The Improperly Pregnant Princess

“No. What’s it say?” CeCe reached instinctively for her mouse.

“Don’t you dare minimize me!” Shane said.

Linzy frowned. “Is there someone on the speakerphone?”

“I’m videoconferencing with Mr. O’Connell,” CeCe said. “What’s the news?”

“The storm’s veered. The worst of it is expected to miss the shipping lanes,” said her secretary.

“Thank heaven.” CeCe checked her watch. “Oh, my goodness.” At last report, her grandfather was expected to land right about now. Even if she hurried, she’d be late to greet him. “I’ve got to go.”

Linzy withdrew discreetly. “What’s so important?” Shane asked.

“Family business,” CeCe said.

“So when it comes to our little escapade, it’s forgive, if not forget?” he pressed.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, and clicked off.

She didn’t want to keep the king of Korosol waiting any longer than she had to. Especially not for the impudent Shane O’Connell.

THE GRAND ROOM LIVED UP to its name, the king saw as he entered. Large enough to serve as a ballroom, it soared a full two stories. Fabric wall paneling in shades of beige and light blue set off the antique furnishings, and the windows opened onto a covered lanai.

Two young women sprang to their feet as Easton entered and dipped in slightly shaky curtseys. They were lovely women, both tall and blond.

Amelia, who wore a tailored dress, gave him a conciliatory smile. “I’m sure CeCe will be here any minute.”

Lucia, a shade taller and slimmer, wore a swirly, bohemian dress and large, bright earrings. She was, the king recalled from one of Charlotte’s letters, a jewelry designer, so she’d probably made them herself. “I’m so glad to meet you,” she murmured. “I mean, to see you again.”

She’d been six, and her sister seven, the last time he met them. It seemed like another lifetime.

“Come give your grandfather a big hug, both of you,” Easton said.

They embraced him shyly. Close up, they smelled of springtime.

“They’re beautiful girls,” he told Charlotte. “You’ve done well.”

“I must apologize again for Cecelia,” she said. “She has a computer in her suite upstairs. I told her she ought to keep track from here until…”

Across the hall, the elevator doors opened and Easton heard high heels click across the marble floor. Such an impatient sound, and an oddly familiar one.

His chest tightened. His wife’s steps used to sound exactly like that when she was in a hurry.

“With all those weather satellites, you’d think we could get some accurate information sooner about…” A tall, loose-limbed young woman, hair straggling across her face, stumbled to a halt in the doorway. “Oh, he’s here! I mean, you’re here. Welcome to New York, Your Majesty.”

As she dipped in a curtsey, he distinctly heard her knees crack. Then she straightened and King Easton forgot everything as he got a good look at her face.

It was his Cassandra, come back to life in her eldest granddaughter.

CECE FIGURED SHE’D BLOWN IT this time. Everyone was staring at her, especially her grandfather.

He was tall and erect, although thinner than she’d expected, and looked in his early sixties rather than his late seventies. His gray hair might be thinning, but there was nothing faded about his green gaze.

She hoped he wasn’t going to scold her. The chauffeur had set a crosstown speed record getting her here, which had done nothing to ease her churning stomach.

And she wished she hadn’t been quite so abrupt in ending the call with Shane. When he wasn’t scowling and trying to drive a hard bargain, the man could be downright charming. Dangerously so, as she’d learned.

“Please accept my apology for the delay,” CeCe said. “I hope my mother told you about the storm.”

“She did indeed.” Never taking his eyes off her, King Easton crossed the room and caught CeCe’s hands in his strong ones. “Your devotion to duty does you credit.” He spoke with a charming French accent.

Charlotte, who had opened her mouth to intervene in what she obviously expected to be a difficult moment, clamped it shut again. Amelia looked relieved, and Lucia amused.

Nothing had prepared CeCe for her grandfather’s absorption in her. As he stood directly in front of her, his stare seemed to bore into her.

Until this moment, he had been a remote figure with little impact on her life. Now, suddenly, a connection sprang to life between them.

She knew she ought to make polite conversation, to ask about his journey or offer him some refreshment. CeCe couldn’t find the words.

“You look exactly like your grandmother,” he said.

“That’s quite an honor. We have a portrait of her, you know.” Several people had pointed out a resemblance that escaped CeCe.

Her coloring was lighter than Cassandra’s, and she was taller. Hester Vanderling, the family’s former nanny and current housekeeper, attributed the similarity to the independent set of their chins.

The king blinked as if emerging from a daze, and released her hands. “Sit down, everyone. We need to talk.”

“I’ll have one of the maids bring coffee,” Charlotte said.

“It’s a bit late in the day for caffeine,” the king reproved. “Herbal tea and biscuits—cookies, you call them, I believe.”

“Right away.” On the intercom, Charlotte summoned the kitchen staff. Soon an ornate silver tray was wheeled in, with a handcrafted teapot and cups on top and two levels of cookies and small cakes.

Charlotte reached for the teapot, then stopped. “CeCe, as the eldest daughter, you should pour.”

Not since she’d had to defend her master’s thesis in front of a faculty panel had CeCe experienced such a jolt of alarm. Her tea-pouring ability was only one level above abysmal.

“Of course,” she said, doing her best to hide her dismay. Princess Bluster, that’s what her college classmates had nicknamed CeCe after she brazenly answered a teacher’s questions about a textbook chapter she’d neglected to read, and got away with it. “It would be my pleasure.”

Her sisters regarded her with varying degrees of surprise and concern. When CeCe reached for the teapot, Amelia leaned forward as if trying to help with body language.

King Easton regarded her quizzically. “You’re left-handed?”

“I’m afraid so.” Living in a right-handed world contributed to CeCe’s clumsiness, although Charlotte had never considered that an excuse.

“So was your grandmother,” said the king. “She used to complain that servingware was designed for right-handed women. We had several teapots made especially for her.”

“I’m afraid I left mine at the office,” CeCe said.