Affairs of State

“I could tell. You forgot to introduce me to your royal friend. Very hot. And I thought his older brother was supposed to be the good-looking one.”

“His older brother is the heir to the throne.”

“Just think, if the USA was a monarchy like England, you’d be next in line to the throne.” Francesca looked at her thoughtfully. “Your dad is the president, and you’re his only child.”

“Who he didn’t even know existed until a few weeks ago.” She tried to stay focused on her job. “And I still haven’t actually met him in person.” That part was beginning to hurt more and more.

“Liam’s in negotiations with the White House press office about the date for the reunion special. Ted Morrow’s on board with doing it. I’m sure he wants to meet you, too.” Francesca squeezed her arm gently.

“Or not. I was an accident, after all.” She glanced around the room, packed with wealthy movers and shakers. “It’s hardly a reunion when we’ve never met before. We really shouldn’t be talking about this here. Someone could be listening. And I’m supposed to be working. Don’t you have bigwigs to schmooze with?”

“That’s my husband’s department. I wish I could be a fly on the croissants tomorrow morning.”

“I wish I could have found an excuse not to go.” Her heart rate quickened at the thought of meeting Prince Simon for breakfast. They couldn’t talk business for the entire meal. What kind of small talk did you make with a prince?

“Are you crazy? He’s utterly delish.”

“It would be easier if he wasn’t. The last thing I need is to embark on a scandalous affair with a prince.” Ariella exhaled as butterflies swirled in her stomach. “Not that he’d be at all interested, of course, but just when I think things can’t get any crazier, they do.”

“Um, I think someone’s throwing up into the gilded lilies.” She gestured discretely at a young woman in a strapless gown bending over a waist-high urn of brass blooms.

Ariella lifted her phone. “See what I mean?”

The long black Mercedes sedan parked outside her Georgetown apartment may not have had “By Appointment to His Majesty” stenciled on the outside, but it wasn’t much more subtle. The uniformed chauffeur who rang the bell looked like a throwback to another era. Ariella dashed for the backseat hoping there were no photographers lurking about.

She didn’t ask where they were going, and the driver didn’t say a word, so she watched in surprise, then confusion, then more than a little alarm as the car took her right out of the city and into a leafy suburb. When the suburbs gave way to large horse farms she leaned forward and asked the question she should have posed before she got into the car. “Where are you taking me?”

“Sutter’s Way, madam. We’re nearly there.” She swallowed and sat back. Sutter’s Way was a beautiful old mansion, built by the Hearst family at the height of their wealth and influence. She’d seen paintings from its collection in her art history class at Georgetown University but she had no idea who owned it now.

At last the car passed through a tall wrought iron gate, crunched along a gravel driveway and pulled up in front of the elegant brick house. When she got out, her heels sank into the gravel and she brushed wrinkles from the skirt of the demure and unsexy navy dress she’d chosen for the occasion.

Simon bounded down the steps and strode toward her. “Sorry about the long drive but I thought you’d appreciate the privacy.” She braced for a hug or kiss, then chastised herself when he gave her a firm handshake. Her head must be getting very large these days if she expected royalty to kiss her.

He was even better looking in an open-necked shirt and khakis. His skin was tanned and his hair looked windblown. Not that it made any difference to her. He was just a potential client, and an influential one, at that. “I am becoming paranoid about the press lately. They seem to pop out in the strangest places. I don’t know what they hope they’ll find me doing.” Kissing a British prince, perhaps.

She swallowed. Her imagination seemed to be running away with her. Simon probably just wanted ideas about how to attract high rollers who would donate money to his charity.

He gestured for her to go in. “I’ve learned the hard way that photographers really do follow you everywhere, so it’s best to try to stick with activities you don’t mind seeing under a splashy headline.” His grin was infectious.

“Is that why I’m afraid to even change my hairstyle?”

“Don’t let them scare you. That gives them power over you and you certainly don’t want that. From what I’ve seen, you handle them like a pro.”

“Maybe it’s in the blood.” Her private thought flew off her tongue and almost made her halt in her tracks. Lately she’d been thinking a lot about the man who sired her. He faced the press every day with good humor and never seemed ruffled. It was so odd to think that they shared the same DNA.

“No doubt. I’m sure your father is very impressed.”

“My father is…was a nice man called Dale Winthrop. He’s the dad who raised me. I still can’t get used to people calling President Morrow my father. If it wasn’t for sleazy journalists breaking the law in search of a story, he wouldn’t even know I existed.”

They went into a sunlit room where an elegant and delicious-smelling breakfast was spread out on a creamy tablecloth. He pulled out her chair, which gave her an odd sensation of being…cared for. Very weird.

“Help yourself. The house is ours for now. Even the staff have been sent packing so you don’t have to worry about eavesdroppers.”

“That’s fantastic.” She reached for a scone, not sure what else to do.

“So you have the press to thank for learning about your parentage. Maybe they’re not so bad after all.” His honeycolored eyes shone with warmth.

“Not bad? It’s been a nightmare. I was a peaceful person living a quiet life—punctuated by spectacular parties—before this whole thing exploded.” She cut her scone and buttered it.

“I’m impressed that you haven’t taken a big movie deal or written a tell-all exposé.”

“Maybe I would tell all if I knew anything to tell.” She laughed. How could a foreign prince be so easy to talk to? She felt more relaxed discussing this whole mess with Simon than with her actual friends. “The situation surprised me as much as anyone. I always knew I was adopted but I never had the slightest interest in finding my biological parents.”

“How do your adoptive parents feel about all this?” He leaned forward.

Her chest contracted. “They died four years ago. A plane crash on their way to a friend’s anniversary party.” She still couldn’t really talk about it without getting emotional.

“I’m so sorry.” Concern filled his handsome face. “Do you think they would have wanted you to get to know your birth parents?”

She frowned and stared at him. “You know what? I think they would.” She sighed. “If only they were still here I could ask them for advice. My mom was a genius at knowing the right thing to do in a tricky situation. Whenever I run into a snarl at work I always ask myself what she would do.”

“It sounds like a great opportunity to welcome two new parents into your life. Not to replace the ones who raised you, of course, no one could ever do that, but to help fill the gap they left behind.”

His compassion touched her. And she knew his own mother had died suddenly and tragically, when he was only a boy, so he wasn’t just making this stuff up. “You’re sweet to think of that, but so far neither of them seems to want a relationship with me.”

“You haven’t met them?” He looked shocked.

She shook her head quietly. “The president’s office hasn’t even made an official statement about me, though they’ve stopped denying that I could be his daughter since the DNA test results became public.” She let out a heavy sigh. “And my mother…Can I swear you to secrecy?”

“Of course.” His serious expression reassured her.

“My real mother refuses to come out of hiding. She wrote to me privately, which I appreciate, but mostly to say that she wants to keep quiet about the whole situation. Weirdly enough, she lives in Ireland now.”

“Does she?” He brightened. “You’ll have to come to our side of the Atlantic for a visit.”

“She certainly didn’t invite me.” Her freshly baked scone was cooling in her fingers. Her appetite seemed to have shriveled. “And I can’t say I blame her. Who’d want to be plunged into this whole mess?”

“She can hardly bow out now when she’s the one who had the affair with the president in the first place. Though I suppose he wasn’t the president, then.”

“No, he was just a tall handsome high school senior in a letter jacket. I’ve seen the photos on the news like everyone else.” She smiled sadly. “She told me in her letter that she kept quiet about her pregnancy because he was going off to college and she didn’t want to spoil what she knew would be a brilliant career.”

“She was right about his prospects, that’s for sure.” He poured her some fragrant coffee. “And maybe she needs time to get used to the situation. I bet she’s secretly dying to meet you.”

“I’m quickly learning not to have expectations about people. They’re likely to be turned on their head just when I least expect it.”

“You can’t get paranoid, though. That doesn’t help. I try to assume that everyone has the best intentions until they prove otherwise.” His expression made her laugh. It suggested they often proved otherwise but he wasn’t losing sleep over it.

She didn’t know what to think about Simon’s intentions. She had a strong feeling that he didn’t invite her here to plan a party, but there was no way she could come out and ask him. Maybe he really did just want to give her a pep talk on how to deal with her unwelcome celebrity.