“We’re here, sir,” the driver said as J.T. untangled his long body from the car.
J.T. looked at the hotel as if he had never seen one before. “Good,” he mumbled, and went inside, leaving Aria standing. He returned a few seconds later, grabbed her arm, and pulled her along behind him.
“Which room is yours?”
“It is a pink one.”
J.T. stopped and turned to look at her. His eyes were red and his beard was darkening by the minute. “When you get back here after being gone, how do you find your room?”
“I have to go there.” She pointed to the desk. “Sometimes I have to wait, then someone escorts me.”
“They didn’t give you a key?”
“A key to the city? Why no, no one has mentioned it.”
He closed his eyes a moment. “Stand right here. Don’t move, understand?”
She nodded, then looked away to hide her smile. He was certainly anxious to keep her near him.
After some discussion at the desk and after shaking hands with Mr. Catton, J.T. returned and led her to the elevator. “I’ll never be more glad to get into bed in my life,” he said when the doors closed.
Aria did smile at that.
He unlocked the door to the room, went inside, leaving her standing in the hallway. A moment later his arm shot out, caught her hand, and pulled her inside. He stood very close to her as he locked the door and Aria modestly looked at her clasped hands. Now they were alone.
J.T. yawned and stretched. “Bed. I can see it,” he said, and began to stagger through the living room into the bedroom. He got one shoe off then fell across the bed and was asleep.
Aria was still standing by the door. She waited a few minutes but heard no sound from the bedroom, so she timidly crossed the room. He was already in bed. He seemed to be asleep but she knew he was waiting for her.
“I’ll…I’ll get ready,” she whispered, and went to the bureau to get a nightgown.
She saw immediately that there was nothing appropriate for her wedding night. This was a night that happened only once in a woman’s life and she wanted to look her best.
She glanced at J.T. and thought he looked suspiciously as if he were asleep. A moment later he twitched and made a noise like a snore.
Glancing at the little clock by the bed, she saw that it was only four P.M. Perhaps she could go to one of those American stores she had seen on the way here and get a proper nightgown—one that would keep a new husband from sleeping.
Softly, she crept from the room after checking that her handbag had a clean handkerchief. All the green money papers Lieutenant Montgomery had given her were gone.
She did what she always did when she wanted to go out: she asked for Mr. Catton and he got a car for her and paid the driver. She had some difficulty explaining where she wanted to go without losing her dignity. He finally asked a pretty young girl who worked in the hotel and soon Aria was on her way.
The taxi driver let her off in front of a very large building; Aria had never seen a department store before. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself or perhaps it was the sight of a Paris original dress, but three women nearly ran to wait on her. She chose the oldest woman.
“I wish to be shown ladies’ sleeping attire.”
“Right this way, ma’am,” said the saleswoman, feeling superior for having been chosen.
Two hours later, the woman was not so pleased. Aria had tried on every nightgown in the store and discarded most of them on the floor. The saleswoman had difficulty keeping up the supply and refolding them, as well as having to help Aria take them off and on.
At last Aria seemed to settle on a low-cut, off-the-shoulder, heavenly concoction of pink silk voile and satin.
The saleswoman sighed in relief. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll box it for you.” When she found she had to help Aria dress, she also found she was losing her temper.
Moments later the saleswoman was slamming the nightgown into a box. “Expected me to wait on her like I was her damned servant or something.”
“Shh,” said her fellow employee. “The floor walker will hear you.”
“I’ll let him deal with her.”
Aria came out of the dressing room just in time to see the clerk close the lid on the pink nightgown. As the woman turned away to make out the sales slip, Aria picked up the box and started walking toward the door.
“Oh my God!” the clerk gasped. “She’s stealing it.”
* * *
The telephone rang eleven times before J.T. awoke fully enough to answer it. “Yes?” he said groggily.
“You Lieutenant Montgomery?”
“Last I heard I was.”
“Well, this is Sergeant Day at the Washington Police Department and we got a lady down here under arrest for shoplifting. Says she’s your wife.”
J.T. opened his eyes more fully. “Have you booked her?”
“Not yet. She says she’s valuable to the war effort, but then she’s sayin’ a lot of things. She’s too much of a screwball for us to make out. She says she has no last name and that she’s a queen and we’re to call her Your Majesty.”
J.T. ran his hand over his face. “Princess, and it’s Your Royal Highness.”
“How’s that?”
“Sergeant, it may seem hard to believe but she is valuable—at least to somebody. If you lock her up, it could cause a lot of problems with the government. Could you just put her in a room and give her a cup of tea? And give her a saucer with her cup.”
There was a pause from the sergeant. “You really marry this fruitcake?”
“Lord help me but I did. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“We’d sure appreciate your takin’ her off our hands.”
J.T. hung up the phone. “Who’s going to take her off my hands?” he mumbled.
Chapter Seven
ARIA sat in the chair in the glass-walled office in the police station and tried her best to ignore the gaping people on the other side of the glass. They had put a heavy white mug of what they had told her was tea beside her, but for some odd reason, they had put the cup in an ashtray. She hadn’t considered touching it.
The last few hours had been miserable, what with people touching her, shouting at her, and asking the same questions over and over—and they hadn’t believed her answers.
She was almost glad when she saw Lieutenant Montgomery’s unshaven face appear in the room outside. He gave her one quick, angry glance then was surrounded by all the people who had moments before been shouting at Aria. She wanted to see how an American handled these other Americans. He distributed several of the green money papers, signed some white papers, and all the while talked to the people, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.
She was sure she could have done the same thing if she had just understood what they wanted. Perhaps it was going to be very easy to learn to be an American.
The crowd moved away from Lieutenant Montgomery and he strode toward her.
“Let’s go,” he growled after throwing open the door. “And not one word from you or I’ll let them have you.”
Aria held on to the box containing her nightgown and left the room, her head held high.
He didn’t speak to her on the way back to the hotel and constantly he walked in front of her. Once inside the room, he went to the telephone.
“Room service?” he said. “I want dinner sent up to the Presidential Suite. No, I don’t have a menu. Send me dinner for four, whatever you have, and a bottle of wine, the best you have in the cellar. Just hurry it up.”
Aria stood there blinking at him when he had hung up.
“Could you keep out of trouble for a while? All I want is a decent meal, some sack time, a shower, and I’ll be all right. Just give me that and maybe then I can tackle you and the U.S. government.”
Aria didn’t understand half of what he was saying, but she did understand that he planned to eat dinner now. She blushed. After dinner he would make her his wife.
“The woman who was my maid did not return. If you would draw my bath, I will ready myself,” she said softly.
“Haven’t even learned to fill your own bathtub yet?” he said with wonder in his voice. “Come on then and I’ll show you.”
She gave him a hesitant smile. “Don’t the maids of American wives draw their baths? Perhaps we should call Mr. Catton and ask for someone?”
“Honey, American wives don’t have maids, and from now on, neither do you. From now on you dress yourself, bathe yourself, and, what’s more, I’m going to teach you how to take care of a husband.”
Aria looked away to hide her red cheeks. He was a little rough, and more than a little rude as he showed her how to adjust the water, but she learned. He left her alone when room service knocked.
She took a long time in the tub, soaping herself and contemplating the coming event. Lieutenant Montgomery called to her twice that her food was getting cold but she still didn’t rush.
It wasn’t easy dressing alone, but the beautiful nightgown did just slip over her head so she managed. For several minutes she had not heard anything from the other side of the door and she supposed he was readying himself also.
Cautiously, she opened the door.
In the living room stood a large table with the remains of a banquet. The cad had eaten their wedding supper without her! Nose wrinkled, she looked at the dirty dishes, which seemed to be all that was left of the feast. This man might teach her how to fill a bathtub but she planned to teach him some manners.
She turned toward the bedroom. He was sprawled on his back on one side of the bed, a newspaper over his face. He didn’t move when she tried to pull back the spread and get into the bed. Even when she gave an unladylike yank, he didn’t move.
Taking a deep breath, she lay down on top of the spread beside him, her hands clenched at her side. “I am ready,” she whispered.
He didn’t move, so she repeated herself. He still didn’t move.
Even for a husband, this man’s conduct was beyond the limits of decent good taste. She pushed the newspaper off his face. He was sleeping with his mouth half open, and with his whiskers he looked like the town idiot.
“I am ready!” she bellowed into his face in a very unprincesslike fashion, then lay down again.
“Ready?” he mumbled, coming awake slowly, then sitting up with a jolt. “Fire!” he said, then seemed to realize where he was. He turned and looked at Aria, his eyes going up and down her lavishly clad body.
Aria kept her hands at her sides, her legs stiff, and her eyes on the ceiling. This was it. This was when men turned into basic animals—all men did this, her mother had said, whether king or chimney sweep. And now was her turn to be ravaged.
“Ready for what?” Lieutenant Montgomery asked groggily.
“The wedding night,” she said, and closed her eyes against the coming pain. Would he hurt her terribly?
She opened her eyes when she heard him laugh.
“The wedding night?” he said, laughing. “You think that I…? That you and me…? That’s a good one. Is that why you spent half the night in the bathroom?”
He was laughing at her.
“Listen, lady, I married you only to help with the war. No other reason. I don’t have any designs on your body, no matter what silly thing you wear, but most of all, I don’t want anything to stand in the way of our ending this marriage once you get back on your throne. I somehow think your Count Julie will frown on your carrying my brat. Now, will you go in the other room and let me get some sleep? But don’t leave the hotel! Next time you’ll probably do something that’ll cause another country to declare war on us.”
Aria was thankful for her years of schooling that had shown her how to control her emotions. To be rejected as a princess was one thing but to be rejected as a woman was hurting her deeply.
“Out!” he said. “Get out of my bed. Go sleep in the other room. Here, I’ll call housekeeping and have the couch made up for you.”
With all the dignity she could muster, Aria rose from his bed. “No, Lieutenant Montgomery, I will manage on my own.” She did not want another woman to know she had been rejected on her wedding night. She walked into the living room. Behind her, he closed the door loudly with a muttered, “Damn!”
Aria sat on the couch for the rest of the night. She did not close her eyes once. She kept thinking of all the things she should have done, should have said, but what she remembered most clearly was how much trouble she had gone to to please him and he had rejected her.
She hated him.
She wasn’t well acquainted with the emotion but she certainly recognized it. Several of her ancestors had made marriages, for political reasons, with husbands or wives they hated. In the eighteenth century one couple had not spoken for over twenty years. Of course the woman had three children during that time, all of them looking like her husband the king, Aria thought.
She sat rigidly on the couch waiting for daylight. She would learn what he had to teach her so that she could get her country back, but all hope of anything else between them was gone. Perhaps her sister could produce an heir to the throne.
Aria did not cry—and holding the tears back now was much more difficult than when she had broken her arm.
J.T. woke slowly, his mouth tasting foul, his eyes heavy, and a pain in his back. He lifted himself and removed his twisted belt from where it was gouging in his kidney. He still wore his uniform and his shirt was twisted tightly about his body.
He knew without looking that the princess wasn’t in bed beside him and he also somehow knew that she was in the living room of the suite. Probably sulking, he thought with a grimace. Probably hating him even more because he wasn’t doing what she thought he should.
He closed his eyes a moment and thought of the past events. She had been impossible since the day he had rescued her. She had been demanding, overbearing, autocratic, always wanting more from him. No matter how much he gave, she expected more. He handed her an enormous amount of money—his money, which he had been saving for a new boat—and she never so much as said thank you.
He had never been so glad to get rid of anyone in his life as when he put her on that train and sent her to Washington. He sincerely hoped he would never have to see her again.
But he had not been so privileged. A few days later, by order of the president, J.T. was “requested” to go to D.C. They did everything but put a gun to his head in order to enforce their “request.”
No one would tell him what was wanted of him but he knew it had something to do with Her Royal Pain in the Neckship. Repeatedly, he cursed having met the woman.
Almost as soon as the army plane landed, they started on him. They wanted him to marry that bitch. At first he had merely laughed at them but he couldn’t laugh for long. They denied him food, drink, and sleep. They pounded at him hour after hour, preying on everything he held sacred. They talked about how he was betraying his country, how he was betraying his family’s name. They said they would give him a dishonorable discharge and send him home to live with the disgrace. They sent a woman in to talk to him. She purred at him, said the marriage would only be temporary and America needed him so badly.
He had agreed at long last because he realized they were telling him the truth. America did need someone to help the princess, and her country’s mineral deposits and strategic location were important to the war effort.
He was exhausted by the time he entered the conference room where some of the biggest brass of both army and navy were waiting for him. Someone had pity on him and gave him a chair and he immediately put his head down and was nearly asleep when he was woken by the princess giving him orders as if he were her lackey.
He would have liked to wring her little neck. He had agreed to help her get her country back—this was something she wanted—yet she had the audacity to belittle him.
All through the short service she stood like a martyr readying herself for sacrifice. J.T. saw the other p
eople giving him hostile looks, as if he were doing something vile to this lovely woman. Lovely, ha! he wanted to yell. He had already saved her life, spent two years’ savings on her, put up with one nasty remark after another from her, yet he was being cast as the villain.
Even the WACs were giving him hostile looks, and that was something else that was further angering J.T. He had never had trouble with girls before. At home his family was the richest in town, he and his brothers weren’t bad to look at, and he had always liked girls. It had, until now, seemed to be a devastating combination. But since he had met the princess, every woman seemed to look at him as if he were the devil incarnate. Yet as far as he could tell, he had done nothing wrong. He had saved her from drowning and he had even agreed to marry her—but everyone seemed to think he had done something horribly wrong.
After the ceremony, all he had wanted to do was sleep. It had been an ordeal getting the princess back to the hotel. She didn’t lead and she refused to follow. Every two minutes he had to turn around to see if she was still with him—which she usually wasn’t—then he had to go back and get her. He barely made it to the bed before he was asleep.
When the telephone rang and the man said she had been arrested for shoplifting, it seemed a perfect end to a hideous week. He dragged himself to the police station and there she sat with that haughty look on her face, as if she expected someone to save her.
Of course she didn’t say one word of thanks to him for once again saving her ass. She just sat there as if expecting a red carpet to be rolled out for her to walk on.
At the hotel he had almost apologized to her. He had tried to explain how tired he was, how hungry, but it didn’t affect her. She could have been carved out of marble. Her perfect little face was set into a cold, perfect little mask.
He ordered food, then had to show her how to work the bathtub. He planned to nip this trend in the bud right away or she would have him playing her maid.
He was glad to get rid of her when room service knocked. She stayed in the tub the entire time he was eating. He was a little chagrined at himself for having eaten all four dinners and he meant to tell her to order herself something else, but the bed seemed to be calling him. He fell asleep before she left the bathroom.