His Temporary Cinderella: Ordinary Girl in a Tiara / Kiss the Bridesmaid / A Bravo Homecoming

‘Very true. But give me a night flight through a thunderstorm any day!’ Philippe swung his legs up onto the bed and made himself comfortable against the pillows, linking his arms behind his head.

Coming home to someone felt strange. Not as uncomfortable as he’d thought it would be. In fact, he’d even found his steps quickening as he said goodnight to Yan and approached the apartments, and he’d been glad to see the light on in the bedroom and to know that Caro was still awake.

He’d been surprised at how pleased he was to have her with him that afternoon too. Grimly enduring his great aunt’s tongue-lashing, he’d watched her tussling with that stupid dog and felt a smile quivering at the corners of his mouth. Once or twice she had met his eyes with a speaking look, or the tiniest roll of her eyes.

Funny how the Dowager’s lecture hadn’t seemed nearly so bad when there was someone there to sympathise, to be an ally. To escape with and run laughing down the great palace staircases.

Philippe rolled onto his side to face Caro and propped himself up on one elbow. ‘What about you? What have you been doing?’

‘I emailed Lotty.’ Abandoning the pretence of reading, she put her book on the bedside table and took off her glasses. ‘I’d feel better if I knew she was OK. Wherever she is, it’s going to be very different from here.’

‘She’ll be all right. Lotty’s tougher than she looks.’

Philippe stretched, yawned and rubbed the back of his head. It felt surprisingly comfortable to be lying here, chatting to Caro at the end of a long day. He’d never done this with a woman before. They’d been lovers, or he’d been leaving. They’d never been friends.

‘Did you have anything to eat?’ he asked her.

Caro laughed, that husky, faintly suggestive laugh that crisped every nerve and sinew in Philippe’s body. ‘Have you ever heard that expression involving bears and woods?’ she said. ‘Of course I did! I felt really lazy ringing the kitchen and asking them to send something up the way you told me. I can’t get used to not doing everything myself.

‘It’s weird with all these servants around,’ she said, pulling up her knees and shifting a little so that she could look at Philippe. ‘You must have half the population of Montluce working here!’

‘Hardly that.’ Aware of the swing of her breasts, her scent, Philippe was horrified to hear that his voice sounded hoarse.

‘They asked me what I wanted to eat, so I said could they let me try some Montlucian specialities? They sent up these amazing quenelles of trout from the lake, and the most wonderful tart made with apricots.’

Caro chattered on about food, and Philippe kept his gaze firmly fixed on her face so that he wouldn’t think about how close she was, or how it might feel to undo the buttons on her pyjama top very, very slowly, to slide his hands beneath the soft material, to roll her beneath him and press his lips to her throat and let them drift lower and lower until she stopped talking about food and what the head chef said and—

‘What?’ He sat up, tuning in belatedly. ‘You went to the kitchens?’

‘That’s what I’m telling you. I took the tray back so that I could ask the chef for the tart recipe and he was so nice. Jean-Michel … do you know him?’

‘No,’ said Philippe, who had never been to the kitchens in his life.

‘He wrote it out for me, but it’s in French, of course. I might have to get you to translate it. I can get the gist of it, I think, but—’

‘Caro,’ he interrupted her, clutching his hair, ‘what were you doing wandering around in the kitchens? The footman is supposed to take the tray away.’

‘Laurent?’ she said knowledgeably. ‘He did offer, but I said I’d rather go myself. I’m glad I did. I had much more fun down there.’

Philippe pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. ‘It didn’t occur to you that it might be inappropriate for you to be sloping off to the kitchens and being on first name terms with the staff? Everyone’s watching to see if you’re going to be a suitable princess, and fraternising with the servants makes it look as if you don’t know how to behave.’

‘One, there’s no question of me being a princess, so it doesn’t matter how I behave,’ said Caro, ‘and two, it’s an absurd attitude in any case. This is the twenty-first century.’

‘This is also Montluce, which is an absurd place.’

Philippe sat up and began undoing the top buttons of his stiff dress shirt and Caro looked at him sharply.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting ready for bed.’ His voice was muffled as he took hold of his collar and pulled the shirt over his head.

‘Aren’t you going to use the bathroom?’

Philippe’s hands paused at the top of his zip. Caro was sitting straight up, the colour running high in her cheeks. ‘You don’t need to look,’ he said. ‘We’re stuck with each other for the next few weeks. Don’t you think we should at least get used to being comfortable together?’

‘There’s nothing comfortable about watching you strip off in front of me,’ she snapped. ‘I bet you don’t even have a pair of pyjamas!’

‘I can’t rival yours for style, I agree, but I’ve got these.’ He waved a pair of dark silk pyjama bottoms at her. ‘I’ve had to get used to wearing them in this damn place. People are wandering in and out the whole time.’

Alarmed, Caro pulled the sheet up to her chin. ‘Not in here?’

‘Not unless there’s a constitutional crisis, but you never know, so don’t worry, I’ll be decent,’ said Philippe. ‘But I’ll get changed in the bathroom if that makes you feel better.’

When he came out, Caro was lying under the cover, holding it tight under her nose. A pillow was wedged firmly down the middle of the bed.

‘I know what you said about having no trouble keeping your hands off me,’ she said, seeing his expression. ‘It’s just to stop me rolling against you in the night by mistake. I think we’ll both sleep better having it there.’

Philippe threw back the cover on his side of the bed and got in. ‘If you say so,’ he said.

To: caro.cartwright@u2.com

From: charlotte@palaisdemontvivennes.net

Subject: Re: I’m here … where are you?

I’m here, and loving it! Thank you so much for being there, Caro. Without you and Philippe, I’m not sure I would ever have had the courage to go. I won’t tell you where I am, but it’s wild and beautiful, and I’ve got a job!!! I’m doing all sorts of things I’ve never done before—peeling potatoes, answering the phone, writing a shopping list, making a pot of tea—and it’s fun! I know you’ll roll your eyes, but it’s exciting for me. By the time I go to bed, though, I’m exhausted, so I’d better be quick. Just so you know that I’m fine, and yes, I’ve sent a message to Grandmère as well.

I know she can be daunting, but her bark is really worse than her bite. And if Apollo liked you, that will be a big thing. Grandmère might not let on, but she adores that dog. He’s her only weakness, so I’m sure she’ll be impressed that he’s taken to you, as he hates everyone else and is always biting people.

I’m really glad you and Philippe are getting on so well. How well, exactly????? Should I be reading anything between the lines??? Tell me all!

Grosses bises

Lxxxxxxxxxxxx

Caro was smiling as she read Lotty’s message—only Lotty would be excited at peeling potatoes!—but her smile faded when she got to the end. How had Lotty got the idea that there might be anything between her and Philippe? She thought she’d been so careful to make it clear that they were just friends!

Not that there had been much friendliness that morning. Philippe had been crabby from the moment he woke up, and had stomped off to a meeting with the First Minister in a thoroughly bad mood. When Caro had told him she planned to take Apollo for a walk, he’d just grunted at her and told her to stick to the grounds—as if she’d risk taking the Dowager Blanche’s dog out into the city. She wasn’t stupid.

The truth was that Caro was feeling scratchy and out-of-sorts too. She hadn’t slept well. How could she be expected to sleep when Philippe was lying next to her half naked?

Yes, he’d had those low-slung pyjama bottoms on, but that had left his chest bare. Solid, brown, tautly muscled, it taunted Caro from the other side of the bed. Her hands had twitched and throbbed with the longing to reach out and touch him, to feel the flex of muscles beneath the smooth skin. She’d tried not to look, but it had been impossible not to notice the powerful shoulders, the fine dark hairs arrowing downwards.

Heart racing, blood pounding, Caro lay and imagined sliding her fingers through those hairs. His body would be hard, solid, warm. He was so close, too. It would be so easy to roll over and reach for him.

And that would have been a big mistake.

Thank God for that pillow.