It all sounded positive. It did not sound at all, however, like it had been mentioned Kelsey hadn’t yet decided whether or not to embrace Moncriano as her home. “Christian. I understand they were excited by the news. But did you tell them she might not stay? That she might leave and renounce the Villani name entirely?”
“Not a chance. She sees herself every time she looks at us. We’re family. That’s a bond that can’t be broken.”
How could he make the prince understand? “Still, she could choose to return to America. I’d put it at a better than fifty-percent chance. She feels isolated. Her life is so different here than what she’d planned to be doing. I’m not sure Moncriano has given her enough reasons to stay.”
Christian clapped him heavily on the shoulder. “Elias, you’re my ace in the hole. Do whatever you can to convince her. Make sure Kelsey feels like this is where she belongs.”
Holy hell. Elias fake coughed to keep from laughing out loud. If only Christian knew what he’d just given Elias license to continue to do to his baby sister…
Chapter Fifteen
A barrage of knocks sounded on Kelsey’s door.
Loud, fast, and constant enough that it could only signal one thing—the historic palace hadn’t sprung for a fire alarm. She looked across the breakfast table at Mallory. “That can’t be good.”
A moment later, without bothering to wait for any response, the door flew open. Sir Evan burst in, literally panting. His vest had popped a button, and his tie was askew. Clearly, her guess had been correct. Something was terribly wrong.
He skidded to a stop and frowned at her. “You’re in a bathrobe.”
“Be grateful you didn’t barge in ten minutes ago when I was in far less than a bathrobe.” Or a few hours ago, when he would’ve gotten an eyeful of her both naked and wrapped around a naked Elias. She’d stopped wearing her pajamas entirely. Kelsey didn’t want to miss any chance to be skin-to-skin with his amazing muscles. But it wasn’t just the fabulous sex. Sleeping with Elias wrapped around her quieted all the worries and confusion that had kept her awake every night prior to him being in her bed.
She couldn’t get enough of him, which was a huge problem, what with their expiration date being in only a week. But Kelsey couldn’t think about it, couldn’t rack her brain for an end-around of all the reasons Elias told her “they” were an impossibility.
If she did, she’d just curl up under the covers in misery. So Kelsey ignored the impending doom—just like she did with global warming, and the risk of salmonella from eating raw cookie dough.
“My apologies, Your Highness, Miss Wishner.” Sir Evan executed the world’s shortest and fastest bow. “But there’s been a change in your schedule. The king would like to see you.”
“It’s about time,” Mallory muttered under her breath.
Kelsey kicked her with a bare foot. It wouldn’t hurt much, but it would get across the point of save your snark for when we’re alone. “Just me? Or both of us?” King Julian wasn’t quite as intimidating as her grandmother, but he was still…well…king of an entire country. Every time she’d seen him so far, it’d been with many other people. Mallory was her security blanket.
Pulling himself together, Sir Evan gave the slightest nod of apology to her sister. “His Majesty specifically requested only you, Princess. You must get dressed immediately. Jeans, boots, a light sweater.”
“I don’t have boots.” Because it was June. Who needed boots until autumn?
“Of course you do. Miss Wishner, would you mind retrieving her outfit? We mustn’t keep the king waiting.”
Perversely, Kelsey wanted to do exactly that. “If he didn’t want to be kept waiting, then he could’ve given me advance notice.” She took a big slug of her coffee. Long nights with Elias were equally exhausting and invigorating. Invigorating to the heart, but exhausting to the rest of her body.
Sir Evan watched as Mallory freaking scampered off to the big closet. Then he folded his hands at his waist and gave Kelsey the look. The same one he gave her when she asked why she couldn’t wear pants to be presented to Parliament, and why Anya wouldn’t stop curtseying every time she came into the room, even though Kelsey had ordered her not to do so.
“Forgive me, Your Highness, but when Mr. Wishner asked you to accompany him on an outing back in Michigan, would you require advance notice?”
Dad would double over in laughter if she asked him to schedule one of their spontaneous trips to Dairy Queen. But King Julian wasn’t “Dad.” Not yet.
Kelsey crossed her legs and took another long sip of coffee before answering. “That’s not fair. Right now, with this running around at the snap of his fingers, you aren’t treating him like my father. You’re treating him like my king.” Positive that she’d checkmated him, she braced her palms on the table and leaned forward in smug triumph. “Which is it?”
“It is now, and will always be, both.” He had the grace to look a little regretful. “No doubt that will take some getting used to.”
“Add it to the list,” she murmured.
“I am sorry for this disruption to your schedule. The king will be waiting for you on the west wing loggia in ten minutes, precisely.” With a nod, he backed toward the door.
“Wait. You’re not going with me?” Going without Mallory was bad enough. Going without any friendly backup made this even more daunting. “How will I find the loggia?”
“Marko’s right outside. He’ll escort you.” As if taking pity on her, Sir Evan paused with one hand on the knob. “This is a good thing. King Julian wants to be alone with you. Literally every person in this country would kill for that kind of access.”
The door shut behind him just as Mallory reemerged, knee-high boots dangling from her fingers. She thrust the pile of clothes at Kelsey. “Hurry up. Put these on.”
Clearly, she had no choice, but it felt a tiny bit traitorous that Mallory had been so eager to side with Sir Evan. Everyone in the palace had an agenda for her—one that didn’t take into account Kelsey’s own wishes—except for Elias and Mallory. Or so she’d thought.
Pissyness at this turn of events was a lot easier to vent on her sister than on the messenger—or the king himself. Stripping off her robe, she snarked, “What’s with you? Why’d you jump to obey his command?”
“Because this is a big deal. Huge deal. Mount Rushmore on top of Mount Whitney big.” Mallory waited until she’d tugged the heather-gray tee on, then put a hand on her arm. Her sister’s wide green eyes were so serious, as was the way the top of her lip rolled in where she bit it. “You know I’ve been studying royal protocol—”