to risk their reputations unless they were willing to see this through to the end. None had wanted a second date. That meant no kissing him or touching or…

  “He’s kissed a few hands,” Conrad said.

  Wes nodded. “Escorted them by the arm.”

  Brad rubbed his chin. “Too bad we didn’t dress them in Regency period clothing, and use a Jane Austen slant. There’s a niche market for her fans.”

  “If you want skin and scandal, don’t forget we have cellphone video from the strip poker game,” Dylan said. “One of the wome
n left her phone behind. All we’d have to do is enhance the film.”

  “Let’s hope she was the only person taping. Make sure that footage disappears forever.” Emily’s voice hardened. “All we need is for that to wind up on the Internet.”

  Guilt stuck in Luc’s mouth like peanut butter. He shouldn’t be thinking about Emily as a potential or former lover. She was here to help, and her protectiveness made him feel not so alone. Bodyguards were paid to look out for him. The crew wanted only a hit show. That left no one in his corner. No one except Emily.

  “Show me the date footage.” Her tone was curt, but professional. “We need to figure a way to salvage this before I leave on Tuesday.”

  That was only a few days from now. Luc moved closer.

  Conrad typed on a keyboard. “You’d better have lots of coffee nearby or you’ll fall asleep. We’re talking b-o-r-i-n-g.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  Emily’s pointed question to the crew surprised Luc. Unexpected warmth flowed through him. Few, less than a handful, had ever taken his side. The only person he could count on was his mother, but his father constrained her actions.

  “Being on a reality TV show doesn’t come with an instruction manual, yet you expect Luc to know what to do instinctually. He’s a prince looking for a wife, not a frat boy looking to hook up for the night.”

  Each word she spoke in Luc’s defense made him feel as if he’d found a new friend. Friends were…rare. Most others were acquaintances and hanger-ons.

  She squared her shoulders. “Did he watch dating reality shows before starring in one?”

  No, Luc hadn’t, but he kept his mouth closed. Emily could handle this.

  The crew looked at each other as if confused.

  “Your silence says he didn’t.” Her tone reminded him of a former tutor when he hadn’t studied hard enough. “Did you tell Luc what you wanted with the show?”

  “Yes.” Brad punctuated the word with a nod. “I told him drama, sexual innuendoes, and hot kisses so viewers would be enticed to watch week after week.”

  “And what did Luc say?” she asked.

  This was his cue. Luc walked across the tiled terrace. “I told him any respectable princess qualified to be my wife isn’t going to open up on camera, let alone be affectionate. We’re taught from birth to be private and be on-guard in front of cameras.”