Inconceivable! Page 12

“J’sais pas! Pru, what are they serving? Something with bubbles.”

  Pru grabbed a flute as a waiter passed by and handed it to me.

  “Merci.” I drank it the way I used to down cold glasses of lemonade on hot Missouri afternoons.

  “Hatty! You drink like an American!” Soft laughter rippled around the circle.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Where’s John?” A surge of panic gurgled up in my throat as I scanned the room.

  “Oh, who knows? He hates these soirées. Come. You’re in high demand.” Pru linked arms with me again.

  For a full hour, she took me from group to group and introduced me as the “hard drinking American” despite the fact I’d had only the initial few gulps of wine. Still, her guests, some of whom were clearly a bit tipsy, fussed over me. Several peppered me with questions. When I answered them, they looked bored, so I quickly came up with brief responses to move us through the formalities. The whole time, I tried and failed to get a visual on John.

  I grabbed Pru’s arm when we were between groups. “Where’s the powder room?”

  “The what?”

  “Toilette?”

  She led me out of the ballroom through a side door. We stepped into an open area. She pointed to the right.

  “Over there. I’ll wait for you inside.” She headed into the ballroom.

  I pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the ante room where there was a large, rectangular ottoman-type-thing positioned in front of a brightly lit mirror. I walked into the next area where there were walled off stalls with floor-to-ceiling doors. Europeans like their bathrooms small and private.

  When I was done, I washed my hands and perched uncomfortably on the edge of the ottoman in front of the mirror to check my make-up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another woman sit at the other end.

  “Are you Hatty?”

  I turned to look at her. Of all the impeccably dressed people I’d seen, this woman took the cake and the plate it was sitting on. She must’ve stepped into Sanssouci right off the pages of Vogue. Brilliant white teeth gleamed from between red, glistening lips. Flawless skin was set against dark, smooth hair. A square neckline plunged low and tight, plumping up the tops of her breasts into supple mounds.

  “Yes. I’m Hatty Brunelle.” There was uncertainty in my voice. I knew I hadn’t met this woman―I’d remember her perfection for the rest of my life. Still, she looked very familiar.

  “John was right. You’re cute, even if you are unrefined.”

  “I don’t think we’ve met,” I said, offering a smile, despite her unkind words.

  “No. We haven’t, but John told me all about you. I’m Claire.” She leaned over the ottoman and extended her hand.

  “Léglise?”

  “Oui. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  It was the hair. In all the online photos I’d seen, she had blonde locks instead of brown. Maybe she lost her peroxide and toothbrush.

  “Enchanté,” I said weakly, squeezing her hand. A hyper awareness of my shortcomings made me want to smooth my dress, fluff my hair, and check for lipstick on my teeth. “I’m sorry. Did you say you and John were talking?”

  “I bumped into him right after you two arrived. I found a quiet little spot for us to have a tête-à-tête and plied him with liquor. Now, he’s ready to have a good time. You know how much he hates these parties, even if he does adore all the attention he gets.”

  “How lovely to meet you. And thank you for ensuring John had a few drinks. I like how that makes him more handsy.” I raised my arms and lightly bounced on the ottoman, as though testing its give. “If he keeps drinking, maybe we’ll come in here for a quickie later. You know how much he loves the no-pants dance. Excuse me.” I stood, grabbed my small purse, and left the ante room.

  My heart raced and my breathing came in heavy huffs. I didn’t give a damn who was next on Pru’s must-meet list. I’d just met the most important person in the entire place.

  Not caring what other people might think, I slung open the big doors to the hall. I walked over to a chair in the corner, kicked off my shoes, and stood on it. Aha. John was over by the cartoon princesses. They’d migrated to the other side of the room, but they were still all together, the sisterhood of the traveling implants. As John talked, he prompted small outbursts of polite laughter from the group.

  “So, people from the Ozarks really don’t wear shoes.”

  I looked down and gasped. A man with shiny dark hair held out his hand. He was at least fifteen years older than me. Golly, he was hot. He had the refinement men acquire with age and experience; he looked utterly at ease and relaxed.

  I placed my hand in his and stepped down. His other arm wrapped around my waist firmly, with complete command of the situation, as though he routinely wrangled barefoot gals off chairs in fancy ballrooms. Planting my feet on the floor, I had to look up to see his chiseled features.

  “Thank you. And to whom do I owe the pleasure?” I asked, feigning a formal tone.

  “I’m Count Gerhard Hohenstaufen, John’s cousin. And you’re Hatty Brunelle.” Count Whose-it?

  He kissed the back of my hand softly, making me forget momentarily about Claire and my urgent need to find John.

  “Has anyone shown you the gardens?”

  “Not yet.”

  “May I?” He took my hand again and started to lead me away.

  “Wait! I need to put my shoes on.” I felt like a total hick.

  “Please.” He gestured for me to sit down.

  My tight dress allowed me only to sit on the very edge. Gerhard knelt in front of me, retrieved one of my pumps, and then cradled my bare foot in his hand. I watched as the German count slid on the shoe in a smooth, adept motion. Maybe he did do this kind of thing often. Rawr. He lifted my other foot, cupping it in his large, warm hand. Just as his fingers lightly caressed the bottom of my toes, someone close by cleared their throat.

  I nearly fell out of the chair when I saw John standing over us.

  “Gerhard. You’ve found my lady in distress. Thank you for helping her. I can take over from here.” John bent down and took my foot from Gerhard. That sexy line just above his jaw bone pulsed, signaling a flash of anger.

  The count stood and pulled down on the ends of his jacket. “Your lady was indeed in distress. I was going to show her the gardens since you left her all alone.”

  “Thank you, Count, for your help,” I said, sensing trouble brewing between these two cousins. I wanted to avert any arguments.

  “Adieu, my dear.” The count backed away, maintaining eye contact with me a second too long to be polite. It was an invitation, and I flinched.

  John smiled up at me. “I’m sorry I left you with Pru long enough for the wolves to circle. Pru gets bored easily, and Gerhard can’t resist a beautiful woman.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment. “I have to tell you something. I met Claire. She said she’d spoken to you and you guys had several drinks. Is that right?”

  John stood and walked away. How dare he! I caught up with him and grabbed his arm.

  He looked straight ahead as he spoke. “I know we already have trust issues, but I confess: I knew she’d be here. She and Pru are friends. I didn’t tell you because I thought you might not come, or you’d worry unnecessarily.”

  Walking through the crowd, we tried to look like we weren’t having a serious conversation. Given the setting, there was no way we could have it out.

  I tried a different approach. “It’s fine. So, tell me more about your cousin, the count.”

  “Gerhard? He’s one of Germany’s most notorious philanderers.”

  “He’s certainly very skilled at helping women get what they need.”

  “I’m just glad I intercepted you when I did. Were you really going to the gardens with him?”

  “Is ‘going to the gardens’ some kind of euphemism?”

  John laughed. “Here it is. If you’d gone with him, he’d be caressing a lot more than your toes right no
w.”

  “And how would that make you feel?”

  “I’d simply have to defend your honor,” he said as we stepped through a doorway into the cool air. So much for unseasonably warm.

  We walked around the end of the palace. I saw a wide terraced garden with a lighted fountain at the bottom of a long staircase.

  I slipped off my heels. Again.

  “What are you doing?” John asked.

  “Catch me.” I took off running down the stairs.

  The hard, cold pavement smacked my feet, which only made me move faster. John’s footsteps pounded behind me. What was I thinking? He plays rugby. He’d overtake me in a matter of seconds.

  I darted off the stairs and onto one of the terrace ledges. It was wide, so I wasn’t afraid of tumbling over the edge. As I approached the dead end, I scrambled in search of an escape route. A hand grabbed me and tugged at my dress. Something gave way and my dress slipped down to my waist.

  I stopped and covered my bare chest. “Oh God!” I said. Cold air teased my breasts.

  John’s hands were on my sides, and he spun me around facing him. He pressed his lips to mine and his hands pulled at my arms, which were still wrapped across my chest. I halfheartedly tried to resist and he yanked harder. He kissed my neck, forcing me to lean backward as I struggled to stay covered. Exposing myself outside in the middle of winter wasn’t my idea of a rocking good time.

  My back arched and his arm reached around to support me. He must have known it was an unsustainable position because he lowered me down into the grass and gravel. I saw his face in shadow, partially lit by a small light on the terrace wall by my head. Soft giggles and heavy breathing drifted up to us from a couple of terraces below. You people have a mansion with a thousand bedrooms and you go for a romp in the freezing garden?

  John squeezed my shoulders and slid his hands onto my bare back, pressing me into him. We kissed and I tasted alcohol.

  “John. Stop. Not like this.”

  He drew back instantly. My words echoed the sentiment he’d spoken to me on the couch at Belvoir. He didn’t say anything as he helped me onto my knees, and turned away as I adjusted my dress, moving it back into its proper position.

  “Let’s go find your shoes.”

  He took my hand and led me back up the stairs. After grabbing my pumps, we walked inside. The staff was gathering the guests for dinner. Tables filled another ballroom on the far end of the palace. I tried to smooth my hair; I suspected we both looked a bit disheveled from our terrace almost-tryst.

  “Did you show her the gardens, John?” Pru asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “Very funny.” John sounded moody.

  Of all the important friends and family at Pru’s party, she included me and John at her table. We laughed and chatted our way through dinner. John drank only water.

  After dessert, he kissed me on the cheek and whispered in my ear: “I’m going with some of the guys to the game room for darts and drinks. I’ll come find you later. Are you okay on your own?”

  “Sure. Go have fun.” The prospect of navigating the next couple of hours alone filled me with dread.

  “Just promise me you’ll stick with Pru and stay away from Gerhard,” he said, already standing.

  “I’ll take care of her, John.” Pru grabbed my hand and patted it.

  After dinner, we went back to the ballroom. The overhead lights were off. Strobes flashed and swirled. The madness of a rave replaced the elegance of the ballroom. Some kind of glowing rope snaked along the walls. I didn’t see Claire Léglise the rest of the night.

  I discarded my shoes for the third time that evening and danced with Pru and her crew of princesses. Lubed with liquor, they were more human, less cartoonish. They even took off their shoes.

  In the middle of dancing, a pair of hands touched my waist. Afraid it might be Gerhard, I tensed my body until I realized it was John. We said goodnight to Pru and left the ballroom. Instead of heading to the entryway, John led me down a hallway lined with doors. He opened one for me, and I walked into a cozy, plain bedroom. “Are we spending the night?”

  “Yes. I’ve had too much to drink. I can’t drive to Berlin.” Even when smashed, he remembered the weight of the family’s reputation rested on his shoulders as an heir to the throne.

  He slipped out of his shoes and took off his jacket. It was only 11:30 p.m. and I heard the muffled party music still going full swing back in the main ballroom. Our little bedroom had an adjoining bathroom, and John went in without closing the door. Well, this is a whole new level of openness.

  Trying not to hear what he was doing in the bathroom, I distracted myself by opening a bureau drawer. Empty. I don’t know what I expected to find. Maybe a shirt I could sleep in.

  John came out and plopped onto the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Claire being here. She loves her family more than she loves me, you know.”

  “Sleep,” I said, exasperated by his sloshy lack of self-editing. I unfolded a blanket at the bottom of the bed and placed it over him as he closed his eyes.

  I blinked into consciousness, looking at the room and trying to remember where I was. Not at the palace, but a palace. Then the memories of the previous night flooded my mind. I turned my head to find I was alone in bed.

  I threw back the covers and stood up. There was a knock.

  “Come in.”

  John cracked the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

  “I brought you some clothes. I’m really sorry we ended up crashing here.” He walked over to me with a black duffle bag. “Good morning.” He kissed me softly on the lips. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

  “I bet it looks like I slept on a weed-eater.” My hands assessed my tousled hair. Über messy. I opened the bag and found a sweatshirt and shorts. “I’m dying to get out of this dress.” I reached around back for the zipper.

  “Here let me.” John stood behind me and slowly pulled the zipper down, causing the front of my dress to collapse to my waist as it had done the previous night on the terrace. I turned around to face John, amazed at myself for being both bold and vulnerable.

  “You wanted to see this part of me last night. It’s better in the light of day with both of us sober, don’t you think? Since I now know what Claire looks like in person, you need to see me for who I am. I don’t look like her. It’s not even a contest.”

  John’s eyes were wide and his mouth hung open slightly. He blinked hard once before pulling me close to his chest and kissing me. My bare skin produced goose bumps in response to the gentle friction from the soft, thin fabric of his dress shirt. I began unbuttoning it.

  “Hatty, you’re beautiful. You’re perfect,” he whispered between kisses. His hand cupped the bottom of my right breast. His thumb grazed my nipple, and I sucked in a quick, rough gulp of air. He ran his tongue down my neck, and moved toward my chest. Then, he stopped. Just like that. He turned and reached into the duffle bag.

  “Let’s get you dressed so we can say goodbye to Pru.” He held up the sweatshirt, covering my chest.

  “Does that mean you don’t want to have your way with me?”

  He took my hand and placed it on the front of his pants. “It means I do, but I’m going to stop myself.” He pulled my hand away. “Do you mind getting dressed in the bathroom so I can cool down? I can’t walk out there like this.”

  He sat down on the bed and took out his phone. I headed for the bathroom, stopping once to glance back at him; he was watching me.

  “If you don’t get dressed, it’s going to take a lot more than boring emails to take my mind off your amazing body.”

  His words, the look of longing in his eyes, and the way he’d touched me moments earlier went a long way toward squashing the fresh insecurities that meeting Claire had spawned.

  ushing up my sleeves, I thrust my just-washed hands into the flour, sugar, egg, and butter mixture. I was eager for John to taste chocolate chip cookies made from my mom’s recipe.


  “So this is how people in the Ozarks do it? Sans utensils?” John looked over my shoulder into the bowl, an eyebrow raised to emphasize his skepticism.

  “Sure! Why not?”

  John kneaded the muscles of my upper back mimicking my hands and fingers working the ingredients into a stiff dough.

  “It seems I’m not the only one in this relationship who’s good with their hands,” he said as he ran his palms up and down my arms, squeezing intermittently to work those muscles too.

  “I hate to have you stop what you’re doing, but do you want to add the chocolate chips?”

  He picked up the bag, put one between his lips, and kissed me. The chip melted under the friction of lips, teeth, and tongues. Délicieux!

  “That chocolate kiss is certainly an improvement over the one we shared the night we met,” I purred.

  “Much better.” He leaned into me, pushing my lower back against the wooden work table. He never seemed to care about the palace staff walking in on us, but it terrified me. What would John’s father think if he found out? John’s hands dove below my waist, gripping my ass.

  Loud footsteps froze us. “Take it to a bedroom, Your Hiney-ness.”

  Henri snorted as he walked over to the bowl sitting on the table behind me. He dug his index finger into the mixture. John shoved him away.

  “Don’t stick your fingers in my lady’s dough.” John glared at Henri, then burst out laughing.

  Henri picked up a handful of flour and threw it in my hair.

  I gasped in surprise. “Will they lock me in a tower if I kill you?” I laughed in spite of my irritation.

  “All of you out so I can finish.” Hilda the Deutsch baker interrupted the horseplay. ‘Hilda’ means buzzkill in German.

  “See? If you boys behaved, I’d get to finish something for once in this kitchen.” I huffed dramatically as we left Hilda to shape the dough into balls and put them in the oven.

  “Now what?” I turned on the two handsome brothers in the hallway outside the kitchen.

  “Up for another movie?” John asked.

  “Always.” I squinted my eyes at Henri, daring him to comment.