Holiday Royale. Christine RimmerЧитать онлайн книгу.
stepped to the side and waved her in again. “Whatever it is, let’s not discuss it out here in the hallway. You must come in. We’ll have coffee.”
She didn’t budge, except to drop her hands away from her face and wrap her arms around her. “I just had to see you. And so I decided to go for it, before I lost my nerve, you know? But of course, I see I should’ve at least waited until nine or...later or whenever you... Oh, my Lord.” She let her head fall back and groaned at the carved painted ceiling overhead. “You would think I had no manners at all.” She looked at him again, her gamine face crumpled in misery. “Oh, Dami. Sorry, sorry. This is awful, isn’t it?”
“Luce, what are you on about?”
She blinked at him again, her mouth trembling. “You know what? I’ll just come back later and maybe then we can...”
The flood of words stopped when he caught her hand. She stared up at him, her mouth slightly agape in a confused expression that he found simultaneously humorous and captivating. “Come inside now.” He gave her fingers a tug.
“Oh, I just don’t...”
“Luce.” He snared her darting gaze and held it.
“Oh, God.” Her plump cheeks puffed out with a hard breath. “What?”
“Come in. Please.”
That did it. Finally. She gave him a sad little nod. And then, slim shoulders drooping, she let him draw her over the threshold.
Pausing only to shut and lock the door, he led her down the hallway, past the sitting room and his bedroom, the dining room and his small study. At the back of the apartment, he had a narrow galley kitchen for those times when he preferred to dine in private. He led Lucy to the small table by the one window at the end and pulled out a chair. “Have a seat.”
She dropped to the chair cushion, folded her hands neatly in her lap and didn’t utter a word as he got to work grinding the coffee beans, filling the French press and setting it on the cooker to brew. He would have preferred, while they waited for the coffee, to run back down the hall and throw on something more appropriate than his black silk robe.
But he was afraid if he left her alone, she just might bolt. He couldn’t allow that. Clearly, she did have something to say to him. It was all very intriguing. He wasn’t letting her go until she revealed what had brought her to his door.
He said, “I’m surprised to see you at the palace at this hour.”
“But I’m a guest here. I have a beautiful little room on the third floor with a bathroom right down the hall.”
“I thought you would be staying at the villa with Alice and Noah.”
“Well, the truth is I asked Alice if she could get me in as a guest here at the palace instead—for the life experience, you know?” Something evasive in her expression tipped him off that “life experience” wasn’t all of it.
“And because of Noah?”
She shrugged. “He’s promised to stop hovering over me and to let me lead my own life, but he still thinks he knows what’s best for me. Here at the palace, I’m on my own. I take care of myself without my big brother keeping tabs on where I go and when I come in at night.” She loosed a gusty sigh. “Honestly, Dami. Sometimes he acts like I’m twelve instead of twenty-three.”
“He loves you and wants to be certain you’re safe and well.”
For that she shot him an I-don’t-want-to-hear-it look. He let the subject drop.
The coffee didn’t take long. He poured her a cup, got out the cream and sugar and even found a couple of pastries in the bread box. He put the pastries on a serving plate, set them each a place, along with napkin, fork and spoon, and then took his own cup and settled into the chair opposite her. “There. Drink your coffee.”
Obediently, she spooned in a little sugar, poured in a drizzle of cream, stirred and sipped. “It’s good.”
“Life is too short for bad coffee.”
A sudden smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
He shook his head. “Something amuses you?”
“It’s too weird, that’s all. Being served coffee and sweet rolls by a prince....”
He waved a hand. “Under everyday circumstances, my man, Edgar, would prepare the coffee. But Edgar is elsewhere this morning.”
She blushed again, the color flowing upward over her sweet, velvety cheeks. “Thank you, Dami. You’re always so kind to me.” All at once her big eyes brimmed with moisture.
“Luce?” He jumped up, went around to her and knelt by her chair, taking care as he did it that the damn robe didn’t gape and embarrass them both. “What is this? Tears?”
She sniffled. “Oh, Dami...” Her scent drifted to him: cherries and soap. So very Luce. It made him want to smile.
But he didn’t. He kept a solemn face as he took the silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his robe. “Here, now. Dry your eyes.”
With a sad little sigh, she dabbed at her cheeks. “I’m being ridiculous.”
“You are not, nor have you ever been, ridiculous.” He rose—and then hesitated, not wanting to leave her side if she was going to keep crying.
She waved his handkerchief at him. “Go on. Sit back down. Your coffee will get cold.”
So he returned to his chair and took his seat. “Eat a pastry, why don’t you? Your choice, raspberry or almond.”
Obediently, she transferred the raspberry brioche to her plate and took a bite. The red filling clung to her lower lip and he watched as the tip of her pink tongue emerged to lick it clean. “Yum.”
He prompted, “Now. What is this ‘issue’ that you’ve come to me about?”
She sucked in a long breath. “First of all...”
“Yes?”
“Oh, Dami. First I really, really need to thank you.”
“But why?”
“Oh, please. You know why. For coming to my rescue when I was running out of options and had no idea what I was going to do.”
He gave her a one-shouldered shrug. “You’ve already thanked me. Repeatedly.”
“But I can never thank you enough. You came and you helped me with Noah when I couldn’t get through to him and I didn’t see how I ever would.” Her brother had been reluctant to let her go away to fashion school in Manhattan. “I live in New York City now because of you. I live in the greatest old building with the nicest neighbors because of you.” She laid her hand against her upper chest, where the tip of a pale scar was just visible above the neckline of her striped top, which she wore with great panache, along with a short, tight, floral-print skirt, a wide black belt and ankle boots. “Thank you.”
“You are completely welcome. I’m glad I could help—and you were the driving force in your own liberation. You have to know that. You made it happen.”
“But I couldn’t have done it without you being willing to fly to California to save me.” Her brother, Noah, owned a large estate in Carpinteria, near Santa Barbara. “You stood up for me with Noah, and you took me away.” She plunked a scrap of paper on the table and pushed it toward him. “This should pay you back, at least a little.”
He saw that it was a check for a large sum of money and shook his head. “Don’t be absurd. Noah paid for it all.” Her brother had finally seen the light and given her his blessing to follow her dream—along with the all-important backing of his enormous bank account.
“Dami, you flew me to the East Coast in your own private jet. You leased me my beautiful apartment in your amazing building without asking for a deposit