All of the major network news cameras were rolling as
Tedric Cortere, crown prince of Ustanzia, entered the
airport.
A wall of ambassadors, embassy aides and politicians moved
forward to greet him, but the prince paused for just a
moment, taking the time to smile and wave a greeting to
the cameras.
He was following her instructions to the letter. Veronica
St. John, professional image and media consultant, allowed
herself a sigh of relief. But only a small one, because
she knew Tedric Cortere very well, and he was a
perfectionist. There was no guarantee that Prince Tedric,
the brother of Veronica's prep-school roommate and very
best friend in the world, was going to be satisfied with
what he saw tonight on the evening news.
Still, he would have every right to be pleased. It was day
one of his United States goodwill tour, and he was looking
his best, oozing charm and royal manners, with just enough
blue-blooded arrogance thrown in to captivate the royalty-
crazed American public. He was remembering to gaze
directly into the news cameras. He was keeping his eye
movements steady and his chin down. And, heaven be
praised, for a man prone to anxiety attacks, he was
looking calm and collected for once.
He was giving the news teams exactly what they wanted — a
close-up picture of a gracious, charismatic, fairy-tale
handsome European prince.
Bachelor. She'd forgotten to add "bachelor" to the list.
And if Veronica knew Americans — and she did; it was her
business to know Americans — millions of American women
would watch the evening news tonight and dream of becoming
a princess.
There was nothing like fairy-tale fever among the public
to boost relations between two governments. Fairy-tale
fever — and the recently discovered oil that lay beneath
the parched, gray Ustanzian soil.
But Tedric wasn't the only one playing to the news cameras
this morning.
As Veronica watched, United States Senator Sam McKinley
flashed his gleaming white teeth in a smile so falsely
genuine and so obviously aimed at the reporters, it made
her want to laugh.
But she didn't laugh. If she'd learned one thing during
her childhood and adolescence as the daughter of an
international businessman who moved to a different and
often exotic country every year or so, she'd learned that
diplomats and high government officials — particularly
royalty — take themselves very, very seriously.
So, instead of laughing, she bit the insides of her cheeks
as she stopped several respectful paces behind the prince,
at the head of the crowd of assistants and aides and
advisers who were part of his royal entourage.
"Your Highness, on behalf of the United States
Government," McKinley drawled in his thick Texas accent,
shaking the prince's hand, and dripping with
goodwill, "I'd like to welcome you to our country's
capital."
"I greet you with the timeless honor and tradition of the
Ustanzian flag," Prince Tedric said formally in his
faintly British, faintly French accent, "which is woven,
as well, into my heart."
It was his standard greeting; nothing special, but it went
over quite well with the crowd.
McKinley started in on a longer greeting, and Veronica let
her attention wander.
She could see herself in the airport's reflective glass
windows, looking cool in her cream-colored suit, her flame-
red hair pulled neatly back into a French braid. Tall and
slender and serene, her image wavered slightly as a jet
plane took off, thundering down the runway.
It was an illusion. Actually, she was giddy with nervous
excitement, a condition brought about by the stress of
knowing that if Tedric didn't follow her instructions and
ended up looking bad on camera, she'd be the one to blame.
Sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades, another
side effect of the stress she was under. No, she felt
neither cool nor serene, regardless of how she looked.
She had been hired because her friend, Princess Wila, knew
that Veronica was struggling to get her fledgling
consulting business off the ground. Sure, she'd done
smaller, less detailed jobs before, but this was the first
one in which the stakes were so very high. If Veronica
succeeded with Tedric Cortere, word would get out, and
she'd have more business than she could handle. If she
succeeded with Cortere...
But Veronica had also been hired for another reason.
She'd been hired because Wila, concerned about Ustanzia's
economy, recognized the importance of this tour. Despite
the fact that teaching Wila's brother, the high-strung
Prince of Ustanzia, how to appear calm and relaxed while
under the watchful eyes of the TV news cameras was
Veronica's first major assignment as an image and media
consultant, Wila trusted her longtime friend implicitly to
get the job done.
"I'm counting on you, Véronique," Wila had said to
Veronica over the telephone just last night. She had added
with her customary frankness, "This American connection is
too important. Don't let Tedric screw this up."
So far Tedric was doing a good job. He looked good. He
sounded good. But it was too early for Veronica to let
herself feel truly satisfied. It was her job to make sure
that the prince continued to look and sound good.
Tedric didn't particularly like his younger sister's best
friend, and the feeling was mutual. He was an impatient,
short-tempered man, and rather used to getting his own
way. Very used to getting his own way.
Veronica could only hope he would see today's news reports
and recognize the day's success. If he didn't, she'd hear
about it, that was for sure.
Veronica knew quite well that over the course of the
prince's tour of the United States she was going to earn
every single penny of her consultant's fee. Because
although Tedric Cortere was princely in looks and
appearance, he was also arrogant and spoiled. And
demanding. And often irrational. And occasionally, not
very nice.
Oh, he knew his social etiquette. He was in his element
when it came to pomp and ceremony, parties and other
social posturing. He knew all there was to know about
clothing and fashion. He could tell Japanese silk from
American with a single touch. He was a wine connoisseur
and a gourmet. He could ride horses and fence, play polo
and water-ski. He hired countless aides and advisers to
dance attendance upon him, and provide him with both his
most trivial desires and the important information he
needed to get by as a representative of his country.
As Veronica watched, Tedric shook the hands of the U.S.
officials. He smiled charmingly and she could practically
hear the sound of the news cameras zooming in for a close-
up.
The prince glanced directly into the camera lenses and let
his smile broaden. Spoiled or not, with his trim, athletic
body and handsome face, the man was good-looking.
Good-looking? No, Veronica thought. To call him good-
looking wasn't accurate. Quite honestly, the prince was
gorgeous. He was a piece of art. He had long, thick, dark
hair that curled down past his shoulders. His face was
long and lean with exotic cheekbones that hinted of his
mother's Mediterranean heritage. His eyes were the deepest
brown, surrounded by sinfully long lashes. His jaw was
square, his nose strong and masculine.
But Veronica had known Tedric since she was fifteen and he
was nineteen. Naturally, she'd developed a full-fledged
crush on him quite early on, but it hadn't taken her long
to realize that the prince was nothing like his cheerful,
breezy, lighthearted yet business-minded sister. Tedric
was, in fact, quite decidedly dull — and enormously
preoccupied with his appearance. He had spent endless
amounts of time in front of a mirror, sending Wila and
Veronica into spasms of giggles as he combed his hair,
flexed his muscles and examined his perfect, white teeth.
Still, Veronica's crush on Prince Tedric hadn't truly
crashed and burned until she'd had a conversation with
him — and seen that beneath his facade of princely charm
and social skills, behind his handsome face and trim body,
deep within his dark brown eyes, there was nothing there.
Nothing she was interested in, anyway.
Although she had to admit that to this day, her romantic
vision of a perfect man was someone tall, dark and
handsome. Someone with wide, exotic cheekbones and liquid
brown eyes. Someone who looked an awful lot like Crown
Prince Tedric, but with a working brain in his head and a
heart that loved more than his own reflection in the
mirror.
She wasn't looking for a prince. In fact, she wasn't
looking, period. She had no time for romance — at least,
not until her business started to turn a profit.
As the military band began to play a rousing rendition of
the Ustanzian national anthem, Veronica glanced again at
their blurry images in the window. A flash of light from
the upper-level balcony caught her eye. That was odd.
She'd been told that airport personnel would be
restricting access to the second floor as a security
measure.
She turned her head to look up at the balcony and realized
with a surge of disbelief that the flash she'd seen was a
reflection of light bouncing off the long barrel of a
rifle — a rifle aimed directly at Tedric.
"Get down!" Veronica shouted, but her voice was drowned
out by the trumpets. The prince couldn't hear her. No one
could hear her.
She ran toward Prince Tedric and all of the U.S.
dignitaries, well aware that she was running toward, not
away from, the danger. A thought flashed crazily through
her head — This was not a man worth dying for. But she
couldn't stand by and let her best friend's brother be
killed. Not while she had the power to prevent it.
As a shot rang out, Veronica hit Tedric bone-jarringly
hard at waist level and knocked him to the ground. It was
a rugby tackle that would have made her brother Jules
quite proud.
She bruised her shoulder, tore her nylons and scraped both
of her knees when she fell.
But she saved the crown prince of Ustanzia's life.