HOW TO MARRY A PRINCESS (2 page)

In the afternoon, she met with the planning committee for next year’s Grand Champions Tour. Montedoro would host the sixth leg of the tour down at the harbor show grounds in June. Through the endless meeting, she tried very hard not to think of blue eyes, not to remember the deep, stirring sound of a certain voice.

That night, alone in her bed, she dreamed she went riding with Noah. She was on Yasmine and he rode the bay stallion Orion. They stopped in a meadow of wildflowers and talked, though when she woke she couldn’t remember a thing they had said.

It was a very tame dream. Not once did they touch, and there was none of the heated tension she had felt when she’d actually been near him. In the dream they laughed together. They were like longtime companions who knew each other well.

She woke Friday morning as usual, long before dawn, feeling edgy and dissatisfied, her mind on the American.

Why? She hardly knew this man. She
didn’t
know him. She’d seen him twice and shared one brief conversation with him. He should not have affected her so profoundly.

Then again, there was probably nothing profound about it. He was hot and mysterious, untamed and somehow slightly dangerous. He called to her wild side. She found him madly attractive.

Plus, well, maybe she’d been keeping too much to herself. She wanted to avoid getting wild in the streets, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a life. She’d been sticking
too
close to home. This obsession with Noah was clear proof that she needed to get out more.

And she would get out, starting that very evening with a gala party at the palace, a celebration of her sister Rhiannon’s recent marriage to Commandant Marcus Desmarais. It would be lovely. She would enjoy herself. She would dance all night.

She rose and dressed and went to the stables, expecting to see Noah again, unsure whether she
wanted
to see him—or wished that he wouldn’t be there.

He wasn’t there.

And her uncertainty vanished. She
did
want to see him, to hear his voice again, to find out if her response to him was as strong as it had seemed yesterday. As she tacked up the black mare Prizma, she was alert every moment for the telltale sound of someone entering the stables behind her. But no one came.

She went for her ride, returning to find that he still wasn’t there. She almost asked Gilbert about him.

But she felt too foolish and confused—which wasn’t like her at all. She was a confident person, always had been. She spoke her mind and had few fears. Yes, she was making a definite effort not to get into situations that might attract the attention of the tabloids and embarrass her family. But that didn’t mean she was all tied up in emotional knots. She liked to live expansively, to take chances, to have fun.

She was no shy little virgin afraid to ask a few questions about a man who interested her.

The problem was...

Wait a minute. There
was
no problem. She’d met a man and found him attractive. She might or might not see him again. If she ever did get something going with him, well, it
could
be a bit awkward. She was a princess of Montedoro and he was a penniless American from a place called East Los Angeles.

They didn’t exactly have a whole lot in common.

Except that they did. She
was
half American after all. And they both loved horses. And she had so enjoyed talking with him. Plus, he was very easy on the eyes....

She’d made way too much of this and she was stopping that right now. He was only a man she found intriguing. She might see him again.

And she might not. The world would go on turning however things worked out.

At six o’clock, Alice returned to her villa on a steep street in the ward of Monagalla, not far from the palace. Her housekeeper, Michelle Thierry, met her at the front door.

“I thought you’d never get back,” the housekeeper chided. “Have you forgotten your sister’s party?”

“Of course not. Relax. There’s plenty of time.”

“You’re to be there at eight, you said,” Michelle accused.

“Oh, come on. It’s definitely doable.”

Michelle wrinkled her nose. “What
have
you stepped in?”

“I work all day with horses. Take a guess.”

The housekeeper waved her hands. “Don’t just stand there. Get out of those boots and come inside. We’ll have to hurry. There’s so much to do....”

“You are way too bossy.”

Michelle granted her a smug smile. “But you couldn’t get along without me.”

It was only the truth.

In her late forties, Michelle was a wonder. She not only took excellent care of the villa but also cooked beautiful meals and played lady’s maid with skill and flair. Michelle loved her work and had impeccable taste. Alice knew she was lucky to have her.

Laughing, she perched on the step and took off her boots, which the housekeeper instantly whisked from her hands.

“The bath,” Michelle commanded, waving a soiled boot. “Immediately.”

Alice had her bath, did her hair and makeup, put on the red silk-taffeta Oscar de la Renta that Michelle had chosen for her and then sat impatiently, fully dressed except for her shoes, while Michelle repaired her manicure and pedicure and clucked over her for not taking proper care of her hands.

The car was waiting outside when she left the villa at ten of eight. The drive up to Cap Royale, the bluff overlooking the Mediterranean on which the Prince’s Palace sprawled in all its white stone glory, should have taken only a few minutes. But the streets were packed with limousines on their way to the party. Alice could have walked it faster—and at one time, she would have simply told the driver to pull over and let her out. But no. The goal was to be more dignified, less of a wild child. She stayed in her limo like everyone else. The car finally reached the palace at 8:28 p.m. Hardly late at all, the way Alice saw it. But her mother would think otherwise. Her Sovereign Highness Adrienne expected the members of her family to arrive promptly at important events.

The guests in their gala finery were still streaming in the red-carpeted main entrance. Alice had the driver take her around to a side door where two stern-faced palace guards waited to let in intimate friends and members of the princely family. She gave her light wrap and bag to a servant.

Then she took a series of marble hallways to another exit—the one that led out to the colonnade above the palace gardens. Alice paused at the top of the white stone stairs leading down to the garden.

Below, a giant white silk tent had been erected. Golden light glowed from within the tent, where dinner for three hundred would be served. The palace, the tent, the gardens, the whole of Montedoro—everything seemed ablaze with golden light.

“There you are.” Her sister Rhiannon, five months pregnant and glowing with happiness, clutched the frothy tiered skirts of her strapless ivory gown and sailed up the stairs to Alice’s side, her growing baby bump leading the way.

Alice adored all four of her sisters, but she and Rhia shared a special bond. They were best friends. “Sorry I’m a little late. The streets are awash in limousines.”

The sisters shared a quick hug and kissed the air by each other’s cheeks. Rhia whispered, “I’m just glad you’re here. I’ve missed you....” Flashes went off. There were always photographers lurking around, way too many of them at an event like this.

Alice hooked her arm through Rhia’s. They turned as one to face the cameras. “Smile,” Alice advised softly, trying not to move her lips. “Show no weakness.”

Rhia braced her free hand proudly on the bulge of her tummy and smiled for the cameras. She had a lot to be happy about. For almost a decade she’d struggled to deny her love for Marcus Desmarais. Now, at last, she and her lifetime love were together in the most complete way. Rhia and Marcus had married in a small private ceremony three weeks ago. They’d flown off for a honeymoon in the Caribbean on the same day Alice had made that fateful trip to Scotland.

The party tonight was in lieu of the usual big wedding. The world needed to see how the Bravo-Calabretti family welcomed the new husband of one of their own.

Rhia’s groom had been orphaned soon after his birth. He’d started with nothing—and become a fine man, one who’d gone far in spite of his humble beginnings. The party wasn’t just for show. The Bravo-Calabrettis did welcome him.

Alice loved that about her family. They judged a man—or a woman—by his or her behavior and accomplishments. Not by an accident of birth or a string of inherited titles. If Alice were to choose a man with nothing, her family would support her in her choice.

Not that she was anywhere close to choosing anyone. Certainly not a bold blue-eyed American she’d only just met and would likely not see again.

She banished the stable hand from her mind—yet again—as Rhia grabbed her hand and pulled her down the curving staircase. They wove their way through the crowd toward the wide-open entrance to the big white tent. Alice spotted her brother Damien, the youngest of the four Bravo-Calabretti princes, entering the tent, his dark head thrown back as he laughed at something the tall golden-haired man beside him had said....

“Allie?” Rhia turned back to her with a puzzled frown.

Alice realized she’d stopped in midstep at the base of the stairs and was staring with her mouth hanging open. Her brother and the other man disappeared inside the tent. She’d only caught the briefest glimpse of the other man from the back. And then from the side, for that split second when he’d turned his head. “It can’t be...”

“Allie?” her sister asked again.

“I could have sworn...”

“Are you all right?” A worried frown creased the space between Rhia’s smooth brows.

Alice blinked and shook her head. Lovely. Not only was she obsessing over a near stranger, she was also hallucinating that she saw the same man, perfectly turned out in white tie and tails, chatting up her brother. “Did you see that tall blond man with Dami? They just went inside the tent.”

“Dami? I didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t notice Dami, or the man with him?”

“Either. Allie, really. Are you all right?”

“I’m beginning to wonder about that,” she muttered.

“You’re mumbling. Say again?”

Alice would have loved to drag her favorite sister off somewhere private, where she could tell her all about the scruffy, sexy, unforgettable stable hand—whom she could have sworn she’d just seen wearing a perfectly cut designer tailcoat and evening trousers and sharing a joke with their brother. She wanted a comforting hug and some solid, down-to-earth advice. But now was not the time. She tugged on Rhia’s hand. “It doesn’t matter. Come on. Let’s go in. Marcus will be wondering where you’ve gone.”

* * *

The family table was a long one, set up on a dais at the far end of the tent. All their brothers and sisters were there. The married ones had come with their spouses. Even dear Belle, who lived in America now with her horse-rancher husband, Preston McCade, had come all the way from Montana to celebrate with Rhia and Marcus. Only the little nieces and nephews were missing tonight. This was a grown-up party after all.

Rhia whispered, “We never have time to talk anymore.”

“I know. I miss you, too.”

“Come to our villa at seven Sunday night. We’ll have dinner, catch up. Just the two of us.”

“What about Marcus?”

“He’s dining at the palace with Alex. Something about the CCU.” Alexander, Damien’s twin, was third-born of their brothers. Alex had created the elite fighting force the Covert Command Unit, in which Marcus served.

“I’ll be there,” Alice promised.

With a last hug, Rhia left her to join her groom in her seat of honor at the center of the table.

Alice went to greet her parents. Her mother, looking amazing as always in beaded black Chanel, gave her a kiss and a fond, “Hello, my darling,” and didn’t say a word about her tardiness. Her mother was like that. HSH Adrienne had high expectations, but she’d never been one to nag.

In the past, Alice had crashed a motorcycle in the marketplace, run off with a sheikh for a week in Marrakech, been photographed for
Vanity Fair
wearing only a cleverly draped silk scarf and been arrested in Beijing for participating in a protest march. Among other things.

Until Glasgow, her mother had never done more than gently remind her that she was a princess of Montedoro and expected to behave like one. But after Glasgow, for the first time, Alice had been summoned to her mother’s office. HSH Adrienne had asked her to shut the door and then coolly informed her that she’d finally gone too far.

“Alice,” her mother had said much too sadly, too gently, “it’s one thing to be spirited and adventurous. It’s another to be an embarrassment to yourself and our family. In future I am counting on you to exercise better judgment and to avoid situations that will lead to revealing, provocative pictures of you splashed across the front pages of the
Sun
and the
Daily Star.
”

It had been awful. Just thinking about it made her feel a little sick to her stomach.

And sad, too. A bit wilted and grim.

Shake it off,
she commanded herself.
Let it go.

Alice looked for her place card and found it between her older sister Belle’s husband, Preston McCade, and her younger sister Genevra. Genny wore shimmering teal-blue satin and was giggling over something with another sister, the youngest, Rory, who was seated on Genny’s other side.

Damien sat at the opposite end of the table. No sign of the man who looked like Noah. Alice considered hustling down there and asking Dami...what?

Who was that man with the dark blond hair, the one you came in with?

And what if he stared at her blankly and demanded,
Allie, darling, what man?

She waffled just long enough that she missed her chance. Her mother rose and greeted the guests. A hush fell over the tent. Then her father stood, as well. He picked up his champagne glass to propose the first toast.

Allie reached for her glass, raised it high and drank on cue. Then she took her seat. She greeted her sisters and Preston, whom she liked a lot. He was charming and a little shy, with a great sense of humor. He bred and trained quarter horses, so they had plenty to talk about.