Page 44 of A Princess for Christmas

He had noticed that Marie always spoke English when he and Gabby were around, even when she was speaking to her associates about matters that didn’t concern them. He supposed it was her innate politeness—she didn’t want them to feel excluded.

“Indeed, he is, ma’am.” The butler, following her lead, had switched to English. “He and the duke had business to discuss.” He turned to Mr. Benz. “And to answer your question, he is not yet returned. He is en route, though, and expects to be back in time for dinner.”

Marie pressed her lips together like she wanted to say more but was holding herself back. Something about the situation was unsettling her, but Leo couldn’t ask. Not here.

Mr.Benz, apparently not seeing the need for the palace guests to feel included, said something curtly in German, did one of those bow-nods to Marie, and left.

Soon, Leo and Gabby were being shown to their rooms by Frau Lehman and a man he could only describe as a footman. Leo insisted they all go to Gabby’s first because he wanted to be able to find it in case of... what? The need for an emergency exit in the event that the king decided to eject the commoners when he got home?

As he looked around at the enormous portraits of fancy, old-fashioned people that lined the wood-paneled walls of the seemingly endless corridors they traversed, it seemed like a distinct possibility.

“I’m sorry your rooms aren’t closer together, but I thought we’d put MissGabriella in the nursery wing,” Frau Lehman said as they arrived at a room and the footman opened the door.

“Oh, I don’t need to be in the nursery,” Gabby said. “I’m eleven, so—”

Yep, Leo would have been struck dumb, too, if he’d been talking. The room was like . . . a giant marshmallow. It was painted white, and the bed was covered with one of those flowy netlikethings. Why did rich people always want their beds covered with what was basically fancy mosquito netting? Wasn’t that what you resorted to if you didn’t have air conditioning or, like, walls? There was an enormous dollhouse—one of those nearly life-size ones you saw in places like FAO Schwarz. Even though Gabby had recently declared herself “too old for Barbies,” she gravitated toward it with an “Ooh.”

Frau Lehman smiled. “That belonged to Her Royal Highness when she was a girl.” She bustled around the room fluffing pillows. “We’re all so glad to have a visitor who appreciates it.” She walked over to a small table at the foot of the bed. On it was a small potted pine tree strung with lights. “MissGabriella, I thought perhaps tomorrow we could decorate your tree. We have an ornament room, and you can choose what you like.”

Gabby turned, her eyes wide. She hadn’t registered the tree in her enthusiasm for the dollhouse. “Oh, yes, please! I’ve never had my own tree! And an ornamentroom? I can’t believe you have a whole room for ornaments!”

Leo met Frau Lehman’s smiling eyes over Gabby’s head. This lady was all right.

“Mr.Ricci, if it meets with your approval, I will stay and help MissGabriella get unpacked and dressed for dinner, and Thomas can show you to your room.”

He wanted to tell her that unpacking Gabby’s small duffel would take about two minutes and that her version of “dress for dinner,” might be different from the Riccis’ version, which was basically, “You should be dressed,” but Leo agreed, leaving Gabby in raptures over the Juliet balcony that overlooked a courtyard lit with what looked like millions of tiny white lights.

His own room was more masculine. Its centerpiece was a massive, mahogany four-poster bed. There was an ornate writing desk, a pair of wingback chairs in front of a fireplace, and the walls were covered in dark-green fabric.

“Shall I light a fire, sir?” the footman—Thomas—asked. “It can get rather drafty in the palace in the winter.”

Leo’s inner architect wanted to ask about the central heating the palace appeared to have. It must have been a feat of engineering to retrofit. But maybe that was a topic best saved for the king. They’d have to talk aboutsomething, and if the man was at all house-proud, there was a topic Leo was actually interested in. As to the fire, the room was cold, but he was ready for some solitude. And a concrete task—doing something for himself, with his own hands—would be a welcome corrective to the past twenty-four hours. “No, thanks. I can do it myself.”

That was the incorrect answer, judging by Thomas’s slightly raised eyebrows, but Leo stood his ground. Raised his own eyebrows. Thomas opened his mouth like he was going to protest but got control of himself, nodded, and murmured, “You’ll find the fireplace already laid with firewood and kindling. There are matches in the box on the mantel.” He moved to the door but stopped to point out a velvet rope that was hanging out of the wall there. “Simply ring if you need anything.”

And Leo was alone. Finally, blessedly alone.

Which was when it happened. The thing that definitely, conclusively, absolutely told him he had made a mistake. That he was way out of his depth here.

He tried to eat a piece of soap.

In his defense, there was chocolate everywhere. He’d noticed itin Gabby’s room, and Marie had told them on the flight to Zurich that the Christmas chocolate theme in Eldovia extended beyond cocoa. Various artisanal chocolate makers made truffles and other treats to celebrate the season. A box of those truffles rested on the bedside table.

He had eaten every one of them, and they were freaking delicious.

Then he’d moved into the bathroom, intending to wash his hands and face after the long journey. There were more truffles in the bathroom, laid out in some kind of crystal bowl.

Well, when in Eldovia...

And... fuck.

There was a knock on his door while Leo was rinsing his mouth out. The phrase “rinse your mouth out with soap” came to mind, but what did you call it when you were rinsing your mouth to try to get rid of the soap that was already in there?

He swung open the door to reveal Marie. She was wearing jeans. He had to blink several times in order for his brain to process the sight of Casual Princess. Though she wasn’t reallycasual-casual. Those were what he would call fancy jeans and she was wearing a blouse and blazer on top, and her hair, which in New York had either been down or twisted into a bun, had been styled into an elaborate Princess-Leia-style over-the-head braid. But, still, a princess wearing jeans. Skinny ones. Leo let his gaze slide down, but only because they were alone, and because he’d gotten the sense, in New York, that Marie liked it when he checked her out.

And because she was so... check-out-able. “You look good,” he said, because it was true.

Hello, dimples.

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