Genny folded the papers in half. Then she sharpened the crease with her thumbnail. “He’s ordered me to not wear nylons. ‘An arbitrary fashion holdover from the last century that is utterly wasteful.’”
“Don’t we have to wear them? As part of the royal dress code?”
“Yes.” Just like they had to wear slips so that nobody would see through their skirts. With weights in the hems so a strong gust of wind wouldn’t allow the world to see her blue satin panties.
Old-fashioned? Definitely.
Integral to preserving the dignity of House of Villani? Definitely. In this world of cell phone cameras and a relentless internet demanding information every second of every day, it was more important than ever to be careful. Restrained.
With a strong mix of both hope and wistfulness in her voice, Kelsey asked, “Couldn’t you change it? As the senior female member of the royal family?”
“You’re kidding yourself if you think I’m the senior female. That would be our grandmother, the Grand Duchess Agathe. And she would be appalled if I stopped wearing them.”
“You should definitely sic her on Sir Theo. She’d obliterate him with one glare.”
It was tempting. The woman was beyond fierce. But Genevieve was an adult. She couldn’t ask her grandmother to fight her battles for her.
“Aside from the absurd total amount he wants me to cut, there are at least two-dozen bullet points of specificity.” And the worst was burned in her brain. She made another knife-sharp crease, folding the paper over again. “Kelsey, the man wants me to stop using name-brand tampons.”
Kelsey’s jaw dropped. “That’s despicable. Intrusive.”
Not to mention mortifying that her period would be a topic of discussion in a royal missive. “He’s demanding an immediate switch to generic brands of all feminine products and birth control.”
Right. Because the fate of their country being accepted as a member of the European Union—if, and only if, their own subjects voted in favor of it—rested on her preferred brand of tampon?
It was so ridiculous as to be laughable. If only it wasn’t happening to her, of course.
Stefano came back in. No knock at all this time. And his complexion was dead white beneath his general swarthiness. “Your Highness, I’m afraid he won’t come.”
“Who?”
“Sir Theo.” The older man looked ill. Was he shaking? Clenching and unclenching his hands spasmodically, he continued. “He refused your summons.”
That certainly explained Stefano’s reaction. This was unfathomable.
Unheard of.
Not possible.
And now Genny found herself an even deeper level of pissed that this obnoxious man would upset her secretary so. His world was rooted in order and protocol and above all else, rules.
It had to be a misunderstanding. “He can’t.” As much to hear the words herself as to explain it to Kelsey, Genny said, “That’s what makes it a summons, rather than an invitation.”
“But he did refuse, Your Highness. He said the letter was self-explanatory and he had no time to waste repeating himself.”
“Yowza. That’s a dickish thing to say.” Kelsey visibly startled when both Genevieve and Stefano snapped their attention to her. “What? Does that not translate? Do you need me to explain?”
Shooting up a hand to stop her, Genevieve said, “Please don’t.” At least not in front of Stefano. They could laugh about it later, in private. Because she thought it a perfect description. “The context was clear from your usage. But no, that colloquialism does not have an exact translation in Moncriano.”
“Would you like me to send a member of the Royal Protection Service to fetch him?” Stefano offered. “That would teach the lad some manners.”
“And what—have them rough him up along the way?” If the royal family went around delivering black eyes to everyone who offended them, well, it would be a scandal, to say the very least. And not in any way representative of a confident, caring monarchy.
Kelsey’s hand flew to her chest, splaying across the bright orange-and-green print of the Lily Pulitzer dress. “They can do that? Elias never mentioned beating up disrespectful punks when he was on duty.”
Her knowledge of the Royal Protection Service came from the fact that Kelsey was dating her bodyguard. Well, her very recently made ex-bodyguard.
It shocked Genevieve how much she was rooting for them. True, Elias was no longer a commoner and thus not entirely out of the question as a match for a princess. He’d been knighted for saving Kelsey’s life in the attempted shooting. Thanks to his heroic action, she’d escaped with merely a broken wrist.
The two of them as a couple was both extraordinary and unconventional—utterly like her sister.
“No, they cannot,” Stefano said, an undercurrent of disapproval in his tone that Kelsey had even brought up the idea.
But there was the rulebook to life in the palace…and then there was the reality of what went on outside the lines. Genevieve knew those lines blurred occasionally.
See Kelsey dating the staff as a perfect example.
“It should not happen,” she amended. “If they ever do, it isn’t with my authority.”
“Too bad. Because I really dislike this guy.” Kelsey took the paper now folded down to the size of a compact and opened it, grimacing as she took in demand after demand. “Even if they didn’t land any punches, giving him a good scare might teach Holst some respect.”
That was it. He only thought he was in control. Genevieve, however, could correct that mis-assumption. “You know what?” She put an arm around Kelsey’s shoulders and squeezed. “You are exactly right. Brilliant, in fact.”
“Agreed—in general.” Grinning, Kelsey reached across her chest to pat Genevieve’s hand. Which resulted in her hard cast banging painfully against Genny’s knuckles. “Want to let me in on how specifically brilliant I am on this particular day?”
Genevieve let go, and caught a glimpse of herself in the crackling glass of the Baroque mirror. Anger had pinked up her cheeks as though they’d been slapped. It blotched across the pale skin of her chest, too.
That would never do. The world only got to see what she chose to reveal.
She turned back to Kelsey. Made sure that her tone was even and low and calm. Because Sir Theo Holst didn’t deserve anything more than that. His demands would be dealt with and dismissed with all the attention she gave an annoying fly buzzing around a fruit tray.
“There’s one thing more frightening than being threatened by the Royal Protection Service.”