Free The Prince and I: A Romantic Mystery (The Royal Biography Cozy Mystery Series Book 1) by Julie Sarff, The Hope Diamond, The Heir to Villa Buschi Page A

Whisk, Liz, whisk like the wind! They’ll all be arriving at any moment and they’ll be starved.”
    I am whisking away when the Prince’s iPhone lights up. “That’s Rose now,” he says and picks up the phone.
    “Boo, where in the heck are you?”
    There’s a long winded reply on the other end and the Prince’s brows knit together.
    “I told you not to book the last flight of the day, now what are you going to do?”
    There’s more long winded conversation from the very sad-sounding “Boo” and then Alex hangs up.
    “Well, I’m afraid, Lizzie, it wasn’t meant to be. Everyone’s stuck in London. It’s just you and I. Of course, we can’t stay here. We can’t give the gossips more fodder. There’s a nice inn down the road.”
    “We can’t stay here?” I ask crestfallen. There goes my night in Holyroodhouse.
    “Well, we don’t have to go just yet. I’ve got five frittatas in the oven…”
    “And a pile of dishes in the sink.” 
    The prince glances around. Holyrood’s stream-lined kitchen is a mess. Whatever they taught him at Eton, it was not how to pick up after himself. It takes us over an hour to clean up.
    “Might as well eat here, why get the dining room messy?” he says when we finish toweling off the last dirty dish.
    He hands me a fork and I dig in. I’m so hungry I can’t take it anymore. We eat the first frittata right out of the pan, occasionally dipping into the salad. I take a sip of what is truly an awful California wine and ruminate about how this would all be terribly romantic if it weren’t for the fact that he is a Prince and I am his biographer.
    “Another frittata?” he asks. I motion for him to bring it on. I must admit, I am quite caught up in the moment. When Alex puts his fork down on the countertop and gives me a strange look, my mind goes wild and I wonder if he is going to lean in for a kiss.
    “Wait,” he says quite seriously, “I bought a delicious chocolate cake. It’s in the fridge. I’ll cut us both a slice and we’ll take them on our tour around the castle. How will that be? You look like the kind of woman who loves cake.”
    Instantly all the warmth and happiness of the moment drains out of me. “You look like the kind of woman who loves cake ” — what the heck does that mean?
    That’s it. Tomorrow I diet. Sean used to tell me my love handles were adorable, but I don’t think he really believed it. Once he bought me a gym membership for Christmas. I went to that gym on occasion and sat in the locker room reading history books, so that Sean wouldn’t feel like he had wasted his money. Why did I even bother?
    I watch the Prince pull an enormous chocolate cake out of the fridge. In curly brown writing it reads, “Happy Birthday, Sparky.”
    I don’t even ask about “Sparky.” I am still feeling offended by Alex’s cake comment, although the confection he plunks down on the table looks mighty tasty. He cuts two enormous slices; each one so large I’m sure it will instantly add five pounds to whomever eats it.
    “You are eating on a dish that was given to Queen Victoria by the Countess of Blois on the occasion of her thirtieth birthday.”
    “Oooh,” I gasp and forget about the calories in the cake.
    “No, I’m just kidding. I have no idea where these dishes came from. Just making crap up. Anyway, you’ve got frosting smeared all over you lips, did you know?”
    I blush ten shades of red.
    “No matter, I think, we’re ready. Shall we get a good look at that painting, the one of Queen Mary? Then it’s off to her state apartments. I’ll show you exactly where they killed David Rizzio as he clung to the Queen’s skirts. If you like, we can sit behind a tapestry and wait to see if we can catch the ghost of Bald Agnes.”
    He says all this with the most mischievous twinkle in his eye before turning heel and heading out of the kitchen.
     
    Queen Mary’s chambers, left in situ as they were by Queen Victoria when she inherited the