“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m exhausted.”
A chorus of agreement followed Gladys’s announcement.
“I thought we were here for the Romance Lovers’ Convention?” Betty muttered, her eyelids at half-mast.
Gladys lifted her head from beneath the pillow. “Just how much longer is that light going to be on anyway?”
Doris braced her hand against her ample hip. “What’s wrong with the three of you?”
“I’m exhausted,” Gladys repeated.
“It’s barely midnight,” Doris said, shocked by her friends. “How could you possibly be tired?”
Her question was answered with a chime of reasons that included a big dinner, cocktails and the excitement of meeting the prince.
“What was all this talk about renting a hotel room and being party animals?” Doris couldn’t believe she was rooming with such deadbeats. “Wasn’t it you, Betty, who claimed you wanted to call your son at three in the morning and tell him he had to come bail you out of jail?”
“Yes, but…I wasn’t serious.”
“Gladys,” Doris said, eyeing her friend whose face was buried beneath a hotel pillow. “I thought you were going to stick your head out the window and serenade the prince.”
The pillow elevated three inches in the direction of the ceiling. “The windows are sealed shut.”
“Ladies, ladies,” Doris tried once more. “We have work to do.”
“We’ll never agree…it’s hopeless,” Hazel said. And thinking herself clever, she added, “No pun intended.”
After debating for the better part of an hour, they hadn’t gotten any further in planning Hope’s evening with the prince than pre-dinner drinks. From that point on, everyone had an opinion on where the couple should dine.
Hazel was partial to the restaurant where she and Hank had celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary. But Betty seemed to think the prince might frown upon a steak house.
Gladys was sure Hope would be the one to object. “Would a woman who sells lowfat muffins eat red meat?”
“Can’t we please decide this in the morning?”
“Oh, all right,” Doris said. Her friends were a bitter disappointment to her. She reached over and turned out the light.
“Wouldn’t it be something if Hope married the prince?” Betty asked with a romantic sigh into the stillness.
“It won’t happen.”
“Why won’t it?” Doris insisted, chucking back the sheets.
“First off, men like Prince Stefano marry princesses and the like.”
“Prince Rainier married Grace Kelly.”
“That was in the nineteen fifties.”
Silence fell over the room.
“Did Hope say anything when they met?” The question came from Betty.
“Not with words,” Doris answered, “but a look came over her, like none I’ve ever seen. I tell you, ladies, it was like magic. I felt it. The prince felt it. It was like a bolt of electricity arced between them.”
“You’re not making this up, are you?”
“Either that or Doris has been reading too many romance novels again,” Hazel inserted.
“I swear I’m not making this up,” Doris insisted. “Prince Stefano didn’t know what hit him.”
Silence once more. Doris’s eyes drifted closed. Someone sighed. Two more sighed collectively, and then…
“What about McCormick’s?”
“We already decided against a steak house,” Betty muttered.
“Yes, but they serve seafood, too, and I know someone there who owes me big time. They can make sure this is an evening Prince Stefano and Hope will never forget.”
The light switch was turned on, and Doris squinted.
“McCormick’s,” Hazel mused aloud. “Now there’s a possibility.”
Chapter Three
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Priscilla waited in the hotel lobby. Her fingers repeatedly ran over the business card Pietro had given her the night before. The tall and stately footman arrived and read over the card without emotion when she handed it to him.
“Would it be all right if I kept it?” she asked. “I want it for my scrapbook.”
He nodded briefly and returned it. Nervous, Priscilla held her breath as they approached the elevators. She’d dressed carefully for this meeting with the prince. Her mother had insisted on a white linen suit with a soft pink blouse, and a diamond brooch. It was something Elizabeth would have chosen to wear herself. If Priscilla could have had her own way, she would have picked a flower-speckled summer dress with a broad-brimmed white hat, but it would have been useless to argue. Besides, her mother paid far more attention to fashion trends than she ever did.
Both her parents were thrilled that Priscilla had been granted an audience with Prince Stefano. Although she was quick to assure them, the invitation had come from a staff member, not the prince himself.
Priscilla feared they were putting far too much emphasis on a simple invitation to tea. Apparently they expected her to bowl the prince over with her wit and charm, and that just wasn’t possible. She hated to disappoint them yet again.
“Could you do something for me?” Priscilla asked the footman as he inserted the special key into the elevator lock that would permit them entry onto the nineteenth floor.
“If I can,” he said, looking mildly surprised.
“I need to talk to Pietro after my meeting with the prince. Would you tell him it’s important? I promise I’ll only take a few minutes of his time. I wouldn’t disturb him if it wasn’t necessary. Tell him that for me, if you would.”
“I’ll see to it right away.”
“Thank you.”
The elevator made a soft mechanical noise as it ascended. Priscilla’s heart was close to blocking her air passage, and she worried about being able to speak normally when introduced to the prince. Her hands felt cold and clammy, and her knees seemed to be losing their starch. She couldn’t remember being more nervous about anything.
The elevator doors smoothly glided open and Priscilla was escorted into a plush suite that overlooked downtown Seattle and majestic Puget Sound. As always her gaze was captured by the beauty of the scenery.
“Your city is beautiful,” the deep, male voice said from behind her.
As if caught doing something she shouldn’t, Priscilla whirled around. Finding Prince Stefano standing there, she curtsied so low, her knee touched the thick wool carpet. The prince stepped forward, gripped her hand with his own and helped her upright.
The prince was even more dashing close up, Priscilla noted, and not nearly as frightening as she’d expected. She tried to remember the things Pietro had told her about His Highness. She tamed her fear by remembering he was a gallant gentleman who deeply loved his country. If she concentrated on the things she’d learned from Pietro, she might not worry so much about making a fool of herself.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Rutherford,” Prince Stefano said. “Pietro spoke fondly of you.”
“I am very honored and pleased to meet you, Your Highness,” Priscilla said through the constriction in her throat. “I appreciate your taking the time from your busy schedule to see me. I promise not to take up much of your morning.”
“Nonsense. There’s always time in my schedule to meet a beautiful and charming woman, such as yourself.”
Priscilla blushed.
“Please sit down.” The prince gestured to the pair of white leather wing-backed chairs.
“Thank you,” Priscilla murmured, wondering just how long she’d be required to stay before she could speak with Pietro. “I have something for you,” she said, taking the handwritten invitation from her mother and giving it to the prince. He opened it, read the message and smiled. “I’d be honored to meet your family. Tell your parents they can expect me around three.” The prince engaged Priscilla in mundane conversation, and when there seemed to be nothing more to say, he carried the dialogue himself. He told her about
the beauty of San Lorenzo, and invited her to visit his country at her earliest convenience, promising to show her the sights himself.
Forty-five minutes later, when it was time to leave, Priscilla stood gratefully and thanked him for his generous hospitality and the invitation to visit San Lorenzo.
The same footman who’d come for her earlier escorted her from the room. The minute they were out of earshot, Priscilla stopped. “Did you speak with Pietro?”
“Yes. He asked me to take you to his office.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
“He didn’t say, miss.” With that he led her down a wide hallway to a compact office.
“Please have a seat,” he said. “Pietro will be with you momentarily.” He closed the door when he left her alone. Priscilla sank into the cushioned chair, her knees giving out on her. She pressed her hand over her heart, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.
“Was it so terrifying meeting Prince Stefano?” Pietro asked from behind her, amusement woven through his words.
“Not exactly terrifying/’ she answered, straightening. “But I don’t think I took a complete breath the entire time I was with him.”
“What did you think?” Pietro walked around and sat down at a brightly polished desk across from her.
“Of the prince?” She hadn’t had time to properly form an opinion, frightened as she was of making a mistake, or spilling her tea. “He’s…a gentleman, just the way you said. He told me about San Lorenzo and invited me to visit, but I think he was just being polite.”
“I’m sure he was sincere,” Pietro countered.
“I’ve visited San Lorenzo twice before, but that was years and years ago. I didn’t tell the prince that because I was far more comfortable letting him do the talking.”
“You asked to see me?” Pietro asked.
“Yes.” She noted that the prince’s secretary was more reserved and aloof than he had been the night before. “I don’t mean to make a nuisance of myself, but I thought I should explain about the invitation my parents sent.” For forty-five minutes she’d sat with Prince Stefano and spoken no more than few words. Now, she couldn’t seem to stop talking.
“My parents invited the prince to meet them tomorrow afternoon. I tried to explain to Mom and Dad that none of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for you, but they wouldn’t listen.” They seemed to be under the delusion that she’d charmed the invitation from him herself.
“I’m sure Prince Stefano would enjoy meeting your family.”
Dejected, Priscilla’s shoulders drooped. This was exactly what she didn’t want to hear.
Pietro hesitated. “Are you saying you’d prefer for the prince to decline?”
She nodded, feeling wretched.
“Is there any particular reason? Has Prince Stefano offended you?”
Her chin flew up. “Oh, no, he’s wonderful. It’s just that…well, if the prince comes, my parents might think he’s romantically interested in me.”
“If ticket sales for the date with the prince were any indication, this is what several thousand American women profess to want.”
Priscilla didn’t express her feelings for the prince one way or the other. She couldn’t.
“If he meets my family, I’m afraid the prince might mention inviting me to San Lorenzo. You can bet my parents will jump on that.”
“You don’t wish to visit my country?”
“I love San Lorenzo. Who wouldn’t?” This was going poorly. Every time she opened her mouth, she made matters worse.
“Then I don’t understand the problem.”
“No,” she whispered, “you wouldn’t.”
“Tell me, Priscilla.”
It was the first time she could remember him saying her name. Although his English was flawless, he said “Priscilla” in such a way that it sounded exotic and special. As if she were, herself.
“Are you free this afternoon?” she found herself asking all at once, the words rushing together. “It would be a shame for you to be in Seattle and not see some of the city. I could show you Pike Place Market and we could ride the monorail over to Seattle Center.” Priscilla had never been so forward with a man. She couldn’t believe she was doing so now.
The expensive gold pen Pietro rolled between his palms slipped from his hand and dropped to the floor. Looking flustered, he bent down and retrieved it.
When he didn’t answer her right away, she knew she’d committed a terrible faux pas. A man like Pietro, Prince Stefano’s personal secretary and companion, didn’t have time to spend with her. By blurting out the invitation she’d placed him in an impossible position. He couldn’t refuse without offending her, and he couldn’t accept, either. A man in his position didn’t go sightseeing, and if he did, he wouldn’t necessarily want to do so with her.
“Of course you can’t—Forgive me for asking. I wasn’t thinking.” She was far too embarrassed to meet his gaze. She stood abruptly, gripping her purse against her stomach. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll…”
“Priscilla,” he said in that gentle way of his, “sit down.”
She was too miserable to do anything but comply. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, hanging her head in shame.
“There’s no reason to apologize.”
She didn’t contradict him, although she didn’t agree.
“First tell me why you don’t wish to accept the prince’s invitation to visit our country.”
She swallowed tightly. “It’s because of my parents. They think there’s a chance Prince Stefano will become enamored with me. They don’t understand that he was just being polite.”
“Your parents are the reason you’d prefer the prince refused their invitation for tomorrow afternoon, as well?”
She nodded. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I know it was tactless and rude of me. I was hoping…”
“Yes,” Pietro urged, when she hesitated.
“He would decline.”
Pietro sighed heavily. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. Prince Stefano has already asked me to accept on his behalf.”
“I see.” So much for that.
“I don’t think you should so readily discount yourself, Priscilla. The prince was quite taken with you. He told me himself what a beautiful woman he found you to be.”
Priscilla blinked several times, uncertain if what she heard could possibly be true. “He told you that?”
“Yes. Why are you so surprised?”
“I just am.”
“You shouldn’t be. You’re a beautiful person, Priscilla Rutherford.” Pietro’s smile was warm and gentle, and Priscilla felt mesmerized by it.
“Thank.., you,” she whispered.
Pietro’s gaze abruptly left her, breaking the magical spell between them. “Prince Stefano will see you tomorrow at three,” he said, becoming businesslike all at once.
“Will you be joining him?” She’d feel worlds better knowing Pietro would accompany the prince.
“No.”
She signed heavily, and nodded. It would have been too much to hope for.
“Now…about your invitation.”
Her gaze went expectantly to his. Their eyes met and held for a long moment. Priscilla didn’t bother to disguise her wishes.
Pietro reluctantly dragged his eyes from hers, and it seemed to Priscilla that he found it difficult to speak. “I must decline, but having you ask pleases me greatly.”
She managed a wobbly smile, hoping that he understood that if he’d accepted it would have pleased her greatly too.
Hope had never had anyone fuss over her more. Her mother and her mother’s three softhearted friends had driven her crazy, going over every minute detail of her hair, her nails, makeup and outfit. The dress was made of black crepe that clung to her hips and looped down her spine, revealing nearly her entire flawless back. She’d never have chosen the dress on her own, but Betty knew somebody who knew somebody who owned the perfect dress.
&
nbsp; The high heels were leftovers from her high school prom days. A bit snug, but doable for one short evening.
She dripped diamonds—not real, of course—from her wrists, neck and ears. Between the four women, they’d come up with enough rhinestones to sink a gunboat.
The phone had been ringing since eight o’clock that morning. The Seattle Times asked for an exclusive interview following her date. Hope declined but that didn’t stop five other area newspapers from making a pitch.
How the media found out about her was beyond Hope. The last she’d heard, “Entertainment Tonight” had flown in a camera crew. On learning that, Hope appointed her mother as her official contact person, which kept Doris occupied most of the afternoon. It also gave her a feeling of importance to be the mother of the woman dating Prince Stefano. Doris ate up the attention.
“The limousine will be here any minute,” Hazel said, checking her watch. “Are you ready?”
Hope didn’t think she could be any readier. One thing was for certain, she’d never have agreed to all this priming if she hadn’t personally met the prince the night before.
It wouldn’t take much to improve on his first impression of her, that was sure. If the truth be known, she wanted to razzle-dazzle the man. This evening was a means of proving she didn’t generally look like an escaped mental patient.
“The limo’s here,” Gladys shouted excitedly. She sounded like a sailor lost at sea sighting land.
Doris and the two other women rushed toward the window. Hope heard them collectively sigh. One would think Prince Stefano had come for Hope in a coach led by six perfectly matched white horses.
“Oh my heavens,” Betty breathed, gazing longingly out the window. “He’s so handsome.”
“I’ll get the door,” Doris announced, as if being Hope’s mother entitled her to that honor.
“You can’t be out here,” Hazel insisted, taking Hope by the hand, and leading her down the hallway to one of the bedrooms. “The prince might see you.”
“He’s taking me to dinner, Hazel. That’s the reason he’s coming to the house.”
“I know. We just don’t want him to see you right away. It wouldn’t be proper.”