In all her days, Reggie never imagined she’d hear the words “I’d like to introduce you to your security detail, Clarence and Todd.”
“How do you do?” Reggie curled her arms against her torso, guarding against the cold, making her way down the manor’s steps. The sun sat high in the sky, but its warmth had not yet reached the shadows lurking between Wettin Manor’s stone columns.
“Regina,”—Tanner followed her, offering her a large navy-blue cardigan with a big KU crest on the breast pocket—“wear this until we purchase your coat.”
She took the sweater, and the very action of Tanner giving it to her wrapped her with warmth. “Do we really need two security guards?”
“Do you not remember yesterday? The media mess?”
“I remember you riding around town with your face planted
in the passenger seat and your feet flailing in the air.” She slipped her arms through the fine-wool sleeves. “Whose is this?” When she lowered her arms, the sleeves slinked past her hands and dangled near her knees.
“Mine. From university. I keep it in my office.”
“So . . . are we . . . like . . . going steady now?” She grinned, rolling up the sleeves, liking the feel of the words on her heart. She’d never gone steady and, well, it was on her bucket list.
“Har-har. You’re quite chipper today.” He started down the rest of the steps toward the black SUV and the two serious, Navy Seal–looking dudes waiting by an open passenger side door. “Did you see the papers?”
“I did, and the one with the shot of you in all your glory got me laughing—”
“If you’d have opened the door like I asked . . .”
“You didn’t say please.” Reggie walked toward the waiting SUV, the click of her boot heels resounding.
Something about this morning—sitting in the parlor . . . staring out over the lawn toward the forest . . . talking with Jarvis . . . looking at Gram’s portrait . . . reading the fairy tale with a whole new view of things . . . talking to Jesus . . . talking to the king and his men—gave her peace. Gave her a bit of confidence.
She’d heard about faith and trust in God her whole life. But not once had she lifted her wings and tried to catch a current knowing nothing was beneath her but the invisible hand of God.
College? Safe because Daddy and Sadie were across town.
CPA degree? Safe because she was good with numbers.
The shop? Safe because Al was there.
Even hanging around Mark. Safe. Because she had known him her whole life.
But princess of a small North Sea nation? Terrifying, and there was only one Man who could see to her success. Jesus himself. If he could hang on a cross for her, she could scope out a princess gig
for him. If, of course, this whole journey was his idea in the first place. She wouldn’t know for sure unless she lifted her wings.
Tanner stepped around her to hold open the back door of the SUV. She slipped inside and Tanner went around, joining her from the other side. The security goons sat up front, Clarence behind the wheel.
Reggie rode down to Strauberg and through the city streets in peaceful silence, the clear day beginning to fill the streets with a warm light.
“This is Market Avenue,” Tanner said when Clarence turned right at the light. It was a broad street with thin, tall shade trees and Victorian lamps dividing the lanes. “Three hundred years ago, this was where all commerce happened.” He tapped his window and lightly touched her arm. “See through those buildings? The bay, South Port. The ships from Germany and Italy, all southern countries, dock here.”
Reggie leaned into the fresh burst of wind as Tanner powered down his window, and the clean, subtle fragrance that she’d come to know as “Tanner.” He intrigued her. He was a puzzle. She could see most of the pieces but not how they all fit together.
Beyond the window, however, the sun created a golden stream in the middle of all the blue-green water, and Reggie drew a deep breath.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tanner said just over her shoulder.
“It is, yes. Very.”
But when Reggie glanced at him, he wasn’t watching the bay but her. With his very intense blue eyes.
Sir Blue Eyes
.
She jerked back into her seat, her heart snapping and popping, a funny, disturbing sensation burning up her middle.
“Sir.” Clarence peered at them through the rearview mirror. “Turning down the lane for Melinda House. Please close your window.”
The SUV ambled down a narrow, cobblestone lane nestled
between two tall buildings and thick with shadows. Clarence stopped by a small, lean door.
“Wait here, please.” Todd stepped out and disappeared beyond the door.
Reggie turned to Tanner. “For real? Security? This is crazy.”
“Recall yesterday.”
“I know, but that was at Wettin Manor. Someone leaked I was there, right? This is some dark back alley. Who’s going to know we’re here?”
“Regina, a photograph of you is probably worth thousands if not hundreds of thousands of dollars. You’re the new royal on a very old royal front. You saw what happened to the British royal family when Kate officially came on the scene? Even before she was official . . . men will stalk you, haunt you.” He gently held her chin. “Hear me, please. Never, ever let your guard down.”
Todd emerged from the door a few minutes later and opened Reggie’s door. “Go straight in, miss. Up the stairs to the second floor.”
“Wait for me.” Tanner exited his side of the SUV and met her at the alleyway door, leading her inside.
“This cloak-and-dagger stuff feels so over the top.”
“Yes, love, but this cloak-and-dagger stuff will keep you safe.”
Love?
He stumbled over the word, but kept rising up the stairs, talking, without peeking back at her. But, ho boy, the word landed on her heart sweet and tender.
Good grief, she
was
crushing on Tanner Burkhardt.
They landed on the second floor and stepped into an open loft area with brick walls and hardwood floors. To her right, the loft looked out over a gleaming showroom through a steel railing. From the exposed ceiling, white lanterns hung suspended from thin black pipes, and soft music sweetened the air.
Up front, floor-to-ceiling mirrors were anchored into the brick, and the glass gleamed, catching the lights and twinkling them back into the room.
“Your Majesty, welcome, welcome.” A lean, platinum-haired woman in a tightly tailored chartreuse suit was striding her way. “This is most exciting. I’m Melinda.” She curtseyed. “We are thrilled you chose Melinda House as your first designer.”
“Melinda,”—Tanner pressed his hand lightly against Reggie’s back—“thank you for this special appointment. After yesterday’s media mess, I thought we should take every precaution and come in the back door.”
“Agreed! Think nothing of it. We do value privacy and confidentiality for all of our clients.” She clasped her hands at her waist, smiling all the while, eyes glued to Reggie.
She was starting to feel self-conscious. What was this fashion guru thinking? Hubba, but we got our hands full with this one. Mack, bring out the industrial-strength girdle and push-up bra.
“Well, shall we get started?” Melinda moved toward the mirrors in quick, short steps, hindered by the tight hem of her long skirt. “We’ve selected several coats for you to try, Your Majesty. We also took the liberty of choosing a few of our newest dresses we’d be delighted for you to debut.”
“Reggie. Please, just call me Reggie.” She grabbed Tanner’s arm as he started to move, letting Melinda walk toward the coats without them. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Designer coats.
Debut?
Don’t you have a Target or Burlington Coat Factory around here? All I need is a simple coat.”
“Melinda, hold on, please.” His eyes glanced past Reggie’s and she stepped back, surprised at what she saw beneath those blues. Discouragement. As if he was letting her down, that his effort did not please her and it . . .
hurt
him.
She pressed her palm to her forehead. “Never mind, it’s okay. Let’s look at the coats.” When would she learn everything wasn’t about her? Tanner was trying his darnedest to do his job.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sorry, Tanner. It’s just that . . . Shew, this is all so thrilling
yet terrifying. Last week I was a wrench jockey. This week I’m a royal princess . . . kind of gives a girl whiplash.”
“Right, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
“No, no, it’s okay. Just, zoom,”—she sliced her hand through the air—“zero to sixty.” She linked her arm through his, wondering for the first time if this wacky journey was every bit as much about Tanner as it was about her.
“Help me pick out something that will go well with jail wear.”
“Regina,”—he held her back—“you’re not going to jail. Seamus can huff and puff all he likes, that arrogant bloke and his binky pipe, but he cannot make it stick. He’d have to buy off the entire European court, and I daresay he’s not got enough reputation or financial wherewithal to do so.”
“Even so . . . what sway does the court have?”
“More than they should, I’ll say, but not enough to throw you in the tower.”
“There’s a tower?” She made a face.
“Metaphorically speaking. Listen, love,”—there was
that
word again—“they can rule in favor of his petition on behalf of the Hessenberg people, but that will only be the beginning. Then it’s a fight for government control.” Tanner paced off, the reflective light highlighting his thick blond hair. “You can bet that’s what Seamus is about . . . making himself some sort of supreme leader. Perhaps even the Grand Duke. He doesn’t mind a royal house. He just wants it to be his.” He circled back to Reggie. “I daresay he’s bitten off more than he can stuff in his blooming pipe.”
“What’s with you and his pipe?”
“Oh, it just annoys me.” He reached for her hand. “No more talk of Seamus or lawsuits or arrests.” He walked backward, peering down at her. “I think we both need some giggles . . . a spot of fun. And the king ordered a day of frolicking, so let’s obey him and enjoy the day.”
“Frolicking?” Reggie laughed, quickening her pace to keep
up, not wanting her hand to slip from his. “He never said frolicking. I was listening. But you, however, said frolicking.” The word rolled off her tongue and tickled her ears. Teased her spirit. Made her laugh.
“I do believe you’re mocking me,” Tanner said, feigning a weak frown. But his eyes were bright with humor.
“No, just loving the sound of frolicking.” Reggie tried for a Hessen accent, failing miserably, which made Tanner laugh. “After shopping, can we take the Mercedes out and race up the hill again? Now that’s a frolicking good time.”
Tanner slapped his hand to his chest. “Be kind to my weak heart, dear Regina.” He swooped his arm wide and took an exaggerated bow, but oh, his words . . . anything but teasing.
She released his hand, trembling from the feelings he stirred in her, and faced the waiting, ever-smiling Melinda. Reggie didn’t know about Tanner’s weak heart, but hers was weakening by the second.
Just a crush. A schoolgirl crush. Don’t overthink this, Reg.
But mercy, he was charming and confident with a James Dean kind of smolder. Something dark lurked beneath the surface, longing to come out. She just knew it.
Besides all of that, he was handsome. Poster-on-her-wall, heartthrob handsome.
“Your Majesty—”
“Call me Reggie, or Regina. Please.”
“All right.” Melinda gave her a curt nod, her perfected smile faltering.
“Or miss. Miss is good.” The woman seemed reluctant to call her by her first name.
“Well,
miss
, here we go . . . Melinda reset her smile and slipped a coat from a silk-wrapped hanger.
Tanner, meanwhile, took a seat behind Reggie, choosing an oval-shaped, white leather ottoman.
“This is our latest.” Melinda held up a long, creamy beige coat, exchanging it for Tanner’s college sweater. “In fact, after Mr. Burkhardt’s call last night, we rushed it from the factory.”
When Reggie had slipped on the coat, Melinda situated it on her shoulders, belted it closed, and stood back with a complete look of wonder.
“Marvelous,” she said with a glance at Tanner. “We are so proud of this coat. Doesn’t it accent her gorgeous red hair so well? Stunning. Just stunning.”
Reggie could see Tanner angling to catch her reflection in the mirror. “The coat is beautiful. Regina?”
She made a face. Glanced at Melinda, then Tanner through the mirror, and smoothed down the coarse material with her hand. “Well—”
“It’s mohair. All the rage this season.”
“I–I don’t think I’ve ever owned mohair.”
“So what do you think, miss?” Melinda walked around Reggie, her chin in her hand, inspecting. “We’ve had a lot of interest in this design, and we really wanted to make a splash with it at the spring show. But, Your Majesty, we’d be honored for you to wear it this fall. It’d be the only one like it in the world.”
Ho boy. No pressure.
“Regina, be honest,” Tanner said.
“All right . . .” She faced her audience of two. “I look like a lit match. Red hair, tight beige coat that goes past my knees. If the press sees me in this, I’ll go from redneck royal to Princess Match-on-Fire.”
Tanner snort-coughed into his fist while Melinda frowned, a solid steel glint in her glare.
“I completely disagree, but if you’re not comfortable,”—she moved to help Reggie out of the coat—“we’ve other styles.”
“Look, let’s just save some time here,” Reggie said as Melinda returned the coat to the rack. “I need something simple and
serviceable, every day, you know? I like blue and black, maybe green if it’s the right green. Otherwise, I look like some kind of rose.”
Tanner’s laugh popped once, then faded with his cough and throat-clearing. Reggie winked at him through the mirror while Melinda sorted through the coats. She liked making him laugh because it sounded good on him.
“May I suggest you start thinking more like a princess rather than, well, whatever it was you did before?”
“Restored classic cars. Before that I was a CPA.”
Melinda cast her a dark, hooded gaze, her expression tight with frustration and confusion. “Your Majesty—”