Free The Princess & the Pea by Victoria Alexander Page B

helpless eyes to her. "How?"
    "How? Well..." Cece surveyed the materials she'd had the hotel concierge purchase for her. Emily had worried needlessly. These were oil paints, not watercolors. No doubt this would be much simpler, not at all difficult, easy as pie. And Emily needed to begin her efforts: otherwise Cece would feel at least a twinge of guilt when Jared arrived and she left her sister to her own devices. She wished he would appear. It grew increasingly difficult to concentrate on something as insignificant as art when her future with the man she loved was at stake. "Here."
    She selected a tube of paint and squeezed a black glob onto a small wooden palette.
    "Oh, that is artistic." Emily said sarcastically.
    Cece ignored her. She dabbed a brush in the rich, shiny goo and slashed several quick strokes on the canvas.
    "There." Satisfaction rang in her voice. She handed the brush to Emily. "I told you it was easy."
    "Easy, yes." Emily's tone was dubious. She stared at the elongated triangle. "But what is it?"
    Cece gazed critically at the attempt. "Why, it's the Eiffel Tower, of course."
    Emily crossed her arms over her chest. "If it is, it's leaning."
    Cece tilted her head. "Not if you look at it properly."
    The girls exchanged glances, and then burst into laughter.
    "Mademoiselle?"
    Cece turned at the unexpected interruption. A young boy, slightly grubby and more than a little impish, thrust an envelope into her hands. The child tipped his hat, grinned cheekily and skipped off.
    "What was that all about?" Emily said curiously.
    Cece laughed. "Probably just a fledgling art critic." She turned over the envelope. There was nothing written on it, not even her name. Odd. Who could ... Jared.
    Jared was to meet her here even now. Why would he ... ? Her breath caught. Slowly, she ripped open the envelope, noting, in the back of her mind, the slight trembling of her hands.
    She withdrew a single folded sheet. The vague scent of bay rum drifted up from the paper.
     
    My dearest Cece,
    I regret the formality of a note instead of speaking to you directly, but it is perhaps for the best.
     
    Her heart fell.
     
    I have been remiss in not informing you of certain responsibilities and duties that weigh heavily in my life. Obligations I dare not ignore.
     
    Her throat tightened.
     
    You accused me of being an honorable man, and for the first time in my life it is a claim I regret. Honor demands truth, and truth dictates that I inform you that I can never offer you the future you so richly de serve. Therefore, our association is at an end.
     
    Pain stabbed through her.
     
    You will remain in my heart forever.
    Jared.
     
    She stared mutely at the words before her, then instinctively crushed the note in her hand.
    Emily's brows furrowed in concern. "What is it?"
    "Nothing." Cece struggled to keep her voice level, fought the hysterical desire to weep, to vent the ache that threatened to overwhelm her. "It appears my plans have changed."
    Instant understanding shone in Emily's eyes. "Oh dear," she murmured.
    Cece blinked back insistent tears and forced a light tone, as if she hadn't a care in the world, as if her soul had not shattered. "It's quite unimportant. Nothing to worry about. Now," she adopted her best businesslike manner, "why don't you see if you can capture some of those lovely blossoms on canvas?"
    "But—"
    "No, Em, it's fine." Cece said with a firmness that belied the growing misery within her.
    Emily cast her an appraising glance, tinged with sympathy, then silently turned back to her work. Cece watched her dab paint on canvas and the sisters fell silent for long moments. Cece murmured an occasional appreciative comment, but her mind was far from artistic pursuits.
    Never before had she lost her heart to a man. Never before had she even considered sacrificing her own dreams to support and encourage those of a man. Never before had she suspected the existence of pain like this.
    How could he? How could he callously