The Making of a Princess. Teresa Carpenter
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of Pasadonia right now. These are my country’s treasures. They are my responsibility. I will protect them with my life as I would if we were in my homeland.”
“I can see you’re very dedicated.” She placed her hand on his, where it rested on the corner of a display case. “Your country has beautiful treasures. Considering the uncertain times, I’m actually surprised your Prince would send the jewels on tour.”
“Tourism is a large part of our economy. With people traveling less these days, our economy was suffering. The tour has generated a large influx of necessary income.”
“Your Prince is smart to use the riches of your history to finance your current and future needs. From what I’ve read the tour has been incredibly successful.”
“It has. My Prince is very pleased with the generosity of your country and its citizens.”
She laughed. “Americans are fascinated by all things royal. Probably because it’s not something we’ve ever known.”
The next turn took them by the tiaras. Diamonds, sapphires, emeralds and rubies looped and swooped in delicate designs, layering gem upon gem so it glittered like fallen stars.
“Oh.” Again she clasped her hands behind her back, an old habit to keep from reaching for something she shouldn’t touch.
He tugged on her fingers. “I am sorry I cannot let you handle the jewels.”
She grinned at him. “I’d love that, but I understand. I used to dream of being a princess when I was little. All little girls do.” She glanced at the brilliant display, sighed. “I never imagined anything this elaborate. This beautiful.”
“Ah, so you are all grown up now? There are no more dreams of tiaras, ballgowns, or finding prince charming?” His expression remained somber, but the words teased.
“Not for a long time. Not for me anyway.” She looked at him, and then away, while heat flowed into her cheeks as she confessed, “My favorite play time princess was Rapunzel until one day I realized I related to her because I also felt trapped.”
“Amanda.” He immediately took her elbow, turned her to face him. “Has someone hurt you?”
His intensity made it clear he was ready to do something about it if someone had.
She shook her head, gently touched his cheek in gratitude for his concern. “No. But my upbringing was very strict. My grandparents are very traditional.”
“And they lost their child.”
“Yes.” She nodded grateful for his understanding. “So they were doubly cautious with me. And we practically lived on the campus of the university. They always made it clear my actions reflected on their reputations. Rapunzel grew up in a hidden tower. I grew up in an ivory tower.”
Hearing the bitterness in her voice, she lifted a shoulder and let it drop in a nonchalant gesture. “It’s fanciful I know. Sorry. I don’t mean to drop this on you. I’m probably not even making sense.”
“Ivory tower, I know what this term means.” He tucked the fall of her hair behind her shoulder, ran his hand down the back of her arm until he reached her hand and laced their fingers together. “You felt restricted by the inhibiting milieu of your grandparents’ world.”
“That’s it exactly.” He was so insightful, so easy to talk to. Though why she was sharing this with him, she couldn’t say. They were feelings she barely acknowledged to herself, but apparently her recent argument with grandmother had allowed stifled emotions to rise to the surface. Perhaps she felt safe with Xavier because their relationship was so finite.
“The six months since I moved into my own apartment have been wonderful.”
“How have your grandparents taken your departure?”
She bit her lip. “I thought they had accepted it, but the dinner I went to the other night was a bid to get me back into their sphere. The History Department is looking for an assistant to catalog and digitize the history library.”
“A prestigious position, I’m sure.”
The corner of her mouth twitched up. “That’s what Grandmother said.” Which reminded Amanda of what else Grandmother had revealed. Amanda gestured to the tiara. “This is the crown Princess Vivienne is wearing in the portrait, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He led her to the painting of Vivienne. “It was made for her for the Coronation of her husband Prince Louis II in 1852.”
Amanda thought about telling him about her mother’s trip to Europe, to Pasadonia, but hesitated. What if he thought she was trying to claim some type of kinship with the Prince?
She didn’t want their budding relationship—wait, relationship was too strong a word—their budding friendship to be cut short because she made too much of a simple coincidence.
No, she chided herself, she was being silly. Her resemblance to Princess Vivienne wasn’t that strong.
“So guess what?” She wandered a few steps away, pretended an interest in a display she didn’t really see. “I found out my mother took a trip to Europe the summer before I was born. She went with some friends after college. Traveled to several different countries, including Pasadonia.”
He west still, then very deliberately advanced on her. “How interesting.” He trailed a finger down her cheek. “Perhaps there is a relationship to the Princess. Should I address you as Your Highness?”
She graced him with a teasing smile. “Do I get to wear the tiara?”
“Hmm.” He arched a brow as if contemplating her question. “Ah, no.”
“Spoilsport.”
“All part of the job.” He shrugged. “Unless you want to take a DNA test and—”
“Okay, okay.” She glanced at her watch. Time had flown—it was already an hour later than she’d meant to stay out tonight. Time to go.
“Thanks for the private tour. I’ve really enjoyed learning more about your country.” And him. “But it’s getting late and I have to be up early.”
“Of course.” He bowed his acceptance. “I will walk you to your car.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. My car is just across the street,” She protested. “You finish up what you have to do here.”
“It is necessary. I would do this for any woman. But for you it is also my pleasure.”
Charmed, she accepted his offer, happy to have a few more minutes of his company.
Outside, the fog hung heavy in the air, reducing visibility and dampening sound. It gave Amanda the sense that she and Xavier were alone in a mystic world. She laughed silently. She may not romanticize princesses any more, but fantasy still lingered.
She shivered and was rewarded with the warm weight of Xavier’s hand in the small of her back. A moment ago she’d bragged that her car was nearby. Now they seemed to reach her little red Civic way too soon.
He took her keys, unlocked and opened the door, and bent to check the interior. He was most thorough in seeing to her safety. The effort gave her a warm feeling. It was probably habit for him, but the extra care made her feel cherished.
“Thank you.” She lifted her eyes to his. Would he kiss her? She wanted him to kiss her.
He held up her keys and she opened her hand. He placed the keys in her palm, curled her fingers around them. All without taking his eyes from hers.
He had her ensnared, captivated. Wanting more.
Should she kiss him? Why not? She was a modern woman, confident, sexy. Even with the pep talk she wasn’t that brave. He just wasn’t the kind of man you made moves on.
Though the latent heat in his eyes told her the advances wouldn’t