Gamble on Engagement (2 page)

“Oh yeah,” she said, her eyes wide, nodding.
“Best luggage I’ve ever had.”

I nodded, gritting my teeth through my fake
smile. “I bet.”

The next several hours were the absolute
longest of my life. Missy droned on and on about all the
fabulousness that the color orange beheld. She kept looking at my
computer expectantly, no doubt wondering why I wasn’t taking notes.
In a million years a real journalist would never take some random
woman’s opinion as research for an article, but since I had no idea
how I would actually research the color orange, not to mention I
would give just about anything to pass some of the time, since I
absolutely could not get that stinkin’ envelope out of my mind, I
actually lowered myself to typing her ideas about orange.

I could not believe she did not even go to
the bathroom once on entire trip. I swear my leg did not stop
juggling from frustration for one second.

Finally, blessedly, so many hours later, I
flew off that plane like a toddler needing to pee, not even caring
if Missy thought I was being rude. I mean seriously, I’d already
devoted way too much time to that woman. Plus, I had to get into my
envelope as fast as possible since I didn’t even know where I was
supposed to go once we landed.

I high-tailed it for the bathroom, not
willing to take the chance that Missy might follow me, praying that
she would go to pick up her luggage first. I snuck into the first
stall and pulled the envelope out of my carry on.

A moment later someone barged into the
restroom, singing.

Good God, it was Missy. I should have known,
I suppose, considering the fact that she hadn’t used the restroom
the whole time we’d been on the plane, but seriously, even my luck
usually wasn’t this bad.

I carefully tried ripping the envelope as
quietly as possible so as not to attract attention, hoping against
hope that Missy would finish quickly and get over to the luggage
even more quickly, grabbing her stinkin’ orange bags and be outta
there before I had to collect mine.

I clutched the envelope, feeling like I was
totally doing something wrong behind Missy’s back. Which was
ridiculous, I know, but I really wasn’t very good at the whole
secretive thing.

I took a deep breath, shaking off the
feeling. Finally the time had come. I pulled the sheet of paper out
of the envelope, my heart racing to find out who my secret
celebrity client was going to be.

~ 2 ~

It was all I could do not to scream and jump
out of that stall to hug Missy, which obviously I couldn’t do since
she’d probably hound me until I told her what my secret was, so
instead I did a silent little victory dance right there in the
Heathrow bathroom.

I’m sure it looked really spectacular.

But it was certainly called for. I… was
going to ghostwrite a biography for… a Prince! And not just any
Prince either, but Prince Leo, England’s most eligible bachelor,
favorite fodder for the tabloids and all-around, Hottie
McHotterson.

Okay Josie, settle down, you already have a
very handsome boyfriend. A very rich, and famous, and fabulous
boyfriend (not to mention great kisser).

Okay, okay, okay I told myself. Just calm
down. You are not going to get all sploofy around some guy just
because he’s a Prince (oh my God, a Prince!). No, you will remain
rational and calm and you will write in your diary this instant so
as not to go thinking that you’re some kind of magnet for super
handsome famous guys.

Dear Disaster Diary,

I was running really late for the bus one
fated January day. I know, I know, I was always running late for my
bus, but this time I was just a teensy bit late, which meant I
still had a chance to actually catch it. A slight chance, mind you,
but a chance none the less.

I scurried out of my building and down the
street as fast as I could in my new Betseyville heels, not really
noticing that it had rained overnight and that a bit of the
moisture had frozen into an invisible layer of death. Yes, you can
see where this is going.

Anyway, I spotted my bus about to drive away
from the stop and picked up my pace, really pushing those Betseys
to their limit when all of a sudden I… was… flying.

After the mildly exhilarating (and seriously
terrifying) trip through the skies, the crash was much less painful
than might be expected, given that my forward momentum had sent me
sailing head first across the icy sidewalk, arms and legs flailing
like Bambi, only coming to a stop at the feet of an extremely
well-dressed and handsome gentleman.

Come to think of it, that was really the
most painful part of all.

I collected myself as best as I could and
finally finished reading the letter, since, you know, I had
absolutely no idea how I was supposed to meet my Prince. Okay, not
my
Prince, obviously. Apparently, there was supposed to be a
driver awaiting my arrival somewhere near the baggage claim.
Sheesh, I thought. I sure hope he doesn’t know what I look like
and/or saw me exit the plane and head for the bathroom so fast it
probably looked like I was having some sort of stomach issues. That
would be just my luck.

Since Missy was still in another stall, I
decided I should try to make a break for it while she was… err…
occupied.

I unlocked the door silently and crept out,
trying to not even breathe so as not to alert Missy. I thanked the
heavens for the tiny miracle that allowed me to get out of there
undetected.

Or so I thought.

I found the conveyor that had the luggage
for my flight and grabbed my bags quickly since there were very few
left. I did, of course see the huge orange suitcase still rolling
around and around and turned, head down, wanting nothing more than
to just get the heck out of there.

“Josie!” Missy yelled, waving
frantically.

It was then that I noticed the people
standing over to the side with signs. There were only a couple
left, patiently waiting for their clients.

The last thing I wanted to do was let my
driver know that I even knew this woman, let alone might be friends
with her or something, so I pretended I didn’t see her and started
walking to my driver, a nervous smile plastered on my face.

“Josie?” she said again, coming right up to
me.

Argh!!

I looked at her and jumped a little,
pretending to be surprised. “Oh,” I cleared my throat, “was that
you Missy? I thought someone from over there had called my name,” I
said, pointing to a far corner of the baggage claim area. “The
acoustics in here are really weird.” I chuckled nervously.

There was no way she was going to buy
it.

But of course she did. There were just some
people in this world who could not believe other people might find
them annoying. I wondered how red my face was turning as I glanced
out of the corner of my eye toward my driver, who sadly, was not
far enough away to be out of earshot. Especially considering the
next thing that came out of Missy’s mouth.

“I saw you hightail it to the bathroom too!
And even faster than me! You must have really had to go! Don’t ya
just hate those airplane bathrooms? So tiny, and nasty too, if you
know what I mean.”

Dear God, just kill me now. It might not
have been so bad if she hadn’t been one of those people who felt
the need to yell everything she says. I glanced again at the driver
who was now chuckling softly. At least he was trying to hide it.
Some of the other people around were not so courteous.

“Heh, heh, well, um… I guess so,” I said as
quietly as possible, smiling through my red-faced shame. I cleared
my throat again. “Well, I see my driver’s here, so I’d better get
going.”

“No way!”

What? What does she mean no way? It’s not
like she could just kidnap me or something.

Or could she?

I took a step backward, readying myself to
make a break for it.

“Not until you give me your email address so
we can stay in touch!” She gleamed a smile my way that would scare
the crap out of a clown.

“Oh yeah, heh heh, why didn’t I think of
that?” I slapped my forehead for good measure.

Man, I really must take another one of those
improv classes one of these days. My acting skills were way beyond
pathetic.

But Missy didn’t miss a beat. She already
had her pen and paper at the ready. I grabbed them and jotted down
my email as quickly as possible, very aware of my driver trying to
compose himself just a few dozen feet away. I handed the paper back
to Missy and turned to leave.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

I stopped in my tracks. What now? I
wondered, turning around.

“You forgot to get my email address silly!”
She shook her head like I was the most forgetful thing on the
planet.

Yes, forgetful. That’s what it was.

“Oh… right,” I said, pulling out my phone.
“I’ll just type it in here. Then I’ll have it wherever I go,” I
smiled, praying this would all be over soon.

“Great! It’s [email protected].”

Of course it is, I thought. “Great.” I
smiled. “Thanks so much.”

“Well, I guess that’s it then,” Missy
finally said and I mouthed a silent thank you to the God of Pity
who was surely smiling down on me in that moment.

“Great! So nice to meet you,” I said, and
again, made the mistake of turning to leave.

Suddenly, I was immersed in the squeeziest
of all bear hugs you’ve ever seen. I thought I might choke. She
finished off with a huge slap to my back, practically sending me
sailing toward my driver.

I coughed from the force of the air being
knocked out of my lungs. “Great then, see ya! Bye!” I croaked,
giving her a little wave. It seemed like a good idea to punctuate
my departure with two goodbyes, just to make sure she fully
understood.

“Bye!”

She finally started walking toward her
ridiculous safety cone luggage.

I closed my eyes and took a deep, cleansing
breath, letting it slowly out my nose, hoping the tension would
drain away with it.

And it actually seemed to work, at least a
little. I straightened my shoulders and tried to walk confidently
toward my driver. I smiled as best as I could, considering.

“Um, hi. I’m Josie.”

“Yes, Miss McMaster, welcome to England,” he
said, ever so gracious.

Thank goodness. I didn’t know how much more
embarrassment I could take for one day.

I followed him sheepishly out to the curb
where a limo almost as nice as the ones Emma VanHorn provided for
the Bridesmaid Lotto, waited. Not that I should be surprised. After
all, this was a Prince we were dealing with.

My heart started racing all over again,
imagining all the Royal secrets I might learn, wondering what the
protocol was for putting the really scandalous stuff in print. I
probably didn’t have the greatest chance of revealing anything too
steamy, but maybe I could find a way to sneak one or two fabulous
little tidbits in here and there. Of course, to do that I would
actually have to learn one or two fabulous little tidbits, but I
was sure that wouldn’t be so hard considering I would be spending a
bunch of time with Prince Leo himself.

Eeee!

I was so worked up over the whole thing
again; I apparently forgot what I was supposed to do when a
gentleman opened a door for me.

“Miss McMaster?” my driver said.

I snapped out of my thoughts and shook my
head. “Sorry, I was just daydreaming, I guess.”

Yes, that’s good; admit that you’re a total
daydreamer. That’s the way to make a first impression. Sheesh.

He smiled and didn’t even look too annoyed
with me, thank goodness. I really wasn’t at my best given the long
flight, made even longer by Missy.

“How far are we going?” I asked, thinking I
could really use a nice long, relaxing drive to wind down from all
the traveling and try to compose myself for meeting the Prince!

“Not too far, just a short trip out to the
countryside. Shouldn’t be more than a half hour.”

“Great,” I said, thinking that might be just
the right amount of time to do a little yoga breathing and center
myself.

~~~

The views were absolutely spectacular. I
didn’t remember ever seeing the world as green as it was in
England, and the rolling hills were about the most charming thing
I’d ever seen. Everyone was always talking about how the weather is
so dreary in the UK, but it could not have been more gorgeous. It
was the kind of day that just begged you to come outside and
play.

We turned off the main road onto a trail
that disappeared into a forest, which we drove through for what
must have been five full minutes at a leisurely pace, then
suddenly, the tree line broke into a huge clearing with a lawn that
could not have been more perfectly manicured, with flower beds
surrounding it, bursting with color like I had never before seen in
my life. It was like opening a page in a fairy tale.

But all that was nothing compared to the
castle that loomed up ahead. Seriously, a real, live castle! I
mean, of course I knew there were castles in England and that the
people who owned the castles would be rich, and you know, royalty,
but of course my brain did not put all those variables together
until the huge building came into view.

And it was spectacular.

I couldn’t even guess how big it was, or how
many of my own apartments could have fit inside it, but it was
huge, and to my utter delight, it even had the pointed turrets and
everything, just like a proper castle should.

“Welcome to Gatesbury Castle, Miss
McMaster,” the driver said.

“Wow, I’ve never been to a house that had a name
before,” I said stupidly. “Or to a castle for that matter,” which
was probably a stupid thing to say too, since we were in England
and people probably visited castles all the time in England.