Cinderella's Prince Under The Mistletoe

“Yes, it is,” she said, blushing as though it were a failure of some sort. She turned quickly and offered her hand to the other man.

“Cristiano,” he said briefly, taking her hand and bowing slightly.

She didn’t feel any jolt of electricity from his hand!

For a moment there was silence, and she rushed to fill it. “Obviously, you wouldn’t have flown from Casavalle in it, so how does one customize a helicopter with an insignia in such a short time?”

The Prince lifted a shoulder, but Cristiano answered.

“It was on order, anyway, from a North American company. We asked the delivery date be pushed up and changed the city of delivery.”

It made her very aware of the kind of power and wealth the Prince casually wielded—no wish too great to be granted—and made her even more aware, suddenly, of her own appearance. She was in faded jeans, the lumberjack-style shirt she favored for days with no clients and sneakers with bright pink laces! She didn’t have on a speck of makeup and her hair not only wasn’t up, but now it was windblown to boot.

She had planned an outfit suited to greeting royalty: a pale blue suit with a tailored jacket and pencil-thin pants, paired with a white silk blouse. She had planned to have her hair up and her makeup done.

“It’s a magnificent place,” Prince Luca said, glancing at the Lodge.

The two-story building was timber framed and stone fronted, and had a beautifully complicated roofline that made it fit in perfectly with the landscape of towering peaks around it. It was magnificent, and coming from someone who was no doubt surrounded with magnificence all the time, it was indeed a compliment.

And yet, even as he said it, she sensed, not insincerity, but a fine tension in him, as if the Prince was preoccupied with matters of significance. Again, his reaction to his surroundings made it seem as if he were not here for a relaxing holiday in the mountains.

When his eyes left the Lodge and returned to her, she glimpsed something in them that took her aback. He didn’t just look preoccupied. There was a shadow of something there. Distress?

Which begged the question again: Why was the Prince here? To heal some wound? The thought made him seem all too human. Insanely, it made her want to step toward him, look into the astonishing familiarity of his brown eyes more deeply and assure him everything would be all right.

How silly would that be, especially from her, from someone who had ample evidence everything was not always all right?

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Imogen said, avoiding a name altogether. “We weren’t expecting you today.”

“I believe a message was sent,” Cristiano said, a bit stiffly, as if she had insulted his competence, “to your cell phone.”

Since it felt as if her own competence might be in question, she felt compelled to defend herself. “Our satellite reception here is beyond spotty, so cell phone service can’t really be relied on here. It’s because of the forests and the mountains. I’m very clear about that when people book.” She realized she sounded as if she was justifying herself, so added, “I see it as part of our charm.”

The Prince tilted his head at her, considering this. “Is our early arrival a problem, then?”

“No, of course not.”

Yes, it was a problem! It was very nearly dinnertime and the chef had done all the meal planning, not Imogen. What was she going to offer them? A peanut butter sandwich? “It’s just, um, we aren’t quite ready,” Imogen said. “The chef won’t be arriving until morning. And the cleaning staff isn’t quite finished up.”

“I trust you’ll overcome these difficulties,” the Prince said.

His voice was so beautiful it sounded as if he had said something outrageously sexy instead of something extremely mundane.

Of course she would overcome these difficulties. Even though she wasn’t the greatest in the kitchen and cooking department, the Lodge was well stocked.

But before she could figure out the specifics of how she was going to overcome these difficulties, the crisp mountain air was split with a scream from inside the Lodge. It sounded as if someone was being murdered.

The scream snaked along Imogen’s spine. She turned to the Lodge, frozen with shock. Neither of the men experienced that same paralysis.

They both bolted toward the front door, and she snapped out of it and ran after them, even as she registered surprise that the bodyguard would be running, with his Prince, toward an unknown situation.

The men, with their long legs, quickly outstripped her. Though neither man had ever been in the Lodge before, they must have followed the sound of wailing, and when she found them, they were squeezed into an upstairs bathroom with Rachel.

“Cristiano?” the Prince asked.

The bodyguard, on the floor with Rachel, looked up. His expression was calm, but his voice when he spoke held urgency.

“She’s going to have the baby,” he said tersely. “And she’s going to have it soon.”

“But she’s not due for another two weeks,” Imogen stammered.

“Where’s the nearest hospital?” Prince Luca asked her.

“There’s a walk-in clinic in Crystal Lake, but they can handle only very minor emergencies. Rachel’s been going to a specialist in the city.”

“I have to have the baby at Saint Mary’s Hospital,” Rachel managed to sob. “They’re set up for it. They know—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“How far to Saint Mary’s?” the Prince asked Imogen.

“It’s in the city. At least two hours,” Imogen said quietly. “If the roads are good.” She thought of that storm cloud boiling up over Crystal Mountain with a sinking heart.

“Take her by helicopter,” Prince Luca said to Cristiano. “Do it now.”

Cristiano gave him a questioning look, and Imogen understood immediately. He was torn. His first duty was to protect his Prince.

“Go now,” Prince Luca said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Yes, sir,” Cristiano said, and scooped up Rachel as if she was a mere child. With the Prince and Imogen on his heels, he raced outside. Imogen noticed the weather had already changed. The wind had picked up and the blue skies were being herded toward the horizon by a wall of ominous gray clouds.

Cristiano made his way to the helicopter with the sobbing woman in his arms. With surprising gentleness, he had Rachel situated in no time.

He turned, saluted the Prince. “I should be back within the hour, sir.”

“Miss Albright and I will try and stave off danger until your return,” the Prince said drily.

Cristiano turned and got into the pilot’s seat. The engines roared to life and the rotors began to move, slowly at first, and then so rapidly they were but a blur. In moments, the helicopter had lifted off the ground and was moving in the same direction as that quickly disappearing ridge of blue sky.

Imogen hugged herself against the sharpness of the wind. A single snowflake drifted down and she tilted her head to it. Knowing these mountains as she did, she was certain of one thing.

Unless he was prepared to fly through a full-blown mountain blizzard, Cristiano was not going to be back in an hour.

“I’m sorry your arrival was so eventful,” Imogen said, turning to the Prince. “I can’t thank you enough for offering your helicopter.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said.

“Do you think it was normal labor, or do you think something was wrong?” Imogen asked him.

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”