Affairs of State (Daughters of Power: The Capital #6)(8)
Author: Jennifer Lewis

“The agency didn’t think it was a good idea for me to contact you when you were a child. They wouldn’t tell me who adopted you. I never stopped thinking about you. Never.”

The emotion in her mother’s voice made her chest constrict. “I’ve always wanted to meet you. Could we get together?” She spoke fast, afraid that at any minute the call would drop and she’d lose the fragile new connection.

“I live in Ireland.”

Ariella’s brain was racing, as she tried to mentally organize the long-awaited meeting with her birth mother. “I have to come to England soon for work. Would it be okay if I came to visit you in Ireland?” The words rushed out, and suddenly she was terrified Eleanor would say no.

Why did she think of her as Eleanor and not her mother? Of course she wasn’t “Mom” to her. That title would always be held by the woman who’d raised her and who she still missed every day. But she wanted to meet Eleanor so much it was a dull ache inside her all the time now.

After a long pause, Eleanor spoke again. “I’m in a remote rural area. Perhaps I could come to England to visit you while you’re there?”

“I’d like that very much.” Exhilaration roared through her and her hands started shaking, causing her to press the phone against her ear. “I don’t know the exact dates I’ll be there yet. What works for you?”

“Oh, anything, really. I’m widowed now, and I do babysitting for income so I don’t have any real commitments.” Eleanor suddenly sounded more relaxed.

“I can’t wait to meet you. It doesn’t seem fair that I don’t know what you look like. You can see pictures of me in the papers all the time.”

She laughed. “I’m afraid I’m not very glamorous. I probably look like a typical Irish housewife. I’ve lived in Ireland since the year after I…had you. I haven’t been back to the States since. I was trying so hard to run away from everything. From you and Ted and the mess I’d gotten myself into.”

“I’m so glad you wrote to me.”

“It was a hard letter to write. I knew I had to reach out to you and I didn’t know how. I was afraid. I am afraid. I know everyone thinks I made the wrong choices back then and I…” Her voice trailed off.

“You made the choices you had to make. No one blames you for them.”

“There wasn’t a day where I didn’t think of you and wonder what you were doing right at that moment.”

“I had a great childhood.” She couldn’t believe she was finally having this conversation she’d waited so long for.

“I’m so happy to hear that.” She could hear tears in her mother’s voice. “I did worry. I tried to imagine that you were being well taken care of and were happy.”

“I could show you photos if you’d like. My dad was an avid photographer and there are really far too many of them.” Then she wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. Would Eleanor find it painful to see all this evidence of someone else raising her child?

“I’d like that very much.” Emotion heightened the pitch of her voice. “I’ve missed so much. I never did have another child. You’re my only one.”

She couldn’t believe she was actually talking to her mother after all these years. So many questions flooded her mind. Things she’d always wanted to know. “Do you have brown hair?”

“I do, though I admit to coloring it now to cover some gray. And I can see you have my green eyes.”

“Those are from you? People have always asked me about them. Green eyes are quite unusual. I wonder what other characteristics we share? Oh, I wish I could leave for the airport right now.”

“I’m so glad I’ll finally meet you after all these years. I do feel terrible guilt about what happened. That poor Ted never knew he had a beautiful daughter growing up all that time. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that. Have the two of you become close now?”

She hesitated. “Actually I haven’t met him yet. Since he’s the president he’s surrounded by all sorts of high security and no one entirely believed the story that I’m his daughter until the DNA test results came out. I don’t think the White House knows quite what to do with me.”

She rambled on. “And I suppose he’s busy running the country. And dealing with that mess in the Middle East. They’re thinking of sending troops.” Every time she watched the news now she felt each domestic and international event a bit more keenly, knowing that her own flesh and blood had to make decisions about how to handle each crisis.

“Oh, I just thought that since you were both in Washington…”

She shoved a hand through her hair and tried to keep her embarrassment out of her voice. “We’re going to meet very soon. ANS is arranging a televised special and we’re going to appear on camera together.” She wanted to sound happy and excited, not terrified.

“You won’t tell anyone that we’re going to meet, though, right?” Eleanor’s voice had shrunk again.

“I promise I won’t tell a soul. Is it okay if I call you sometime?” She’d already scribbled down the number, afraid it might disappear into the recesses of her phone or get accidentally deleted.

“I’d like that very much.”

They ended the phone call with much excitement about the planned meeting. Ariella then managed to wolf down the toast and dash to work before her first appointment, adrenaline pounding in her veins like a dangerous drug. The receptionist handed her a message that Francesca wanted to chat about the upcoming ANS special that would bring her together with her famous father.

“It’s lucky I thrive on being busy,” she muttered to herself, as she opened the door to her office. She had umpteen phone calls to make about events happening this week, and now her mind was being tugged between the prospect of meeting her mother, doing a TV show with her father and, of course, seeing Simon again. There was way too much going on for everything to work out smoothly. That was something she’d learned early on in her years as an event planner. Too many balls in the air meant broken pieces on the floor, and soon.

But which ball would crash first?

* * *

On the evening of her date with Simon she left work early so she’d have time for a shower. She was about to climb in and wash her hair when she remembered she’d run out of conditioner. Great. Frizzy hair for her dinner with a prince. She’d have to head to the deli around the corner and pick some up.

She tied up her hair and put on jeans and a jacket. There was no more running to the store in shorts and a tank top now that reporters lurked in every crevice.

She strode into the shop and picked up a bottle of some harmless-looking generic conditioner—the store didn’t carry her rather esoteric favorite—and marched up to the counter, fishing in her pocket for cash. A magazine behind the counter caught her eye. Royal Watch was the title, emblazoned in yellow letters.

Simon’s gorgeous face almost totally filled the front cover. The rest of it, unfortunately, was hogged by the shiny, overly made-up face of a young blonde woman pressing her cheek against his. A young woman who was most decidedly not Ariella Winthrop.

“Two ninety-nine.” The cashier’s voice tugged her back to the present.

She handed him a twenty. “And I’ll take that magazine, too.” Her voice came out hoarse. She pointed at Royal Watch. “Research for work.” Because of course she was just buying it to see if there was any information about what the Duke of Buckingham might want for his wedding decorations. Yeah. That was it.

She hurried back to her apartment with the magazine rolled tightly. She certainly didn’t need any press coverage of her buying Royal Watch. Once inside she locked the door and walked slowly to the kitchen counter, now almost afraid to look at the cover again. Was she jealous? She’d only just met Simon. He must have an entire history of romances that had nothing to do with his feelings for her.

She risked another glance at the girl on the cover. Blue eyes, heavily outlined with dark eyeliner. The text over the photo said Prince Simon Engaged!

She frowned. He couldn’t be in love with someone else and kissing her—could he? She flipped to the “article,” which consisted of two paragraphs accompanied by a lot more pictures. All the photos appeared to be from the same outdoor sporting event—some kind of horse race—with all the women in big hats.

The article said that Lady Sophia Alnwick and Prince Simon had told their closest friends of their planned engagement, and that the queen was thrilled to welcome her new daughter-in-law into the family.

How come she hadn’t seen any of this in the more mainstream press? Prince Simon wasn’t as much in the public eye as his older brother, who was heir to the throne, but the entertainment press still picked up on stories about him quite often. Could Royal Watch simply have made it up?

Apart from the cover picture where they appeared to be cheek to cheek, they didn’t look that intimate. Still…

She showered and dressed with considerably less excitement and more trepidation than she’d been feeling before she saw Royal Watch. How could she bring this up without seeming like a jealous harpy? On the other hand, she certainly didn’t want to kiss a man who was engaged—even unofficially—to another woman.

When Simon’s driver opened the rear door of the car thirty minutes later, she was surprised to find it empty. Did she now expect one of the crowned heads of Europe to arrive in person to pick her up? She was definitely getting a big head.

The car slid through the more exclusive streets of the city. She had no idea where they were going, but somehow it seemed embarrassing to admit it to the driver, so she didn’t ask. Before long, they pulled up in front of a classical façade. The driver opened the door and she stepped out. The building looked grand and impersonal, like an embassy or an exclusive law office. She walked up the front steps and a suited man opened the door and murmured “Good evening.” Still no sign of Simon. If her life wasn’t so unpredictable and over the top already she’d probably be growing alarmed by now.

“Ariella.” His deep, smooth voice called from down a marbled hallway. Immediately her body heat rose.

He walked up to her and kissed her softly on the lips. Who’s Sophia Alnwick? she wanted to ask, but now was not the time. Her mouth hummed under his kiss and she wanted it to deepen, but the man who’d opened the door must be nearby, and maybe others, too. She didn’t want anyone to find out about their clandestine affair.

An affair? That sounded so…sexual. And it wasn’t. At least not yet.

“What is this place?”

“An unofficial annex to the consulate. There’s no one here in the evenings so I’ve requisitioned it so I could entertain you at home, so to speak. We’ll just have to pretend we’re at Whist Castle, since you won’t do me the honor of visiting me at my real home.”

His teasing hurt expression made her laugh. He always managed to diffuse any tension in the situation and make her feel like they were just two people who happened to get along well. “As it turns out, I might be planning a party in England soon.”

He picked up her hand and kissed it, which made her fingers tingle with pleasure. “Then perhaps I’ll have some beefeaters intercept you and whisk you up to Whist.” His eyes glimmered with humor.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” One brow rose as if he was asking the question of himself. “You don’t ever really know what you’ll do in any given situation until you’re faced with it. That’s something I learned during my time in the military. You can only hope you’ll do what you know is right.”

“Speaking of which, are you engaged?” There, it was out. And ringing boldly through the marble-clad hallway. Any staff who were lingering in the corners had just seen them kiss, making the question really embarrassing.

“Engaged as in busy?” He gestured for her to enter a room.

Which she did, glad to get out of the echoing hallway. They were now in a large sitting room, with damask curtains and big armchairs. “Engaged as in betrothed.” She managed to stay fairly calm while she waited for his response. Was he going to deny it?

“Most definitely not.”

He did deny it. “I saw a cover story about it in a magazine in my local deli.”

He didn’t look the slightest bit flustered. “Do you believe everything you read in the papers?”

Her face heated slightly. “No. Especially not if it’s written about me.” She felt a smile creeping across her mouth. “I should have known it wasn’t true.”

“But you had to ask anyway.” His gaze challenged her.

“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t kiss men who belong to someone else.”