I Married A Prince. Kathryn Jensen
said. “Pass out another round of goodies, if there’s enough.” She shoved the bag into Allison’s hands.
A minute later she was back downstairs with a broom in one hand, a full pitcher of juice in the other and the New York Times tucked under one arm. She set down the pitcher and broom, and spread the paper on the table. “I know I heard something about a meeting at the United Nations, an Eastern European coalition...something like that.” She frantically flipped pages while Allison looked over her shoulder, wondering if her sister had gone mad. “The president was going to meet with delegates. One was this young...” She stopped flipping and pointed triumphantly at a photograph in the middle of the right-hand page. “There. Crown Prince Jacob von Austerand. Gee, I would never have connected him with some grad student from Connecticut but...” She wrinkled her nose, considering. “Alli, he does look a lot like Jay...with a couple of years under his belt.”
Allison snatched up the newspaper section. She stared at the black-and-white UPI photo of three men in expensive business suits. The tall wide-shouldered one shaking hands with the President of the United States was Jay, no doubt about it.
Her eyes dropped quickly to the caption, and she read it out loud. “Prince Jacob von Austerand of Elbia congratulates the president after his speech before the Eastern Unity Conference on Tuesday.”
“The creep,” Diane muttered, picking up the broom to sweep violently at the tile floor. “Egotistical playboy. People with money make me sick. They think they can do anything they want...doesn’t matter who gets hurt.”
Allison frowned at her sister, trying to put together the pieces of a puzzle, for which she seemed to have only half the pieces. Now that she focused on the scraps of news she’d heard over the radio or glimpsed on TV, she remembered hearing things about a playboy prince. He’d been linked romantically with Hollywood actresses, wealthy socialites, even one female rock singer. Was that Jay...Jacob? If so, how had she fit in with all those glamorous women?
“I—I can’t believe he’s who he says he is,” she stammered, her voice rising in panic. “Diane? How could I not have known? The man’s a public figure...a celebrity!”
Diane stopped sweeping and patted her arm. “Why would you know? Even if someone recognized him, he could easily pretend he just looked like the prince. Apparently, he likes playing games with women. He has a pretty wild reputation, you know.”
“I know...of course, I know. He’s right up there with the Kennedys and the British royals.” Allison suddenly felt deflated, hollow inside. She shook her head. “So I was just another amusing affair for him....”
“Apparently,” Diane said, using a wet cloth to wipe crumbs from a toddler’s chubby cheeks. “Hey, consider yourself lucky. Now that you know the truth, it should be that much easier to put the jerk out of your mind.”
“He was out of my mind, until he showed up at the library today.”
“Was he? Out of your mind, that is.” Diane cast her a skeptical look. “It’s not like you’ve been dating anyone else in the two-plus years since he disappeared.”
“That’s not because I’m hung up on him,” Allison insisted. “I just have to be more careful who I see, now that Cray’s around.”
“Right.” Diane rolled her eyes. “So, are you going to see him? Jacob?”
“Are you crazy? Of course, I’m not going to see him. There’s nothing that could make me set foot on that yacht or anywhere else he happens to be.”
The doorbell rang at precisely 7:00 p.m. that evening. When Allison answered it, a man in a brown deliveryservice uniform was standing on her front step, holding a large box in front of his face.
“Yes?” she asked, certain there had been a mistake. She hadn’t ordered anything by mail recently.
“Miss Allison Collins?”
She frowned, for the first few seconds unable to place the voice. “Jacob?”
He lowered the box and rested his chin on it, to gaze at her with a wicked smile.
“What are you doing here?”
“Delivering a package,” he said simply. “It’s pretty heavy. I’d better bring it inside for you.”
He pushed past her into the living room, stopping to look around when he reached the middle of the room. “Cozy. I remember your colonial decor—not bad reproductions.”
Allison trailed after him, sputtering her exasperation. “Get out of here this minute! Take whatever’s in that box with you.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t want me to do that,” he responded and set the package down on her mother’s rock maple coffee table. “You wouldn’t have anything to wear to the party tomorrow night, if I took it away.”
She planted her feet at shoulders’ width, folded her arms across her chest, and glared at him. “What party?”
“The one I’m throwing on the Queen Elise tomorrow night. You’re invited.” He removed the stiff-brimmed uniform cap and combed his fingers through thick black waves. “Aren’t you going to open it?” He nudged his chin toward the box.
Allison lost her last strand of self-control. “No!” she shouted, rushing at him. “I want you out of my house...out of my life...out, out, out...now!”
He fell back a step, observing her as if she were a rare animal, recently captured but not yet identified...and certainly not tamed.
“Out!” she screamed.
A piercing wail rose above her voice.
Oh, no, she thought. Not now, Cray. Why hadn’t she been more careful to keep her voice down?
Jacob turned toward the hallway, his eyebrows arched, questioning. “What’s that?”
Allison thought of a half dozen lies on the spot. It’s my sister’s child; I’m baby-sitting. That’s the neighbor’s baby. The TV is on in the bedroom. None of them worked.
“That’s my son,” she said finally. “Now, if you’ll leave, I’ll go and take care of him.”
Jacob scowled. “Why didn’t you tell me you were married?”
“I’m not.”
“I see.” He took a step back. Somewhere among the planes of his face, a hardness grew and solidified. “I should have known a pretty woman like you wouldn’t be alone for long.” His eyes wandered toward the hallway. “That doesn’t sound like an infant’s cry.”
“Cray is fifteen months old, if you must know,” she said without thinking. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t. The man wasn’t stupid.
“Fifteen months?”
She followed the tiny motions of his eyes, which grew faster by the second.
“I’d like you to leave now,” she said stiffly, desperate to get him out of the house, away from her son. She was having trouble breathing. “I have to get Cray settled down for the night. He hasn’t been feeling well.”
“Who is the father?” Jacob asked, his voice taut with emotion.
Allison leveled her sternest look at him. “That is none of your business. Go. Leave!”
The levels of emotion that crossed Jacob’s face were more frightening than any words he might have spoken. Instead of turning toward the door, he lurched forward, stopping inches from where she stood. His hands shot forward, vised her shoulders. He glared down at her, his eyes hot, bright chips of obsidian—blacker than black.
“I’ll leave after you tell me the name of the father.”
“Maybe I just don’t know.” She couldn’t help baiting him. He deserved it, didn’t he?
“I’m