A Royal Mess and Her Knight To Remember

7

THE BACHELOR-BACHELORETTE party lasted a lifetime. Two lifetimes.

Annie couldn’t wait until the last toast. Couldn’t wait to get to her room, strip down, shower and go to sleep.

Once asleep she would dream of such comforting things as ice cream. Of her home in Grunberg where the sharp, magnificent mountain peaks and comforting, familiar alpine towns and people provided her with all she needed.

Or better yet, she wouldn’t dream at all.

She certainly wouldn’t think of pink satin.

Or the upcoming wedding.

Or of one sexy but cocky, stubborn, smart-aleck cop named Kyle Moore.

Nope. Not a single thought would be spared for the man she didn’t care one iota for.

That decided, she smiled and toasted and actually salvaged a good time, from this nightmare party. And when it was over, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Once back at the inn, in her room, she switched her slacks and sweater for her favorite pj’s, which consisted of a spaghetti-strap tank top and a pair of men’s cotton boxer shorts.

“Perfect.” She flopped on the bed, grabbed the remote, and prepared to be amused by late-night American television. The Brady Bunch maybe, or even her sister Natalia’s favorite, an old Clint Eastwood movie.

Nat, I wish you were here to argue over the remote with me. I’d even give it to you tonight.

But then the phone rang. It was the front desk. A message had been left from Her Serene Highness Natalia Faye Wolf Brunner of Grunberg.

Natalia. Her best friend. One of the few people Annie trusted through thick and thin. Nat would never let her down, never. She must be coming in early, Annie thought with giddy relief. A familiar, loving face in the midst of this horrific wedding, thank you God!

Then what the desk clerk said sank in. “Could you repeat that, please?” she asked with remarkable calm, because clearly, she needed a hearing aid.

“Yes, ma’am, I can repeat. She has poison ivy and will not be attending the wedding.”

“Poison ivy?”

“Poison ivy.”

“But…” Annie shook her head. Natalia, the leather-wearing, multipierced sister who acted so tough, and yet was afraid of animals much less the outdoors, had poison ivy? Was that even possible? “How did she get it?”

“Well-”

“Where is she?”

“I’m sorry. That’s the message in its entirety.”

“It can’t be.”

“It is, ma’am.”

Annie had no idea what the real story was, but it wasn’t poison ivy. She set the phone down and felt far more sorry for herself than her sister, who certainly had found something better and more exciting to do than attend a wedding.

Annie would kill her when this was over. With pleasure.

Just then the door adjoining her room to another guest’s opened, and in piled a group of women, with Lissa leading the pack.

Shocked, Annie sat straight up.

“Didn’t I mention I had the next room over?” Lissa beamed. “Cool, huh? Now we can have an official girl party.”

She carried a tray filled with what suspiciously looked like makeup and accessories. Annie narrowed her eyes as the three women with her-Lissa’s sisters, and all bridesmaids-plopped on the bed. “What is that stuff?”

“The ingredients for a girl party, of course.” Lissa looked at Annie critically. “You’ve got good skin, but there’s no telling what’s just beneath the surface. A full facial,” she said over her shoulder. “We’ll all do full facials. Then we’ll start in with the pedicures. Must have good toes. Did someone bring the pink nail polish?”

Facials. Pedicures. A fate worse than death. Annie hated makeup with the same passion she hated pink satin dresses and pink satin nail polish. She wore mascara because she looked like a zombie without it, and sometimes she even remembered blush. But gloss was the most she used on her lips, and she’d never, ever, had a facial. “I don’t think-’

“You’ll have to strip.”

“Excuse me?”

“I brought this new breast cream for all of us. It’ll give us great cleavage with our dresses.”

“Lissa,” she laughed, but no one else joined her. “This is a really bad idea.”

Lissa, stirring the cream she actually thought Annie would put on her breasts, looked up. “What? Why?”

“Because…” Quick, Annie, think. “Because…”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Lissa’s smile fell. “At home in Grunberg you probably have beauticians to take care of you. You’d never have to actually do this yourself. I…didn’t think…other than I know our moms used to do this together, in boarding school. You know, give each other facials and do their hair and stuff. My mom talks about it all the time.”

With the loss of her mother twelve years before, Annie’s life had taken a drastic turn. There had been no more froufrou influence, no more pots of makeup and perfume lining her mother’s room. Back then, Annie had already developed the tomboy side of herself, but without her mom, there’d been no stopping her. And she’d never looked back.

Lissa studied the cream in her hands. “I just thought for old times’ sake…” She started to gather up the things she’d bought. “Never mind. I didn’t mean to insult you. This all probably seems tacky to a princess, doesn’t it?”

Annie sighed inwardly and managed a smile in Lissa’s dejected direction. “You didn’t insult me. Really. I just didn’t expect-”

“I know. Forget it.”

“No, this is your wedding,” Annie said, feeling about an inch tall. “And whatever you want, goes.” God help me. “If you want to slather sh-stuff all over your face-”

“And breasts,” Lissa’s youngest sister Sharise added helpfully.

“And breasts,” Annie said bravely, suppressing a shudder. “Then okay. That’s what we’ll do.”

“Oh, Annie. Really?”

Annie looked into Lissa’s hopeful face and made herself keep smiling, even as she renewed her vow to kill her sister Natalia at the first opportunity. “Really.”

“You first?” Lissa held up the cream.

“Uh…” Annie tried not to shrink back. She did manage, barely, to keep her hands at her sides rather than cover her breasts, which is what she wanted to do. “Well…”

“Do you want me to do it?”

“No!” Annie lowered her voice and let out a little laugh. “I can do it, thanks.”

“You sure? My mom says your mom loved to be fussed over.”

Her mother had loved being fussed over. A manicure or new hairdo had been her greatest joys, which she’d loved to share with her daughters.

They had all spent many an afternoon together, Annie’s sisters and their mother, lounging in their castle home after school, waxing poetic over some new nail color they’d discovered, while Annie had chomped at the bit to get back outside and mess herself up all over again.

She lifted the cream with a hopeful expression.

Mom, I hope you’re laughing in heaven. “I’ve got it handled, thanks.”