“It’s a place called Bellissime. It’s a very small country on the border of Italy and France. Right next to Monaco. Have you heard of it?”
“Um.” Maylee thought for a moment, then snuck a piece of popcorn and tossed it in her mouth. Geography wasn’t a strong suit of hers. “Isn’t that the place they’re gonna have that royal wedding?” She didn’t read a lot of tabloids, but it was hard to miss the headlines. A pretty blonde princess in some European country was marrying Hollywood actor Luke Houston, who had a chiseled jaw, a dreamy smile, and was in a lot of really bad movies. “It’s so sweet.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re going,” Gretchen said. “Griffin’s been invited to the wedding.”
She choked on a piece of popcorn, wheezing. “Beg pardon?”
“Royal wedding,” Gretchen repeated. “Big shindig. Lots of stuck-up assholes getting their picture taken.”
Maylee coughed, the popcorn lodged in the back of her throat. “Oh. Oh mercy,” she wheezed. She knew there was a reason why she liked Ms. Gretchen. She was so down to earth. “And again, you’re sure you want me to go to this?”
“You’ll be fine,” Gretchen said, a coaxing note in her voice. “It’ll be fun. Think of the stories you’ll have to tell afterward! And don’t forget, double time. All you have to do is make sure Griffin gets to places on time and take his phone calls. It’ll be easy.”
And Ms. Gretchen had wanted her to do it? Maylee beamed at the thought. “You tell Mr. Griffin he’s got himself an assistant.”
“Perfect!” Gretchen sounded utterly delighted. “I’ll send you an email with all the deets. Thanks, Maylee. You’re the best!”
They hung up and Maylee immediately unfolded her legs, heading across her tiny apartment over to the rickety old desktop computer she had set up. She couldn’t really afford a laptop yet, and someone had sold her this great—if noisy—computer on a street corner. She clicked it on and waited for it to start up, then she snagged a local hotspot and went web-surfing to find out everything she could about Bellissime.
The Wikipedia page on Bellissime was fascinating.
One of the oldest constitutional monarchies in Europe, Bellissime is a small mountainous country bordered on the east by Italy, west by France, and north by Switzerland. Tucked into the Alps, the official language is French, but as the monarchy has had British connections since the Middle Ages, English is commonly spoken. Bellissime is known for three things: its monarchy, its chocolate, and the tiny size of the country. Only Monaco and the Vatican are smaller.
A tiny mountain country in the Alps with a princess who was having a royal wedding? And she got to go? And she’d be paid a bonus?#p#分页标题#e#
Maylee pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
Chapter Two
“Lordamercy,” Maylee breathed as the courtesy transport cart drove onto the tarmac toward the jet. She juggled her bags, clutching them in her lap.
“Almost there, Ms. Meriweather,” the driver told her.
“That’s rather a small plane, isn’t it?” It didn’t look very big. Or safe. She’d flown in an exceedingly large plane on the way to New York City, with three rows across and goodness knows how many up and down. This . . . was clearly not the same kind of plane.
“It’s a private jet, ma’am,” the driver said, an elderly man who seemed to be having a great time watching her reactions to everything in the airport. “Some are smaller than others. This is one of the larger ones.”
It was? She stared at it, gaping. “So there won’t be any other people on it?”
“No ma’am. Mr. Verdi won’t be flying coach.” She could have sworn he smiled to himself at the thought.
“Oh. Okay.” She felt incredibly out of her depth at the moment. Maylee clutched her luggage tighter. This suddenly felt a little overwhelming.
Double time, she repeated to herself. Double time. Gretchen had figured Maylee would be perfect for this job, and really, she was doing Mr. Griffin a favor by traveling at the last minute with him. She just needed to remember that.
He needed Maylee. Not the other way around. Lifting her head high, Maylee resolved that she was going to enjoy this trip. She’d never left the States before, and this would be the adventure of a lifetime.
The cart parked in front of the jet and a wheeled staircase had been set at the door. At the top, a flight attendant waited. The man took Maylee’s suitcase from her arms and frowned a bit at the bright red tartan of it, along with the trailing ribbons she had decorating the handle. He touched one of the ribbons. “Did you need to secure these, miss?”