Free The Princess and the Bodyguard by Morgan Ashbury Page B

something in return.”
    “What did you have in mind?”
    “I can’t invite you all over to my place for dinner. But perhaps there’s a way I can serve you a taste of Canada here.”
    This was the first thing she’d ever really asked of him—well, except that he not lie to her again. Judging by the expression on her face, he’d be surprised if she didn’t have her plans fine-tuned down to the last detail.
    “You want to plan, and host, an evening? I don’t see why not.”
    “Even if it’s something totally different from what you’re used to?”
    “Even if. Whatever you want to do, love, is fine by me. Shall I issue a royal decree?”
    He loved the sound of her laughter. He loved it even more when she pushed him flat on the bed and climbed on top of him.
    “I don’t need a royal decree. I only need the keys to somebody’s car.”
     
    * * * *
     
    Rachel spent about a half hour examining the work that had been completed on her shop. The painting was finished, and the first worktables installed. The electrical upgrading had been completed, so the sewing machines could be installed at any time. The workroom boasted lots of light, and she already began to imagine what she could do to turn this into a cheery workspace. Satisfied, she gathered up her files, set them in her case, and took a final look around the place.
    “Lunch the next item on your agenda?” Peter’s question broke into her mental planning.
    “At the Concorde Hotel. My first interview.” Rachel wanted to say more, but Peter had been stiff and non-communicative since leaving the palace. She decided that after lunch, she’d see what buttons she could push to get a warmer—make that hotter—reaction out of him.
    Cardinia wasn’t a large city. It took only a few minutes for Peter to negotiate noontime traffic. At first, she’d been hopeful when she’d come down the steps earlier to find him waiting for her with the Mercedes. Knowing that he intended to drive, she hoped the privacy would have encouraged intimacy. So far, it hadn’t happened, but unless she missed her guess, his tension was growing by the moment.
    The restaurant at the Concorde Hotel was truly one of the most beautiful in Europe. Rachel loved the gold and peach décor, the profusion of plants, and the delicate looking ceiling fans. The chairs, white wicker with high backs and plush cushions, always put her in mind of some tropical paradise. She wouldn’t have been surprised to hear the squawk of a macaw.
    “Have a good lunch. I’ll be at the table next to you. Pretend I’m not there.”
    “You’re not sitting with us?”
    “You and Madame Montand don’t need a man hovering all over your fashion talk.”
    Before she could protest, the maitre d’ led her through the heart of the restaurant to a table in the back. Peter sat at a table fairly close to them, where a “reserved” sign had been.
    Jeanne Montand got to her feet and held out her hand.
    “I’m so pleased you agreed to this interview, Your Highness.”
    “It’s nice to meet you.” Rachel shook the woman’s hand and then sat. Madame Montand appeared a handsome woman, but the color of the suit she wore—a dull purple—didn’t compliment her complexion at all. A fashion editor should show more personal fashion sense.
    A waiter appeared immediately and gave a slight bow to Rachel.
    “You don’t mind, I hope, if I have a cocktail?” the other woman asked.
    Which would be her second, at least, judging by the already empty glass on the table. “Not at all. I’ll have some water, please.”
    “Amazing that you’re not tempted to indulge, even when those around you are having a drink. Ah, well. That is good.”
    Rachel kept her smile in place, despite the dig.
    “You are even younger looking in person than in your photographs, Your Highness. Ah, to be young and wealthy. You are so fortunate. And of course, the coastal weather here is so moderate and moist. You are wise to take precautions when you