Rodgers had woken him, Luc learned four things about her.
She was sharp—book smart and common sense wise. Her comeback to Vivianca about no princesses living in America had been brilliant and kept an injured child’s fantasy alive. He couldn’t wait to see Emily’s choice of bride candidates.
She was an unapologetic workaholic. Being jet lagged after transatlantic travel hadn’t stopped her from pulling out her tablet and mini-keyboard the minute they boarded the jet. She never seemed to relax.
She was also curious. He didn’t need a PhD in psychology to know the number of questions she had for him were growing exponentially. But she hadn’t asked him anything since leaving the cottage. He appreciated her restraint and would tell her what he could without admitting that his family needed him to be seen as a royal screw-up, not a caring philanthropist, for the sake of the monarchy.
She was nicer than he thought and nicer than she claimed to be. She’d been friendly and shed tears, then tried to wipe her eyes without anyone noticing. But he had.
The fact he’d taken so much time cataloging a woman he’d just met was interesting in and of itself.
“Is there anything you’d like to see in Lake Como, Emily?” he asked.
Her gaze zeroed in on him. “Your engagement ring on the finger of a princess, countess, or duchess.”
He could add one-track mind to his list of things about her. “I’d like to see that too. And don’t forget the ring finger of a baroness, marchioness, viscountess, and viceroy also works.”
Emily tucked her tablet in her large purse. “Wouldn’t that be vicereine?”
He was impressed she knew the term. “Viceroy is gender-neutral so either can be used.”
“Learn something new every day.” She zipped her bag. “With so many feminine royals to choose from, we’re bound to succeed. The project seemed to have overwhelmed the royalty consultant. She should have had dates lined up prior to filming, not been so haphazard in her approach. Many royals had been left off the original princess list. I created a database for us to use, and I’ve already contacted twenty women.”
“When was the last time you failed?” Luc asked.
She rubbed her lips together. “I can’t remember.
“That’s what I thought.”
The limo stopped. Luc climbed out of the car.
The villa was an imposing structure, rectangular with three stories of public rooms, dining areas, bedroom suites, and two kitchens. The luxurious accommodations were meant to impress potential brides rather than make his life more pleasant. But since he couldn’t leave the premises, he would have to make the most of activities available here.
He stood in front of Venetian double doors. The scent of hanging wisteria—sweet like a freshly cut spring bouquet—mocked him. A glance over his shoulder at the lake heckled his lack of choices on what was the antithesis of a royal holiday.
The natural beauty couldn’t hide the truth. This place was nothing but a prison, one with cameras pointed at him 24/7. His visitor times brought potential fiancées, women he was supposed to impress with his wit, humor, and good looks. Maybe they should put him into solitary confinement and throw away the key.
Duty. Honor. The foundation’s children.
He stepped inside. The smell reminded him of home, a mix of antiques, tapestries, lemon oil, and floral arrangements.
Symmetrical staircases on either side leading off a center aisle greeted him. Luxurious red runners trimmed with gold lined the stairs.
Luc removed the coveralls, glasses and cap. He tucked in his shirt, adjusted his tie and brushed his fingers through his hair. He would save the disguise for future use. No one had looked at him twice.
Except Emily.
He nearly laughed. She must be a fan of laborers not royalty, but that kind of person would fit with her work habits.
“Oh my goodness.” Addie sounded breathless. “Look at the paintings on the ceilings and the moldings.” She
She was sharp—book smart and common sense wise. Her comeback to Vivianca about no princesses living in America had been brilliant and kept an injured child’s fantasy alive. He couldn’t wait to see Emily’s choice of bride candidates.
She was an unapologetic workaholic. Being jet lagged after transatlantic travel hadn’t stopped her from pulling out her tablet and mini-keyboard the minute they boarded the jet. She never seemed to relax.
She was also curious. He didn’t need a PhD in psychology to know the number of questions she had for him were growing exponentially. But she hadn’t asked him anything since leaving the cottage. He appreciated her restraint and would tell her what he could without admitting that his family needed him to be seen as a royal screw-up, not a caring philanthropist, for the sake of the monarchy.
She was nicer than he thought and nicer than she claimed to be. She’d been friendly and shed tears, then tried to wipe her eyes without anyone noticing. But he had.
The fact he’d taken so much time cataloging a woman he’d just met was interesting in and of itself.
“Is there anything you’d like to see in Lake Como, Emily?” he asked.
Her gaze zeroed in on him. “Your engagement ring on the finger of a princess, countess, or duchess.”
He could add one-track mind to his list of things about her. “I’d like to see that too. And don’t forget the ring finger of a baroness, marchioness, viscountess, and viceroy also works.”
Emily tucked her tablet in her large purse. “Wouldn’t that be vicereine?”
He was impressed she knew the term. “Viceroy is gender-neutral so either can be used.”
“Learn something new every day.” She zipped her bag. “With so many feminine royals to choose from, we’re bound to succeed. The project seemed to have overwhelmed the royalty consultant. She should have had dates lined up prior to filming, not been so haphazard in her approach. Many royals had been left off the original princess list. I created a database for us to use, and I’ve already contacted twenty women.”
“When was the last time you failed?” Luc asked.
She rubbed her lips together. “I can’t remember.
“That’s what I thought.”
The limo stopped. Luc climbed out of the car.
The villa was an imposing structure, rectangular with three stories of public rooms, dining areas, bedroom suites, and two kitchens. The luxurious accommodations were meant to impress potential brides rather than make his life more pleasant. But since he couldn’t leave the premises, he would have to make the most of activities available here.
He stood in front of Venetian double doors. The scent of hanging wisteria—sweet like a freshly cut spring bouquet—mocked him. A glance over his shoulder at the lake heckled his lack of choices on what was the antithesis of a royal holiday.
The natural beauty couldn’t hide the truth. This place was nothing but a prison, one with cameras pointed at him 24/7. His visitor times brought potential fiancées, women he was supposed to impress with his wit, humor, and good looks. Maybe they should put him into solitary confinement and throw away the key.
Duty. Honor. The foundation’s children.
He stepped inside. The smell reminded him of home, a mix of antiques, tapestries, lemon oil, and floral arrangements.
Symmetrical staircases on either side leading off a center aisle greeted him. Luxurious red runners trimmed with gold lined the stairs.
Luc removed the coveralls, glasses and cap. He tucked in his shirt, adjusted his tie and brushed his fingers through his hair. He would save the disguise for future use. No one had looked at him twice.
Except Emily.
He nearly laughed. She must be a fan of laborers not royalty, but that kind of person would fit with her work habits.
“Oh my goodness.” Addie sounded breathless. “Look at the paintings on the ceilings and the moldings.” She
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