The Makeover Mission

But he’d handled difficult, if not impossible, tasks before. He could, and would handle this one. Both of their lives, as well as the lives of his team members depended on it.

Chapter 4

In spite of a night spent tossing and turning, Jane did find herself feeling more refreshed in the morning. She thought she could get used to sleeping between Irish linen sheets every night. But even as the thought materialized it was followed quickly by reality. The reality that this was going to be her first full day of playing Elena Rostov. Or at least trying to.

“Is Major McConneghy awake?” she asked, already guessing the answer. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who would lag around in bed.

“The major wakes with the sun.” Ekaterina walked back and forth between the main bedroom and the walk-in closet, her hands busy with dresses, accessories and shoes. “He swims each morning in the pool behind the villa.”

No wonder the man looked like he had abs of steel beneath khaki, she thought. Not that she’d noticed. Much.

“And do you know where he is now?”

“He waits for you in the breakfast room.”

“What?” That was the last thing she wanted. Setting aside her coffee and hopping from the bed she raced toward the bathroom and a shower. It was worse than being late for the weekly staff meeting and she hadn’t done that once in her four years of employment. What must the man think? That she was a sluggard, a lazy-bones, avoiding her duty—or at least what he saw as her duty.

It might not have been an issue, as she normally didn’t take much time to get ready in the morning anyway, but heading to a job as a librarian hadn’t meant much in the way of makeup, finishing her hair and accessorizing her wardrobe. Being Elena might be harder than she had first thought. On the other hand, maybe Elena, being a real princess, was allowed to lie around and do nothing. Oh, why hadn’t she read the National Enquirer more closely?

Sure Major McConneghy would be pounding on the door any minute, Jane tugged on the outfit Ekaterina had laid out for her. It looked like a jogging suit made of washed silk. Maybe that’s what well dressed queens-to-be wore to eat breakfast. No one in their right mind would exercise in such a suit. At least not exercise and sweat.

Remembering all too well the major’s last command to her the night before, she called for Ekaterina to accompany her and all but ran to the dining room.

Skidding around the last corner and coming to a full halt outside a room bright with early-morning sunshine she wondered why the room left little impression on her. Not with the major sitting there. He should have looked out of place amidst its cheeriness, he of the pressed chino pants and casual shirt, every crease in place. But of course, he didn’t. He sat there, an elegant china cup raised partway to his lips, his dark brows arched in a V, his eyes as still as an Arctic lake.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she exhaled, sure she could explain, though it looked as if it might be an uphill job, considering the man’s impenetrable expression.

“You’re not late.” He glanced at his watch and added, “In fact, you’re almost two hours early by Elena time.”

“Elena time?” The question came out a little breathlessly as she scooted into the closest chair, hating the fact she could feel perspiration clinging to the back of her silk shirt. “Just what is Elena time?”

“Simple. It’s always two hours after everyone else has assembled.”

“You mean Ele—” she quickly glanced around the room, noting Ekaterina had already left them before she lowered her voice and continued, “You mean I’m habitually late?”

“No.” He reached for a croissant nestled in a basket. “Being late implies you know when a function is scheduled to begin. Elena time is an orchestrated move guaranteed to let all and sundry know that the most important person has just arrived. It’s a very effective ploy.”

He said it so calmly, she thought. Such slashing, cruel words would have devastated her. But she wasn’t really Elena, she reminded herself, reaching for the carafe of coffee.

“I don’t know if I can do that.” She hadn’t realized she’d voiced her thoughts aloud until the major shot her one of his enigmatic glances.

“We’ll make excuses for such inconsistencies.”

She spread butter on a croissant and shook her head when he offered her some jam. “I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of explaining to do.”

“We’ll take care of it.”

All too clearly she remembered the king’s cryptic comment from that small, cramped room. “Your job is to fix problems.”

Major McConneghy appeared perfect for his job.

“You’re wearing perfume.”

Leave it to a man like McConneghy to notice, she thought, feeling the heat begin to climb into her face.

“Ekaterina said it’s my favorite.”

“It suits you.” He looked at her over the rim of his cup. “Enticing yet innocent. Though smelling of sunshine and soap also suits you.”

Not sure what he meant by his words, or if she was ready to know, she quickly changed the subject. “What’s on the schedule today?”

“Drills.”

“Drills?”

“A future queen must know how to walk, to talk, to address her superiors and inferiors. There is a lot to learn.”

Jane wanted to groan aloud. Somehow she thought it’d all make more sense by the light of day. But it didn’t.

As if he guessed her thoughts he pitched his voice lower. “The more you learn now, the less likely you’ll make a mistake later.”

Like she needed reminding.

“Fine.” The word came out sharp. “Let’s get started then.”

“First, you eat something.” He spoke as if talking to a child. “We have a long day ahead of us and I won’t have you fainting on me.”

“I’ve never fainted in my life.”

He leaned forward. “You’ve never taken lessons in deportment before, either.”

Jeesh. How hard could it be? she thought, picking up and biting into a ripe plum. Being a queen couldn’t be that much harder than actually working for a living. Could it?

She found out several hours later.

If she’d thought the major was diabolical before, it was nothing to what she felt about him after four straight hours of “drill.” The man was a sadist.

Stand. Sit. Walk straight. Curtsey. Smile. Wave. Stand up straighter. Who’d have thought there was a way to graciously sit in a chair by approaching it backwards. Or three different kinds of waves to use when communicating from far away. Or six kinds of forks to choose from at official state dinners.

Her jaw hurt from smiling. Her fingers cramped from waving and gesturing. Her knees ached from rising and lowering herself into five different kinds of chairs.

And all through it Major Lucius McConneghy just kept saying, “Now do it again.”

She wanted to throttle him.

By the time they took a break for a light lunch she felt as if running a marathon, cold turkey, would be better than being a queen-to-be.

As if he read her thoughts, a talent he was particularly adept at, McConneghy handed her a slice of cheese and said. “This morning was easy compared to what’s coming.”