Page 9 of A Princess for Christmas

“Oh! I’m sorry.” The girl opened her mouth like she was going to say more, but closed it.

The man was looking in the rearview mirror. He’d been doing that a lot, and Marie was fairly certain, given the length and frequency of those looks, that it wasn’t traffic he was examining. “Why don’t you introduce yourself, kiddo?”

“Right!” The girl arranged her face into a parody of seriousness and said, “I am Gabriella Ricci, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty.” Then she placed her hands on the sides of her skirt, moved the fabric out, and dipped her head. She was trying to curtsy while buckled into the back of a cab.

Marie bit back a laugh. “You don’t have to bow or curtsy, you know. Or call me anything like that.”

“Because I’m not yoursubject?” The unchecked delight from the back seat was back.

So was the disdain from the front: the man—Leo—snorted again. Marie refrained from saying that technically, it was her father who had subjects.

“Stop being rude, Leo!” Gabriella rolled her eyes at Marie like they were sharing a secret. “This is my brother, Leonardo Ricci.” She sniffed—she could give Mr. Benz a run for his money on that front. “Leo’s not very . . . refined.”

Brother.

Well.

That was interesting.

Someone laid on a horn, and it jolted her back to reality. Reality where it wasnotinteresting that Leonardo Ricci was Gabriella Ricci’s brother and not her father. Because it was neither here nor there.

Reality where—she glanced at her watch, the very symbol of her mission this evening—she had exactly thirty-four minutes to make it to the boat before Lucrecia, a kind of neo-Euro Lady Gatsby ruling over her boatful of beautiful but empty revelers, lifted a champagne flute and trilledbon voyage!

Goodness, she was anxious. No,scared. Full-on scared. Her pulse started hammering in her neck so hard it made her throat ache.

Part of her wanted to miss the boat. To have tried her hardest but failed.

But then she conjured her father’s face at the cabinet table—his scowl.

The sad king.

“How much longer to you think it’s going to take? Can you go any faster?”

Who the hellwasthis lady?

Well, Leoknewwho she was—a literalprincess.

He extended one arm, palm up, toward the gridlock visible as far as he could see out the windshield. “Does itlooklike I can go any faster?”

Jesus. Just when he’d started to think that Her Royal Highness—she was an actual fuckingHer Royal Highness—with her sad father and her kindness to Gabby, had a human side, she’d reverted to form. She’d gotten all stiff and prissy and entitled. Or maybe she was just delusional. Maybe she thought a fairy godmother was going to appear, harness some magical flying horses to his cab, and off they would fly to catch the yacht.

“It is vital that I reach that boat before it leaves.” Her tone was clipped. Prim. Dripping with privilege.

He was driving aprincessto a party on ayacht. That was not something he had a ton of patience for. “God forbid you should miss your night of champagne and caviar, Your Most Exalted Majestyness.”

He was being mean, but he didn’t care. There were people in this world for whom twelve bucks for pasta on a Thursday night was a splurge. How dare she elbow her way into his cab—hisoff-dutycab—and start ordering him around?

She pressed her lips together and looked out her window.

Fuck. That was the problem with him—hedidcare about being mean. Not a lot. But enough for a splinter to work its way under his skin—his mother had raised him too well.

Butnotenough to apologize. So he just kept driving. There was a shortcut they could take around Washington Square Park.

“Leo! Give me your phone!”

“Why?” He tried to limit screen time. Dani had told him that too much of it fried kids’ brains, and Dani knew about that stuff.Other thanMinecraft, which he and Gabby played together—he couldn’t help himself; it satisfied his frustrated architectural ambitions—he gave her an hour a day.

“I want to look up Eldovia.”

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