Waking Up in Vegas (13 page)

She belonged here.

“It’s not just pretty,” Phoenix said on a sigh, turning to him. “This garden smells like heaven.”

“My grandmother lost her sight as she grew older, so my grandfather had this planted as a garden for the other senses. Listen.”

Phoenix closed her eyes and listened. As attuned as he was to this place, he didn’t need to close his eyes to hear the rustle of the long grasses that edged the cloistered walk, or the whisper of the breeze through the leaves of the ancient oak that shaded half the garden.

Instead, he watched Phoenix’s face, noting the moment when she breathed out and the tension in her shoulders eased. Like a deer sniffing the air and not scenting danger, she lost a little of the wariness she wore around her like a cloak. When she turned back to him the usual hard edge in her dark eyes was also absent.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. Motorbikes, secret gardens…this princess gig is very tempting.”

But was it tempting enough? They might have crossed a threshold this morning, and she may have lost a little of her wariness but he wasn’t yet sure enough of her.

He headed for the breakfast table and held out a chair. When she sat, he lifted the silver cloche from her plate. She licked her lips again, an unconscious gesture that pulled his body tight.

Once they’d eaten, omelettes flavoured with herbs from this very garden and the wild mushrooms that were a local delicacy, accompanied by fresh squeezed juice made from oranges from the greenhouses at his palace in Neustadt, Phoenix poured them thick coffee from the silver flask that had been a wedding gift to a long dead ancestor from the Tsarina of Russia. That last bit of trivia he kept to himself. He remembered all too well the glazed look in her eyes as she’d viewed the coats of armour in the Great Hall.

How they viewed time was still the biggest difference between them. No matter how far from Westerwald he lived, he felt rooted in the past; his life just a moment in a history stretching back a thousand years and stretching forward another thousand. Phoenix, on the other hand, was very definitely a here and now person. She lived in the moment and gave very little thought to either past or future.

She set down her empty coffee cup and rose to inspect the red leather box set to one side of the breakfast table, which Max had been doing his best to ignore. “What’s in the box?”

“My homework.”

“I thought you said the government was on vacation?”

“It is.” He pulled a face. “But my prime minister still sees me as that wild, impetuous boy who earned the title of Rave Prince, and he thinks if he can just break me in and train me right, I’ll be more pliable and biddable than Rik.”

Phoenix laughed softly and opened the box. “I think he’s in for a rude wake up call.”

“Call it a reality check. I’m not a kid anymore and I’m way more stubborn than he realises.” Max grinned. “Besides, I’ll outlast him. Our legislation limits the prime minister to two terms. I’ll still be here long after he’s retired.” He sipped down a last mouthful of sweet coffee. “That’s why the monarchy still has a place in this day and age: I’m in this for the long haul. My job is to look at the long term. It’s not about being re-elected, or about lining my pockets as quickly as I can, or making a name for myself.”

Phoenix lifted a few of the folders from the box and flicked through them. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s going to be working all day.” A newspaper clipping fell out of one of the folders and Phoenix bent to pick it up. She opened the folder to replace it, glancing at the handful of typed reports, each with a bunch of magazine or newspaper clippings attached. “What are these?”

He tried to grab the folder from her. “Albert’s idea of a joke. They’re portfolios of prospective brides.”

She held the papers out of his reach. “What – you dial up Brides R Us and they send over a bunch of suitable candidates?”

“Something like that. Except the portfolios are compiled by our Intelligence Service. I really need to tell Albert I’m already married, before he gets his hopes up.”

“Oh no you don’t!” She glanced at the contents of the folder. He didn’t need to look to know what she was seeing. A minor European princess with impeccable family connections, the heiress to a prominent English hotelier, an American blue blood whose face was recognisable from the tabloids. “Any of these women would make a far more suitable bride than a waitress from nowhere.”

From the neutral tone of her voice, he had no idea what she was thinking. It wasn’t like Phoenix to fish for compliments, so he only shrugged. “But you’re the woman I chose to marry.”

She removed the last report from the pile and scrutinised it. An A-list Hollywood actress famous for her romantic comedy roles. “You should fire your Intelligence Service.”

“Oh?”

She pointed to a paragraph two thirds of the way down the page. “This supposed spiritual retreat in the Bahamas was actually a stint in rehab. And it was nowhere near the Caribbean.”

“How do you know?”

“Because an ex-boyfriend of mine was there at the same time. In fact, she’s a large part of the reason we broke up. Well, that and the drugs, of course.”

Another ex-boyfriend. His hands fisted. Of course, she’d had a past. A woman like Phoenix didn’t get to nearly thirty years old without having a few skeletons in her closet. But just the thought of her with another man made his blood boil. And the thought of another man cheating on her made him want to commit murder.

He whipped the folders from her hands and stuck them back in the box. “Enough of this. I’m already married, so it’s all moot. Now unless you’ve changed your mind about going to work today, we’re running out of time.”

“Out of time for what?”

“For this.” He pulled her down into his lap, and slid his fingers down her neck, flirting with the skin of her throat, to reach the first button of the shirt she wore. He undid the top button and his fingers moved to the next one, hovering above the cleft between her breasts. “Sod it,” he said, “it’s my shirt anyway.” And with both hands he ripped the shirt, sending buttons flying.

“You could have just lifted it over my head,” she pointed out, voice husky.

“That wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying.” He dropped his mouth to her throat, and his tongue began to trail the same path his fingers had taken moments before.

Max hadn’t lied about the press presence at the café, but a handful of reporters sticking cameras in her face and asking obvious questions were easy to ignore. Phoenix was far more concerned about the reception she’d get from her boss and colleagues. She held her head high as she made her way between the crowded tables, aware of the whispers and the heads turning her way. Rebekah was nowhere in sight and someone else served at the ice cream counter today, the teenager who helped Rebekah on weekends. Phoenix’s stomach knotted as she pushed open the swing door into the kitchen.

“When were you going to tell me?” Rebekah set her hands on her hips and glared.

So this was how it felt. Phoenix squirmed beneath the glare, as the chef and his assistant ducked into the pantry and out of the crossfire.

Rebekah bit her lip, her face softening. “I blame myself. I should have known, shouldn’t I? Half American, recently returned from the States… I could have put it together, if it wasn’t so…”

“Improbable? Unlikely? Unnatural?” Phoenix supplied.

Rebekah frowned. “Don’t be silly. As soon as I thought about it, of course it made sense. Max has always been a bit wild. He’d never be interested in some dull, stay-at-home type of woman like any of the Westerwald women who’ve chosen to stay. He needs a woman who’ll challenge him.”

Oh yay. So she was the challenge he’d mistaken for the love of his life. Phoenix sighed. “Max might need a woman who challenges him, but Westerwald needs an Arch Duchess.” A brood mare to raise the next generation of Arch Dukes.

Rebekah’s eyes lit up. “A royal wedding is just what we all need.”

Phoenix rolled her eyes. Was everyone in Westerwald this focussed on fairy tale endings? “No wedding. You’ll just have to be satisfied with a coronation.”

Her friend’s face fell. It would have been comical but Phoenix felt no desire to laugh. “I’m really sorry to disappoint you, but this isn’t anything serious. It’s just a little fun, another item on my Bucket List. Last month it was the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, this month it’s Be Seduced by Royalty and next month it’ll be the Oktoberfest in Munich.”

“That’s still
two
months away.”

“You know what I mean.”

Rebekah crossed the kitchen and wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a loose hug. “Who says you can’t have it all? This is a prosperous nation and money is no object for Max. As his wife, you could travel wherever you wanted.”

But not whenever she wanted, and not with the same freedom she had now. “What if I wanted to sunbathe topless or get drunk or camp out on a beach somewhere? I’d have the paparazzi all over me, and the government ministers all over Max.”

“Okay, I don’t have an answer for that one. You’re right. But couldn’t you find it in your heart to love Max enough to forego topless tanning?”

Phoenix pretended to debate the issue, then shook her head. “Sorry, no.” She ignored Rebekah’s appalled expression and knocked on her chest. “Can’t you hear? I’m the Tin Man. I have no heart.”

Rebekah burst out laughing. Phoenix was glad someone thought it was a joke. But the truth was she couldn’t afford to have a heart. She couldn’t afford to let the moonlight and roses get to her. Because if she did…no, not going there.

The vision she saw every time she thought of loving someone was too horrid to contemplate. It was her father, prostrate across the coffin of the woman he’d loved so much that after her death he was never the same again. He’d tried so hard to be there for Phoenix, to love her, but he’d been only a shell of a man, drowning himself in whisky and loud music and a constant need to keep moving in order to keep the pain at bay. And Phoenix was very much her father’s daughter, in many ways.

Rebekah let go of Phoenix’s shoulder. “You and I are so different, I don’t think I’ll ever understand you. That all sounds like fun, but it’s so empty and meaningless without someone special to share it with. I’d rather spend my whole life here in Waldburg with Claus than travel the world alone.”

Phoenix shrugged. “And the thought of staying in one place too long gives me chills. I still have so many things I want to accomplish in this lifetime. I told you when I arrived, that I’d only be here a few weeks. Nothing’s changed.” She reached for the apron hanging beside the door. “Now which tables do you want me to cover today?”

“I think perhaps you’d better stay behind the till today.”

Out of sight, right where she belonged. Phoenix nodded and headed into the café to take her place. It was a beautiful day, far too beautiful to waste on
what if
s and
why
nots
. She’d take every day as it came, the way she always did, and leave tomorrow to take care of itself.

At the polite knock on the door of his study, Max looked up. Albert stood in the doorway. No doubt come to check Max had been a good boy and done his homework. Max suppressed a sigh and waved the man in. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“There is something we need to discuss that couldn’t wait.”

“And you couldn’t call?”

“This isn’t the sort of thing we could discuss on the phone. You made the papers this morning.”

“I seem to make the papers quite often these days. Was there anything in particular that caught your attention?”

“This.” With a flourish, Albert set the morning paper down on the desk between them.

Max glanced at the lurid headline and the over-sized picture beneath it. A grainy picture taken through the window of a tour bus, of an indistinguishable couple entwined in a kiss. “That brought you haring up from Neustadt?”

“No, this did.” Albert laid another picture beside it. This one was less grainy, a colour photograph in close up of Max and Phoenix as they headed towards the wine cellar, oblivious of the curious eyes of the tourists in the coach. “I managed to keep this one out of the papers.”

Max frowned. “We’re holding hands. So what?”

“This girl you’re with is wearing the Waldburg ring around her neck.”

Max arched an eyebrow. He might have been an outward picture of restraint, but inwardly he began to seethe. “The ring is mine and I’m free to give it to anyone I want.”

“But in many people’s eyes that is tantamount to an engagement!”

Max allowed himself a very real grin. “Yes, I thought so myself.”

“You cannot possibly intend to marry this girl!”

“Woman,” Max corrected. “Why not?”

“She is completely unsuitable. Did you not look at the folders I gave you?”

Max pulled the offending folders from the red box on his desk. “You mean these incomplete, poorly researched documents? You’d rather I marry a recovering drug addict?”

Albert’s gaze narrowed. “How do you know that?”

“You might want to put a tabloid reporter or two on the Intelligence payroll.”

“Be that as it may, you still cannot marry a girl you picked up in a Las Vegas motel.”

The blood roared between Max’s ears and it was only with great effort he remained seated. “You want to bet?”

Albert’s face turned an unhealthy shade. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “Before you do anything rash, you should read this.” He placed another folder on the desk between them.

Max picked it up and flipped through the pages. It was a long, long moment before he had his voice under sufficient control to speak again. “Let me make sure I understand you…” He spoke slowly and deliberately. “You had my girlfriend investigated, without my knowledge? On what grounds?”

Albert looked only slightly put out. “You asked me to look for her. Besides, who you marry is a matter of national concern.”

“No, who I marry is my own business. This is an invasion of my privacy. Our privacy.” Max rose from the chair, drawing himself to his full height. “Who I date, who I sleep with or who I marry is of no concern to anyone but myself. Is that clear?”

“Would you bring Westerwald into disrepute?”

“This isn’t the seventeenth century, Albert. It’s not a crime to marry someone from the other side of the tracks.”

“Are you aware her parents never married? That she never finished high school? Or that she has a conviction for possession of cannabis? Before you get too serious about this girl, perhaps you should find out more about her.”

He didn’t need to know anything more about Phoenix. He already knew everything that was important. Max rose from the chair, standing to his full height. “The same constitution that gives every citizen the right to privacy applies to me too. You want to change the laws? By all means try. I think your electorate will stand for it even less than I will.”

Phoenix’s soft laugh echoed in his head. It was time for that reality check. “If you think for one moment I’m going to be more malleable than my brother and you’re going to control me, you’d better think again. I make my own decisions. Is that clear?”

Albert’s eyes narrowed but he nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Max resumed his seat. “Now that you’re here, I’d like to discuss a few ideas Phoenix had for encouraging our young people to stay in Westerwald.”

Albert looked as if he’d sucked a particularly sour lemon. Swallowing his satisfaction, Max pulled out the notes he and Phoenix had put together in the early hours of the morning. If he could entice Phoenix to stay, then anything was possible.

Days blurred into one another, passing more quickly than Phoenix could have imagined. By day she worked in the café, serving drinks to tourists who often came for the pleasure of gawking at her – or maybe hoping Max would drop by to visit her again but in that they were disappointed.

Much as she wanted to avoid the press, she couldn’t. The wretched photographers were everywhere. She learned to ignore them, but every morning she flipped through the newspapers in the café, holding her breath until she was sure their secret was still safe.

Nothing else was, though. The press raked through her past and uncovered every sordid moment, including a few Facebook photos she’d be happy never to see again.

It was a relief when a fresh news story broke, something about a senior government official caught with a mistress in a Paris love nest. The journos lost interest in her and life in the café returned to normal. Or as normal as life could be in a town gripped by coronation fever.

It was the nights Phoenix lived for. Golden, summer evenings when she and Max explored the countryside on their bikes, visiting vineyards and racing along the country roads with the wind in their faces. Sometimes they picnicked in their tiny secluded garden, discussing the coronation plans or debating his nation’s future. They chose menus for the gala dinner, wrote Max’s coronation speech and laughed over a tabloid’s speculation that Max had already broken the heart of his American waitress and moved on.

One evening Claus and Rebekah joined them for dinner, to discuss plans for the big concert. Rebekah squeed at the news of the band that would headline the show. “They were my favourite band growing up!”

“Mine too,” Phoenix said, suppressing a smile.

“The lead singer, Johnny, is to die for, isn’t he? I used to have his poster up on my wall, right above my bed.”

Claus laughed indulgently at his wife’s enthusiasm and turned to Phoenix. “I don’t suppose you happen to have a convenient ex with connections in pyrotechnics? Because I could really use help with sorting the coronation fireworks display.”

Phoenix ignored Max’s dark expression. “Sorry, can’t help you with that.”

But the best part of every day were the hours they spent in bed, exploring one another, teasing, limbs entangled, hearts racing. Phoenix had never been so happy.

“This is how it can be forever.” Max lifted the chain around her neck and cushioned the ring in his palm. “All you have to do is move this to your finger.”

Phoenix turned her head away. “There’s no such thing as forever.”

On the morning of the concert, Phoenix woke to the sound of rain against the windows. She buried her head beneath the pillows, not wanting to know. So much for the land of fairy tale happy endings.

“It’s ruined!” she wailed.

“No, it’s not. The groundsmen will lay out ground covers to keep the yard from turning to mud and the weather will clear by evening,” Max answered, unperturbed as ever.

“How can you be so sure?” She peeked out from beneath the pillow.

“Because I have a hotline to the met office. Don’t worry. We’ve been doing this for centuries. That same yard used to be a tiltyard for jousting tournaments and people would come from all over Europe to attend. You don’t think a spot of rain would bother the knights?”

She smacked him with the pillow. “Stop with the centuries thing already. I get it. Your family have a lot of history. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“That’s why I need you, so you can keep cutting my ego down to size.” He slid his arms around her waist and cushioned her against him.

“I don’t!”

“Really? You keep telling me you can’t wait to get away from me. How am I supposed to feel about that? It’s a week to the coronation. Are you going to stay after that?”

She wasn’t prepared to answer. She didn’t have any answer he’d want to hear. She didn’t even know if she’d make another week. She couldn’t stay much longer without losing her heart. Already she was way more involved than she should be.

Any more involved could lead to disaster. What if the press found out some of her secrets? Max would never forgive her for lying to him. She knew better than anyone how his trust had been shaken, how he felt betrayed by those he loved. She couldn’t bear to hurt him any more than he’d already been hurt, and every day longer she spent with him, the greater the risk grew that he would find her out. That he’d feel she’d betrayed him.

So she buried her head in his shoulder, breathing him in, saving up the memories to treasure later, when he was no longer around. “You’ll get over it. You have enough confidence for three grown men.” At least, she hoped so. He was going to need it. “I smell breakfast. Let’s get up.” She tried to leave the bed but Max pulled her back.

“Not so fast.” He nuzzled her neck. “Not before I’ve had a chance to kiss you properly.”

The bacon was barely warm by the time they reached the dining room where invisible servants had set out breakfast this morning. Grey light fell through the mullioned windows turning the room murky, settling a gloom that the warm yellow lights of the overhead chandelier couldn’t quite dispel.

Or perhaps it was because, in spite of Max’s kisses, the thought of her imminent departure still insisted on intruding.

When he left, to greet the first of the visiting dignitaries to arrive for the coronation, Phoenix paced the Solar. Whenever Max wasn’t around, the walls seemed to press in on her, like a cage. In spite of the discreet luxury, the royal apartments were exactly that – a cage. She couldn’t go out without attracting attention. And with Rebekah’s parents back in town for the coronation, and helping out in the café, she had nothing better to do than watch television.

Phoenix hardly ever watched television.

She leaned on the wrought-iron railing of the balcony and looked out over the terraced vineyards. The sky was leaden, pressing down, but at least the rain had stopped. A chill breeze teased at the fronds of her hair. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of wet earth, the scent of adventure and exhilaration, of everything she craved.

Well, nearly everything.

Somehow Max had wormed his way in at the top of the list of things she craved. There was no way she was going to be able to leave now without heartache. But she still had to do it. A little heartbreak now was better than a lifetime of pain later. She needed to get away, to say goodbye, before it became impossible.

But right now, she needed to get out of this apartment. Her bike and the freedom of the open road, called her.

Downstairs in the Great Hall, where a reception was to be held before the concert, the no longer invisible servants scurried around, polishing armour, scrubbing floors and setting up a bar at the far end of the hall beneath the minstrel gallery.

Phoenix wandered over to take a look. “Not like that,” she said to the youth packing bottles onto the shelves behind the bar. She slid beneath the bar flap. “There’s a skill to packing a bar so the barmen can find everything they need quickly.”

And before she knew it, the bike ride was history and she was stocking the bar, filling ice trays, cleaning glasses and slicing lemons, on a first name basis with half the servants working around her.

“You really shouldn’t be doing this,” the bar manager said, scrutinising her handiwork with approval.

“Nonsense. What else do I have to do? Get my nails done? No thanks.” It was much better to be active. Sitting alone in the royal apartments was no fun. Being here, amongst the electric buzz as the castle geared up to open its doors to the public, was.

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

She turned to face Claus. “You found me.”

“I have a job for you to do, if you’ll follow me.”

She smiled. A real purpose at last.

Claus led her to his office in an ante-chamber behind the hall. “Max will greet the guests as they arrive at the reception. In the past, his mother always stood by his father and helped him. Max will need you to do the same.”

This was certainly the last thing she’d expected. “That’s a really bad idea, Claus. People will think…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. It was obvious what the world would think if she stood beside Max as his equal, as his partner.

“People already think. After all, you wear the Waldburg ring over your heart.”

Her hand flew to the chain around her neck. “I can’t!”

How could she explain to Claus that it wasn’t what the rest of the nation thought that mattered? Max would think… he would hope.

Claus’ level gaze met hers. “It’s not that difficult. I’ve made some notes on the guests, and I’ll coach you. They will be announced as they enter and all you need to do is say a few personal words to each person to make them feel special. It’s a simple memory trick.”

If only all memories were that simple. “Did Max put you up to this?”

“He’s already got a lot on his shoulders. I didn’t want to burden him with this too.”

When he put it like that, it was hard to refuse.

She and Claus were still bent over the guest list when Max returned. She felt the familiar pull in her stomach and looked up. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He wore a pair of dark jeans slung low on his hips and a dark long-sleeved turtle neck shirt that clung to his torso, and her heart kicked up a beat at sight of him.

He pushed away from the doorjamb. “I can’t leave you alone for a moment without you getting into mischief, can I?”

A guilty flush crept up Claus’ neck as he looked from Max to Phoenix. “I was just preparing Phoenix for the meet and greet this evening.” His eyes grew clouded. “I hope I haven’t presumed too much?”