Page 20 of A Princess for Christmas

Leo deflected Marie from talk of “institutions of higher learning” by pointing out a few landmarks along the way to her first appointment.

“I wish I had time to do all the New York things,” she said with a hint of wistfulness. “Eat all the New York food.”

When he pulled up in front of the watch shop, and the backseat passengers unbuckled their seat belts, the princess’s battle with the butler resumed. “I’m going in alone.”

“But Your Royal Highness—”

“If you come in with me, it looks like I need a babysitter.” Mr. Benz started to say something—Leo was pretty sure he was poised to argue that she did, in fact, need a babysitter—but she held up a hand. “Is that the message we want to send about me in my role as the business representative of the Morneau brand? And do I have to remind you that right now, that’s what I am?”

“Why don’t you text me five minutes before you want us to pick you up?” Leo said, suddenly wanting to help her cause. He leaned over her lap to open her door for her. He would have gone around to help her out as a proper chauffeur should—he was probably scandalizing her butler—but he reasoned that would just give Tweedledum and Tweedledee time to get out, too. He made a little “hurry up” motion only Marie could see.

The dimples came out, and she was out of the car before the butler could issue another objection.

So was the bodyguard, though. Damn. But he could hear him assuring Marie that he was going to stand outside the store.

Well. Leo had done his best. He hit the gas.

“Where onearthare we going?” Mr.Benz asked.

“We’re going to get the princess a bagel.”

The morning started well enough, despite the fact that Marie hadn’t managed to elude Torkel and Mr.Benz. In retrospect, she’d won their early-morning argument regarding her chaperonage way too easily. She’d been naïve to think they would simply let her drive away with Leo.

Still, once she had Mr.Benz settled down, she’d enjoyed talking with Leo. And she was on familiar ground today. Work was a lot more comfortable for her than parties. When she called on a store owner as a representative of the Morneau line, they had an automatic topic of conversation. There was a social aspect to these calls, of course, but their primary purpose was business. It was important, her father believed, for the family to make occasional appearances in the shops of their retailers. He used to do it himself. Before he became the sad king and stopped doing anything besides peevishly issuing orders.

Marie was also happy to be alone in the shops. While it was true she’d never done these kinds of calls before—her father had still been doing his job last time there’d been a New York trip—she knew the Morneau line inside and out. Literally: she could pop one of those suckers open and talk crowns and mainsprings. Or if the retailer wanted to discuss marketing, or demand forecasting, she was well versed in those areas, too.

Having Mr. Benz, or worse, Torkel, hovering called attention to the princess part of her role—the unearned part, in other words. She truly believed she was serving the mission better bypresenting herself as a knowledgeable businesswoman who happened to be a princess and not vice versa.

After their fraught first stop, they got into a routine, one that Mr.Benz begrudgingly accepted. She’d go in, Torkel would stand sentry outside, and Leo and Mr.Benz would drive off—to get her a treat! That was the astonishing part.

It had been a cup of coffee and a bagel after the first one, and after the second one, a big biscuit Leo called a black-and-white cookie, which was apparently a signature New York treat. He, it seemed, had taken to heart her wish to “eat all the New York food.”

In addition to doing good work, Marie was havingfun. Leo was charming and easy to talk to. He had a kind of... not optimism—he was too grumpy for that—but a good-humored stoicism that was contagious. She was even letting herself forget the ugly confrontation with Philip Gregory from last night. Letting herself believe that perhaps there was a solution they hadn’t thought of yet. Or at least allowing herself to ignore the problem for a while.

And driving between appointments, Leo had been a wonderful tour guide, pointing out iconic buildings but also dispensing interesting anecdotes about their history. With some extra time before her final appointment of the morning, he took her to nearby Madison Square Park. They strolled with Torkel and Mr.Benz following a good distance behind them. It wasalmostlike being alone.

“Is Madison Square Garden around here?” she asked as they passed a large Christmas tree set up in an empty fountain. “It’s one of those iconic American buildings you always hear about.”

“It used to be, but the modern incarnation of Madison Square Garden—which, incidentally, is its fourth—is in Midtown. I can drive you by it if you like, but it’s not much to see.”

“It’s funny how sometimes the most famous places aren’t.”

“But if you’re into iconic New York City architecture, this is a good spot.” He pointed over her shoulder. “That’s the Flatiron Building.”

“Oh, I know the Flatiron Building!” She turned.

“Most people do, even if not by name.”

“No, I mean I studied it. My degree specialization was in solid materials and mechanics, but I took a course in the history of civil engineering. Apparently wind load was a challenge for this building, because it’s so narrow.”

“It was one of the early steel-frame skyscrapers,” Leo said. “Apparently there was a lot of interest from the public as it went up. It’s also kind of unique in that it’s limestone on the bottom and terra-cotta on the top.”

“How do you know all this?”

He shrugged and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Architectural history is kind of a hobby of mine.” He pivoted ninety degrees. “Check out this one—the MetLife Tower. It was built in 1909. It was originally clad in marble but was refaced in limestone in the sixties.”

“It would have been something to see them getting the marble up there in 1909.”

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