The Making of a Princess. Teresa Carpenter

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       Fifteen years later

      XAVIER MARCEL LEDUC, Commandant of the Royal Pasadonian Republican Guard was ready to go home. For six months he’d been away, traveling with the crown jewels on an extended American tour that started in New York and would end here in San Francisco.

      He ran his gaze over the well-dressed crowd. Tonight was a pre-event viewing, for the social elite and members of the museum, and privileged donors. Hardly a high risk crowd. All the more reason to be on guard, in his opinion. And as the senior officer in charge of the crown jewels’ security, his opinion counted.

      He saw her the moment she walked into the room, a breath of fresh air in a throng of perfumed elegance. She wore a black ruffled skirt that ended a few inches above her knees topped by a black sweater with beaded trim. Young and chic, her only adornment was her creamy white skin and the vibrant fall of red gold hair that reached the top of her lovely derrière.

      An attractive blond accompanied her through the exhibit, but it was the redhead who held his attention. Not only was she lovely, something about her was familiar.

      When the women reached the portrait of Princess Vivienne, he went totally still, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

      Signaling one of his men to take command of his post, Xavier approached the woman and her companion.

      “Oh, oh, oh. Look how the tiara sparkles. That’s it. I just decided I’m having a tiara for my wedding. Do you think you could borrow this one for me?”

      “Shh!” Amanda hooked her arm around Michelle’s and drew her away from the delicate diamond display. “These are royal jewels on loan from Pasadonia. I do not work for this museum, so no, I can’t borrow it for you. Now behave yourself.”

      “I guess I could just snatch it.”

      “Oh my God.”

      “Relax. I’m just teasing. Trying to get you to relax. You’re bound tighter than your grandmother’s knickers.”

      “Stop. And no more talk of borrowing or snatching any of the Crown Jewels. That’s not going to relax me. Security is all over the place. It would not look good to the museum I do work for if I was kicked out of this one.”

      “Is it the security that has you twitching?”

      “No. I mean it shouldn’t be. We’re not doing anything to draw their attention. But I feel like I’m being watched. It probably is the extra vigilant security.”

      “Maybe not. Let’s take a gander, shall we?” Michelle led the way to one of the three foot by three foot glass displays that stood six feet high in the middle of the room. This one held a beautiful ballgown from the late 1800s topped by a stunning ruby necklace, earrings, and tiara.

      Being women, the jewels got first consideration but the elaborate dress also drew Amanda’s attention. “Can you imagine wearing something that heavy to dance in?”

      “I couldn’t do it.” Michelle shook her head, her blond hair shimmering with the motion. “I would have had to be a strumpet.”

      “Ha.” Amanda closed her lips over a burst of laughter, the old habit hard to break even though she’d been out from under Grandmother’s iron rule for nearly six months. “I’m telling Nate you said that.”

      Her friend slanted sly green eyes her way. “Nate loves my inner strumpet.”

      “I bet he does.” Amanda bumped shoulders with her best buddy. “I’m so happy for you. It’s obvious you two are in love. He’s been good for you.”

      “Dude, he’s the best. And he comes with the little munchkin.”

      She glowed. The biggest cynic Amanda knew actually glowed talking about her fiancé and his infant ward. It made Amanda ache with delight for her friend, but also with loneliness.

      Both her BFFs had found their very own Prince Charmings. And Amanda truly wished them a fairy tale happily ever after. But it made her long for a man of her own, someone she could be herself with, who would believe in her without limits, who loved her despite her faults.

      Despite her faults? Wow, she had to stop channeling her grandmother. She wanted what she’d never had, a relationship of comfort, warmth and affection. She longed for a man she could trust, a man who above all else would be honest with her.

      And yes, a man who embraced her inner strumpet.

      “There he is,” Michelle whispered in her ear. “Your stalker.”

      “Where?” Amanda looked up and into the brown eyes of a black-haired man. He stood militarily straight, on the edge of the room, arms crossed over his chest, eyes trained on her.

      She smiled. And he quirked an eyebrow.

      She blinked and looked away, pulling Michelle with her towards the display of royal portraits.

      “Mmm, sexy,” Michelle observed. “And he definitely has his eye on you.”

      “You were right, he’s security. Head of security for Pasadonia.”

      “How do you know?”

      “I saw him on the morning news. They were doing a piece on the opening. He’s part of the Pasadonian Royal Guard traveling with the crown jewels.”

      “He sure is pretty, but intense. It looks like a smile might break those cheekbones.”

      “Don’t stare.”

      Amanda pulled Michelle around so they faced the painting of a woman wearing a three-point crown and a jewel encrusted crest around her neck. The plaque read Princess Vivienne, 1760–1822.

      “He’s working.” For some reason Amanda felt compelled to defend him. “And some people like to kid around about stealing the tiaras.”

      Michelle grinned. “Bet that would land his ass in a wringer.”

      “Yes, actually, that is indeed the truth.”

      The deep male voice with a slight accent sounded from behind them causing Amanda to jump guiltily.

      Michelle was unfazed. Smiling easily she turned to confront the man. “You can’t put all these sparkles on display and not expect a girl to want.”

      “You are welcome to admire all you wish.” He bowed his head slightly. “That is, of course, the point of the tour. However, I must insist you do nothing to place my ass in a wringer.”

      Amanda smiled appreciating his humor, the gentle mocking.

      “Oh, he’s funny.” Michelle took no offense. She elbowed Amanda. “Sexy and funny, you should say hello.”

      “Hello.” Well used to her friend’s bluntness, Amanda just went with it. Besides, he was sexy, and funny. She held out her hand. “I’m Amanda Carn.”

      “Miss Carn.” He bowed low over her hand, almost but not quite kissing her fingers. “It is my pleasure.”

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