The Royal Pain. MaryJanice Davidson
are you working on?”
“Is playing twenty questions part of the tour?”
“No, it’s part of being relatively pleasant. And why did you dodge the tour? You don’t even know me.”
Because she was rich. Because he was busy. Because she was a princess and he was a lowly Army brat. Because she was too beautiful. Because she was trouble with a capital T, and he’d had enough of that to last five lifetimes.
She was waving a hand in front of his eyes. “Dr. Rivers? Hellooooo? Is anyone in there? Is it lunchtime already?”
He jerked his head back and gave her a good glare. “I’ve got more important things to do than play tour guide for a stuck-up VIP.”
He was sure she’d get pissed, but instead, those amazing blue eyes crinkled at the corners and she grinned. “I bet you don’t,” she said, and turned to reach for the door handle.
“Okay, okay,” he said, grasping her elbow. She took his wrist and pulled it away, almost absently, and in the bottom of his brain a small red flag popped up. “I’ll give you the damned tour. But no annoying questions.”
“You’re a fine one to talk about annoying,” she retorted.
“And no potty breaks.”
“I went on the plane.”
“And I’m not going to be doing this all day, either.”
“You can’t,” she pointed out. “I’m having lunch with Dr. Tomlin in three hours.”
“Another rich fat cat,” he muttered.
“Did you just call me fat?”
“Hardly. In fact, when was the last time you had a meal?” She was gorgeous—she more than lived up to her moniker as one of the most beautiful women in the world—but too skinny. The planes in her face made her blue eyes seem enormous. “Or even a milkshake?”
“I don’t know,” she said absently. “It’s probably on the schedule somewhere.”
Another red flag popped, and he was so intrigued he almost forgot about his experiments. “Well, there’s a snack bar on the second floor. Maybe we can grab some fries or something. Although, once you have to watch Dr. Tomlin eat, you’re gonna lose your appetite. Assuming you ever had one.”
“That’s all right, Dr. Rivers.”
“Shel.”
“Shel. You don’t have to worry. I’m not even hungry. And I’m Alex, by the way.”
He shook her small, cool hand. His wrist was almost twice the width of hers. Definitely needed a few milkshakes, among other things.
“It’s nice to meet you, Alex.”
“What a lie, Dr. Rivers.”
He smiled in spite of himself.
Chapter 8
The Sitka Palace
Juneau, Alaska
“So, how’s she doing?” the king asked, glancing up from the bill he was reading.
Edmund handed him two reams of paperwork. “Fine, Your Majesty. They landed without incident; she’s at the facility right now.”
“When’s she due back?”
“Nineteen days, Sire.”
“Nineteen days? How long’s it take to look at a bunch of fish?”
“Your Majesty—”
“I mean, I know we talked about her meeting up with all the funders and—and whatever the hell else she’s doing out there, but nineteen friggin’ days?”
“She’ll be fine, Sire.”
The king glowered, blue eyes—eyes he’d passed on to all his children—narrowing. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t agree to the kid disappearing into the wilds of North Dakota for almost three weeks. I agreed to a quick trip. I agreed things couldn’t go on the way they were. I agreed the shrink wasn’t helping. I did not agree to the kid disappearing for practically a damn month.”
“Sire, you agreed she was ready for a change.”
“I smell you and Jenny all over this one, buddy boy, don’t think I don’t.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“I would have remembered a nineteen-day itinerary. I’m not that fucking senile.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself, Sire.”
“Knock it off, Edmund. A quick trip to this aquarium place, that’s what we talked about.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“The kid’s only twenty-three, she’s never been away from home for more than—than—what?”
“Fifteen days. And Her Highness is twenty-five.”
“Oh, sure, throw that in my face, you scheming son of a bitch.”
“Sire, it was bad enough when you arranged for the professors to come to the palace so she could earn her degree without ever moving out. Nineteen days, at her age, is nothing. She’ll be fine, Sire.”
The king drummed his blunt fingers on the desk. “It’s just that she’s had a tough year.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“You know, she’s not sleeping, she’s not eating—we gotta keep an eye on her.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“I know she looks tough, but she’s fragile.”
“Like a precious baby duck, Sire.”
The king’s frown deepened. “What are you up to, Edmund?”
“Not a tiny thing, Sire.”
“Just because you’re six times smarter than me doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass.”
“I’m well aware, Sire.”
“Okay, I won’t jump a plane to bring her back—”
“You can’t, Sire, you have a meeting with the Tourism Commission in thirty minutes.”
“—but I want updates on what she’s doing at least twice a day.”
“Creepy, Sire.”
“Oh, you know what I mean. Just keep me informed. You know, pretend like I’m your boss or something and you have to do what I say or you’re breaking the law.”
“Jenny will keep us updated, Sire, and Her Highness will do as she pleases.”
“My ass!”
“Have you met Princess Alexandria, Sire?”
“She’ll do what she’s told. I’m her king and I’ll do you one better than that…” He jabbed a thumb the size of a small banana at his chest. “I’m her father.”
“I’m sure she will tremble and obey, Sire.”
“My ass,” he said again, quietly.
“I dream of the day we can have a meeting without talking about your ass. As to the other, most likely the princess’s independence is a recessive gene of some kind, sure to be stamped out in future generations.”
“Aw, shutcher face. And I mean it about keeping me up to date.”
“It will be as you command, my king.”
“That’d be the fucking day.”
Chapter 9
North Dakota