Page 60 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
“Ready?” Nick gave her a lopsided grin.
Gracie swallowed. Did he have any idea how absolutely smitten she felt right now? Goodness, she hoped not.
She nodded. “Ready.”
King Felix put Gracie on bread duty, and she spent the day passing out warm sourdough, homemade pretzels, and soft yeast rolls. Nick was in charge of ladling out soup, so they didn’t talk much for the rest of the party. Guests came in shifts, so once each meal was over, they regrouped and did it all over again.
“I’m so glad you joined us today.” Emilie smiled at Gracie as they wiped down tables together at the end of the day.
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Gracie said. Her feet ached like they sometimes did after a full day in glass slippers, but it was a good ache. The very best kind. “Nick told me this is one of his favorite holiday events. He must look forward to coming here every year.”
Emilie ran her dishrag in the circles over the table. “Oh, Nick volunteers here at least a couple of times a week. This party is actually his thing. He’s been organizing it for years. He didn’t tell you?”
Gracie’s gaze flitted to Nick across the room. He stood with a small group of the soup kitchen patrons, talking and laughing like they were all old friends. “No. He definitely failed to mention that.”
Emilie nodded toward the Christmas tree in the center of the dining room. “He even strung that popcorn garland, all on his own. Although, I’m pretty sure Mittens helped, if you know what I mean.”
She laughed, and Gracie did the same. But a lump formed in her throat at the thought of Nick putting all of this together in secret. No publicity, no press. Just him and his lovable dog.
Who are you, Nick? She could no longer reconcile the thoughtful man in the lump-of-coal sweater with the prince who was supposed to be cold and distant.
And for some reason, that frightened her even more than when she’d thought he was a beast.
Mittens was in full sulk mode when Nick returned to the palace after the party at the soup kitchen. With the entire family out for the day and Jaron busy juggling all the work that came with the kingdom’s sudden popularity, the Cavalier had been doomed to spending several hours alone.
The dog retaliated by refusing to get off of Nick’s bed. Nick also spied some minor retaliatory evidence in the form of a sock with a hole chewed in it, but he decided to overlook it. He’d had a good day—the best in recent memory. He wasn’t going to let a destroyed sock toss a wrench in it.
He also knew exactly how to garner his dog’s forgiveness. It only required a single word.
“Walk?” Nick said as he stood near the foot of the bed with his arms crossed.
Mittens sprang off the bed and turned a series of manic circles as soon as his paws hit the floor. In a fit of optimism, he also ran to grab a favorite tennis ball from his toy basket and dropped it at Nick’s feet.
“Your wish is my command,” Nick said.
He grabbed the tennis ball, slid his arms into a coat, and crisscrossed the castle’s long hallways with Mittens prancing alongside him. When he opened the door that led to the courtyard, Mittens took off like a rocket. He ran a wide loop around the open space, kicking up snow in his wake, until he came back and plopped into a sit position in front of Nick, eyes trained on the ball.
Nick gave it a good throw. Mittens chased after it, ran back, and dropped it at Nick’s feet. This went on for exactly half a dozen repetitions until Mittens grew bored of structured playtime and commenced with romping aimlessly through the snow. He’d just taken off after an alpine marmot—San Glacera’s answer to the squirrels that American dogs on television seemed to enjoy tormenting—when Nick spotted his father walking toward him across the courtyard.
“Here you are.” The king tucked his hands in the pockets of his wool overcoat. “Jaron has been trying to call you.”
Nick turned a variety of possibilities over in his mind. “Is something wrong? Did the two of you want to meet about the tourism numbers?”
“Relax, son. Everything is fine.”
Nick really wished his father would stop telling him to relax. Didn’t he realize it usually had the exact opposite effect than he’d intended?
“He just wanted you to know that the princess won’t be attending dinner tonight. Since you were to be her escort, you’re free to bow out too if you like,” the king said.
An unexpected surge of disappointment sagged through Nick. “I didn’t realize Gracie was expected to join us this evening.”
His father’s head drew back. “Miss Clark? I wasn’t talking about Gracie, son. I meant Princess Alana. She was to be your companion this evening at dinner. But like I said, something has apparently come up, and she’s been forced to cancel.”
“Right.” Nick nodded. The winter scarf he’d wound around his neck felt too stifling all of a sudden. “Princess Alana, of course.”
“You’ve been enjoying your time with Gracie, then?” the king asked, eyes sparkling with amusement.
Nick really didn’t see what was so funny about the mix-up. Except that he kept making it over and over again.
