lived here.
The scent of various flowers perfumed the night. She paused for a moment to inhale a deep lungful of the wintry air. Her mum used to keep a flower garden filled with a wonderful higgledy-piggledy array of flowers. The smell of flora guaranteed memories of her mother—always caked in mud and the scent of flowers.
“Miss?”
“Sorry.” She turned from the awe-inspiring view. The house wasn’t lit up like it’d been on the night of the ball, but the grounds were, and left Sandy with a sense of longing. She wished Cameron had warned her they would be having dinner with his friend. After this morning, she’d found herself counting the hours until she saw him again. How long would they be expected to socialize before they could be alone? “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a house quite so lovely.”
“Master Cameron is expecting you at seven, Miss,” the chauffeur reminded her.
“Of course. Thank you.” Sandy headed toward the gilded double doors, glad she’d chosen to wear her most stylish little black dress.
As they had two weeks ago, the doors opened as Sandy approached, but instead of the door attendant who’d taken her invitation, Sedrick, Cameron’s thin, elderly butler invited her to enter the warm hall.
“Good evening, Miss. How was your journey?”
A little taken aback, Sandy hadn’t expected the stern-faced butler to make small talk. “Um...it was pleasant, thank you.”
“Might I take your coat and bag?” He held out a wizened hand for the black wool garment.
Sandy scrambled out of her coat and handed it over. “Thank you.” She smoothed her damp palms over her hips in an effort to dry them, surprised by how shaky her hands were. She was more flustered at the prospect of seeing Cam than the time her Gran had caught her trying cigarettes behind her Grandfather’s shed at the end of their garden.
Sedrick offered her a small bow, then placed the garment into the cupboard to the left of the front doors. “If you will follow me, Master Cameron is waiting for you in the dining room.”
She followed the regal old man, almost tempted to tiptoe when her heels echoed a staccato behind him. The room was as extravagant as the rest of what she had seen of the residence. White, grey-veined marble covered the walls, lead crystal chandeliers hung from the high gilded ceiling, and gold leaf covered the mouldings. But it was the sight of Cam that stopped her feet from taking another step.
He stood before a row of tall white French doors, positioned so he’d seen her arrival. He wore another stylish black tuxedo, but this one had a hint of military to it, and tails that added a touch of sophisticated elegance. A blue sash crossed his body from his right shoulder, a Coat of Arms crest pinned to the left side of his chest. Sandy had seen the Coat of Arms before; it was the same as the one hanging above the front doors.
Cameron turned, the suggestion of a smile kicked up the corners of his mouth as Sedrick said. “Miss Donovan, may I present, Serene Highness, Prince Nicholas Cameron de Monaco.”
Sandy gasped, her hands hurried to cover her mouth in an effort to hide her dropped jaw. She knew her eyes were as wide as her mouth. The pulse in her throat fluttered, then sped to a gallop.
“Prince? You’re a Monégasque prince?” The realization hit her. “You own this house.”
He bowed. Just as she’d imagined the gallant princes from the romantic fairytales her mum used to read to her at bedtime would. “Prince Cameron at your service, Fair Lady. Yes, the house is mine.”
Cameron was a prince. A real-life, handsome prince. The comprehension was unbelievable, but still it brought sad tears to Sandy’s eyes. They’d known each other all this time, and he never deemed her worthy to know he was royalty. Why had he allowed her to think the worse of him?
“You let me think you were shallow. That there was nothing to you but your pretty-boy looks and your trust fund. I don’t think I
The scent of various flowers perfumed the night. She paused for a moment to inhale a deep lungful of the wintry air. Her mum used to keep a flower garden filled with a wonderful higgledy-piggledy array of flowers. The smell of flora guaranteed memories of her mother—always caked in mud and the scent of flowers.
“Miss?”
“Sorry.” She turned from the awe-inspiring view. The house wasn’t lit up like it’d been on the night of the ball, but the grounds were, and left Sandy with a sense of longing. She wished Cameron had warned her they would be having dinner with his friend. After this morning, she’d found herself counting the hours until she saw him again. How long would they be expected to socialize before they could be alone? “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a house quite so lovely.”
“Master Cameron is expecting you at seven, Miss,” the chauffeur reminded her.
“Of course. Thank you.” Sandy headed toward the gilded double doors, glad she’d chosen to wear her most stylish little black dress.
As they had two weeks ago, the doors opened as Sandy approached, but instead of the door attendant who’d taken her invitation, Sedrick, Cameron’s thin, elderly butler invited her to enter the warm hall.
“Good evening, Miss. How was your journey?”
A little taken aback, Sandy hadn’t expected the stern-faced butler to make small talk. “Um...it was pleasant, thank you.”
“Might I take your coat and bag?” He held out a wizened hand for the black wool garment.
Sandy scrambled out of her coat and handed it over. “Thank you.” She smoothed her damp palms over her hips in an effort to dry them, surprised by how shaky her hands were. She was more flustered at the prospect of seeing Cam than the time her Gran had caught her trying cigarettes behind her Grandfather’s shed at the end of their garden.
Sedrick offered her a small bow, then placed the garment into the cupboard to the left of the front doors. “If you will follow me, Master Cameron is waiting for you in the dining room.”
She followed the regal old man, almost tempted to tiptoe when her heels echoed a staccato behind him. The room was as extravagant as the rest of what she had seen of the residence. White, grey-veined marble covered the walls, lead crystal chandeliers hung from the high gilded ceiling, and gold leaf covered the mouldings. But it was the sight of Cam that stopped her feet from taking another step.
He stood before a row of tall white French doors, positioned so he’d seen her arrival. He wore another stylish black tuxedo, but this one had a hint of military to it, and tails that added a touch of sophisticated elegance. A blue sash crossed his body from his right shoulder, a Coat of Arms crest pinned to the left side of his chest. Sandy had seen the Coat of Arms before; it was the same as the one hanging above the front doors.
Cameron turned, the suggestion of a smile kicked up the corners of his mouth as Sedrick said. “Miss Donovan, may I present, Serene Highness, Prince Nicholas Cameron de Monaco.”
Sandy gasped, her hands hurried to cover her mouth in an effort to hide her dropped jaw. She knew her eyes were as wide as her mouth. The pulse in her throat fluttered, then sped to a gallop.
“Prince? You’re a Monégasque prince?” The realization hit her. “You own this house.”
He bowed. Just as she’d imagined the gallant princes from the romantic fairytales her mum used to read to her at bedtime would. “Prince Cameron at your service, Fair Lady. Yes, the house is mine.”
Cameron was a prince. A real-life, handsome prince. The comprehension was unbelievable, but still it brought sad tears to Sandy’s eyes. They’d known each other all this time, and he never deemed her worthy to know he was royalty. Why had he allowed her to think the worse of him?
“You let me think you were shallow. That there was nothing to you but your pretty-boy looks and your trust fund. I don’t think I
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