Free At His Majesty's Convenience by Jennifer Lewis

floor. At the top of the stairs a blond man hurried up to them. “Goodness, Andi. Congratulations.”
    â€œThanks.” She blushed, mostly because she had no idea who he was. Luckily it was an appropriate response.
    â€œCook wanted me to ask you whether we should do duck or goose on Thursday for the Finnish ambassador.”
    â€œWhichever she prefers would be fine.” She froze for an agonizing second while it occurred to her that Cook might be a he.
    His eyes widened. “I’ll let her know. I suspect you have a lot on your plate right now, what with, well, you know.” He smiled. “We’re all very happy for you, Andi.”
    She forced another smile. He’d looked surprised by her lack of decisiveness. She must usually be a very take-charge person. At least the engagement gave her an excuse to be out to lunch—literally and figuratively. She was “preoccupied.”
    They reached a door halfway down a corridor on the third floor, and Livia hesitated. Andi swallowed, then reached out a hand and tried the door. The handle turned but didn’t open it. “Oh no. I forgot my key! You go on with what you’re doing and I’ll go back and get it. See you later.”
    Livia waved a cheery goodbye and Andi heaved a sigh. She counted the doors along the hallway so she could find her way here alone next time. Back in her room she searched high and low for the key. When she found a black handbag at the bottom of her closet, her heart leapt.
    She’d already discovered that the phone in her bedroom was for business only. Not a single personal number was stored in it. She’d called each one with hope in her heart,only to find herself talking to another bank or supplier. She must have another phone somewhere.
    Eager to see her wallet and find out some more about herself, she dove into the bag with her hands. A neat, small wallet contained very few clues. A New York driver’s license, with an 81st Street address, about to expire. A Ruthenian driver’s license ornamented with a crest featuring two large birds. A Visa credit card from an American bank, and a MasterCard from a European one.
    She seemed to be living a double life—half American and half Ruthenian. But that wasn’t unusual among expats. She probably kept her accounts open, figuring she’d go back sooner or later.
    The bag did contain a keychain containing two keys—her bedroom and office? Other than that there was a small packet of tissues and two lipsticks. No phone. Disappointment dripped through her. Maybe she just had no life.
    Except Jake.
    She glanced at the business phone on the dresser and her nerves sizzled with anticipation at the thought of calling him. She felt a lot safer in his large, calm presence.
    But she didn’t want to be a bother. She’d wait until she really needed him.
    Keys and phone in the pocket of her jeans, she set off back for the locked office. Her instincts proved correct and the smaller key opened the door. Like her bedroom, her office was neat and featureless, no photos or mementos on the desk. She’d be worried that she was the world’s dullest person, except that apparently she was intriguing enough for a king to want to marry her.
    She opened a silver laptop on the desk. Surely this would reveal a wealth of new information about her life—herwork, anyway. But the first screen asked her to enter her password.
    Andi growled with frustration. She felt like she was looking for the password to her own life and it was always just out of reach. Password, password. She racked her brain for familiar words. Blue, she typed in. The screen was blue. Nothing happened. Jake? Nothing doing. Love?
    Nada. Apparently her computer, like her memory, was off-limits for now.
    Irritation crackled through her veins. She pulled open the drawers in the antique desk and was disappointed to find nothing but a dull collection of pens, paper clips, empty notebooks.