Dating the Prince(2)

Finn squinted at the screen. "What is she doing?"

"I don't know," Alex said.

The woman reached into her pocket, then leaned over the velvet rope and placed something between the two thrones.

A light immediately lit up on the wall, indicating a silent alarm had  been tripped in the throne room. Finn grabbed his radio. "We've got a  code yellow in your sector," he said. "A woman, mid-twenties, with a  baby in a carrier. She placed something between the thrones and is  headed toward you."         

     



 

"Wait." Alex leaned forward, squinting at the object. "It looks like a coin."

"Copy that," came the crackled response from the radio. "Moving to intercept."

"Zoom in," Alex demanded. Finn complied, and Alex shook his head in  disbelief at what the woman had placed. "It's an American penny."

"It's an unknown object. That penny could be laced with anthrax or  explosives or any number of dangerous things." Finn pushed the button on  the side of the radio. "Waiting for your report, Colin."

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Alex pushed back from his chair, exasperation  making his movements jerky. Whether tourist or local, she hardly seemed  like a political extremist bent on the royal family's destruction.

"Where are you going?" Finn demanded.

"To stop this woman from being arrested," Alex said. "She's no more a terrorist than I am."

"Your Highness-" Finn began.

But Alex walked out without waiting for his response. Maybe he couldn't  stop Isla from spreading lies, or make Durham trust him again. But he  could at least stop Colin from shattering that woman's outward peace and  calm.





CHAPTER TWO



Libby shifted from foot to foot, trying to ease the aching in her back  as Stan droned on about the history of Durham in an accent that somehow  managed to be both incredibly thick and annoyingly proper. Kenzie let  out a mewling sigh and burrowed deeper against Libby's chest. The padded  nylon carrier felt suffocating against Libby's skin, and the thin  cotton of her dress grew damp.

How could an eight-pound baby be so heavy? She definitely should've worn  tennis shoes instead of sandals today. But the July heat was nearly as  oppressive as the thought of shoving her feet into socks. Connie had  clearly not spent her maternity leave touring palaces with a baby  strapped to her chest, or she wouldn't have suggested Libby take Kenzie  in the wrap instead of the stroller-pram, Libby reminded herself. She  hadn't thought she'd need to learn a whole new vocabulary when moving  across the pond.

"Construction on the palace began in 1722," Stan wheezed on as he led  them down an elaborate hallway. Oil paintings of famous battles and  former monarchs lined the walls, their heavy gilded frames contrasting  with the red patterned wallpaper behind them. "Before that, the royal  family lived across the river in Brighton Castle. Brighton Castle, of  course, has its roots firmly in medieval times … "

Ugh. The palace was beautiful and all, but Libby grew less interested in  a history lesson by the second. She'd thought playing tourist would  take her mind off the most recent phone conversation with her mom, who  had spent thirty minutes haranguing Libby's dad for his shortcomings  without pausing for breath, but all it accomplished was making her long  for Connie's air conditioned flat and the small bedroom with soft yellow  walls that was Libby's for the next six months to a year. However long  it took to stop feeling nauseous at the thought of returning to Oregon.

Libby tuned out the tour guide as he led them into the music room. She  stuck a hand in her pocket, running a thumb along the ridge of one of  the copper pennies jangling there. But no, leaving a penny in the music  room didn't feel right. She'd been leaving lucky pennies in places that  felt special or significant for as long as she could remember-something  that Cedric had teased her about. At the time, she'd thought it was  good-natured ribbing. But had his annoyance with that one quirk  ultimately thrown him into the arms of his leggy yoga instructor?

Kenzie squirmed in her sleep, and Libby patted the newborn's back  through the carrier and bounced on the balls of her feet. Kenzie let out  a grunt, then relaxed once more in sleep.

What was Libby doing here? She should be home in Oregon, tending to the  gardens in Ocean Meadow while convincing her parents not to divorce. Not  touring a palace in Durham while hoping to earn enough money as a nanny  to ease her family's financial burden-and hopefully, by extension,  erase the tension that had her parents deciding to call it quits after  thirty years of marriage.

"If you'll follow me down this hallway, we'll next visit the throne  room," Stan said, his vowels overly soft and voice obnoxiously nasal.

Libby tossed her long caramel-brown hair over one shoulder. At least the  increased humidity was doing wonders for her natural curls. She'd never  spent much time on her appearance-a leftover of being raised by hippies  who didn't follow fashion trends-but since moving to Durham a week ago,  she'd spent even less. Yet another reason to be glad she was thousands  of miles from Oregon.         

     



 

The stream of eager tourists with fanny packs and knee-high socks made  their way toward the throne room, snapping pictures as they went. Libby  stayed near the back of the pack, preferring to enjoy the moment. What  good was documenting something if it got in the way of actually  experiencing it? Besides, sometimes it was better not to have  photographic reminders of happy memories that turned sour.

Divorce. She hadn't known it was even a word in her parents' vocabulary.  They'd seemed blissfully happy until her father fell through the roof  of their small two-bedroom house and broke his femur and tibia. Without  insurance, the mounting medical bills had rapidly placed an unmanageable  financial burden on her parents. That's when the fighting started.

When Connie, a friend from high school, had offered Libby the job as  Kenzie's nanny, she'd said yes without a second thought. The  compensation had been more than fair-free room and board and a decent  wage to boot. Libby couldn't deal for one more minute with the constant  tension at home. Escaping to Durham seemed perfect.

Her sandals slapped loudly against the marble floor of the palace  hallway, and her sundress swished around her legs. Doorways were  decorated with gold leafing, and crystal chandeliers hung from the  fifteen-foot coffered ceilings. A single lighting sconce would probably  pay off all her dad's medical bills and leave money to spare. It must be  nice to be royal.

The tour guide paused outside the door to the throne room, hands clasped  behind his back, and eyed the group with a disapproving frown. Thick,  bushy eyebrows turned down over beady eyes. "I must ask you all to now  put your cameras away, as photography is strictly prohibited for the  rest of the tour."

Rustling filled the hallway as tourists stowed their cell phones in  pockets and cameras in fanny packs. Kenzie let out a squeak, and the  guide's disapproving stare zeroed in on Libby. She patted Kenzie's  bottom and refused to meet Stan's eye. Hopefully Kenzie didn't wake up  and demand to be fed until the tour was over.

Stan threw open the double doors with a flourish. "And now, I invite you  to enter the royal throne room of the House of Somerset."

The tourists oohed and aahed as they entered the room. Libby watched as a  woman near the doorway leaned into a man. He wrapped his arms around  her and the woman smiled up at him, her face radiant. Libby swallowed  hard and looked away. She'd never imagined experiencing the wonders of  the world could feel so lonely.

Kenzie wiggled in her sleep, and Libby dropped a kiss on the baby's  head. The silky soft hair tickled Libby's lips, and she forced herself  not to let the sorrow well up inside.

Maybe she wasn't in Durham with a boyfriend, or fiancé, or husband. But  she wasn't alone, either. She and Kenzie would have the time of their  life exploring the country. Libby would make sure of that. She wasn't  about to squander this opportunity of a lifetime on feeling blue.

Libby stayed near the back of the tour group, letting the others enter  the throne room first. Anticipation welled within her as she slowly  moved toward the room. She didn't keep up with politics or current  events. Ocean Meadow didn't have television or internet, unless you  counted the ancient computer still running on dial up in the community  center, and Libby didn't pay attention to newspapers or magazines on her  weekly trips to town. But she loved history and had spent her childhood  reading about the European royals, many of whom had walked in that very  room.

When she finally passed through the double doors, her breath escaped in a  surprised whoosh. The photographs she'd seen in textbooks hadn't done  the room justice. White marble floors, flecked with silver, gleamed  beneath the elegant chandeliers. Two thrones sat on a raised dais.  Delicate roses intertwined around powerful lions were carved into the  wood. The crushed red velvet of the seats and back showed no signs of  wear. Were these thrones even used anymore? Probably not. But that  didn't lessen her awe.