Page 58 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
She grabbed a random sweater off the top of the pile and marched to the bathroom to shower and put it on, just to prove her point.
Gracie closed the door behind her, then opened it to stick her head out for another important clarification. “And he’s not my prince. Why do I have to keep saying that?”
An hour later, she descended the stairs of the B&B, ready for Nick to pick her up for their mystery Christmas activity. Just as she reached the bottom of the steps, Princess Alana dashed past her.
“Excuse me,” the princess said without making eye contact.
“No problem,” Gracie said, but Alana was already way out of earshot.
Again?
Gracie wished Clara had been there to witness the strange interaction. This was exactly what she’d been talking about earlier—and she couldn’t deny that it stung.
She took a deep breath and marched outside to sit on one of the pretty benches in the front of the B&B. She couldn’t worry about Alana right now.
One royal at a time.
Nick arrived at the B&B to pick her up in a sleek sports car that looked like something James Bond would drive. She didn’t realize it was him until he climbed out of the driver’s seat to open the passenger door for her.
Gracie rose from the bench where she’d been waiting and strolled toward the vehicle. “This is what you drive?”
He tilted his head. His hair was a little rumpled today, as if he’d just raked his hand through it, and he wore faded jeans paired with a charcoal cashmere sweater. This was his idea of Christmas casual? He was basically dressed as a lump of coal.
The sweater really brought out the gray in his eyes, though. Not that Gracie particularly noticed.
“You were expecting another horse-drawn carriage?” he asked.
“Ha ha.” She’d actually thought he’d arrive in something sleek and black driven by a uniformed chauffeur. She’d envisioned those little flags flapping above the headlights like diplomats always had. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.
“Your chariot awaits, m’lady,” he said, waving her inside the passenger seat. “That’s prince-speak for ‘let’s go.’”
“Let’s go where, exactly?”
He let out one of his low, rumbly laughs. “Nice try, Princess. You’ll find out soon enough.”
Gracie rolled her eyes. “Have I mentioned that you’re impossible?”
“Many, many times,” he said drolly, but Gracie could have sworn she saw the corner of his mouth inch up into a smile.
Was Clara right? Was Nick flirting with her? And—oh, goodness—was she flirting with him?
Gracie vowed to stop as she slid into the passenger seat. The supple leather interior was buttery soft, and she immediately recognized the scent that lingered in the air—warm flannel meets Christmas tree farm. As much as she wished it could be attributed to an air freshener or a special limited edition of Febreze, she knew that wasn’t the case. It was just how royals smelled, apparently.
This particular royal, anyway.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he maneuvered the car through San Glacera’s narrow alleyways. “And why didn’t you want me to wear my costume? Are you embarrassed by it?”
He ignored her first question and went straight to the second.
“Absolutely not. In fact, the ballgown is growing on me,” he said, and she had no idea if he was being serious or if he was teasing her. “It’s just not quite appropriate for today.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence. Snowflakes pattered against the windshield with a muffled hush. Gracie’s gaze kept straying to Nick’s hands on the steering wheel. He had nice hands—big and strong. Not at all what she’d expect of a man who lived in a palace. Maybe they were a result of his ice-climbing hobby.
Oh, no. Were they going ice climbing? Or mountaineering, or whatever the abominable snowman version of Nick liked to do?
A flare of panic sparked in Gracie’s chest. She wasn’t dressed for that. Then again, neither was Nick in his understated lump-of-coal sweater.
“Here we are.” Nick slowed the car to a stop in front of a modest brick building with wide windows facing the Alps.
