CHAPTER 1
I frowned as I stared up at the star-filled vastness of the sky. The sound of moving traffic and blowing horns came from the nearby highway. I stepped out of my 2009 Honda Civic that had seen better days. The entire apartment complex appeared peaceful and protective in the dark, a fortress with loved ones safely enclosed inside. I sighed, wishing I had someone special to come home to.
My tired limbs climbed the stairs that led to my apartment. I blew out a rush of air before unlocking my door.
I looked around my small apartment. Nothing about the tiny place reflected my organized personality or even suggested comfort of any sort. My living space had no personality. I made things beautiful and comfortable for others, while my own living situation remained sadly neglected.
My apartment had no frills: No family pictures on display, no flowers adorning the tabletops. I considered it no more than a place to sleep, somewhere to go at the end of the day, nothing more. The irony of my spiritless living quarters stemmed from my being an interior designer—one certain fact in my uncertain life. Having earned a B.A. degree in interior design, I was doing the one thing that gave me joy: Making others’ lives beautiful by designing and decorating their homes and offices. Perhaps I was doomed to not have a comfortable home, but my clients were not. I made great things happen for my clients’ environments and derived great joy in doing so. My work gave me more fulfillment than anything else, which I recognized as a sad state of affairs. At my age I should be thinking about marriage and children, not trying to reaccumulate the healthy savings account I had blown. “Come on, Charlotte, stop having a pity party,” I said aloud.
My cell phone beeped, startling me out of my morose reflections. My boss had sent an email reminding me of my scheduled meeting with a new client the following morning. I could hardly think about anything else…that is, until my glum mood set in. I was eager to do a good job, because I was a relatively new employee, hired just eight months earlier.
Although I had worked on other projects as part of teams since joining the firm, this would be the first project I would helm, and its success would be quite significant for my professional reputation. I was determined to do my very best and show my boss that employing me had been an excellent decision.
***
I awoke the next morning with a slight throbbing in my right temple. I heard birds happily chirping outside my bedroom window. Checking the time and realizing that I was already running late—I’d hit the snooze button several times because of my headache—I got up and prepared for my meeting. After taking a Tylenol, I showered and dressed in a two-piece navy blue suit with a straight skirt that fell to just above my knee. After applying a little makeup—blusher and lipstick did it for me—in the strong light of my bathroom, I tugged at the hem of my skirt, straightening it over my curvy hips.
The suit was one of my favorites that I had in my small closet. I really needed to go shopping and build my wardrobe, but I preferred to bank most of my salary. The suit went well with my brown skin tone and dark hair with reddish-blond highlights. If there was anything I didn’t take for granted, it was my looks. I always took extra care to look my best when meeting with clients. Although frugal, I visited the salon regularly to maintain my shoulder-length locks with regular touch-ups and fresh highlights, and I had chosen this suit because it was the best in my wardrobe. I wanted to prove my ability to handle a design assignment so my career would get on the fast track.’
I looked at my watch. Time to get on the road. I was pretty sure the client, a Mr. César Hernandez, wouldn’t like to be kept waiting. Handbag and leather notepad in one hand, my keys in the other, I locked the door of my apartment and made my way to my car. I tossed my purse and notepad in my vehicle before climbing behind the wheel. As I turned the key in the ignition, I looked around the ratty-looking neighborhood and the building I lived in now. I had once lived in a lovely home in Texas with a man who’d been the apple of my eye. Now I had neither the house nor the man. What a fool I’d been…
Mentally shaking myself out of my defeated mood for the second time that morning, I shifted into reverse and backed out of my parking space. Another glance at my watch told me I had just enough time to make it to the nearby upscale suburb of Rye, where the client lived.
I settled myself more comfortably in the driver’s seat as I drove, absorbing the Monday morning brightness and pushing all negative feelings to the back of my mind. Landing this assignment could give my career a jump start, and I was determined to give it my all.
By the time I reached the client’s address, I was feeling confident and optimistic. I stopped outside an iron gate, not leading to a subdivision but a private road. I had to speak into an intercom, very much like going through the drive-through lane at the bank, and it didn’t surprise me to see a camera mounted near the intercom. When the gate opened I drove through it and down a long circular drive a quarter mile long. The mansion at the end of the drive took my breath away, a large Spanish-style house in white stucco with a red tile roof, with trees, well-shaped shrubs, and colorful flowers blooming all over the landscape. I parked my car at the edge of the circular drive and deeply inhaled the scent-filled air as I alighted. The attractive landscaping reminded me of that at the house I’d inherited in Houston, although this arrangement was spread out over a larger space.
I paused to look at the various species in the flower garden. I would have loved if I could have stood and observed it for a few minutes, but a tough-looking man had come out of the house and stood wearing a rather impatient scowl. I walked briskly in my pumps toward the front door, showing my ID to the scowling security guard before he allowed me to enter.
As soon as I stepped inside the interior of the home, I saw it was an older structure, probably dating back to the nineteen twenties. This was every interior designer’s dream, to inject modern décor into a vintage house while maintaining its period charm. The living room alone measured at least fifteen by twenty-five feet. It clearly needed a decorator’s touch, as the current décor was very eighties. I smiled as I imagined how magnificent it would look by the time I was done with it. Even with the outdated décor, the atmosphere dripped with wealth and class. The notes I’d been handed by the administrative assistant had stated the client wanted only a few rooms redecorated. Just who was this César Hernandez, anyway?
Sitting on one of the rather lumpy floral sofas in the living room as I had been directed, I nervously fiddled with my phone as I waited for the client. After three or four minutes, I heard footsteps in the otherwise quiet mansion. I rose to my feet as the client appeared through the arched doorway and approached me. His name had rung no bells in my mind, but in my time as a designer I had learned there were plenty of anonymous wealthy people, not just celebrities. Whoever he was, he exuded power and class as he strode toward me with confident steps. He wore camel-colored linen slacks and a button-down white shirt. I noticed how wavy and shiny his thick, side-parted jet-black hair was. Everything about him screamed wealth. He had to be at least six feet four inches in height. At five feet four inches in heels, I felt dwarfed next to him.
“Charlotte Rae from Davina Décor.” I introduced myself as soon as he moved closer to me, stretching my hand toward him for a handshake in a businesslike manner.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he stated in an accented, deep baritone voice that vibrated through the living room as he shook my outstretched hand. “And a good morning to you, too.”
My face grew warm as I realized that in my haste to make a good first impression, I had overlooked the basic pleasantries.
“Oh! I’m sorry. Good morning, Mr. Hernandez.” I chuckled. “I, um, guess I’m a little nervous.”
His eyes met mine before his eyes roamed over my entire body. Sliding his eyes back to mine, he gave me an appreciative rakish grin.
“Normally I avoid working with novices, but with you being so beautiful I’ll make an exception, Miss Rae. It is Miss, isn’t it?” he brazenly added.
I felt warmth rush to my cheeks at his open appraisal and flirtatious manner. “Yes, it is Miss,” I managed to respond, adding, “Thank you,” while I looked around the room, wanting to avoid his direct intense stare. What was wrong with me, getting all jittery just because he complimented me?
“Allow me to fully introduce myself as well,” he said. “I am César Hernandez, Hereditary Prince of Girona.”
My mouth dropped open. He’s a prince! I was in the presence of royalty. That explained the affluence that surrounded me, his air of refinement…and his sexy accented speech. Girona, he’d said. I’d heard of it. If I recalled correctly, it was on the Iberian Peninsula, surrounded by Spain. Uber-wealthy Europeans and Americans vacationed there, enjoying the mountains in the winter and the sea in the summer. I took a deep breath to quell my nervousness. “I didn’t know,” I admitted.
“I was deliberately vague when I contacted your firm.”
“Um, how should I address you, sir?” I hadn’t been prepared for this. I wish he’d mentioned this when he called the office asking for a consultation. But of course, if he had, the assignment would have gone to one of the senior designers, not to me. “Your Serene Highness?” I guessed.
He laughed, amused by my discomfort. “I believe in following local customs, whether I’m in Girona or New York.”
“In that case, Mr. Hernandez,” I replied. “Now, about the redecorating,” I prompted, deciding our conversation should return to my reason for being here. “My notes say you are looking for a partial redecoration.”
“Yes, I thought I’d start with the rooms I use the most. I plan to stay in residence while the work is being done.”
“I see.” I put on my best professional voice. “Why don’t we begin by you showing me which rooms you’d like me to redesign?”
“I’d like you to see the entire house, just to get a feel for it.” The Prince waved a hand. “Shall we?”
I nodded my head in agreement, bringing my notepad and pen so I could take notes. It was indeed a vast home, and I found myself glad he had chosen to redecorate only part of it. It would be a massive project for Davina Décor had he wished to have the entire home done, so massive that the budget would call for the supervision of a more senior designer.
I also found myself hoping the rooms to be redecorated included his bedroom.
He took his time as he gave me a tour. By this time, I had felt more at home with him as I asked my standard interview questions: his favorite colors, preferences, dislikes, etc. and delved into light descriptions about my vision for each room. The dining room, bathrooms, and one of the bedrooms were all decorated with rather busy wallpaper designs, which was peeling in spots.
His bedroom was one of the rooms that he wanted redecorated. The furniture, in keeping with the outdated eighties look, was black lacquer, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off the huge king-size bed that dominated it. How many occupants had it known, I wondered.
My tour concluded with the kitchen, which was surprisingly well-equipped and modern, in contrast to the other rooms in the house.
“Your cook must be quite busy,” I said as I took in the large six-burner cooktop with a faucet over a rear burner for filling lobster pots and Dutch ovens, double wall oven, microwave drawer, and other up-to-date conveniences.
“Of course,” he replied. “Abelardo is a great cook. Mi padre, Prince Anselmo, insisted that he travel with me, despite the fact that I usually cook for myself.”
“You cook?” I asked in disbelief. I just couldn’t imagine this broad-shouldered, sexy man fussing about in the kitchen.
He chuckled softly; “Of course I do, and I enjoy it. Although I’ve been reminded several times by mi padre that cooking isn’t for a prince.”
“I can imagine why he would dissuade you from cooking,” I said. “But I’m confused. If you’re the Prince, wouldn’t your father be King?”
“Girona is a principality, hence Prince and Princess. Monaco is also a principality, hence your Grace Kelly became a Princess, not a Queen.”
“Oh. Thank you for explaining that. Well, you have a beautiful home, Mr. Hernandez.”
“Thank you, Charlotte. I hope you don’t object to my calling you Charlotte,” he added, his voice low and intimate.
“Not at all,” I replied, loving how my name rolled off his tongue.
“Then Charlotte it is.” He gave me a charismatic grin that made me shiver. “My father bought the house years ago. My mother’s sister married an American, and my sister and I spent a lot of time here with our cousins while growing up. But it hasn’t been lived in a lot in recent years. My father purchased it from a man who made a fortune in home heating oil,” he explained.
“It certainly looks like it belonged to someone with great wealth. And with redecoration and updating, it can be returned to its glory days.” I hesitated. “And I’m just the one to do it, if you hire me.”
“I made up my mind to hire you while showing you the house. I like how you want to keep the old world charm of the house rather than try to make it over into a modern showcase with no personality.” Once again his eyes ran up and down my body as he smiled at me. “I’m looking forward to working with you, and I’m sure I’ll get to see you often during the project.” His eyebrows jutted upward in a hopeful gesture.
“Of course. I’ll be meeting with you to go over fabric swatches, furniture, paint, plumbing fixtures, everything,” I responded. “Plus, there is a budget to discuss and a contract to sign.”
“Spend anything within reason,” he said. “The house is definitely overdue for a remodel.”
I had to agree, but kept it to myself. “I can have the contract faxed or e-mailed to you this afternoon, Mr. Hernandez.”
“Since we are to be working so closely together, and since you have consented to allow me to call you Charlotte, why don’t you call me César?”
Beaming, I held out my hand. “César it is. Goodbye for now.”
“Adios.” He opened the door for me and I walked out into the sunlit day. On an instinct, I turned around, having a feeling he stood watching me.
He was.