Her Christmas Prince. Catherine MannЧитать онлайн книгу.
mind still on the reporter. It was one thing for her to be harassed and annoyed because of her own foolish actions, but it was another for her family to be dragged into this mess.
“Since Chase won’t be home for dinner because of a late meeting, I thought I’d stop by to say hello, see how you and Pop are doing, and grab a bite to eat. Not to mention picking up any stray mail,” she added, stuffing a few letters into the side pocket of her handbag.
Her sister had married and moved out last year, but the change-of-address process took time, and the odd letter or piece of mail showed up for her occasionally.
“Well, dinner will be served at seven, as usual, and as far as I know, everything is fine around here. Pop is still at the office, and I’ve just been working on the plans for that fund-raiser for the animal shelters.”
“Will Chase and I be invited?” Elena asked.
“Of course.”
“Looks like you got something important,” her sister said, nodding toward the letter left on top of the stack.
Alandra picked up the thick envelope and read the return address, which was embossed in dark blue, fancy raised script on parchment-quality stationery. “H.R.H. Prince Stephan Nicolas Braedon, Kingdom of Glendovia.”
“His Royal Highness?” Elena asked. “Really? You got a letter from a prince?”
“It appears so.” She opened the envelope and skimmed the official-looking letterhead and neatly typed text of the top page. Then, heart stuttering, she read it again. “Oh, my God,” she breathed.
“What?”
“This Prince Stephan wants me to come to his kingdom and oversee all of their fund-raising organizations.”
Both sisters scanned the letter. It touched on Alandra’s past fund-raising accomplishments, which the prince claimed were very impressive, and stressed how much Glendovia could use her assistance. He even went so far as to enclose copies of a contract for her employment that he hoped she would peruse and strongly consider signing.
Lifting the cover sheet, Alandra read the one-page agreement. It briefly outlined her duties and obligations, if she chose to accept the royal family’s offer, as well as their obligations to her.
“Do you think this is legitimate?” Elena demanded.
The Braedon name did ring some bells. “I guess it would be easy enough to check out,” she replied.
The two of them went into Alandra’s office, where she started going through her guest lists, and her sister did a quick search on the Internet.
“Huh,” Elena said when they discovered at almost the same moment that Stephan Nicolas Braedon was, indeed, a bona fide prince, and the island of Glendovia really did exist. According to Alandra’s records, another member of the Braedon royal family—a Princess Mia—had attended one of her recent fund-raisers.
“What are you going to do?” Elena asked.
“Well, I’ll reply, of course, and thank him for the generous offer, but I can’t possibly accept. I’m already knee-deep in organizing my next event, and Christmas is a month off. I don’t want to be away from my family over the holidays.”
“I don’t blame you, but you have to admit it’s a flattering offer.”
Extremely flattering, Alandra thought, glancing once again at the raised script of the letterhead. She almost wanted to reach out and run her fingertips over the prince’s name. Her letter of refusal definitely wouldn’t be an easy one to write.
“But maybe…”
Alandra glanced at her sister. “What?”
“I was just thinking that maybe this position in Glendovia is exactly what you need.”
Alandra frowned. “What?”
“Well, things are anything but simple around here for you right now. You’ve got a reporter camped outside the house, that jerk Winters still calling you, and…well…” Her gaze skittered away and her voice softened slightly. “I heard that last week’s fund-raiser didn’t go as well as your events usually do.”
Alandra took a breath, trying not to let the pain of having her shortcomings pointed out by her own flesh and blood overwhelm her.
Running a supportive hand down her arm, Elena continued. “I was just thinking that if you got away for a while, where no one could find you, this would all blow over. And when you came back, you could get on with your life as though none of it had ever happened.”
“But I would be away from you guys,” Alandra murmured. “Over Christmas.”
“You could come back before then. But even if you didn’t, it’s only one holiday. There’s always next year.” Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, her sister added, “I don’t necessarily want you to go, I’m just saying that maybe you should think it over and do what’s best for you. I think Pop would agree.”
“I’ll consider it,” Alandra said, realizing her sister was making a good point. Perhaps the best way to leave all this scandal behind was to fly off to a foreign country.
Less than a week later, the Saturday after Thanksgiving, Alandra arrived on the island of Glendovia, hoping against hope that she’d made the right decision.
Her flight had been uneventful. And a limousine had been waiting at the airport for her, as promised in the itinerary that had been faxed to her as soon as she’d accepted Prince Stephan’s offer.
Staring out the window as the car sped through the countryside, Alandra was swept away by the beauty of the tiny island country. Located in a northern area of the Mediterranean, it was postcard perfect, with a clear azure sky, rolling emerald hills, and the sprawling blue-green of the sea visible in the distance.
Even what she assumed to be the center of the capital seemed more quaint and clean than anywhere she’d traveled in America or Europe. The buildings were tall, but not mammoth. The streets were busy, but not crowded and harried.
Things seemed more tranquil here, and for the first time since scrawling her name across the bottom of that employment contract, she thought she might actually be glad she’d agreed to come.
Her family had supported the decision wholeheartedly, wanting her to be happy and get away from the scandal they knew was causing her such pain. She had accepted the position in order to protect them from a part of her life that had gotten ugly, in hope it would not spill over onto them.
The limousine slowed and waited for a tall, antique iron gate to slide open. They drove up a long, winding lane that ran among pristine, well-manicured lawns and gardens.
The house—palace was a better word—was somewhat historical in design, but looked updated and modern. Eggshell-white, with pillars and balconies and a myriad of floor-to-ceiling windows, it stood atop a small rise overlooking the splashing waves of the Mediterranean.
As the driver opened the door and helped her out of the vehicle, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the breathtaking view. Alandra continued to gawk while the driver removed her bags from the trunk and escorted her to the front door.
A butler opened it and invited her inside, where a handful of maids dressed in matching gray uniforms collected her luggage and trotted off with it.
The butler said, “The prince has requested you be brought to him immediately upon your arrival, Miss Sanchez. If you’ll follow me.”
Feeling as though she’d just stepped into a fairy tale, Alandra did just that, taking in every detail of the foyer as they passed.
The floor was of highly polished marble in squares