Postcards At Christmas. Cara Colter
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asked, “Your oldest brother, right?” Dami nodded. “Will he make the rounds of every booth?”
“And buy something from each one.”
“No wonder the vendors feel blessed. I mean, there are nine of you, brothers and sisters together. That’s a lot of blessings.”
“We don’t all attend every year. But we do our best to make a showing—and come on now. We still have several booths to go.”
They visited the remainder of the booths, piling more packages into the arms of the two guards. When they’d finally made a stop with every vendor in the bazaar, it was nearing two in the afternoon. Neither of them was hungry, as they’d done a lot of sampling when they’d fed the children at the food carts. Thanksgiving dinner at the palace took place in the early evening, so they didn’t have to hurry back to get ready.
“What next?” Lucy asked.
Dami sent one of the guards off with Lucy’s purchases and orders to have them delivered to her room. “This way,” he said, and took Lucy’s hand.
It felt lovely, she thought, almost as though they really were together in a romantic way, her hand in his strong, warm one, the guard with all the bags of toys behind them, and a trail of laughing kids strung out along the street, following in their wake. It wasn’t far down to the harbor, and that was where Dami led them, to a little square of park along the famous Promenade, which rimmed the pier where all the fabulous yachts were docked.
“Right here,” he said at last, indicating an iron bench beneath a rubber tree. They sat down together and the guard put all the packages at their feet as the children found seats on the grass around them.
And then Dami began passing out the toys and coloring books, the dolls and stuffed animals, with the guard helping out to make sure everyone got something. A ring of adults stood back out of the way, and Lucy realized they were the parents of the children. Some parents had little ones in their arms or in strollers. The guard made sure even the smallest ones received a toy.
It was all so charming and orderly, like some fantasy of sharing, the children laughing and chattering together, but in such a well-behaved way. Once or twice she heard raised voices when one child wanted what another one had. But all Dami had to do was glance in that direction and the argument would cease.
When all the bags were empty and every child had a gift, Dami asked the gathered children, “Would you like to hear a story?”
A happy chorus of yeses went up.
And Dami launched into a story about a little boy and a magic book, a laughing dragon and a secret passage into a special kingdom where a kind princess ruled with a gentle hand. There was an evil giant who never bothered to bathe or brush his teeth. The giant captured the princess. And the little boy and the laughing dragon rescued her with the help of spells from the magic book.
When the story was over, the children and the ring of adults applauded and the children cried, “One more, Prince Dami! Only one more!”
He obliged them with a second story, this one about a brave girl who saved Montedoro from an evil wizard who’d cast a sleeping spell across the land. Applause followed that story, too, and a few called, “One more!”
But Dami only laughed and shook his head and wished them all a richly blessed Thanksgiving. The children went to find their parents and Dami took her hand again and pulled her to her feet.
“That was wonderful,” she told him. “Did you make up those stories yourself?”
A so-Gallic shrug. “I’m not that clever. They are Montedoran folk tales, two of many. A century and a half ago a Montedoran named Giles deRay gathered them into a couple of volumes, Folk Tales of Montedoro. We all know the stories. It’s something of a tradition over the holidays for the princes of Montedoro to pass out gifts they’ve bought at the bazaar and tell the children a few of the old tales.”
“What a beautiful tradition.”
He was watching her, a half smile curving those killer lips of his. “You find everything beautiful. I think, Luce, that you are the happiest person I have ever known.”
His words warmed her. “I prefer happiness. It’s so much more fun than the alternative.”
“You sound like Lili, my brother Alex’s wife—Liliana, Crown Princess of Alagonia.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve heard of her. And Alagonia is an island country off the coast of Spain, correct?”
“Yes. We—my brothers and sisters and I—grew up with Lili. My mother and Lili’s mother, Queen Evelyn, were great friends. Lili was always the nicest person in the room. Of course, she ended up with Alex, who was not nice at all. The good news is that he’s much better now since he’s made a life with Lili.”
“Are they happy, your brother and Princess Lili?”
“They are, yes. Ecstatically so.”
“I’m glad. And you’ve got me thinking. Can a person be both happy and sophisticated?”
He did the loveliest thing right then. He touched her, just the lightest caress of a touch as he traced his finger down her jaw to her chin and tipped her face up fully to him. “What? You’re afraid you’ll have to choose?”
Her tummy felt all fluttery and her pulse beat faster. Oh, he was very, very good at pretending they were dating. “I don’t want to choose—but if I had to, I would choose happiness.”
He moved a fraction closer, his finger still touching her chin. “It’s good to know you have your priorities in order.”
“Dami?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to kiss me?” Somehow she had let her eyes drift to half-mast.
“Would you like that?” he whispered, his smooth, low voice playing a lovely tune all along her nerve endings.
She couldn’t stifle the soft, eager sound that came from her throat. “Oh, that would be fabulous. Yes.”
“Are you sure? The paparazzi are watching. A kiss would definitely make the tabloids.”
She couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Oh, come on.” She opened her eyes a little and saw that he was smiling down at her, a tender sort of smile that made her tummy more fluttery than ever. “It’s too late to back out now.”
“Luce, you are so innocent—and yet so delightfully bold.”
“Bold. Good. I like that a lot. As a matter of fact, I...”
There was more she’d meant to say. But at that moment, the ability to form words deserted her.
His warm, soft, wonderful mouth settled, gentle as a breath, on hers.
Kissing Luce.
And not on the cheek. Not a swift brush across the mouth in passing. Not on the forehead or the tip of her cute nose.
Kissing Luce in the real way.
Damien hadn’t actually planned to do that.
But her sweet pink lips were tipped up to him and her bright brown eyes were halfway shut and she managed to look so very inviting in her adorable clean-scrubbed, cheerfully angelic sort of way.
Plus there had been the joy of the day with her—and really, there was no other word for it. Joy. Lucy Cordell was a joy. The world through her eyes was a magical place. A good and generous place, a place of endless wonder and simple, perfect pleasures. To see the world with her, through her eyes, was a fine and satisfying experience indeed.
But he’d already known that. Every time he saw