Cinderella: Hired by the Prince

CHAPTER EIGHT

THEY made muffins. Not just half a dozen muffins because: ‘If I’m helping, it’s not such a huge ask to make heaps,’ Ramón declared. ‘We can put them on for breakfast and show the world what my Gianetta can do.’

‘You’ll upset the chefs,’ Jenny warned.

‘If there’s a turf war, you win hands down.’

‘A turf war…’ She was pouring choc chips into her mixture but she hesitated at that. ‘I’m not interested in any turf war. Frankly, this set-up leaves me terrified.’

‘It leaves me terrified.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘But I have no choice,’ he said flatly, finishing the sentence for her. ‘I know that. In the good old days, as Crown Prince I could have simply had my soldiers go out with clubs and drag you to my lair.’

‘And now you give me choices,’ she retorted, trying desperately to keep things light, whisking her muffin mix more briskly than she needed. ‘Just as well. I believe clubbing might create an International Incident.’

‘I miss the good old days,’ he said morosely. He was sitting on the edge of the table, swinging his gorgeous boots, taking taste tests of her mixture. So sexy the kitchen seemed to sizzle. ‘What use is being a prince if I can’t get my woman?’

My woman. She was dreaming, Jenny thought dreamily. She was cooking muffins for her prince.

My woman?

She started spooning her mixture into the pans and Ramón reached over and took the trays and the bowl from her. ‘I can do this,’ he said. ‘If you do something for me.’

‘What?’

‘Pull my boots off. I asked you ages ago.’

‘I thought you were kidding.’

‘They’re killing me,’ he confessed. ‘I’ve spent my life in either boat shoes, bare feet or steel-toed construction boots. These make me feel like my feet are in corsets and I can’t get them off. Please, dear, kind Jenny, will you pull my boots off?’

He was sitting on the table. He was spooning muffin mixture into pans. He was holding his boots out for her to pull.

This was so ridiculous she couldn’t help giggling.

She wiped her hands-it’d be a pity to get chocolate on leather like this-took position, took a boot in both hands-and pulled.

The boot didn’t budge. It was like a second skin.

‘See what I mean,’ Ramón said morosely. ‘And I really don’t want to wake a valet. You think I should cut them off?’

‘You can’t cut them,’ Jenny said, shocked, and tried again. The boot budged, just a little.

‘Hey,’ Ramón said, continuing to spoon. ‘It’s coming.’

‘I’ll pull you off the table if I tug any harder,’ Jenny warned.

‘I’m strong,’ he said, too smugly, keeping on spooning. ‘My balance is assured.’

‘Right,’ she said and glowered, reacting to his smugness. She wiped both her hands on her dressing gown, took the boot in both hands, took a deep breath-and pulled like she’d never pulled.

The boot held, gripped for a nano-second and then gave. Jenny lurched backward, boot in hand, lost her balance and fell backwards.

Ramón slid off the table, staggered-and ended up on the floor.

The half-full bowl slid off after him, tipped sideways and mixture oozed out over the floor.

Jenny stared across at him in shock. Ramón stared back at her-her lovely prince, half bootless, sprawled on the floor, surrounded by choc chip muffin mixture.

Her Ramón.

She couldn’t help it. She laughed out loud, and it was a magical release of tension, a declaration of love and happiness if ever there was one, and she couldn’t help what happened next either. It was as if restraint had been thrown to the wind and she could do what she liked-and there was no doubting what she’d like. She slid over the floor, she took Ramón’s face in both her hands-and she kissed him.

And Ramón kissed her back-a thoroughly befuddled, laughing, wonderful kiss. He tasted of choc chip muffin. He tasted of love.

He tugged her close, hauling her backward with him so she was in his arms, and they were so close she thought she must…they must…

And then the door burst open and Sofía was standing in the doorway staring at them both as if they’d lost their minds.

Maybe they had.

The little cat was delicately licking muffin mixture from the floor. Sofía darted across and retrieved the cat as if she were saving her from poison.

‘Hi, Sofía,’ Ramón said innocently from somewhere underneath his woman. Jenny would have pulled away but he was having none of it. He tugged her close and held, so they were lying on the floor like two children caught out in mischief. Or more.

Sofía stared down at them as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she hissed.

‘Making muffins, Ramón said, and he would have pulled Jenny closer but the mixture of confusion and distress on Sofía’s face was enough to have her pulling away. The timer was buzzing. Somehow she struggled to her feet. She opened the oven and retrieved her now cooked bacon muffins. Then she thought what the heck, she might as well finish what she’d started, so she put the almost full tray of choc chip muffins in to replace them.

‘Gianetta’s a professional,’ Ramón said proudly to his aunt, struggling up as well. ‘I told you she was fabulous.’

‘Are you out of your minds?’

‘No, I…’

‘You’re just like the rest,’ she hissed at him. ‘They’re all womanisers, all the men who’ve ever held power here. You have her trapped. Ramón, what on earth is it that you’re planning?’

‘I’m not planning anything.’

‘If it’s marriage… You can’t. I know Philippe needs a mother but this is…’

‘It’s nothing to do with Philippe,’ Ramón snapped. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Why do you think?’ Sofía’s anger was becoming almost apoplectic. ‘Did you think the two of you were invisible? Everyone knows where you are. Ramón, think about what you’re doing. You’re no longer just responsible for yourself. You represent a country now! She’s a nice girl, I won’t let you ruin her, or trap her into this life.’

‘I won’t do either,’ Ramón said, coldly furious. ‘We’re not talking marriage. We’re not talking anything past this night. Jenny will be leaving…’

‘Ramón, if she goes to the island now… There’ll be such talk. To take her in the palace kitchen…’

‘He didn’t take me…’ It was Jenny’s turn to be angry now. ‘My dressing gown cord’s still done up.’

‘No one can tell that from outside,’ Sofía snapped and walked across and tugged the door wide. ‘See? The harm’s done,’ she said, as two footmen stepped smartly away from the door.

‘You can’t be happy here,’ she whispered. ‘No one knows anyone. No one trusts.’

‘I know that,’ Ramón told her. ‘Sofía, stop this.’

‘I told her you should take her to the island. I told her. You should have waited.’

‘Excuse me?’ Jenny said. ‘Can you include me in this?’

‘It’s nothing to do with you,’ Sofía said and then seemed to think about it. Her anger faded and she suddenly sounded weary and defeated. ‘No. I mean…even if you were suitable as a royal bride-which you aren’t-you aren’t tough enough. To do it with no training…’

‘Sofía, don’t do this,’ Ramón said. Sofía’s distress was clear and real. ‘We aren’t talking about marriage.’

‘Then you’re ruining her for nothing. And here’s your valet, come to see what all the fuss is about.’

‘I don’t want my valet,’ Ramón snapped. ‘I don’t want any valet.’

‘You don’t have a choice,’ Sofía said with exasperation. ‘None of us do. Ramón, go away. I’ll stay here with Jenny until these…whatever you’re making…muffins?…are cooked. We’ll make the best of a bad situation but there’s no way we can keep this quiet. This, with your stupid insistence on dancing with her first tonight… She’ll have paparazzi in her face tomorrow, whether she leaves or not.’

‘Paparazzi…’ Jenny said faintly.

‘Leave now, Ramón, and don’t go near her again. She needs space to see what a mess this situation is.’

‘She doesn’t want space.’

‘Yes, I do,’ Jenny said. Philippe? Paparazzi? There were so many unknowns. What was she getting into?

She felt dizzy.

She felt bereft.

‘Jenny,’ Ramón said urgently but Sofía was before him, pushing herself between them.

‘Leave it,’ she told them both harshly. ‘Like it or not, Ramón is Crown Prince. He needs to fit his new role. He might think he wants you but he doesn’t have a choice. You don’t belong in our world and you both know it.’ She glanced along the corridor where there were now four servants waiting. ‘So… There’s to be no seduction tonight. We’re all calmly eating muffins and going to bed. Yes?’

‘Yes,’ Jenny said before Ramón could reply. She didn’t want to look at him. She couldn’t. Because the laughter in his eyes had gone.

The servants were waiting to take over. The palace was waiting to take over.

She lay in her opulent bed and her head spun so much she felt dizzy.

She was lying on silk sheets. When she moved, she felt as if she was being caressed.

She wasn’t being caressed. She was lying in a royal bed, in a royal boudoir. Alone. Because why?

Because Ramón was a Crown Prince.

Even when she’d lain with him in his wonderful yacht, believing he was simply the skipper and not the owner, she’d felt a sense of inequality, as if this couldn’t be happening to her.

But it had happened, and now it was over.

What else had she expected?

Since she’d met Ramón her ache of grief had lifted. Life had become…unreal. But here it was again, reality, hard and cold as ice, slamming her back to earth. Grief was real. Loss was real. Emptiness and heartache had been her world for years, and here they were again.

Her time with Ramón, her time tonight, had been some sort of crazy soap bubble. Even before Sofía had spelled it out, she’d known it was impossible.

Sofía said she was totally unsuitable. Of course she was.

But…but…

As the night wore on something strange was happening. Her grief for Matty had been in abeyance during the two weeks with Ramón, and again tonight. It was back with her now, but things had changed. Things were changing.

Ever since Matty was born, things had happened to Jenny. Just happened. It was as if his birth, his medical problems, his desperate need, had put her on a roller coaster of emotions that she couldn’t get off. Her life was simply doing what came next.

But the chain of events today had somehow changed things. What Sofía and then Perpetua had said had stirred something deep within. Or maybe it was how Ramón had made her feel tonight that was making her feel different.

She’d seen the defeat on Ramón’s face and she recognized that defeat. It was a defeat born of bleak acceptance.

Once upon a time she’d shared it. Maybe she still should. But…but…

‘Why should I run?’ she whispered and she wondered if she’d really said it.

It didn’t make any sense. Sofía and Perpetua were right. So was Ramón. What was between them was clearly impossible, and there’d be a million more complications she hadn’t thought of yet.

Philippe? The child Sofía had talked of?

She didn’t go near children. Not after Matty.

And royalty? She had no concept of what Ramón was facing. Threats? The unknown Carlos?

There were questions everywhere, unspoken shadows looming from all sides, but overriding everything was the fact that she wanted Ramón so much she could almost cry out loud for him. What she wanted right now was to pad out into the palace corridor, yell at the top of her lungs for Ramón and then sit down and demand answers.

She’d had her chance. She’d used it making muffins. And kissing her prince.

He’d kissed her back.

The memory made her smile. Ramón made her smile.

Maybe the shadows weren’t so long, she thought, but she knew they were.

‘I’d be happy as his lover,’ she whispered to the night. ‘For as long as he wanted me. Just as his lover. Just in private. Back on his boat, sailing round the world, Ramón and me.’

It wasn’t going to happen. And would she be happy on his island, being paid occasional visits as Sofía had suggested?

No!

She lay back on her mound of feather pillows and she stared up at the ceiling some more.

She stared at nothing.

Jenny and Ramón, the Crown Prince of Cepheus? No and no and no.

But still there was this niggle. It wasn’t anger, exactly. Not exactly.

It was more that she’d found her centre again.

She’d found something worth fighting for.

Gianetta and the Crown Prince of Cepheus? No and no and no.

The thing was, though, sense had gone out of the window.

The car crash that had killed his mother and his sister had left him with an aching void where family used to be. For years he’d carried the grief as a burden, thinking he could bear no more, and the way to avoid that was to not let people close.

He loved his work in Bangladesh-it changed people’s lives-yet individual lives were not permitted to touch him.

But there was something about Jenny…Gianetta…that broke the barriers he’d built. She’d touched a chord, and the resonance was so deep and so real that to walk away from her seemed unthinkable.

For the last three months he’d tried to tell himself what he’d felt was an illusion, but the moment he’d seen her again he’d known it was real. She was his woman. He knew it with a certainty so deep it felt primeval.

But to drag her into the royal limelight, into a place where the servants greeted you with blank faces…into a place where his father had died and barely a ripple had been created…where Carlos threatened and he didn’t know which servants might be loyal and which might be in Carlos’s pay…here his duty lay to his people and to have his worry centred on one slip of a girl…

On Jenny.

No.

Could he love her enough to let her go?

He must.

He had a deputation from neighbouring countries meeting him first thing in the morning to discuss border issues. Refugees. The thought did his head in.

Royalty seemed simple on the outside-what had Jenny said?-cutting ribbons and making speeches. But Cepheus was governed by royalty. He’d set moves afoot to turn it into a democracy but it would take years, and meanwhile what he did would change people’s lives.

Could he do it alone? He must.

He had no right to ask Jenny to share a load he found insupportable. To put her into the royal limelight… To ask her to share the risks that had killed his father… To distract himself from a task that had to be faced alone…

There was no choice at all.