Page 37 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
If accidentally making a date with Princess Snowflake was so funny, then why aren’t you laughing?
CHAPTER TEN
Believe
The following morning, Gracie tore a piece from the gloriously braided loaf of bread in the center of the table she shared with Clara during breakfast at the Kriegs’s and nibbled half-heartedly at it.
“What are you doing? You didn’t dunk.” Clara waved a hand at the crock of warm cheese situated next to the braided loaf.
“Oh, right. I guess I forgot,” Gracie said.
“You forgot there’s a bowl of melted Gruyere within arm’s reach?” Clara’s gaze flitted to the fondu crock and then back at Gracie. She frowned. “I’m starting to worry about you. You love cheese.”
Who didn’t? Especially the gooey melted variety. By some miracle, fondue was a common breakfast treat in San Glacera, as it was in the surrounding Swiss region. As a chips-and-queso connoisseur, Gracie should have been beside herself.
“The crowd last night was amazing. They adored you.” Clara gestured with a chunk of bread. “It was like Bobbi Bell’s sixth birthday party on steroids.”
Bobbi Bell’s mother sat on the board of directors for the Denver Children’s Museum. The museum had also been the site of little Bobbi’s sixth birthday celebration, complete with a petting zoo, a bouncy castle, and a red carpet stretching the entire length of the walkway that led up to the museum’s curved entrance. Bobbi’s mother had even hired pretend paparazzi, which had seemed like a bit much in Gracie’s opinion. Most of the fifty-plus children in attendance just stared blankly when the photographer shouted, Who are you wearing? But to those kids, Gracie had been a bona fide rock star.
“You’re right. The crowd was nice. Prince Nicolas, on the other hand…” Gracie rolled her eyes. She’d been painfully aware of Nick’s presence in the royal box while she’d been talking to the children and posing for pictures. “Every time I glanced in his direction, I saw him watching me. He didn’t smile at all—not even once. What is his problem, anyway?”
Gracie had never misjudged a person so severely in her life. It was amazing what you learned about someone when you tossed a princess costume into the mix.
“They were more than nice. Nice is an understatement. You were a massive hit.” Clara wrinkled her nose. “Who cares what the abominable prince thinks?”
I do.
Gracie didn’t want to care, but no matter how hard she tried to brush it off, she did care. Very much.
“Are you sure he wasn’t simply surprised?” Clara’s eyebrows crept up closer to her hairline. “Not to play devil’s advocate or anything, but it was a pretty major misunderstanding. He couldn’t have been the only one caught off guard.”
Gracie pushed her plate away. She was too upset for cheese—a concept that would have seemed utterly impossible before she’d started cavorting with actual royalty.
“Of course I was caught off guard. How was I supposed to know he was the real prince and not an actor? He looked nothing at all like those pictures in the papers,” she said.
Clara bit back a smile. “I saw him last night in the royal box. He didn’t look abominable in the slightest. He’s hot, Gracie. Like, I’m pretty sure I saw some of the ice sculptures melt.”
“That doesn’t make him a good person.”
“Obviously, it doesn’t. I’m just saying…” Clara sighed. “I can see why you were smitten at first glance.”
Gracie glared at her. She didn’t care to revisit the teensy crush she might have developed on Nick before she learned his true identity. Ever.
Clara held up her hands. “Got it. You don’t want to talk about it. We don’t have to. You probably don’t even need to see him again—at least not up close. Clearly, he doesn’t have much to do with the contest. I seriously doubt he’ll be joining you on any of the Christmas activities this week.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Gracie said, trying her best to feel relieved.
But Nick—she absolutely refused to think of him as His Royal Highness Prince Nicolas, when he’d lied and let her believe he was a normal person for an entire afternoon—would surely be in attendance at the opening of the ice ballroom on Christmas Eve. Which meant she was going to have to sing in front of him.
She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I think I might be sick.”
“Oh no, dear. Is something wrong with the fondue?” Ingrid paused at their table, wiping her hands on another frilly holiday-themed apron. This one was covered with rows of gingerbread men doing cartwheels.
Gracie shook her head. “Not at all. It’s delicious.”
“I second that,” Clara said as she dunked another chunk of bread into the melted Gruyere.
“Perhaps it’s a bit rich? It’s tradition here, but we’ll be happy to make you an American breakfast if you prefer. Bacon and eggs, maybe?” Ingrid waved a hand toward a big buffet table at the back of the wood-paneled dining room. “We also have a selection of breakfast pastries every morning. Today my husband made a lovely cinnamon roll wreath.”
