8
It’s a good thing I decided to wear one of the two piece suits I bought on Alex’s tab. It’s a cream-colored cashmere number, extremely well cut and a lot like something Kate Middleton would wear at a function (I think), only pricier.
“You have to find your own style,” Eva advises. “I’m here to guide you.”
She’s talking as if I’m a princess-in-waiting already.
I toss a laugh. “It’s too early to find my own style. Besides, I don’t know how this whole thing will pan out. You know . . . with Claire and her mother . . . ”
Eva nods. “Say no more. I completely understand. The royals may be a handful at times. Some of them are extremely spoilt. I daresay they need a little shakeup in their ranks because they are starting to lose touch with the common people. You are the breath of fresh air they need.”
“They don’t see it that way.”
“They should.”
I need to call Jasper to bring the car around, but I realize I don’t have his number because I wasn’t in the right mind to take it down before Claire sent him away.
“Don’t worry,” Eva says. “I’ll call him.”
She whips out her cellphone and dials. I can hear the distant ringing tone that emits from her phone.
“Mr. Jasper? Yes, she’s ready for her pickup. I’ll help her with the bags. Yes.” She beams at me. “You can go down to where he dropped you.”
I have bought enough clothes to fit into twelve large bags. Four of the girls – now well-fed and contented – volunteer to accompany Eva and me down the elevator.
We crowd into the small space. When we reach the basement, the elevator doors open to reveal Jasper, his expression as disdainful as always.
“I trust you have had a fruitful trip,” he says.
“Where’s Claire?” I ask.
“Is she not with you?”
“No.”
“I’m certain she has hitched another ride somewhere else, so I wouldn’t worry about her. Come.” He gestures to the Merc, which is rolling slowly towards us.
I take a step towards it, two large bags in either hand.
Everything happens so fast that Jasper and Eva are every bit as sucker punched as I am. There comes the sudden sound of two car doors opening. Two photographers rush out of a parked car on our right and begin snapping photos of us.
Jasper rushes in front to shield me, but it’s too late.
9
Woebegone, I stare at the front page headline of Mundi, the main newspaper of Moldolvia. It is in French, but the photo splashed there is of me, flanked by Eva and the four girls with all the paper bags – all clearly displaying the logos of Versace and Fendi and Jimmy Choo and everything else.
I can’t read French, but I know the headlines state:
“Mystery Woman Revealed to be a Maid. Goes on a shopping spree on taxpayer’s money.”
I’m shocked that they found out so much in such a short period of time. If I peruse the article further, I know the Google translation would reveal the phrases:
“Hotel maid”
“Poor”
“Using the prince’s money”
“Gold-digger”
“Trying to trap a prince”.
Oh shit.
Alex puts his arms around me from behind. “You can’t stop people from printing whatever they want. The trick is not to care.”
I sniffle. “You have to care about some headlines.”
I’m trying not to care, but I do. God help me, but I do.
“Well, some, but not every one. I’ve learned to tune it all out.” He turns me to face him. “Hey, why are you crying? There’s no need to cry.”
I can’t help the tears from spilling down my cheeks. We are in his bedroom, a tastefully decorated suite without the humungous walk-in closet.
“Alex, you don’t think I’m with you because of who you are, do you?” My voice trembles.
“Of course not.” He sounds indignant. “I was the one who made you come with me in the first place when you didn’t want to have anything else to do with me. I was the one who insisted you went shopping on my expense account. And it’s not the taxpayer’s money. I earn my own director fees and I have salary stipends like everyone else.”
I want to ask him something very, very badly, but I’m afraid of the answer. I wipe my tears off. No, it’s not the answer I’m afraid of, but of making him lie to me.
I ask it anyway because I’m a masochist.
“Alex . . . have you ever said ‘I love you’ to any other woman? Like . . . Tatiana, for instance?”
I quail inwardly, afraid to hear his reply.
His handsome forehead frowns. “No. Never. I would never say that to Tatiana. We weren’t even technically going out together. Why would you think that?”
I want so much to believe him and I do believe him. I shouldn’t have even let the doubt creep into my mind.
He presses me to him. His body is hard and his arms wrap themselves around me.
“You’re the only woman I’ve ever said those words to, and I’m being completely honest. We’re in this together, Liz, no matter what anyone says and how much they want to us to be apart. It’s not going to be easy.”
I bury my head against his chest. He’s got that right.
“Now tell me . . . who said that to you about Tatiana?” His voice is a comforting vibration within his chest.
I shake my head. I’m not a rat, despite of how cruel Claire has been to me.
Alex tips my chin up so that I can look at his face. “We’re going to show everyone that although we come from two different worlds, we can love each other and we can be together. Are you in this with me?”
His shining blue-green eyes regard mine. In the daylight filtering through his balcony doors, lighting his tousled hair into highlights, he has never looked more beautiful.
“Yes,” I say.
Oh yes. This is a man worth forging through the prejudices and heartache and bad press and conflicts. Because I love everything about him deeply. I love him for who he is and in spite of who he is.
“Good,” he says, smiling, “because we have one hell of a ride ahead of us.”