The Christmas Princess (19 page)

With a peremptory wave of her hand that would have done any royalty proud, she said, “Cake and cookies that’s all you like. I thought with the tree… But now you’re back to dismissing everything but the
food
. Yes, that garden in the candlelight looks like one of my Christmas cards. That’s a
good
thing. Not something to make fun of.”

She had him feeling defensive. He didn’t like it. “I didn’t—”

“And you could send cards if you want to. You must have someone to send cards to.”

“Like family?”

“Yes or—

“My family’s dead.” He’d set her up to turn the momentum with those words, and it worked. He was off the defensive, which should have made him feel better than he did. His words had punished her. He saw it in her eyes, and he couldn’t look away.

“Everyone? But—”

“Everyone.”

“I’m so sorry, Hunter.”

He shrugged, fighting against sinking into the softness in her eyes. “No reason for you to be sorry. You didn’t kill them. Besides, you’re in the same position. Just took longer for you to get there.”

“I have family,” she said, “but I’ve also lost family, and that’s all the more reason to value those who remember you and your family. Don’t you have anyone like that?”

“No.”

“What about the people who helped you when you came to this country?”

“How do you know —? Sharon.”

“Foster families or—”

“No foster families.” He could shut down this conversation. Easy. By punishing her more. “I didn’t want that. The first two years I was in a resettlement home run by a church. Then I boarded, like I told you. Maurice, Etienne, and me. Stayed there year-round.”

“No one—”

“Helped me? Sure. This country—its people were generous to me. I don’t have to send a card to remember that. Donating so another kid can be helped makes a hell of a lot more sense than a Christmas card to a committee.”

“Didn’t anyone take you home for the holidays or—”

“I didn’t want that. I said no.”

“You shut yourself off? You refused to let anyone—”

“I let plenty of people help me.”

“I was going to say love you.”

He met that with the silence it deserved.

“What about the family of your soldier?”

Sharon again. Damn her.

His jaw throbbed. He made his muscles loosen. No sense denying, and this time silence wouldn’t work either. He knew April well enough now to know she wouldn’t let this go.

“Have you ever contacted them?” she asked.

“No.”

“You could let them know how much he did for you. You must have a name—”

“I was a kid, not exactly in a position to exchange business cards with these guys. I knew him as Scotty, I didn’t need any last name.”

“That’s all you remember?” Tears welled in her eyes, not falling.

He shrugged. “Listen, April, This is not one of your Currier and Ives moments. It wasn’t sentimental and it wasn’t pretty. I was a starving runt they picked up to keep me from falling over at their feet. Not all of them were for it. I knew them as Scotty and Mac and Raz and Bomber and Memphis and LA, the names they called each other. The Army doesn’t keep records listed that way.”

“But if you
could
find them, his family I mean, you could write them a Christmas card and let them know how much he meant to you, how—”

“No.”

That last
no
told her she’d pushed him to the limit, past his limit.

For now.

She could find the family of Hunter’s savior. She was almost sure she could.

One of the things Zoe had taught her about lobbying was to be aware of what resources she had available, And in this case she had several.

First, her own ability to dig on the Internet. And then a few government connections she’d made through the job, who would be so glad she wasn’t nudging them about Brussels sprouts that they would help as much as they could. Then she had Zoe and Sharon. Finally, her ace in the hole, His Royal Highness, King Jozef.

Yeah, she could find the family of the soldier who had rescued a frightened, starving refugee.

But what would Hunter do if she did?

Would it open him to people, to his own goodness? Or would it close him down for good?

“…and I thought I’d go shopping this afternoon,” April said at breakfast Tuesday.

“Thought you and Sharon wiped out the stores online,” Hunter muttered.

She said with great dignity, “I have a few additional things to get. What are you going to give Sharon for Christmas?”

He drank more coffee. “Nothing.”

“Don’t you have any ideas for her yet?”

“Haven’t given it a thought because I don’t give Sharon a gift.”

“But you’re friends.” Before he could dispute that, she added, “And she gives you something, so I thought—”

“No, she doesn’t.”

She frowned at him. “Cookies.”

The king coughed. Hunter looked at him suspiciously, but April was intent on her questions.

“I hoped you can give me suggestions for Sharon. Don’t you have any ideas?”

His mind was blank. Utterly blank.

How many thousands of ads had shoved their gift suggestions down his throat from placards, magazines, TV, newspapers, the Internet and radio these past weeks? He couldn’t recall a single one. He didn’t let them past his mental spam blocker because he had no use for the information. Presents? He knew nothing about them.

“Perhaps perfume?” suggested the king.

“Perfume is lovely, but that’s something her husband should give her,” April said. “I’ll have to think about this more. A tin of Christmas cookies that she’s made herself is a thoughtful gift, something she’s put herself into. That’s the sort of thing. Maybe I’ll get an idea this afternoon.”

Madame entered the room with the printout of the daily digest of overnight reports.

“Madame is going shopping for some presents this afternoon. You may go with her.”

“Your Majesty,” Madame began, with reproach echoing from each formal syllable.

“You said earlier this morning that you had a number of items to purchase to supplement what was ordered by the embassy staff. It is a perfect solution.”

Hunter felt a surprising tug at his mouth. A perfect solution for the king, who did not want to go shopping, even in the company of April.

“It would be lovely to accompany, Madame—” Ah, yes, April had learned her princess lessons. “—however, I’m sure Madame has a full list of specific items, while I am hoping to get ideas. Window-shopping, wandering — I would slow her down.”

“Nonsense. You can wander and look while she purchases. A fine solution.”

The women eyed each other with misgiving, but neither was willing to directly contradict the king.

“Hunter, of course, will accompany you for security,” the king added.

Great. Not only did he have an afternoon of shopping ahead of him, but an afternoon of Madame.

Madame walked out with Hunter practically on her heels. The duplicate body language expressed displeasure times two.

“And yet he was of quite a sunny disposition as a boy.”

The king’s words took an extra beat to sink in.

“You knew him when he was a boy? But … how?”

“Have you never wondered how he came to know Bariavak’s language?”

“I thought … The State Department …”

He lifted an eyebrow at her fumbling. She’d been a pretty good liar as an adolescent, but hadn’t called on the skill much since. The rust showed. “The translators are professional, of course, but the rest? Bah. No, Hunter knows the language as only those who are born to it do.”

“He’s a native of Bariavak, and you knew him as a boy,” she said, as if recapping. “But … I don’t understand.”

“Hunter’s father was on my staff. One of my best — and most loyal — aides. The rebels’ attack threatened the palace. For me to be killed would have been given them victory immediately. Hunter’s father led the defense, repulsing the rebels.”

Hunter’s voice echoed in her head.
My family’s dead
.

Dread rose as a yawning gap between her heart and her throat. “He was killed.”

The king nodded slowly.

“But you said he’d led the defense that repulsed the rebels.”

“He did more.” He said simply. “It took great skill, and great courage. But the capital was in chaos, and not even skill and courage were enough.”

Anger rose up in her. Anger at Hunter’s father, who had died for his king. And, yes, anger at her father, who had left her. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but they’d been children, she and Hunter. “He left his son.”

“He fulfilled his duty.”

April focused on the gorgeous things surrounding her, determined to set aside her earlier mood.

Beautiful arrangements of holiday music played discreetly in the background, the red and silver decorations were festive, the tree in the corner was real and sharing its scent generously, and the items in this tiny antique jewelry store off Connecticut Avenue were gorgeous. And Hunter—

He was like a stone pillar standing there. Except stone pillar’s eyes didn’t scan the area constantly looking for danger. Or pretending to so he didn’t have to interact with her.

It wasn’t like she expected to have any true impact on him, not when the Genghis Khan of romance had failed to storm his battlements. No, she just wanted him to loosen up a little. Like Sharon, she wanted to chip away at him enough so he would allow himself to have friends. Like her. A friend.

She moved from a case of Art Deco broaches to a smaller case with tiny, ornate boxes.

If she could get him off-balance. Maybe it would open him up enough to—

“You have found something you would like to purchase?” There was both curiosity and a hint of censure in Madame’s voice.

“What?”

“Your focus indicates you have found something that pleases you.”

“An excellent choice, an excellent choice,” enthused the gnome-like clerk.

April looked more closely at the tiny boxes in the case. Not one of them had a price tag. Not a good sign.

“Which one has caught your interest?” Madame’s words seemed to have an unspoken, yet surely exasperated
finally
hidden among them.

Without saying a word about it, she had made clear that she considered April’s aimless wandering around the establishments they had stopped at so far a dead weight. But really, none of the places Madame had taken them were what April had in mind. So what could she do, while she waited for her turn to select where they would go, other than idly look at these elegant extravagances? The ones with price tags had her turning away. The ones without, she didn’t even want to think about.

“Ah,” breathed the clerk, drawing a gem-encrusted square from the center of the case. “I am sure the young madame’s excellent taste has drawn her to the spectacular example of fifteenth century Florentine craftsmanship.”

He held it out to her, and what could she do but accept it? The gold that formed the box glowed and the gems decorating it winked their varied colors under the artful spotlight above.

Fifteenth century? That was
antique
as in lots of zeroes at the opposite end from the dollar sign. April’s muscles clamped around a sour ball in her stomach.

This was why she stayed on the outside of the windows when she looked — it was so much safer, and you never had to tell the hopeful clerk that no, you weren’t going to buy his fifteenth century Florentine example of — of what? A pillbox? Stamp box?

“Whom are you considering purchasing it for?” Madame asked. A frown drew down her brows, “His Highness appreciates fine pieces, but I am not at all sure that a snuff box—”

“Snuff box?”

Her voice had skidded up, but now she saw the lifeline and grabbed it with both hands.

“I’m sorry, but that won’t do at all.” She extended the box toward the clerk. He did not take it, as if thinking that as long as she held it she would have to purchase it. She raised one eyebrow
a la
Madame, and he took it. “No, nothing related to tobacco. His Highness is concerned about the health of his countrymen and would not set such an example. Thank you for showing it to me. It is quite extraordinary.” If gaudy. “If you don’t mind, I will wait in the car while you complete your purchases, Madame.”

Madame inclined her head the smallest amount to indicate acceptance, and April fled.

If it could be considered fleeing with Hunter doing his me-first-into-the-line-of-fire routine at the shop door, escorting her to the car, holding the back door for her, then going around to the driver’s door. With Rupert off today, he was driving as well as escorting.

Their eyes met in the rearview mirror. Only because he was looking around for lurking threats and happened to choose that instant to check the mirror. As for why she was looking at the mirror …

“You handled that well,” he said.

“Thank you. I’m not sure Madame would agree.”

“Don’t let her get you down.”

On that unexpected bit of advice, he got out of the car again to open the door for Madame.

Back in the driver’s seat, Hunter said, “Ready to return to the embassy?”

“I have completed my purchases,” said Madame, with extra starch in her voice. “Miss Gareaux, however, might have additional stops she wishes to make.”

April sat up straighter. “Yes, I do. If you would rather not come, since you’ve finished your shopping, we could drop you at the embassy. In fact there’s no need for Hunter—”

“I’m driving you wherever you’re going,” he interrupted.

“His Highness expressed his wish that we be paired for this outing.” Clearly, as far as Madame was concerned, that settled that.

“Okay. Let’s go to Tysons Corner.”

She saw Hunter’s jaw working as if he were going to say something, but before he could, Madame turned her whole torso toward her. “That is a
mall
. You intend to shop at this mall? This Tysons Corner?”

“Oh, no,” April assured her. “I scout at the regular malls, then go to the outlet malls to buy.”

“Outlet?” Madame’s voice climbed toward the heavens. “The guest of the King of Bariavak does not shop at an outlet!”