Cinderella: Hired by the Prince

CHAPTER NINE

JENNY didn’t see Ramón all the next day. She couldn’t. ‘Affairs of State,’ Sofía told her darkly, deeply disapproving when Jenny told her she had no intention of leaving until she’d spoken to Ramón. ‘There’s so much business that’s been waiting for Ramón to officially take charge. Señor Rodriguez tells me he’s booked for weeks. Poor baby.’

Poor baby? Jenny thought of the man whose boot she’d pulled off, she thought of the power of his touch, and she thought ‘poor baby’ was a description just a wee bit wide of the mark.

So what was she to do? By nine she’d breakfasted, inspected the palace gardens-breathtakingly beautiful but so empty-got lost twice in the palace corridors, and she was starting to feel as if she was climbing walls.

She headed out to the gardens again and found Gordon, pacing by one of the lagoon-sized swimming pools. It seemed the darkness and the strange city last night had defeated even him.

‘All this opulence gives me the creeps,’ he said, greeting her with relief. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. How about if we slope off down to the docks? It’s not so far. A mile or so as the crow flies. We could get out the back way, avoid the paparazzi.’

‘I do need to come back,’ she whispered, looking at the cluster of cameramen around the main gate with dismay, and Gordon surveyed her with care.

‘Are you sure? There’s talk, lass, about last night.’

And there it was again, that surge of anger.

‘Then maybe I need to give them something to talk about,’ she snapped.

The meetings were interminable-men and women in serious suits, with serious briefcases filled with papers covered with serious concerns, not one of which he could walk away from.

This country had been in trouble for decades-was still in trouble. It would take skill and commitment to bring it back from the brink, to stop the exodus of youth leaving the country, to take advantage of the country’s natural resources to bring prosperity for citizens who’d been ignored for far too long.

The last three months he’d spent researching, researching, researching. He had the knowledge now to make a difference, but so much work was before him it felt overwhelming.

He should be gearing up right now to spend the next six months supervising the construction of houses in Bangladesh, simple work but deeply satisfying. He’d had to abandon that to commit to this, a more direct and personal need.

And this morning he’d had to abandon Jenny.

Gianetta.

The two words kept interplaying in his head. Jenny. Gianetta.

Jenny was the woman who made muffins, the woman who saved whales, the woman who made him laugh.

Gianetta was the woman he took to his bed. Gianetta was the woman he would make his Princess-if he didn’t care so much, for her and for his country.

Where was she now?

He’d been wrong last night. Sofía had spelled out their situation clearly and he could do nothing but agree.

He should be with her now, explaining why he couldn’t take things further. She’d be confused and distressed. But there was simply no option for him to spend time with her today.

So… He’d left orders for her to be left to enjoy a day of leisure. The Marquita was a big boat; it was hard work to crew her and she’d been sailing for three months. Last night had been…stressful. She deserved to rest.

He had meetings all day and a formal dinner tonight. Tomorrow, though, he’d make time early to say goodbye. If she stayed that long.

And tomorrow he’d promised to visit Philippe.

He glanced at his watch. Tomorrow. It was twenty-two hours and thirty minutes before a scheduled visit with his woman. Wedging it in between affairs of state and his concern for a child he didn’t know what to do with.

Jenny. How could he ever make sense of what he felt for her?

He knew, in his heart, that he couldn’t.

The Marquita meant work, and in work there was respite.

The day was windless so they could unfurl the sails and let them dry. The boat was clean, but by common consensus they decided it wasn’t clean enough. They scrubbed the decks, they polished brass, they gave the interior such a clean that Martha Gardener would be proud of them.

Jenny remade the bed in the great stateroom, plumped the mass of pillows, looked down at the sumptuous quilts and wondered again, what had she been thinking?

She’d slept in this bed with the man she loved. She loved him still, with all her heart, but in the distance she could see the spires of the palace, glistening white in the Mediterranean sunshine.

The Crown Prince of Cepheus. For a tiny time their two disparate worlds had collided, and they’d seemed almost equal. Now, all that was left was to find the courage to walk away.

Perhaps.

Eighteen hours and twenty-two minutes. How many suits could he talk to in that time? How many documents must he read?

He had to sign them all and there was no way he could sign without reading.

His eyes were starting to cross.

Eighteen hours and seven minutes.

Would she still be here?

Surely she wouldn’t leave without a farewell.

He deserved it, he thought, but please…no.

They worked solidly until mid-afternoon. Gordon was checking the storerooms, taking inventory, making lists of what needed to be replaced. Jenny was still obsessively cleaning.

Taking away every trace of her.

But, as the afternoon wore on, even she ran out of things to do. ‘Time to get back to the palace,’ Gordon decreed.

‘We could stay on board.’

‘She’s being pulled out of the water tonight so engineers can check her hull in the morning. We hardly have a choice tonight.’

‘Will you stay on as Ramón’s skipper?’

‘I love this boat,’ he said simply. ‘For as long as I’m asked, I’ll stay. If that means staying at the palace from time to time, I’ll find the courage.’

‘I don’t have very much courage,’ she whispered.

‘Or maybe you have sense instead,’ Gordon said stoutly. He stood back for her to precede him up to the deck. She stepped up-and suddenly the world was waiting for her.

Paparazzi were everywhere. Flashlights went off in her face, practically blinding her. She put her hand over her eyes in an instinctive gesture of defence, and retreated straight back down again.

Gordon slammed the hatch after her.

‘Tell us about yourself,’ someone called from the dock. ‘You speak Spanish, right?’

‘We’re happy to pay for your story,’ someone else called.

‘You and Prince Ramón were on the boat together for two weeks, alone, right?’ That was bad enough. But then…

‘Is it true you had a baby out of wedlock?’ someone else called while Jenny froze. ‘And the baby died?’

They knew about her Matty? They knew…

She wanted to go home right now. She wanted to creep into a bunk and stay hidden while Gordon sailed her out of the harbour and away.

Serenity. Peace. That was what she’d been striving for since Matty died. Where was serenity and peace now?

How could she find it in this?

‘I’ll talk to them,’ Gordon said, looking stunned and sick, and she looked at this big shy man and she thought why should he fight her battles? Why should anyone fight her battles?

Maybe she had to fight to achieve this so-called serenity, she thought. Maybe that was what her problem had been all along. She’d been waiting for serenity to find her, when all along it was something she needed to fight for.

Or maybe it wasn’t even serenity that she wanted.

Then, before she had time to decide she’d lost her mind entirely-for maybe she had; she certainly wasn’t making sense to herself and Gordon was looking really worried-she flung open the hatch again and stepped out onto the deck.

His cellphone was on mute in his pocket. He felt it vibrate, checked it and saw it was Gordon calling. Gordon wouldn’t call him except in an emergency.

The documents had just been signed and the Heads of State were lining up for a photo call. These men had come for the coronation and had stayed on.

Cepheus was a small nation. These men represented far more powerful nations than his, and Cepheus had need of powerful allies. Nevertheless, he excused himself and answered.

‘Paparazzi know about Jenny’s baby,’ Gordon barked, so loud he almost burst Ramón’s eardrum. ‘They’re on the jetty. We’re surrounded. You need to get her out of here.’

He felt sick. ‘I’ll have a security contingent there in two minutes,’ he said, motioning to Señor Rodriguez, who, no doubt, had heard every word. ‘I need to get to the docks,’ he told him. ‘How long?’

‘It would take us fifteen minutes, Your Highness, but we can’t leave here,’ Rodriguez said. The man was seriously good. He already had security on his second phone. ‘Security will have dealt with it before we get there. There’s no need…’

There was a need, but as he glanced back at the Heads of State he knew his lawyer was right. To leave for such a reason could cause insupportable offence. It could cause powerful allies to turn to indifference.

His sense of helplessness was increasing almost to breaking point. He couldn’t protect his woman.

‘You can see, though,’ Señor Rodriguez said, obviously realising just how he was torn. He turned back to the men and women behind him. ‘If you’ll excuse us for a moment,’ he said smoothly. ‘An urgent matter of security has come up. We’ll be five minutes, no more.’

‘I will go,’ Ramón said through gritted teeth.

‘It will be dealt with before you arrive,’ Señor Rodriguez said again. ‘But we have security monitors on the royal berth. I can switch our cameras there to reassure you until you see our security people take over. If you’ll come aside…’

So Ramón followed the lawyer into an anteroom. He stared at the monitor in the corner, and he watched in grim desperation as his woman faced the press.

They’d pull her apart, he thought grimly-and there was nothing he could do to help her.

The cameras went wild. Questions were being shouted at her from all directions.

Courage, she told herself grimly. Come on, girl, you’ve hidden for long enough. Now’s the time to stand and fight.

She ignored the shouts. She stood still and silent, knowing she looked appalling, knowing the shots would be of her at her worst. She’d just scrubbed out a boat. She didn’t look like anyone famous. She was simply Jenny the deckhand, standing waiting for the shouting to stop.

And finally it did. The journalists fell silent at last, thinking she didn’t intend to respond.

‘Finished?’ she asked, quirking an eyebrow in what she hoped looked like sardonic amusement, and the shouting started again.

Serenity, she told herself. She tapped a bare toe on the deck and waited again for silence.

‘I’ve called His Highness,’ Gordon called up from below. ‘Security’s on its way. Ramón’ll send them.’

It didn’t matter. This wasn’t Ramón’s fight, she thought. Finally, silence fell again; baffled silence. The cameras were still in use but the journalists were clearly wondering what they had here. She waited and they watched. Impasse.

‘You do speak English?’ one asked at last, a lone question, and she nodded. A lone question, not shouted, could be attended to.

And why not all the others, in serene order? Starting now.

‘Yes,’ she said, speaking softly so they had to stay silent or they couldn’t hear her. ‘I speak English as well as Spanish and French. My parents have Spanish blood. And I did indeed act as crew for His Highness, Prince Ramón, as we sailed between Sydney and Auckland.’ She thought back through the questions that had been hurled at her, mentally ticking them off. ‘Yes, I’m a cook. I’m… I was also a single mother. My son died of a heart condition two years ago, but I don’t wish to answer any more questions about Matty. His death broke my heart. As for the rest… Thank you, I enjoyed last night, and yes, rumours that I cooked for His Highness early this morning are true. I’m employed as his cook and crew. That’s what I’ve been doing for the last three months and no, I’m not sure if I’ll continue. It depends if he needs me. What else? Oh, the personal questions. I’m twenty-nine years old. I had my appendix out when I was nine, my second toes are longer than my big toes and I don’t eat cabbage. I think your country is lovely and the Marquita is the prettiest boat in the world. However, scrubbing the Marquita is what I’m paid to do and that’s what I’m doing. If you have any more questions, can you direct them to my secretary?’

She grinned then, a wide, cheeky grin which only she knew how much effort it cost to produce. ‘Oh, whoops, I forgot I don’t have a secretary. Can one of you volunteer? I’ll pay you in muffins. If one of you is willing, then the rest can siphon your questions through him. That’s so much more dignified than shouting, don’t you think?’

Then she gave them all a breezy wave, observed their shocked silence and then slipped below, leaving them dumfounded.

She stood against the closed hatch, feeling winded. Gordon was staring at her in amazement. As well he might.

What was she doing?

Short answer? She didn’t know.

Long answer? She didn’t know either. Retiring from this situation with dignity was her best guess, though suddenly Jenny had no intention of retiring.

Not just yet.

This was a state-of-the-art security system, and sound was included. Not only did Ramón see everything, he heard every word Jenny spoke.

‘It seems the lady doesn’t need protecting,’ Señor Rodriguez said, smiling his relief as Jenny disappeared below deck and Ramón’s security guards appeared on the docks.

Ramón shook his head. ‘I should have been there for her.’

‘She’s protected herself. She’s done very well.’

‘She shouldn’t have been put in that position.’

‘I believe the lady could have stayed below,’ the lawyer said dryly. ‘The lady chose to take them on. She has some courage.’

‘She shouldn’t…’

‘She did,’ the lawyer said, and then hesitated.

Señor Rodriguez had been watching on the sidelines for many years now. His father had been legal advisor to Ramón’s grandmother, and Sofía had kept him on after Ramón’s father died, simply to stay aware of what royalty was doing. Now he was doing the job of three men and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. ‘Your Highness, if I may make so bold…’

‘You’ve never asked permission before,’ Ramón growled, and the lawyer permitted himself another small smile.

‘It’s just…the role you’re taking on…to do it alone could well break you. You’re allowing me to assist but no one else. This woman has courage and honour. If you were to…’

‘I won’t,’ Ramón snapped harshly, guessing where the lawyer was going and cutting him off before he went any further. He flicked the screen off. There was nothing to see but the press, now being dispersed by his security guards. ‘I do this alone or not at all.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘I don’t know what’s wise or not,’ Ramón said and tried to sort his thoughts into some sort of sense. What was happening here? The lawyer was suggesting sharing the throne? With Jenny?

Jenny as his woman? Yes. But Jenny in the castle?

The thought left him cold. The night of his father’s death was still with him, still haunting him.

Enough. ‘We have work to do,’ he growled and headed back to the room where the Heads of State were waiting.

‘But…’ the lawyer started, but Ramón was already gone.