CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bailey
The queen’s limousine was the most luxurious vehicle she’d ever been in. The leather beneath her palms had the consistency of warm butter. She leaned against the seat as she rode through streets as familiar as the back of her hand. The city center loomed ahead. The driver didn’t turn there. Instead, the limo kept on, heading toward the mountains—toward the Winter Palace.
When she was a teenager, Bailey had taken a job as a Florican tour guide. She’d swear her calves still burned every once in a while from leading tourists through the hiking trails.
Bailey’s stomach hummed with the fluttering of a million butterflies.
She still couldn’t believe it. All that time, she’d been trading texts with Prince Asher and never known it. She’d been joking with—and yes, flirting with—the guy she had a picture of on her desk back home.
Bailey vacillated between anger, at being lied to, and awe, that she would be meeting the royal family. The thing that concerned her most was that she couldn’t be certain which emotion would come out when she met Jenson, er . . . Asher, face-to-face. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be one that got her thrown out of the palace.
No. She was a professional, dammit. That had to count for something. Bailey wasn’t about to throw all of her skills out the window.
“We’re here, Ms. Parker,” Jenson announced from the front seat.
“Thank you,” Bailey said.
A moment later, her door swung open. A footman waited on the other side, while Jenson unloaded her two carry-on bags from the trunk.
“Ma’am?” The footman had reached toward Bailey. She extended her hand and shook his. The footman chuckled. “No, ma’am. Your bag.”
Great. So much for poise and grace. Bailey had been gripping her laptop bag tight against her hip. Her jet-lagged brain kicked into gear and she handed it over. “I’m sorry.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. Then, in a lower voice, he whispered, “No worries.”
Bailey relaxed. Maybe she would fit in at the palace after all. She even managed a return smile.
“Ms. Parker?” A tall, squat gentleman with a scowling, oval face had moved to her side. “I’ll show you to your rooms. The royal family will be ready to receive you in one hour’s time.”
Bailey nodded. At least, they were letting her freshen up before the royal ‘Come to Jesus’ extravaganza began.
Minutes later, she couldn’t quite believe her luck. She’d seen documentaries and pictures of the inside of the Winter Palace, but they hadn’t done it justice. Her room was wide, with high, white ceilings supported by dark, wooden beams. The walls were covered in flowered silk of the palest blue and complimented the gilt-gold furniture. In the center of the room was a piece most dear to Bailey’s heart: a massive four-poster bed. She’d be able to sleep for a week in that bed.
Two French doors stood across the room, looking out over blue sky. From the distance, it gave the impression that the palace sat amongst the clouds.
Crossing the room, she twisted the gold doorknob and stepped out onto a breathtaking balcony. It was easily the size of a small backyard and more than enough space for one person. She took several tentative steps forward until she reached the railing, resting her hands on the stone surface, and then sucked in a breath. Before her lay the beautiful Adriatic Sea, its waters crashing against the Florican coast. Untouched mountain ranges surrounded the palace, making Bailey feel as though she were in her own private oasis.
Lying Prince Asher had all of this and she’d given him two thousand dollars from Windsor? She ground her teeth.
“Welcome home, Bailey.” She whispered the words to herself, softly, like she was testing them out.
“I owe you an apology.”
Jumping, Bailey gripped the railing and turned, sucking in a breath. It was him. Asher. The man who would one day be king. But also, Jenson. He was each and all of those things at once. His hair was close-cropped and golden, his eyes an unsettling shade of blue that burned straight into her soul.
“All this time we’ve been working together and I didn’t know who you were.” Her cheeks burned. “And I asked you to think royal. I bet you and your staff got a real charge out of that one.”
Some instinct kicked on inside Bailey. Locking her jaw, she managed a stiff curtsy. “Your Highness.”
“Bailey, please. Stop curtsying.” He waved her off and walked to the edge of his own balcony, a too-close neighbor of her own. He could have climbed from his balcony to hers if he wanted, without endangering himself in the slightest. “I didn’t laugh at you. I didn’t do this to get a rise out of you or make fun of you.”
“Then why did you? Why on Earth would a crown prince ever need a job?” She gestured to the gardens and the sea and all of the luxury that sat at Prince Asher’s feet.
“I have my reasons.” A worry line creased the bridge of his nose. If he was being sincere, Bailey was hardly one to judge. He seemed sincere, though. What would it hurt to give him a chance to explain himself?
“Alright, then, but I need to clean up.” She almost sounded defensive. Scratch the almost.
The prince’s lips quirked. “I think, after so many shared late nights, we can forgo the formalities. It’s Ash. Please.”
He’d barely managed a smile, but that small turn of his lips turned her knees to jelly. Thank God no one was asking her to walk anywhere right then. She doubted her ability to manage even a slow stroll.
“Ash it is, then.” Oh, God. She was suddenly on a first name basis with her country’s prince. Dad would never have believed it.
“Thank you. I’ll leave you to freshen up, then.” With a slight bow of his own, Ash stalked through the doors and into his room.
Her body numb, Bailey did the same. She got as far as the mirror, when she took in her own reflection. One side of her hair was sticking up. Her buttons weren’t lined up properly on her shirt. Her mascara was smudged.
So much for a good first impression.