It had definitely ended too fast, though. Then her replacement bodyguard had rushed her inside to meet with a frowning man in what looked like a graduation robe who’d lectured her about Moncriano’s history. This happened while Kelsey was given twenty precious minutes to shovel down a scallop salad (delicious), one flaky biscuit (she would’ve given Mallory’s left arm for three more—why didn’t being a princess entitle her to freaking seconds?) and a single glass of fruity iced tea.
From the little Kelsey gleaned, Moncriano sounded a lot like Switzerland. Permanently neutral and friendly. Okay. At least they didn’t have a blood-drenched history like ancient Rome. Although she kind of wished they’d pick a side when it truly mattered. Maybe she’d missed something important when the buttery biscuit blacked out everything but her taste buds for a few seconds.
Then a frowning woman in a pale-lavender suit escorted her to a study to quiz her. What languages did Kelsey speak? What degrees did she hold? Could she ride? Shoot? What was her level of archery proficiency? Any certifications such as scuba or rock climbing?
Shockingly, Lady Tamara did not even crack a teensy grin when Kelsey proudly mentioned her fireworks launching certifications she’d gotten to personally ensure that the Fourth of July celebrations went off without a hitch. It was one of her favorite holidays.
Geez.
Did she have to give that up? Would Kelsey get in trouble now for celebrating her American heritage? So far she’d enjoyed exactly none of becoming a princess—aside from the kiss with Elias. And she was pretty sure that her being a princess had not been a driving force behind his lust.
So yes, her day had been fast-paced with constant activity. The problem was that Kelsey had chosen none of it. Plus? Her big dream had been to be a bystander in New York. To sit back and watch the excitement unfold around her like a twenty-four-seven play.
All of this excitement was happening to her. Technically, the basics of her wish had come true. But with an ironic, twisty execution that flat-out sucked, which meant that right now, staring at the door was preferable to turning around and dealing with whichever unwanted surprise was next.
“Dear, you don’t have to wait to be announced.” The gentle voice lilted with a stronger accent than Elias and Christian had. “Come in, come in.”
Kelsey tried to rub out the frown line between her eyebrows that felt like it went all the way through her skull as she turned. The room itself looked like a wide, enclosed hallway. A receiving room? Lots of oversize portraits and more of those kick-ass chandeliers, but not much furniture at all. Just a few lavender velvet chairs along the walls.
And oh, good. No scary grandmother. Just the nice Duchess Mathilde. “Hello. This is…not what I expected to find in here.” The unfamiliar and already painful heels clicked against the elaborate parquet floor as Kelsey edged away from the door.
“The clothes?” The older woman bustled forward to grab her hand and pull her along faster. “Normally we’d do this in your own suite of rooms, but with the quantity needed, well, sufficient space took priority over comfort.”
“Do what? I’ll admit I don’t remember the schedule.” That sounded plausible. And far more forgivable than the truth, which was that she hadn’t even looked at the thing before Elias sent it off to Mallory’s safe keeping.
“We have to completely outfit you with a new wardrobe. Well, that’s not possible in an afternoon, of course, but you’ll have at least the basics while we get the rest custom-fitted.”
Was that her first in-person royal “we”? Just then, the fifth rack of clothes rolled forward to reveal a tiny desk and three women clustered around it. They looked impossibly chic. There was what movies had always portrayed as a European flair about them. An artfully draped scarf on one. A patterned tunic that flowed over hot pink cigarette pants on another. The third boasted a statement necklace that Kelsey wouldn’t be brave enough to wear even at Halloween.
Had they been briefed on her? Was there a photo in that folder on the desk that showed her in the yoga pants she’d slept/deplaned in? Were they judging her?
On the other hand, wouldn’t the whole freaking country be doing that if King Julian actually rolled her out as the lost princess?
And would they find her sorely lacking as princess material?
Before drowning in a panic spiral, Kelsey remembered her tried and true approach to projects. One step at a time. One task at a time. She reached out to stroke the sleeve—holy crap, was that cashmere?—of a jacket. The clothes were absolutely beautiful. About a hundred miles out of her league, but beautiful.
Not wanting to hurt her aunt’s feelings, she asked cautiously, “Why is this necessary? Aren’t my own clothes here from New York by now?”
“Only an American commoner would presume to call that box of fabric clothing.” The sneer in Genevieve’s voice preceded her sister coming from around the farthest rack. It was quickly followed, however, by a matching sneer of disdain that pulled all of her features downward, sort of like that Dali painting of melting clocks. Only bitchier.
Kelsey could let it pass. She could take the high road and not respond to the obviously intentional poke.
On the other hand, she’d stood up to the freaking king this morning. She’d decided to start as she meant to go on. If that was a good enough way to treat the king, it was the right way to go with her sister. While true that she’d been raised a commoner, and an American, the one thing Kelsey was not was a pushover.
“Only a discourteous snob would insult someone’s personal belongings. Or are basic manners just an American thing?”
Red washed across Genevieve’s face. Not in a single, rosy perfect blush, but in hot-looking blotches. Even better, she didn’t say another word. Kelsey notched that as a win.
Duchess Mathilde crooked a finger to beckon over the three…courtiers? Dressmakers? Style servants? Kelsey had no clue. Which was pretty much par for the course for how her day was unfolding. “Your clothes are being pressed. The Royal Protection team who packed didn’t have, shall we say, a delicate touch. But you are about to have a full to bursting schedule. We don’t expect you to know the requirements of every function. It is the Villani family’s duty, and my utter pleasure, to supply you with a wardrobe for the social calendar we’ve thrust upon you.”
Smoothly done. Kelsey knew darn well she’d just been handled. So expertly, though, that she didn’t mind it at all. “You’re the family peacemaker, aren’t you?”
“I like everyone to be comfortable. In their heads”—she tapped Kelsey’s temple—“and in their clothes, as well.” She held up a lacy dress the color of sunshine, then switched it out for an identical one in a paler daffodil hue.
Scarf lady started to pull off Kelsey’s sweater. It was disconcerting, to say the least. “I can do that for you.” Awkwardly, she twisted away and tugged off the cardigan. She’d watched every Downton Abbey episode at least a dozen times. It had always baffled her that the lords and ladies would stand there while other people dressed and undressed them like dolls. It wasn’t as though slipping out of a sleeve required a ton of effort.