Inconceivable! Page 11

  I was about to get up and go to the bathroom when someone knocked on my door. I looked through the peephole and saw John standing there with two members of the Royal Guard. Adrenaline shot through my body. What the heck was he doing here? He was dressed like any other twenty-something who might live in my building; he wore a ball cap, slouchy jeans, and a long-sleeve T-shirt under a khaki field jacket. In one hand, he had a black bag that looked like a soft-sided briefcase.

  I unlocked the door and opened it. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood?”

  “May I come in?”

  I stepped out of the way, and he walked inside. The plainclothes guards stayed in the hallway.

  “They’re kind of conspicuous. I guess it’s a good thing my neighbors hardly know who I am. Do you want to sit?”

  As he walked into the tiny apartment, my nerd glasses slid down my nose. I shoved them into their proper place and pulled back my hair, knowing there was no way I looked presentable, but also not caring―the man had seen me looking like a wet dog and that hadn’t repelled him. I walked over to the couch and plopped down.

  “Hatty, I’m sorry to come here unannounced. I wanted to see you at home. At your home. The last thing I want to do is change who you are because there’s so much about you I love.” Trotting out the l-word? This must be serious.

  “Okay.”

  He sat beside me. “I also want to say I’m sorry I didn’t call you the minute I found out my family is still in the smelting business. It was wrong of me to wait. I was afraid you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me and I couldn’t bear that. Can you forgive me?”

  “Yes. But how do I know you were really going to tell me?”

  “Whether it’s the factory or that photo of me with Adela, you have to trust me.” He took my hand in his.

  “I want to trust you. But it’s hard because I trusted Jack too, and look where that got me.”

  He turned my chin toward him and looked into my eyes. “Please don’t compare me to your ex-boyfriend or punish me for his mistakes. I don’t compare you to Claire. I think we both want the chance to have something different than what we experienced in the past. Isn’t that why we’re dating?” The blaze of sincerity in his eyes sent a surge of affection zipping through my heart. But the journalist in me didn’t lie down and roll over so easily.

  “Of course.” I turned my whole body to face him. I needed to see him straight on as he answered my next question; it was too important. “But tell me this: how can you pursue a doctorate in environmental science and give lip service to protecting farmland yet turn a blind eye to what’s going on in Kortrijk? There’s something in the soil and ground water that’s making people sick. This one woman I interviewed… You should hear her voice. She can’t get pregnant, but she doesn’t know why. I want to help these people because they deserve answers.”

  “And we want to help them. A generation ago, they begged the monarchy to bring jobs to their town, and that’s what we did when we leased the facility to a private company so they could open the smelter. The fields in that area were dead and residents couldn’t farm. So, we gave them the opportunity to earn decent wages and improve their lives. Hatty, there may be something in the soil out there, but it existed prior to the smelter coming online.”

  “What were they doing at the facility before your family cleared the way for the smelting operation?”

  “A private investor built the facility in 1897 and opened an asbestos plant. Our government spent millions of euros cleaning up the contamination after we bought the property. Then we let Ren Corp. start up a lead smelter. Of course, we want to know if it’s creating more pollution. But so far, the dots don’t connect.”

  “Why are you just now finding out your family still owns the buildings?”

  “Granny, my father, and Aunt Elinore talked extensively about selling it a couple of years ago and turning the entire place over to Ren Corp. It sounded like a done deal. I was finishing my master’s degree at the time, so I didn’t follow every detail.”

  “What are you getting at here? That I can’t do my story?”

  “Not if you plan to continue to have a relationship with me. And if you end our courtship, you can’t report on any of the details I’ve disclosed because of the agreement you signed.”

  “Okay. Damn it. Why does this have to be so hard for us?”

  “I warned you this would be tricky.”

  “Look, if I back off of this story, you have to promise me you’re going to check into the situation out there. I don’t want to leave those people hanging. They need our help.”

  John stood. “I understand, and we’ll stay on it. You know, there are so many people who need help, and I think you’re just getting warmed up.” He reached into the black bag by his feet and pulled out a laptop. “This is for you. I believe in you and your talent as a writer. I know you’re going to do great things.”

  I took the laptop and set it on the coffee table. My fingers glided across the smooth silver top. I’d told him only once that my laptop was a loaner from the university, so I’d have to return it when I graduated.

  “I can’t believe you did this. Thank you so much.”

  As I wrapped my arms around his neck, I fought back tears. A laptop from the guy you’re dating? Seventeen-hundred euros. Knowing he listens when you talk? Priceless. In that moment, I adored him, and apparently, he felt the same way about me. My mental news ticker with its headlines detailing the end of our relationship stopped dead in its tracks.

  “I’d like us to spend more time together… if that sounds good to you,” he said.

  “I’d like that very much.”

  “Great. If it works with your schedule, I’d like you to accompany me to Berlin tomorrow. From there, we’ll drive to Potsdam. My cousin Pru is having her birthday party at Sanssouci. Have you heard of it?”

  “No, but it sounds like fun. I’d love to go with you. Thank you for inviting me.’”

  “Thank you for agreeing to come with me on such short notice. I’ll send a driver over at nine, and I’ll meet you at the airport. How does that sound?”

  “Perfect! What should I wear?”

  “Hmm…” He looked deep in thought as he pulled me closer, and his hands slid down my back. Even after reaching my waist, his hands kept going. When they grazed my ass, he gave it a playful squeeze before moving up again to my lower back. “I’d say a short black dress is in order.”

  I melted into him, gently patting his cheek. “You’re lucky, mister. I just happen to have a little black dress.”

  “We’re staying only one night, but it will be one hell of an evening. Gatherings at Sanssouci are notorious.”

  “Notorious for what?”

  “I’ll say this: I have a second cousin who supposedly was conceived there.”

  “So, it’s a bunch of cousins getting their freak on? Sounds like a royally good time.”

  “Very funny. I’m going to go so you can pack.”

  He leaned in to kiss me, and my lips parted. Our tongues were well acquainted, and did their own seductive dance. His hands slid around my waist and then down. This ass grab was longer, more intense. The sensation of his fingers caressing a part of my body that rarely enjoyed another person’s touch electrified me. A tingling ricocheted around my stomach before settling between my legs. When he let go, he took a step back.

  “I can’t wait to see you all dressed up for Pru’s party. I guarantee I won’t be the only one wanting to grab your ass.”

  “Maybe. But yours are the only hands I want touching my body.” I reached for his arms just above the wrists and placed his hands on my rear again. His breathing became uneven as he gave me one last, deep kiss.

  After he left, my stomach thrashed at the thought of an evening spent meeting and greeting royals and anyone else famous and rich enough to get invited. At least I’d have John by my side; his presence would help slay my nervousness.

  n our flight to Berlin, John and I sipped
wine in the comfort of wide leather seats. A small table set up between us held the photos he’d taken with my grandfather’s camera. There was a snapshot of Henri eating breakfast at the palace, multiple pictures around Roeselare taken through a car window, and shots of people walking the halls of the National Assembly building.

  “See how boring the life of a prince is?” He finished his wine and handed it to the only flight attendant on our private plane.

  “Hardly.” After passing off my empty glass, I held the photos in my hand relishing the novelty of it―most pictures I encountered existed as pixels on a screen not as tangible artifacts of daily life. “I’m impressed you figured out how to develop the film.”

  “There are a few perks that come with being a member of the royal family.”

  “A secret dark room in the basement of the palace, for instance?”

  “I can’t say. I’m sworn to protect state secrets.” He winked at me.

  “Here’s a secret you can protect: I’m nervous about the party.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll stay together.”

  A soft ding told us it was safe to leave our seats. John unfastened his seat belt, stood, and offered me his hand. “I want to show you something.”

  He pulled me to the rear of the aircraft and opened one of those folding doors you typically see on an airplane lavatory. He stepped into the dark space and drew me to him, closing the door behind us. Shadows and the scent of John engulfed me. He threaded his fingers through my hair and kissed me. His lips moved to my neck; he flicked my skin with his tongue.

  My arms wrapped around him, and I reached underneath his shirt, hungry to explore. Hard, undulating muscles welcomed my touch. Another hardness asserted itself, this one below the waist, unavoidable in the tight space forcing extremely close contact. Still, we didn’t have room for much except caressing and kissing, ensuring we couldn’t get too carried away.

  “There’s plenty of oxygen in here, right?” I gasped.

  “No idea. Just try to stay calm.” As if. His hands eased toward my chest, and though they stayed outside my sweater, he skimmed over my breasts. I inhaled sharply, nervous and aware of what I considered to be a major shortcoming.

  “Sorry they’re so small.” I squeaked out the words between breaths that came too quickly, exposing just how turned on I was.

  “Shh. You’re perfect.” I barely felt his touch through the sweater and generously padded bra.

  “You don’t know that. You’ve never seen them. And anyway, this is like false advertising,” I said, taking his hands and squeezing his fingers around the bra cups. “Hang on.” I reached around to my back to undo the hooks, wiggling to the side while leaning forward to achieve enough clearance to accomplish the task in our confined quarters.

  “Mind if I help?” His arms encircled me, and his hands moved under my shirt. With one twist, he finished the job. He may be a virgin, but this wasn’t his first time unhooking a bra. The cups loosened and slid up, offering easy access to my breasts.

  His eager fingers and my primed flesh met beneath the threads of my cotton sweater. I moaned softly as he caressed me.

  “See? I told you that bra was false advertising,” I muttered.

  “Shh. Let me enjoy this.” His authoritative tone increased my pleasure. He kissed my neck while intensifying his handy work. Under the spell of his squeezing, rubbing, and gentle tugging, I hardly registered the muted ding. Then, the plane hit a pocket of air. We jostled into each other, and my knees went wobbly.

  “We’d better go sit down, right?” I didn’t like to fly, and I certainly didn’t want to be bumping around a tiny closet while we ploughed through rough air.

  Bang, bang! A knock on the door, and then, “Your highness. The pilot wants everyone seated.”

  “We’ll be right there.”

  Another bump, harder this time, threw him against me, smooshing me into the wall. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. But let’s get out of here,” I said, reaching for the door handle.

  He got there first and opened it. I braced myself in the door frame and stepped into the galley.

  “Wait. Turn around.” He hastily lifted the back of my shirt and fastened my bra. Trying to look presentable was probably pointless because the flight attendant and guards up front certainly knew what we were up to in the closet.

  When the air smoothed out again, the flight attendant came by with small, warm towels. After she walked away, I leaned across the table between me and John. “She totally knows what we were doing back there. Do you think she’ll tell anyone?”

  “Of course not. She’s been on my family’s payroll for the last decade.”

  After our plane landed, we went to an expansive, tastefully decorated apartment that John’s family kept in Berlin. A maid named Jana greeted us at the door with cold drinks and homemade pastries. Seriously, ya’ll. This isn’t helping my thighs.

  We freshened up and changed into our party clothes before hopping in a convertible and tearing our way toward Potsdam. Thanks to the unseasonably warm weather, we put the top down, but there was enough wind that I had to wrap up in my coat.

  It was the first time I’d been in a car with John driving. When he wasn’t shifting gears, he had his hand on my thigh, pushing up the hem of my dress and inching closer to the sweet spot that longed for his touch. But alas, he didn’t quite get there during the drive. What a tease.

  Luminaries lined the driveway outside Sanssouci, their flames protesting winter’s early darkness as it enveloped the landscape. In contrast, the lights inside the palace blazed like high noon on a summer day.

  “Here we go. Are you ready for this?” John asked as he threw the car into park and waited for the valets to open the doors.

  “I think so.” I grabbed the bottle of wine we’d selected as a birthday gift for his cousin. “Are you sure no one’s going to photograph us or talk to the press?”

  “No one here needs the money. And they’re just as sensitive as I am about reporters snooping in their private lives. We’ll be fine.”

  We walked up to the massive doors and a man in a tuxedo pulled them open for us. Hyper rhythms of a lively jazz number pumped out of hidden speakers and electrified the air. It was hard to know where to look. The entryway to the palace was an elaborate foyer―airy, immaculate―a showcase for a series of portraits that lined the walls. But the people standing around in clusters were so elegant, they almost made the décor look shabby. Scattered throughout the entryway and in the ballroom just beyond, most of the women wore fashionable cocktail-length dresses in neutral colors like slate, chocolate, and muted gold. As I mentally thanked John for encouraging me to wear black, a bright-eyed woman in a short, fitted coral dress accosted us.

  “John! And you must be his beloved Hatty!” Someone I’d never met threw her arms around me in a big hug. But she’d called me John’s beloved, so I liked her instantly.

  “Hatty, this is my cousin, Pru.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you! Happy birthday!” I presented her with the bottle of wine.

  “Lovely accent! Come in! We’re just warming up!”

  Without looking at the bottle, Pru handed it to a waiter who walked past us.

  She linked arms with us, putting me and John on either side of her, and escorted us into a big open room with molding that looked like fancy scrollwork. The golden accents on the walls paled next to the glam groups of people scattered throughout the room talking and drinking. If I’d walked onto a movie set, the people would not have been more perfectly outfitted, coifed, and put together.

  “John. Do you mind if I steal Hatty? Since Lucas hasn’t arrived, she’s going to be my date. Everyone’s dying to meet her.” Pru pushed John away and steered me in the opposite direction.

  Though she’d been born in Toulene, Pru had spent most of her life in Australia, and it showed every time she spoke. So did her enthusiasm. She effervesced, and I couldn’t imagine she ever got tired. With her quick, urgent steps, she to
ok me to a small circle of women who looked close to my age, maybe a little older.

  “Attention!” Pru said, affecting a heavy French accent while softly clapping her hands. “This is Hatty.” The way she said my name made it sound like a scandal.

  Faint smiles beamed back at me. With their flawless complexions, impossible curves, and over-styled hair, these women were cartoon princesses come to life. Pru ran through their names so quickly, none of them registered in my brain.

  “Hatty! The American! How did you ever meet our darling John?” The redhead asked in a high-pitched, saccharine voice. I half expected her to reveal a seashell bra, pull a crab out of her purse, and start singing about crap she found in a shipwreck.

  “Oh, I know how they met!” said one of the blondes, holding up her gloved hand as though she wanted a teacher to call on her. “She was modeling lingerie for a charity event, and John was in the audience!”

  Dear Lord. “Well, that’s not exactly right.” Please don’t envision me in lingerie. Let’s just not go there.

  “I heard you were wearing ripped fishnets when he met you in some dark and sinister pub,” said another blonde.

  “Well, you need to double check your facts.” I tried to make my voice light, like I was amused―ha, ha―and not pissed by their inaccurate information. “I did dance in a charity event a couple of years ago to raise money for a school in Ethiopia, but John wasn’t there. It’s true we met in a bar, though it wasn’t exactly dark or sinister.”

  The awkwardness of the conversation pushed a trickle of sweat down the middle of my back. Where the hell was John?

  Before anyone else jumped in and asked for clarification on what I wore the night we met, I asked, “What are you drinking?” I gestured to the group’s one brunette.