Yeah, he’d seen it, which was why he’d sent Mallory down as an interruption. “I didn’t say you’d figure it out right away. Give it more than five minutes. Why the hell aren’t you in the car with her now, asking questions?”
“Because I didn’t know where to fucking start.” As Christian’s voice rose, he punched a fist against the leather seat. “I can’t ask about her parents. The ones who’ve hidden her from us all this time. Can’t ask about her home that we just evicted her from. What’s left—asking if she dips her French fries in mayo or ketchup?”
“You’ve been seated next to some boring-ass people at state dinners. Spouses of world leaders. Remember that K-pop band who kept trying to sing to you between courses? Just follow the same prep. We’ll make a list of questions. Small talk. Safe topics.”
“That won’t get us anywhere.”
“Yes, it will. It’ll get you comfortable with each other. Once the walls come down, you can move beyond the great French fry debate. You know, on to important things like porters or IPAs. Red or white.”
“At some point I’m going to have to talk to her about more than just what goes on a dinner table.”
“Sure, but everyone eats dinner, right? It’s a great equalizer. A great place to start.”
“I’m not sure if this idea’s totally brilliant or totally bollocks.”
Elias wasn’t sure, either. “Talk to her, Christian. Don’t hide behind protocol and titles. Just fucking talk to the woman.” He looked out the window as they drew closer to the white and gold spires of the castle. “Did you tell your father about the princess?”
“Not yet. I didn’t want to get his hopes up until she was on Moncriano’s soil and I’d seen her with my own eyes.”
Now he got it. Why the prince had waited, since the king had endured years upon years of false hopes and false leads. The few photos Elias had scoured from the internet didn’t do Kelsey’s striking violet eyes justice. “Eyes that are an exact match to yours. And Genny’s, and your father’s.”
“I’m sure Papa will notice that right off. Her eye color marks her as a Villani every bit as much as those fingerprints you sent over.” Christian leaned forward again, his jaw set and those violet eyes as serious as they ever got. “You know, I owe you for this, Eli. Hell, the entire country owes you a debt of gratitude. There’ll be a knighthood in it for you, at the very least.”
“For fuck’s sake, that’s the last thing I want and you know it.”
“What do you want, then?”
Her. Kelsey. The one thing he knew Christian wouldn’t—and couldn’t—give him.
Elias fisted his hand until his knuckles ached as they turned through the gilt-tipped wrought iron gates. “I just want to keep her safe.”
Chapter Four
Kelsey’s navy wedges didn’t make a sound on the thick carpet. Nothing made a sound. For a place with over six hundred rooms and what had to be a staggering number of staff, it was eerily quiet.
“Your Highness?” Somehow Elias, with his crack bodyguard instincts, had picked up that she’d slowed to trail half a dozen steps behind him.
“Just…I need a second.”
Kelsey paused for a final mirror check. Didn’t take much, considering the lengthy hallway alternated sets of French doors to an elaborate garden with ten-foot-tall mirrors. Mirrors with frames that were thick gold swags of some kind of flower. They were spectacular, over-the-top museum pieces, at the very least. Just like everything else she’d seen so far in Alcarsa Palace. Or castle. She wasn’t clear on the distinction, and that was about ten thousand and one down on the growing list of questions she had.
Not to mention the single, overarching question Kelsey had for her parents. Specifically, the Wishners. What had they done?
How was she supposed to face her new family without an explanation from her old family? Her loyalty to the Wishners was rock solid, on a foundation of so much love it could never waver. But didn’t she also owe loyalty to the people—strangers—blood relations who’d searched for her for twenty-four years?
It’d twisted her up so much that even jet lag hadn’t given her more than a few hours of uneasy sleep. At least the fancy clothes should distract from the bags under eyes.
She wore a pale-blue skirt and sweater set that had been left on her bed while she showered this morning. Mallory had received a visit from the magic clothes fairy, too. Everything had been in exactly the right sizes. That had struck them as uber-creepy until Kelsey remembered that Elias’s guards had stayed behind to oversee packing up their apartment.
Did she love that two muscled strangers now knew her bra size? No. Not at all. But Kelsey was thrilled to not be meeting the rest of her…family in those damn yoga pants. They’d gotten the lipstick shades wrong, though, so a pale, subdued ghost of herself reflected back in the mirror.
“Come in with me,” she said to Mallory.
“Nope.” Her stubborn, annoying sister crossed her arms over a matching sweater set in a pale apricot that set off her long, auburn hair. The hair Kelsey had always envied. Had always wondered why she hadn’t inherited from the Wishner family gene pool, too. “This is a private moment. Like when you met the prince yesterday.”
Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Look how well that went. I don’t want to replicate that sub-par level of non-success.”
“Christian will be in there, right? So you can consider this your do-over with him.”
That was intriguing. She did that all the time with her graphic designs for clients. Started one, realized it was a boring mess, and started again. They always got better the second time around. Although sometimes it took four or five false starts…
Kelsey poked at the drooping corners of her eyes. Pushed them up and grimaced. “I’m not a morning person, and I’m jet-lagged.”
“Not an excuse.” Mallory turned her away from the mirror. “You are a night owl. And it’s ten hours difference, which makes it eleven p.m. in Manhattan, as well as in your body clock.”
They’d had dinner on trays in Kelsey’s amazing suite of rooms, slept in stunning canopy beds, and had cocoa and croissants for breakfast. All that pampering had done wonders for Mallory’s mood, apparently.
Kelsey, on the other hand, had spiraled into sheer terror as the hours ticked by toward the “family audience in the throne room.” And terror made her bitchy.
Scowling, she said, “You’re determined to be cheerful, aren’t you?”
“Mostly because I’m not the one who has to meet a freaking king today. I’d be shaking in my shoes if I did. But since it’s just you going under the royal microscope, it’s easy to be perky.”