Once Upon a Princess

“I know you’re thinking it. You know you’re thinking it. Go ahead, tell me. You might as well.”

“You’re going to make me say it out loud, aren’t you?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

Parker was the kind of woman who was going to make him say it, who would keep pushing and prodding until he actually spoke the words and embarrassed himself in the process.

“Yep.”

“Fine,” he blurted out. “A castle. A princess should live in a castle. I bet your family has one. A big one like Windsor Castle, right?”

“Yes, we have a castle. Europe’s full of them. They’re practically a dime a dozen. People there don’t get as excited about them as Americans do. Ours isn’t as big as Windsor, but it’s big enough that we’ve never run out of guest rooms. Not that it matters to me anymore. You see, I don’t live in Eliason, I live in Erie. And I have an apartment over a garage. Do you want to make something of it?”

Jace knew that Parker was raring for a fight. And as annoyed as she was that he’d been hired to watch her, he suspected that she was more annoyed about her fiancé showing up in town.

Jace prided himself on being a wise man who knew how to pick his battles. And this wasn’t a battle he wanted to fight. So he simply said, “No, I’m not going to make anything of it.”

“Good.” She opened the door and got out of the car.

Jace followed suit.

“What now?” she asked.

“You going to invite me up?”

“Why would I do something like that? We’re not friends. You’re my stalker.”

“I am not,” he said. “Your father hired me to make sure you were okay.”

“My father hired you to spy on me.”

“No. He’s just worried about you. He cares about you. And maybe I want you to invite me in so I can check out your place and feel better knowing I was doing my job.”

“That’s what I am—a job. Well, you can report to your boss that you watched me go in the door. I’m going to assume that’s enough for him.”

“Hey, far be it from me to get in between whatever problems you’re having with your father, but—”

“Don’t you see, you’re right in the middle. You’re being all chummy in the car, all let-me-make-sure-you’re-safe, as if you care about me, as if you know me. But you don’t. You said it before—I’m a job. I’m just a file in your cabinet and a paycheck for a job well done. We’re not friends. You don’t know me.”