Invitation to the Prince's Palace / The Prince's Second Chance: Invitation to the Prince's Palace / The Prince's Second Chance. Brenda Harlen
Rikardo strode towards a phone handset on an ornate side table. He lifted the phone and spoke into it. ‘Please ask my aide to attend me in my suite as soon as possible. I have some work for him to do. Thank you.’ He had just replaced the receiver when a knock sounded on the door.
‘That’s too soon to be my aide,’ he murmured. ‘It will be our dinner. You must be hungry.’
The door opened. Members of staff entered bearing covered dishes. Aromas filled the room and made Mel realise just how long it had been since she’d eaten.
‘The food smells delicious.’ She’d always cooked the meals, not had them brought to her on silver salvers. ‘I have to confess I am quite hungry.’
‘That is good to hear.’
Rather than from Rikardo, the words came in a more mature yet equally commanding voice. The owner of that voice stepped into the room, a man in his early sixties with black hair greying at the temples, deep blue eyes and the power, by his presence alone, to strike dumb every staff member in the room.
Mel hadn’t even needed that impact to identify him, nor the similarities to the prince. All she’d needed was one look at Rikardo’s face, at the way it closed up into a careful mask that covered and protected every thought.
The king had just walked in.
This was the worst thing that could have happened right now. They’d needed to keep her, Melanie, out of sight of this man. Mel’s breath froze in her throat and her gaze flew to Rik’s. What did they do now? She caught a flash of a trapped look on Rikardo’s face before he smoothed it away.
Somehow that glimpse of humanness opened up a wealth of fellow feeling in Mel. She had to help Rik out of this dilemma. She didn’t even realise that she’d thought of him as Rik, not Rikardo.
The king’s gaze fixed on her, examining, studying. He’d spoken to her. Sort of. Mel didn’t know whether or not to respond.
‘Indeed, Father, and it is fortuitous that you are here.’ Rik stepped forward. He didn’t block his father’s view of Mel, but he drew the king’s attention away from her. ‘I would like a word with you regarding the truffle harvest, if you please.’
The older man’s eyes narrowed. He frowned in his son’s direction and said: ‘It pleases me to know my future daughter-in-law will eat a meal rather than pretend a lack of appetite to try to maintain a waif-thin figure.’
Waif-thin figure?
Mel worked in a kitchen. She might have been underpaid, but she’d never been hungry. Was it usual for kings to speak their minds like this?
There was another problem, though. Even Mel, with her lack of understanding of royal protocols, could guess that it wasn’t appropriate for Rikardo not to introduce her to his father, even if the king had surprised them in Rik’s suite.
Should she introduce herself? Why hadn’t Rikardo done that?
Because you’re not who you should be, Melanie. How is he supposed to introduce you without either telling the truth or lying? Neither option will work just at the moment.
And anyway, why don’t you interview all the kings you’re on a first-name basis with, and collate the responses to discover a mean average and then you’ll know whether they all speak bluntly?
She wasn’t thinking hysterically exactly, Mel told herself.
Just don’t say anything. Well, not anything bad. Be really, really careful about what you say, or, better still, stay completely silent and hope that Rikardo takes care of this. Didn’t he say earlier if you came across his father to let Rik do all the talking?
Yes, but that was before he realised Mel wasn’t Nicolette. His father didn’t know that, though, and now the king had spotted Melanie. Not only spotted her but spoken to her and had a really good look at her. And if she didn’t respond soon, the king might think—
‘Your Highness.’ Mel sank into what she hoped was an acceptable style of curtsy. She tried not to catch the older man’s gaze, and hoped that her voice might pass for Nicolette’s next time.
Rikardo had mistaken Melanie for Nicolette. But she’d been puffed up with allergies then. Rikardo strode towards the door of his suite.
At the door, he turned to face Mel. ‘If you will excuse us? Please go ahead and eat dinner.’ He asked one of the kitchen staff to let his aide know they would speak after Rikardo finished with the king. From outside, Rikardo called in another member of staff. ‘Please also show my guest her rooms.’
In about another minute, the king would be out of here. Mel could stop holding her breath and worrying about what she might reveal to the king that could cause problems for when Nicolette arrived.
Mel glanced into Rikardo’s eyes and nodded, acknowledging that he intended to leave.
Rikardo swept out of the room and swept his father along with him, even if he was the king.
Melanie thanked the staff for the delivery of the meal. She felt their curious gazes on her, too, and she would have liked to strike up a conversation, to ask what it was like to work in the kitchens of a palace. Instead, she kept her gaze downcast and kept the interaction as brief as she could.
The rooms she would use were lavish. Mel could barely take it all in.
And then finally she was alone.
So she could sit at the royal dining table in Prince Rikardo’s suite that had its own guest suite within it, and eat royal food while she waited for the prince to have his discussion with his father about truffle harvesting. She hadn’t known the country grew truffles.
But that wouldn’t be all of the conversation and it would no doubt be difficult for the prince, but then Rikardo would come back here and tell Melanie his plans, and somehow or other it would all be all right.
Mel turned to the dining table, looked at the array of dishes. She would eat so at least she had some energy inside her to deal with whatever came next.
It would be all right. Rikardo was a prince. He would be able to make anything right.
CHAPTER THREE
RIK stood by the window in the sitting area of his suite. Early sunlight filtered across the snowy landscape of mountains and valleys, and over Ettonbierre village below. Soon people would begin to move around, to go about their work—those who had enough work.
He had once liked this time best of all, the solitude before the day’s commitments took over. Today, his thoughts were already embroiled and his aide already on his way to Rik’s suite to discuss yet another matter of urgency. The past two years had been problem after problem. Rik’s marriage plans had been part of the solution, or so he had believed. Now …
He had spoken to his father last night. It hadn’t been the greatest conversation he’d ever had; it had taken too long, and at the end of it he had known the impossibility of trying to bring Nicolette out here now to pass her off as his fiancée.
Really he’d known that from the moment Melanie had told him he’d collected the wrong girl. Too many people had seen her. Then Rik’s father had seen her. She had tried not to be too noticeable, too recognisable. But the king had noticed. Right down to the three freckles dotted across the bridge of her nose.
Rik had whisked his father out of his suite. He’d bought a little time to come up with a solution before his father formally met his fiancée. But in the end there was only one solution.
A soft knock sounded on the outer door of his suite. Rik strode towards it. He didn’t believe in the edict that a prince should not do such menial things as open doors to his staff. He and his brothers all worked on behalf of the people of Braston one way or another, so why wouldn’t they open a door?
And now you all have a challenge to fulfil. The