Day two of palace orientation and Eve's eyes were glazing
over.
"Wait for His Royal Highness to address you first. Wait for
His Royal Highness to extend his hand first. If you are
wearing gloves when greeting His Royal Highness, you need
not remove them first. Women need not wear hats before 6:30
p.m.," the elderly male adviser droned on. "Call the prince
by Your Royal Highness on first meeting. Thereafter, if the
conversation continues, refer to him as 'sir.' Stand
whenever a royal enters the room. Never turn one's back on
a royalβ¦."
"Oh, Jonathan, give the poor girl a break," a young woman
said from behind Eve.
Eve whipped her head around, spotting Princess Bridget,
whom she'd met during her previous visit to Chantaine. She
remembered the underlying, not-quite-buried impatience
she'd sensed when she'd met Princess Bridget, a young woman
close to her age.
Eve immediately rose and attempted an awkward curtsy.
Princess Bridget waved the gesture aside and tossed her
head of brown, wavy hair. "Please don't. Will you join me
for lunch? I need a royal break," she said. "We can discuss
American reality shows."
"Your Highness," Eve said, trying to follow the rules she'd
just been given.
"Stop, stop," Bridget said, taking Eve's hand and pulling
her away. "And if you dare call me ma'am, I'll scream the
palace walls down. Please call me Bridget. I'm counting on
you to forget everything you've learned today so that you
and I can become great friends. Thank God we have an
American around now. You're just what we need."
Eve felt a combination of relief at getting away from the
interminable orientation session and anxiety at Princess
Bridget's plans for her. "I don't really watch a lot of
reality TV."
"Well, I'm sure we'll come up with something. You know,
ever since Tina got pregnant and left Chantaine, I have to
do most of the public appearances." Bridget stopped and met
Eve's gaze. "I'm not well suited for this. Tina was born
and bred for this job. It drives me crazy."
"What specifically about the job drives you crazy?" Eve
asked.
Bridget paused, blinking. Her eyebrows knitted in a
frown. "I haven't thought about that. I've just been so
resentful to be thrust into this right when I was enjoying
my time in Italy."
Eve nodded. "I hated my last job, but it paid very well.
After working in that position, I realized that being able
to do something that was my passion every day was a gift,
if not a luxury."
Bridget paused again. "How profound. And I was hoping you
would be a rebel."
Eve chuckled. "I am a rebel. I just try to be smart about
it."
"Hmm," Bridget said. "Maybe I can learn from you. I think
we should have champagne for lunch to celebrate your
arrival. Dom Perignon. If Stefan finds out, he'll be livid.
I do so love to make him livid."
"No champagne for me. I don't want to start my second day
on the job making my boss livid."
Bridget gave a pout and sighed. "You have a point. It
wouldn't do for him to fire you right off the bat.
Chardonnay?"
"And water, please," Eve said, thinking she definitely
needed to remain sober around these Devereaux.
Bridget led her to a small table on a balcony that
overlooked the east end of the palace grounds. Floral
gardens were surrounded by lush, green grounds with trees
that transitioned to rocky cliffs and sandy beaches. The
ocean was a mouthwatering shade of azure.
"Beautiful view," Eve said, shaking her head in
wonder. "Stunning."
Bridget stared out the window and nodded. "Yes, it is, but
it can be a bit confining being surrounded by all that
water. No easy way out," she said, then shrugged. "Can't
change that at the moment." A staff member approached the
table with a pitcher of water and filled two
glasses. "Thank you, Claire. Could you also bring us a nice
bottle of Chardonnay? Is lemon-roasted chicken and a green
salad okay with you?" she asked Eve.
"That would be great, thanks," Eve said, swallowing a
secret laugh over the fact that she'd probably be eating
peanut butter and jelly on the run if she were at the Logan
Ranch.
Bridget met her gaze. "What are your interests? Besides
horses, of course," she said. "Do you like to shop? Do you
like music? Art?"
"Yes to music and art. I'm more fickle when it comes to
shopping. With my new position here, I imagine I'll be busy
enough in the beginning that I'll be getting most of my
music fix from my iPod. What about you? Are there times of
the year that are busier than others?"
"It seems as if it's always busy since Tina left, but I'm
dragging my other sister and brother to participate in the
royal appearances more often. I keep nagging Stefan for a
vacation, but I think he's afraid once he lets me off the
island, I'll never return," she said with a laugh.
"I apologize for my lack of knowledge, but does Chantaine
have museums?"
"Two," Bridget said, not hiding her disapproval. "I've
tried to talk Stefan into expanding, but he insists that
both parliament and the citizens would balk when so many of
our people are struggling economically."
Eve nodded, her mind wandering the way it often seemed to
do whenever someone presented her with a problem. "It might
go over with everyone better if you could make it a
children's museum," she mused, and took a sip of her water.
Bridget stared at her for a moment. "That's a brilliant
idea. If you're this brilliant about everything, it's no
wonder Stefan was so intent on hiring you. You're right
about starting out with a heavy workload, though," she said
sympathetically. "I just remembered there's a parade in
three weeks. The royal horses are featured, ridden by
several top leaders and advisers."
Eve swallowed her water the wrong way and choked. "Three
weeks?" she echoed.
Bridget nodded in commiseration. "Yes, and I can't help but
believe that the horses are a little green." She shuddered
delicately. "I hate the image of Count Christo being
thrown. He's eighty-two years old. Sweet man, a little
daft. He always insists on bringing a whip with him when he
rides in the parade."
Eve felt her heart sink to her feet. "A whip?" she said,
appalled, then sucked in a breath of air. "A whip," she
said again, her voice rising.
Bridget shot Eve a cautious glance. "He hasn't ever
actually used it."
"But he carries it," Eve said, distressed. She'd learned
the uselessness of whips a long time ago.
"He's an old man," Bridget whispered. "It gives him a false
feeling of control."
Eve took another deep breath and clenched her fists in her
lap. More than anything, she wanted to run to the stables
and begin her work with the horses. More than ever the rest
of this palace protocol and orientation seemed like horse
crap. She didn't want to waste one more second. Glancing at
Bridget, she saw that dashing away from the princess
wouldn't be possible. She clenched her fists again then
released them, resolving that she would head for the
stables as soon as the meal was done.
Hours later, after Eve had skipped the afternoon
orientation session, she worked with a third of the many
palace horses. This one was a gentle palomino mare that,
like the others, hadn't been ridden often enough. She
pushed down her anger that the horses hadn't been
exercised. Yet, at the same time, she knew Stefan had been
stalling. For her.
A smidge of guilt mixed in with her anger.
The scent of horseflesh reached her on a cellular level as
she reined in the palomino. The horse submitted to her, but
Eve felt the mare's urge to run. She would need to ride
most of the horses once a day, if not twice during the next
weeks. And the whipβGod help her. How was she going to get
the whip away from Count Christo?
Eve returned the mare to her stall and walked to the
separate building that housed the stallion. Black was
Arabian and quite the handful. She would work with him
first thing in the morning, she decided as she leaned
against the wall opposite his stall where he paced
restlessly. The good news was that he wasn't beating down
the walls of the barn.
She felt more than heard footsteps approaching and, even
before she turned, her nerve endings went on alert.
Turning, she saw Stefan's strong, tall form. Emanating a
restless energy and power that reminded her of the
stallion, he wore black riding pants and a half-buttoned
shirt. His gaze was intent. "I'm the only one who rides
Black," he said.
Eve refused to be intimidated. This was her job now. She
would own it. "How often do you ride him?"
"Two or three times a week," he said. "Hard."
"He needs a minimum of five times per week," she told
him. "Look at how restless he is."
"That's because he's a stallion," Stefan said. "Are you
questioning my treatment of the horse?"
"Of course," she said. "That's why you hired me."
His mouth lifted in a half grin. "We'll do Black my way."
"For a week," she said. "If he's still restless, he'll be
ridden more often, and I'll be the one riding him."
Stefan chuckled. "You?" He shook his head. "He's too much
for you to handle. He was too much for the previous two men
to handle."
"We'll see," she said, confident she could handle Black.
She was not nearly as confident about Stefan. She watched
him as he approached the stallion. The horse seemed to
immediately calm. Stefan placed a bridle and saddle on the
horse. He led him out of the stall, mounted him and
galloped into the distance.
Chill bumps rose on her arms at the sight of man and horse
flying into the moonlight. There was a mystic connection
between the two of them that she couldn't deny. She felt a
rush of excitement and tried to temper it with resolve.
Stefan was a powerful man, but he had distractions. He
wouldn't be able to ride the stallion every day. He...
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