Karen Templeton – Plain-Jane Princess (страница 2)

There was little point in commenting, so Sophie didn’t. A brittle moment or two passed before Ivana said, “Jason Broadhurst called for you this afternoon, so I invited him to join us, as well.”

“Jason? What on earth is he doing here?” Sophie inserted a pair of natural pearl studs in her earlobes. “I thought he was in Atlanta, seeing to the new store’s opening.”

“That was last month.”

Two princesses watched each other in the mirror for a long moment.

“He seems very fond of you, my dear.”

“We’re friends,” Sophie said, slicking a clear gloss—her only concession to makeup—over her lips. “Nothing more.”

“Since he’s asked you to marry him, one would assume his feelings have…changed.”

“He only wants a mother for Andy, Baba.”

“And many a marriage of convenience has led to a love affair.”

Sophie stared at her reflection, her mouth set, ignoring the burning sensation at the backs of her eyes as she yanked open her jewelry case, grabbed a string of pearls. “And beggars can’t be choosers?”

“Oh, don’t be perverse! That’s not what I meant!”

Sophie struggled with the necklace’s clasp for a moment, finally ramming it home. “In any case, marrying Jason would put a severe crimp in my work.”

“And working for the benefit of everyone else’s children is more important than having children of your own?”

Every muscle in Sophie’s back clenched. “No,” she said softly after a moment. “Not more important. But you know as well as I do how many of those children have no one else to champion them.”

And her charity work was the only aspect of her life over which she had at least some control, some choice, where she was respected for her drive, her efficiency, her brain, more than her position. Where her appearance didn’t matter. Once she married, however, she would be expected to not only continue fulfilling her royal obligations, which were onerous enough, but take on the social duties of a wife as well. And for what? A loveless marriage? Jason’s family business interests, including a chain of internationally renowned department stores, would naturally require a wife who was both viable and visible. For heaven’s sake—she barely had any life of her own as it was. Yes, marriage to the handsome widower would give her a child to love and help raise—though the prospect of giving Andy any siblings was apparently a slim one, since Jason had made it quite clear he did not wish a bedmate—but as much as she yearned for motherhood, this was one sacrifice she was loathe to make.

Sophie suddenly realized her grandmother had come up behind her to lay her almost weightless hands on her shoulders. She very nearly jumped: while she’d never doubted her grandmother’s affection for her or her brother, Alek, the elder princess was not known for her demonstrativeness. “You are very precious to me. You know that, yes?”

Startled, Sophie could only gawk at their reflections in the mirror. “Of course, Baba—”

“So it pains me, when you are unhappy.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. You and Alek both. You think I do not recognize the signs, that I cannot tell? First Alek, with his gallivanting hither and yon and his women and his race cars…” She sucked in a sharp, worried breath, shook her head. “And you.” Another head shake. “Yes, you do the monarchy proud, with your work. But I am also worried that you are perhaps…hiding behind your speaking engagements and conference calls and committee meetings?”

Knowing a con job when she heard one, Sophie eyed her grandmother again in the mirror. “And you think my marrying Jason would be a solution?”

“I think…sometimes you see only problems, instead of opportunities. Love can grow, child. If you give it a chance.”

“Grandmother—”

But the princess patted her shoulders, twice, an enormous pear-shaped diamond ring flashing in the light from the small Baccarat lamp on Sophie’s dressing table, then moved away. “We must go down.”

Despite a heavy weariness that seemed to rob her of even an interest in breathing, Sophie managed to rise from the bench, glared at her mirrored twin one last time, then followed her grandmother down the stairs, to once again do her duty, be where she was supposed to be, make sure she did nothing to upset the apple cart.

Perhaps her brother’s rebelliousness had been partially to blame for propelling her into her role as the “good” one. Or perhaps wanting to please, to do what was expected of her, was simply part and parcel of her nature, she couldn’t tell. The problem was, the older she got, the more those expectations seemed to be increasing. And whereas at one time she lived for the approval her obedience garnered, now she felt suffocated by it.

In other words, she didn’t want to play anymore.

“The World Relief Fund conference in the States,” Princess Ivana said. “That’s next week, isn’t it?”

They approached the drawing room where the guests were no doubt waiting. A pair of servants opened the carved double doors; one announced their presence:

“Their Highnesses, Princess Ivana and Princess Sophie.”

Dread coiled in the pit of Sophie’s stomach like a nasty, filthy beastie as she waited out the wave of helpless irony that washed over her, through her. That other little girls would wish to be princesses had always seemed so alien to the plain little princess who, even at the height of her approval-seeking mode, only ever wanted to be as ordinary as she looked, to have at least some say over her life. Her heart. How many times throughout her life had she been compelled to sacrifice her own desires for her position?

“Yes, Grandmother. Next week. And did I tell you—I’m on the short list for Director when Manuela de Santiago retires next month?”

And how many times would she be compelled to in the future?

“Oh? And…is this something you want to do?”

Sophie plastered a smile to her face as both the Italian ambassador and Jason swept across the room toward her like a pair of trout after the same fly.

“Yes, Baba,” she whispered. “I truly think I would. Certainly a bloody sight more than I want to be here right now.”

“Now, child,” her grandmother whispered back, “as the Americans would say, make nice.”

And the beastie shouted, Run!

Of course, she didn’t. Not then, at least. Being her stolid, staunch little self, Princess Sophie would no more have shirked her responsibilities than she would have danced naked in the palace fountain. In February. Except that, over the next several days, the beastie inside grew larger and nastier and hairier until she finally realized, two days into the conference in Detroit, that if she didn’t take some sort of drastic action to get her head screwed on straight again, said head was likely to explode.

So now, seated in the taxi with her bodyguard Gyula, on their way to the airport for the return trip to Carpathia, Sophie pressed one hand to her roiling stomach as she craned her neck to glower at the equally roiling clouds visible through the taxi’s smeared windows. Oh, she’d come up with a plan, all right. Now all she had to do was pull it off. Without throwing up. Sane people simply did not do things like she was about to do.

Which is precisely what everyone would say: Whatever had possessed that quiet, dependable young women to do something so…so…impulsive? And even now, as her heart jack-hammered underneath her serviceable taupe raincoat, she’d left little to chance. Except, perhaps, for opportunity, which not even she could control.

Her heartrate kicked up another notch as she lifted a leather-gloved hand and yanked down the end of the muted paisley silk scarf she’d turbaned around her head. Should anyone ask, she hadn’t had time to wash her hair. Thus far, no one had.

“You are well, Your Highness?”

Though spoken softly, the words ripped through the taxi’s muggy interior, prickling the skin at the back of Sophie’s neck.

“Yes, yes, Gyula—I’m fine,” she said in their native language over the whine and thunk of the taxi’s windshield wipers. Although her bodyguard spoke English, after a fashion, she could tell the effort strained him. “The rain is making me irritable, that’s all.”

Gyula nodded toward the large Macy’s bag at her feet. “You did some shopping this time, I see.”

“I couldn’t very well come to the States and not pick up a few things, now could I?”

She thought she saw a trace of bewilderment flutter across the bodyguard’s features. Not that it was any of his business if she chose to go on a shopping spree. It was just that she never had before. In fact, it was almost a joke among the other European royals not only how much the Carpathian princess loathed to shop, but how hopelessly unfashionable she was. Not that it was likely, considering her recent purchases, that opinion would change.

They reached the airport a few minutes later, after which Sophie stood huddled underneath her raincoat while Gyula paid the driver and checked through their minimal luggage, wishing like bloody hell her stomach would stop its incessant torquing. The bodyguard then reached for both the shopping bag and her oversize canvas tote.

She clutched them to her, almost too late remembering not to let her eyes widen behind her glasses. “No, no—I’ve got them.” Then, silently, she and Gyula trooped through a sea of damp, harried bodies to the gate, only to discover their flight had been temporarily grounded due to the weather.