The Royal & The Runaway Bride (Dynasties: The Connellys Book 7) Page 6

  “Mother, I knew we’d find you in the middle of everything,” Phillip called out, dropping a kiss on the cheek of an elegant, too thin woman in her fifties. “I’m sorry we are a little late. Something came up at the last minute.”

  Alex put on a standard pleased-to-meet-you smile for Genevieve Kinrowan Courvoisier. Phillip had explained that her fourth husband was French, but he lived most of the year in his own country, tending his vineyards, while she preferred Altaria for its climate and social life. It didn’t seem worth marrying, Alex thought, living apart that way. If she ever again considered marriage, which she seriously doubted, it would be an all-the-way proposition. No long-distance living arrangements. No social or financial matches for practical purposes. It would only be for love.

  “And you must be the young woman my Phillip told me about over the telephone,” Genevieve said, studying her coyly. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure you existed. He’s fond of coming up with excuses for not attending my parties.”

  “I can’t see why he would,” Alex said in a honeyed voice. “You have a beautiful home, and I’m sure your choice of company is just as interesting.”

  Genevieve’s smile became a notch more genuine. “Why, thank you, my dear.” Her glance shifted hastily to a young woman in a red dress who was working her way across the room toward them. There was a subtle warning in Genevieve’s expression, as if she didn’t want the woman to approach now, but the blonde kept coming with a wide-eyed expression, her sights set on Phillip.

  “Oh, hello!” she said to Phillip’s back, then tapped him on the shoulder to make him turn around. “Your mother said you’d be here and…well, I wasn’t going to come but then she insisted that I meet you. I’m glad I did.” She held out the back of her hand as if she expected him to kiss it.

  Genevieve looked in pain. Alex nearly giggled. Phillip hesitated but then accepted her hand and lowered it into a conventional handshake.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “And you are?”

  “Patricia Rutledge. I’m visiting from London, but actually I’m an American. Daddy is in oil.”

  “He must be very sticky, then,” Alex whispered, covering her comment with a demure smile.

  Only Phillip caught her words. He tensed at her side, but said nothing.

  “And you are?” Patricia asked, looking at Alex as if she hadn’t noticed her before that very moment.

  Phillip made the final introductions.

  “Your family is from Texas, then?” Alex asked. “The oil,” she added by way of explanation.

  “Oh, no. Oklahoma,” chirped Patricia, wrinkling her nose. “Kinda dusty. It’s much prettier here this time of year. All this blue sky and water and— Oh, my, what a lot of pretty things Lady Courvoisier has.” Patricia moved closer to Phillip and gazed up at him with unmasked interest. “You’re almost as tall as my brothers. I didn’t think European men grew all that big.”

  “They can grow quite large,” Alex said innocently. She lifted a hand and stroked her fingertips down the back of Phillip’s neck in a playful gesture. “When they’re—”

  Phillip coughed into his hand, interrupting disaster. “Have you seen much of Altaria, Patricia?” he asked.

  Alex played with the short hairs at the back of his neck. Patricia’s eyes followed the movement of her fingertips with belated comprehension. He outlined sights she should see on her visit, while Alex casually started her own conversation with his mother.

  An hour later, they were driving away from the party, laughing conspiratorially at the show they’d put on. Genevieve had been totally convinced they were a couple. Phillip congratulated Alex on her performance. “You read my mother’s tastes perfectly. Right up to her favorite jewelers and designers in Rome.”

  “I’ve been around people like her all of my life. By now it almost comes naturally.”

  He slanted a look at her she couldn’t quite interpret.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “There is something. You were thinking about what happened at the party, something about me. Say it.” Her voice had taken on a defensive edge, even though he had said nothing negative about her.

  His eyes shadowed, he bit the words off. “It seemed far too easy for you.”

  “What was easy?”

  “Lying.”

  “I don’t lie!” She was appalled. After all, what she did was more like…storytelling.

  Phillip shrugged as if it was a forgone conclusion. “Pretending to be a pampered rich woman is a form of a lie for someone who spends her days in stalls with sweaty horses.”

  “You asked me to put on a show for your mother, and I did. She bought it. You should be pleased.”

  “I’m relieved that she’ll leave me alone and won’t be foisting off debutantes on me for a while. But I’m worried about you,” he said tightly.

  “Well, don’t waste the effort,” she snapped. “I can take care of myself.” She scowled at him. “Why should you worry about me, anyway?”

  He stared out the windshield as he drove, his attention seemingly fixed on the road. But she sensed he was struggling to find the right words. “I know who you are, Alex.”

  “You do?” Her cheeks felt suddenly flushed. How had he figured out she was a Connelly?

  “You’re just a simple girl who’s spent too much time around the rich.” He pulled over to the side of the road and turned in the driver’s seat to face her. “I was right the first time—you really don’t know who you are, do you?”

  She snorted at him. “Give me a break.”

  “It’s true, you’ve pretended to be other people for so long you’ve lost sight of who Alex Anderson is. Or maybe you never gave yourself time to learn in the first place.”

  She huffed at him and rolled her eyes. “That’s ridiculous. Of course I know who I am!”

  “Do you? Back there at the party, you slipped into the role of my society lover without batting an eye. By the time we left, my mother was convinced you were her clone.”

  “So? I just did what you told me to do.”

  “No. It’s one thing being a good actress. It’s another when you can’t find your way home again, when you leap from one role to another, never finding the real you to come back to.”

  Tears welled in her eyes and she fought them back. She flung open the car door and staggered away from the sleek silhouette onto the sandy beach. The wind tugged at her hair, but it remained in its moussed coif. She faced into the wind and drew in huge gulps of salty air.

  He was too close to the truth and it hurt. But the pretending had seemed innocent enough at the time. Only for the fun of it had she played at being someone of whom his mother would approve. To break up the boredom, to amuse herself. All of her friends thought she was a hoot. They loved being around her, even if Phillip, prince of Silver-what’s-it didn’t appreciate her!

  “Alex.”

  He had left the car and, suddenly, was beside her. But she refused to turn and look at him.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. But you admitted to me that you want to find yourself.”

  “I meant career-wise.” She sniffled. “I meant, as in choosing something to do that’s important and special. Something more important than what I do now. That’s different from not knowing who you are.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” His voice was low and patient, waiting for her to gather up her emotions, untangle the knot of her feelings.

  “I just want to learn how to live my life in a way that makes me happy,” she said, the words trembling across her lips. That was the absolute truth. She wanted to feel good about herself. And she supposed that using a God-given talent for the benefit of others might have something to do with that. But did she have such a talent?

  “You’re not sure what makes you happy, is that it?”

  She dipped her chin in a half nod. Her eyes were locked on the horizon—the division between sky and sea, between the untouchable atmosphere and the liquid from whic
h all life came.

  “Maybe you should investigate alternate lifestyles,” he suggested, “rather than mimicking different people. Give yourself a chance to see what’s important to you, what you really like.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean.” At last, she forced herself to face him.

  “Well, we could start simple, from the beginning.”

  “Like with Eros?” A tiny, tentative smile lifted one corner of her lips.

  “Yes. Like with a damaged jumper. Maybe you’re not so different. Maybe I’m not so different.” His hands settled on her shoulders and, with a comforting smile, he pulled her into his chest. She let herself rest against him, and she could feel his heart beating—low, rhythmic, steady, dependable. Soothing. “I have a suggestion,” he said at last.

  “What’s that?” she whispered, not wanting to drown out his life sounds, because she felt she was clinging to them, needing them desperately.

  “Let’s plan a day—no, a whole weekend. That’s even better. We could leave the estate and spend it anywhere we like on the island but not on my estate or at the palace. And we will take only ten American dollars with us to cover everything we need for the two days.”

  “Ten dollars?” Alex frowned. She sometimes tossed off a ten-dollar tip to a parking attendant! “That’s just loose change. No one can live on that.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Alex held her breath.

  “You told me your parents had to scrape by on almost nothing when you were little,” he reminded her. “Now you’re afraid you can’t do it?”

  “Of course I’m not afraid. I just don’t understand why—”

  “People get by on very little every day. Ordinary people who live full, happy lives but aren’t rich. Ten dollars pocket money for the weekend. I say we can make it.” His tawny eyes flashed in challenge. Was he mocking her or really trying to help?

  “This is a bet, then?” she asked.

  “No money involved. I’m offering you a chance to prove yourself. Use that imagination of yours.”

  She decided she didn’t mind the way his eyes sparked, daring her. But there was something more, something stronger passing between them. It was electric and sensual, and it curled restlessly inside of her. She tried to push the distracting sensation aside.

  “All right,” she said to him. “I’m game.”

  “Good.” He moved closer, bringing his head down to gaze into her eyes, and now…now she was certain he was going to kiss her.

  What would she do if he did? A lump closed off her throat, and her palms felt damp and hot at the same time.

  “Do we get to take the Mazarati for the weekend?” she asked, hastily turning away from him and toward the car, her heart beating an erratic tattoo.

  “No. The gas alone would break us.”

  She nodded and kept on moving. “Then we walk everywhere?”

  He caught up with her, and she was sure he was grinning at her, but she didn’t dare turn to look. “Not everywhere. I have one idea for transportation that won’t cost us anything.”

  “And that is?”

  “You’ll see,” he said, stopping at the car to hold the door open for her. “In the morning.”

  Four

  As attire for her weekend adventure Alex chose an airy peasant-style dress with a full skirt, good walking sandals and a pretty shawl. She imagined herself as a gypsy, roaming the countryside between quaint villages. Telling a fortune. Pinching a few coins from an innocent tourist. Undulating her hips to the sensuous strains of a flamenco guitar played before a fire in a forest clearing. Very, very romantic.

  She met Phillip on the patio of his villa. He handed her a rose. “For my lady. And it didn’t cost a penny as it was picked from the prince’s garden when he wasn’t looking.”

  She laughed at him and breathed deeply of the bloom’s heady fragrance. Why did everything appear brighter, smell fresher, feel more alive here in Altaria than back home in Chicago? In this exotic world, she felt like a new person. Her heartbreak had been left behind in the asphalt streets.

  Alex looked up at Phillip. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

  Phillip smiled, thinking how other women he’d known, his wife for one, would have tossed off his gift of a single bloom as a silly gesture. They’d expect nothing less than two dozen pricey hothouse roses. Coming from such an unsophisticated upbringing, Alex was refreshingly different. Not spoiled, not demanding. She seemed surprised and pleased with the least gesture. How delightful!

  He checked out her outfit. “A dress? We may be walking a fair amount these two days.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll be fine.” After all, gypsy women didn’t wear trendy Capri pants or blue jeans. She needed the appropriate props, right?

  “If you’re sure,” he said doubtfully. “Are you ready?”

  “Absolutely!”

  Her heart leapt at the challenge presented by the next two days. Imagine, making do on just ten dollars and their own wits. What a lark it would be! She couldn’t wait to tell her girlfriends back home.

  That is, if they were still speaking to her after she’d called off the wedding. There had been the not-so-little matter of thousands of dollars having been spent on bridesmaids’ gowns, shoes dyed to match, coordinating jewelry, appointments at the spa for hair, massages, manicures—all for nothing.

  Alex flinched at the memory of the inconvenience she’d caused so many people. What if she was wrong? What if she had thrown away her future?

  No, she thought fiercely, she knew what she’d heard and she had Justin’s observations to back her up. Robert had brought their disastrous breakup on himself. He was the one who should be blamed, not her. She shook off stinging memories, determined to leave the past behind.

  “Do we have breakfast here first or on our way?” she asked excitedly.

  Phillip gave her an amused sideways glance. “A meal served by Cook would cost well over our allowance for the whole weekend.”

  “Oh, so we’re starting right now, this very minute?”

  “Yes.” He took her hand and began walking down the drive. She matched his stride with enthusiasm, humming as she threw her head back and let the morning sun warm her face. They passed the stables, then a low cedar-shingled boathouse and a pale golden sand beach, still part of Phillip’s property.

  She was already hungry. “Is there a place in town we can get something to eat? I mean, just to take the edge off my grumbly tummy so I can concentrate better on walking?”

  He laughed at her, delighted that she was playing along so well. With her plebian background she would be much more familiar with missed meals and spending thriftily than he would. “You sound like Pooh Bear. Grumbly in your tummy—isn’t that what the A. A. Milne books said?”

  As a small boy he had been read them by his British nanny, which was one reason his English was so good. He’d grown up speaking equal parts of the island patois, Italian and English. Later, he’d attended private schools in the United States, and he’d lost his British accent. But he still recalled the charming Milne characters with fondness.

  One day, perhaps, there would be a little boy in his life. Phillip imagined reading to his own son, and the idea warmed him although the reality of the situation now seemed even further away than he might have imagined a few years ago. The breakup of his marriage had put off any thought of starting a family.

  “Rumbly in my tumbly, I think it was,” she mused. “I’m serious, Phillip, we should eat something, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, we will,” he assured her. “The best food a whole American dollar can buy, I’d say.”

  “One dollar! For breakfast for two?” She stopped walking to stare at him. “I’m not a sparrow, you know.”

  “Whine, whine, whine.” He grinned good-naturedly and gave her hand a tug to keep her moving.

  They passed a small cove where fishing dories were pulled up onto the sand littered with chalky, sun-bleached cuttlefish bones, pungent seaweed and graceful t
angles of driftwood. The scent of brine thickly laced the air, and Alex marveled at the cloudless, blue sky overhead, so rich in color it almost made her believe she could reach out and gather up handfuls of it. Gritty white grains of sand blew across the narrow, unpaved road where they walked, and found secret ways between her toes. The breeze felt cool against her skin, even as the sun warmed her.

  Soon she forgot about her hunger and was content to breathe in the fresh air and concentrate on the sensation of her body moving in a pleasant rhythm to Phillip’s long, even strides. Down one hill, then up another toward a village that looked as if it had been plucked from a medieval movie set.

  Stucco and stone buildings, none taller than two stories, lined narrow streets. They climbed cobbled walkways, passing shops and homes that all looked the same but for a simple wooden plaque to announce the name of an occasional business. At last they came out at the top of the steep hill and into a piazza filled with carts, booths and ragged blankets spread on the ground to display goods.

  “It’s like a carnival,” she remarked as she spun around, taking in all the glorious colors and sounds.

  “Weekly mercato. Market day,” Phillip explained. “We can take advantage of some good prices here. I thought we’d buy our breakfast, lunch and supper all at once. Later in the day it might be more difficult to find inexpensive food.”

  “Good idea,” she agreed.

  They roamed up and down rows of vendors until Phillip found a baker with loaves of crusty bread, small hard rolls the size and weight of cue balls, and rich pastries that smelled like heaven to Alex. Suddenly her hunger reached new and desperate levels.