Affairs of State (Daughters of Power: The Capital #6)(6)
Author: Jennifer Lewis

He stared at her. “I like the way your mind works.”

She shrugged. “I brainstorm this kind of stuff all the time.”

“I had no idea party planning was so involved. I thought it was all choosing napkins and printing invitations.”

“That’s the easy part. The hard part is making each event stand out from the thousands of others taking place during the year. In your case, people would expect a prince to have a very exclusive, private dinner, so an outdoor concert rather takes people by surprise. It also creates the sense of inclusion that your charity is all about. In addition to the event’s raising money from ticket sales, it’ll get people talking and that will generate additional donations and bring in people who want to help.”

He still stared right at her, and she could almost hear his brain moving a million miles a minute. “Where have you been all my life?”

A smile crept across her mouth. “Read the papers. You can learn more about my past than I can even remember.”

He laughed. “I know that feeling. I think we have a lot in common.”

How could she feel so comfortable talking to this man from one of the great royal houses of Europe? Well, she’d never been too impressed by royalty. That probably helped in situations like this.

“That’s probably why I’ve appeared in your life to help you cope with it.”

“Destiny at work.” She swallowed. Did she really believe that some mysterious workings of fate had brought her and Simon together?

No. They were simply going to spend a pleasant afternoon looking at antiques. They’d put together a fun concert that would get people talking about World Connect. Then he’d go back to England and she’d get on with whatever her life was going to be.

What about the chemistry crackling between them right now in the back of the car? What about the way her skin heated when he leaned toward her, or her stomach swirled with strange sensations when he fixed her with that thoughtful gaze?

She was going to ignore that. So was he. No one was going to do anything they might regret. They were both grownups and far too sensible for that.

What a relief.

* * *

The driver took them to a little town called Danes Mills, where he parked behind a quaint restaurant that reminded Ariella of a British pub. The entire main street appeared to be upscale antique shops, with maybe a gift shop or bookstore for variety. Simon helped her from the car while the driver held the door. It was all very formal and majestic and made her feel like a princess. Which she wasn’t.

People did turn to look at them. She wasn’t sure if she imagined the whispers. While she knew people thought she was pretty, she didn’t have the kind of looks that demanded attention. In fact she considered herself a nondescript brunette, so she didn’t usually have to worry about standing out from the crowd. People recognized Simon, though. He was tall and broad and attracted admiration without even trying. They’d probably stare at him even if he wasn’t a well-known prince. Maybe they were turning to look at him for the same reasons she wanted to—because he was handsome and his smile could melt an iceberg.

In the first store they looked through some old paintings and drawings, all rather in need of restoration, and admired a painted cupboard. In the second, Ariella became entranced by a group of tiny snuff boxes. She loved to open them and find the tobacco smell still there, as if the owner had just finished the last pinch.

“Which is your favorite?”

“I’m not sure.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “The silver one has such delicate engraving, and I love the colors on this enameled one. But I think I like this black one best.” She picked up a shiny black box. She wasn’t even sure what it was made from. Possibly something insubstantial like papier-mâché. It had a delicate painting of a girl standing under a tree that must have been painted with the world’s tiniest brush.

He took it from her, which surprised her. She grew even more surprised when he handed it to the shop owner—who had to be roused from some old books he was sorting through—and paid for it. After the shopkeeper had wrapped it in tissue and deposited it in a tiny brown paper shopping bag, Simon handed it back to her. “For you.”

She blinked. “I didn’t mean for you to buy it.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

“I don’t think a man has ever given me a snuff box before.” She kept her voice hushed, not wanting to convey any impression of romance to the store owner.

“You can’t accuse me of being clichéd, at least.” That infectious smile again. She found her own mouth curving up. Surely there was no harm in the gift. It wasn’t terribly expensive, just a sweet gesture. “I notice you like miniature paintings. I saw several at your flat.” He opened the shop door and they stepped out into the sunlight.

“I do. A perfect world in microcosm. And just for one person at a time to look at and enjoy. Maybe it’s the opposite of my parties where everyone must have a good time all at once.”

“You keep giving me a new perspective on things I take for granted.” He smiled. “Our driver, David, tells me there’s a state park near here. What do you say we take a picnic lunch there?”

“That sounds great.”

It was lucky she agreed because David had already been given orders somehow. The car was piled high with white deli bags and a newly bought cooler containing chilled drinks. She was so used to creating fairy-tale meals for other people that it was rather bizarre to have someone else pulling all the strings. All she had to do was enjoy.

David drove them into the park, past several battlefield sites, to the bank of a winding river. He spread a pretty French provincial patterned cloth—which must have been a rather expensive purchase back in Danes Mill—and unpacked the deli bags filled with gourmet salads.

Ariella settled onto the cloth and Simon poured her a sparkling glass of champagne. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this pampered.” They helped themselves to a warm tortellini salad and a crisp slaw of carrot and beetroot with a sesame seed dressing.

“You deserve it. You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately and it’s time for you to let off some steam.”

She sighed, and they sipped their champagne. Not surprisingly, it was very good. “Is your life like this every day?”

“If only.” That intoxicating smile again. “My life is usually far more prosaic.”

The driver had tactfully vanished, and they were all alone beside the rushing stream. Tiny yellow flowers bloomed along the banks, and the rich mossy smell of the trees and the soil soothed her frazzled nerves. “I used to wish my life would go back to normal, but if this is the new normal, I’m not complaining.” She looked up at him and spoke with sudden conviction. “And I intend to meet both my birth parents.” Her confidence had grown since she met Simon. “It’s too big an opportunity to waste. Sure, I’m scared, but the potential reward is worth the risk.”

“Fantastic. I’m glad you’ve come to that conclusion. I thought you would. Have you managed to make contact with your mother?”

“I wrote to her but I haven’t heard back yet. It’s so odd that I don’t even know what she looks like. All I’ve seen is her high school yearbook photo from the year she got pregnant with me.”

“What did she look like then?”

“Young, sweet, sort of shy. She had a terrible hairstyle. It was the 1980s after all.”

He laughed. “I bet she’s a lot more nervous than you are.”

“She has good reason to be apprehensive. She’s the only one who could be accused of doing anything wrong here. She says she didn’t tell my father about me because she didn’t want to prevent him from going off to college, but surely he could have made his own decisions about how to handle it. After all, if he can manage to become president of the United States, I think he could probably handle supporting a family while taking his classes.”

“You’re right. I’d be devastated if I got a girl pregnant and she didn’t tell me.”

Her eyes widened. Sometimes Simon was shockingly frank. He hadn’t even looked up from his plate, and was busy munching on some arugula. “Is that something you have to worry about a lot? I mean, any child you had would be in line to the throne.”

“Believe me, I’ve heard that over and over again since I was old enough to understand. My grandmother, the queen, would prefer that none of us date at all. If she had her own way we’d all be safely tucked away in arranged marriages by age twenty.”

“Have they tried to pair you up with anyone?”

“Oh, it never stops.” His eyes were smiling. “They’re constantly digging up blushing blue-blood virgins and inviting them to palace tea parties.”

“But so far none of them has piqued your interest.” She nibbled on a crisp green bean.

“Oh, several of them have piqued my interest.” He chuckled. “But not in the way Grandmama was hoping, I’m afraid. And luckily, I haven’t gotten any of them pregnant, either.”

“You’re shocking me.”

“Why? You don’t think a prince has feelings like any other man?”

“Well…” She bit her lip. “Of course I know you do, it’s just…”

“You can’t believe I’m talking about it out loud when I should be much more subtle and surreptitious?” He raised a brow. His dimple was showing. “My family hates how blunt I am. I can’t stand beating around the bush. Heaven knows I do enough of it when I’m out in public, so in private I prefer to speak my mind. Don’t be too shocked.”

“I’ll try not to be.” She smiled. His candor was refreshing. He was so different from what she’d expected. It was disarming and intriguing and she had a hard time maintaining her own cool reserve around him.

“How did we start talking about me? I was asking about your mother. Didn’t you say she lives in Ireland?”

“When she wrote to me there was an address on the inside of the letter. A post office box in Kilkenney, Ireland. She must have rented it so no one would find out where she lived. I haven’t told anyone she wrote to me, except my closest friends. I told her I’d like to meet her and I’m willing to travel to Ireland if she needs me to.”

“How will you do that without taking the international press corps with you?”

“I’m cunning when I need to be.” She smiled mysteriously. “And it’s always a good idea to do some location scouting for a big wedding, or something.”

“Your profession lends itself to international travel. I’m forced by circumstance to do most of my travel in the British Commonwealth.”

“The countries that were in the former empire?”

“Exactly. Lucky thing it was big and had so many interesting countries.” He grinned, looking disarmingly boyish. “How did your mother end up in Ireland, anyway? I thought she was from Montana.”

“I don’t entirely know. I think she met an Irish man after she gave me up for adoption. Hopefully I’ll find out the details once we meet.”

“I’m sure she’s missed you far more than you know.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t know. She might have other children. She didn’t say. She didn’t mention anything about wanting to meet me.”

“She’s probably nervous that you don’t want to meet her. She did abandon you, after all.”

“I told her in my letter that I have no hard feelings and that I had the best childhood anyone could want. I said it would mean so much to me if I could meet her.”

“Has she responded?”

“Not yet.” A sudden chill made her shiver. She put down her plate. “What if she doesn’t?”

He smiled. “She will. I can feel it.”

“Psychic, are you?” She sipped her champagne. The slight buzz it gave her was soothing, given the tense topic of conversation. “I wish I had your confidence.”

“You do. You just don’t know it yet.” He sipped his champagne. “Let’s see how cold this water is.” He stood and walked to the bank, where the river rushed by only about a foot below. Before she had time to join him, he’d removed his shoes and socks, rolled up the leg of his dark slacks, and slid his feet into the water. “Cold.”

“Is it really? It must be from an underground spring.” The summer afternoon was downright balmy. Her own toes itched to dip into the sparkling depths. She sat on the bank next to him and slipped off her shoes. Her jeans were tight-fitting so she could barely roll them up at all, but she managed to get them above her ankles. Then she dangled her feet down the bank until the water lapped against her toes. “Ooh, that feels good.”

Tentative, she slid her feet beneath the surface. The chill of the water contrasted with the warm throb of intimacy that pulsed between them, helped by the glass of champagne. Her shoulder bumped gently against his, then she felt his arm slide around her waist. It felt as natural as the cool clear water splashing against her ankles.