The Making of a Princess. Teresa CarpenterЧитать онлайн книгу.
with the old diaries.
Xavier had assumed Amanda had them, but she didn’t. Excited by the discovery, she’d asked Grandmother if she could take the box with her. Grandmother had said no, and had refused to discuss the matter further.
“What trip?” Amanda asked her grandmother.
“That year before she had you, some college friends of hers were going on a post-graduation trip to Europe. She had a bee in her bonnet about going with them. I was against it from the beginning. She was too young, too naïve. They all were.”
“Life brings experience.” It was one of her grandfather’s favorite sayings.
Grandmother closed her eyes. “That’s what she said. How could we argue with our own beliefs?”
“You let her go.”
“Yes. And she came back pregnant with you.”
Amanda flinched at the venom in the words. She knew her grandmother’s feelings about her mother’s pregnancy. She knew she was blamed for her mother’s death.
She lived knowing her grandparents would choose her mother over her every time. She understood. And at the same time she didn’t. Haley was their child. But Amanda was here. Why couldn’t they just love her? Isn’t that what Haley would have wanted?
Accepting the futility of fighting what couldn’t be changed, she pushed the ache aside and focused on what grandmother revealed about Haley. Maybe Amanda would learn something about her father after all.
“So she met my father in Europe?” How funny to hear this now, when Xavier had just been asking if she had any relations in Pasadonia.
“Yes.” Grandmother stood to straighten the glasses on the bar, to arrange the wine, open and breathing, precisely next to the bottle of Bourbon. “We never met the man who stole our baby from us.”
“Did she tell you anything about him?” Amanda asked softly, afraid to disturb the moment.
“They flew into England, made it their base. She called often to tell us all about their little jaunts. She did not mention meeting a man. I would have remembered.”
“Yes. So my father is English.”
“Possibly. She was gone for two months. They started out in England but bounced around from there. They also went to Ireland, Paris, Milan, Pasadonia.”
“My mother was in Pasadonia twenty-five years ago?” How was that for coincidence?
“Yes. They spent at least a week there.” Grandmother moved back to the sofa, rearranged the trays on the coffee table. “I don’t care to speak of that time.”
“Of course, I understand,” Amanda said, like she always did. But suddenly it wasn’t true. At what point did her feelings matter? Obviously never, if she didn’t push the issue. “I know it upsets you to talk about Haley. But I long to know her better. I didn’t even know she’d been on this trip, or that my father was European.”
“You don’t need to know anything about him except that he stole our child from us.”
“That’s not good enough anymore. I have questions. Who was he? Why didn’t she tell you anything about him? Did he know about me?”
“Do not take that tone with me, young lady.” Grandmother chastised her in icy tones. “I’ve said I don’t care to talk about it.”
“Then let me read her journals,” she said reasonably. “I can get my answers from them.”
“I said no.”
“Why not?” Amanda worked hard to keep the pleading from her voice. Grandmother would latch onto any sign of weakness.
“They’re private.” She stated stiffly.
“She’s dead, Grandmother.” Amanda made it a gentle reminder. “I think she’d want me to have them.”
“It’s out of the question.”
The no give attitude finally spiked Amanda’s temper.
“Now who’s being stubborn?” she demanded. “You won’t tell me about her, but I can’t read the journals. She’s my mother! Would you have wanted her to have no knowledge of you? Can’t you understand that my knowing her doesn’t take anything away from you?”
When there was no answer, Amanda shook her head sadly. “Enjoy your dinner. I’m afraid I can’t stay.” She walked to the closet for her coat and purse.
“Don’t you dare leave,” Grandmother snapped. “My guests are expecting to meet you.”
“Regarding a job I don’t want.” Amanda’s stomach roiled and her voice shook, but she stood up to her grandmother. Stood up for herself. “Just tell them I didn’t care to talk about it. That always works for you.”
CHAPTER THREE
“THIS IS AMAZING.” Amanda stopped next to Xavier. They stood in front of the glass display of the royal crown of Pasadonia. She whispered, otherwise her voice echoed through the cavernous room.
After dinner, he’d brought her here to the museum for a personal after hours tour of the crown jewels. They were alone except for the night security—two guards who stood at opposite ends of the vast room.
She’d like to think her decision to keep their date came from carefully considered deliberation, but the truth was he drew her more than anyone she’d ever met. And it gave her great pleasure knowing Grandmother would heartily disapprove.
It may be petty, but Amanda didn’t care.
And she was having a really good time.
“The jewels are stunning.” Hands behind her back, she leaned forward to study the three crowns on display. “The workmanship is exquisite.”
“Only the highest quality gems are used in the making of the royal crowns. Pasadonia uses the same jeweller and silversmith as the Royal house of Britain. There are over two thousand precious gems in the coronation crown, known as the St. Martin.”
“St. Martin of Tours, patron saint of soldiers.” She strolled on to a display of scepters. At his questioning look she confessed, “I did a Google search.”
“Yes. We are a small country but we have held our own through the centuries.”
“Le Valliant allié.” She read on the shaft of a gleaming gold scepter. “The valiant ally.”
“Our motto, and a way of life. We believe in making friends not enemies.”
“A nice sentiment,” she nodded and moved on to a cabinet of daggers, the decorative knives were as beautiful as they were lethal. “But in my experience politics aren’t that easy. It’s not always possible to be everyone’s friend.”
“Perhaps not, but when you control a neutral port in the Gulf of Lions, it is possible to avoid making enemies.”
“I would think that would make you all the more vulnerable to invasion.”
He inclined his dark head. “As I said, we are small but we held our own. Pasadonia has always had a strong militia. We are fierce fighters.”
“To this day?” she asked curiously. Looking at his profile she saw the pride in him, and when he turned his golden gaze her way, she saw the fierceness he spoke of.
So why had she sensed an underlying tension when he’d talked of his family’s history in the royal guard?
“Yes,” he said simply. “Pasadonia has all the problems of any nation in these days of unrest. Terrorism is a universal issue. Our Prince is a vocal member of the International Security Consortium. Our militia must be ever vigilant.”
“Of course.” How small-minded of her not to associate