Cinderella's Prince Under the Mistletoe Read online

  What now? Obviously, even though the temptation was great, she could not run back into the Lodge, as she had a desire to do. She was fairly certain, even without having read the protocol book, that she was probably expected to execute some kind of curtsy. She had planned to practice one. Really, she had!

  In fact, she had pictured her and Gabriella, giggling insanely and curtsying to each other.

  Apparently nothing about this particular visit was going to go according to plan.

  Imogen ran a hand through her scattered hair and lifted her chin. She took a deep breath and stepped forward. No matter what the protocol book said, she wasn’t going to go up to the Prince in her work jeans and blue plaid flannel shirt and try to curtsy!

  CHAPTER TWO

  IMOGEN APPROACHED THE two men. Both swung around to look at her. Both were frowning. This was not the usual reaction of vacationers arriving to the pristine beauty of the mountainside lodge! A bit flustered, she managed to paste a smile on her face.

  “Prince Luca?” she said. “I’m sorry, we were expecting Prince Antonio.”

  Both men looked at her as if it wasn’t up to her to tell them who she was expecting.

  “Welcome to the Crystal Lake Lodge,” she stammered, resisting an impulse to touch her hand to her forehead and bow away!

  She extended her hand. Too late, she thought maybe she was not supposed to extend her hand. The soldier type looked at her, dismayed, and as if he might block her from touching the Prince with his own body.

  But the Prince stopped him with a barely discernible motion of his head. He took her proffered hand.

  His touch was warm and dry and exquisitely strong, subtly but unarguably sensual. His eyes, so dark and deliciously brown, met hers squarely.

  Something about his eyes increased that thought that tickled the back of her brain: I know him.

  But of course she did not know him. And for someone who had met dozens of celebrities, her next reaction was startling. Ridiculously, she felt like a starstruck teen who had gotten way too close to her rock idol. With all the grace she could muster, she extracted her hand from his grip before she fell under some kind of enchantment. She reminded herself, sternly, that enchantments were over for her.

  As if a prince would ever look to a woman like her to be a partner in his enchantment, anyway. Life was not a fairy tale! Fairy tales ended with happily-ever-after. And beyond the final line of the story—beyond the “the end”—was the unwritten expectation of babies. She guessed this was probably even truer for royal families. Weren’t they highly focused on heirs? On the continuation of their line?

  “Prince Luca,” she managed to say. “Or Prince Antonio?”

  Neither men offered to clarify who he was, so regaining her composure as quickly as possible, she said, “I’m Imogen Albright. I’m the Lodge manager.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Albright,” he said. “It is Miss?”

  The words were said with the deep composure of a man who was very used to meeting people in a variety of circumstances.

  There was no need to feel as if his voice—deep, faintly accented, husky—was a caress on the back of her neck.

  “Yes, it is,” she said, blushing as though it were a failure of some sort. She turned quickly and offered her hand to the other man.

  “Cristiano,” he said briefly, taking her hand and bowing slightly.

  She didn’t feel any jolt of electricity from his hand!

  For a moment there was silence, and she rushed to fill it. “Obviously, you wouldn’t have flown from Casavalle in it, so how does one customize a helicopter with an insignia in such a short time?”

  The Prince lifted a shoulder, but Cristiano answered.

  “It was on order, anyway, from a North American company. We asked the delivery date be pushed up and changed the city of delivery.”

  It made her very aware of the kind of power and wealth the Prince casually wielded—no wish too great to be granted—and made her even more aware, suddenly, of her own appearance. She was in faded jeans, the lumberjack-style shirt she favored for days with no clients and sneakers with bright pink laces! She didn’t have on a speck of makeup and her hair not only wasn’t up, but now it was windblown to boot.

  She had planned an outfit suited to greeting royalty: a pale blue suit with a tailored jacket and pencil-thin pants, paired with a white silk blouse. She had planned to have her hair up and her makeup done.

  “It’s a magnificent place,” Prince Luca said, glancing at the Lodge.

  The two-story building was timber framed and stone fronted, and had a beautifully complicated roofline that made it fit in perfectly with the landscape of towering peaks around it. It was magnificent, and coming from someone who was no doubt surrounded with magnificence all the time, it was indeed a compliment.

  And yet, even as he said it, she sensed, not insincerity, but a fine tension in him, as if the Prince was preoccupied with matters of significance. Again, his reaction to his surroundings made it seem as if he were not here for a relaxing holiday in the mountains.

  When his eyes left the Lodge and returned to her, she glimpsed something in them that took her aback. He didn’t just look preoccupied. There was a shadow of something there. Distress?

  Which begged the question again: Why was the Prince here? To heal some wound? The thought made him seem all too human. Insanely, it made her want to step toward him, look into the astonishing familiarity of his brown eyes more deeply and assure him everything would be all right.

  How silly would that be, especially from her, from someone who had ample evidence everything was not always all right?

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Imogen said, avoiding a name altogether. “We weren’t expecting you today.”

  “I believe a message was sent,” Cristiano said, a bit stiffly, as if she had insulted his competence, “to your cell phone.”

  Since it felt as if her own competence might be in question, she felt compelled to defend herself. “Our satellite reception here is beyond spotty, so cell phone service can’t really be relied on here. It’s because of the forests and the mountains. I’m very clear about that when people book.” She realized she sounded as if she was justifying herself, so added, “I see it as part of our charm.”

  The Prince tilted his head at her, considering this. “Is our early arrival a problem, then?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Yes, it was a problem! It was very nearly dinnertime and the chef had done all the meal planning, not Imogen. What was she going to offer them? A peanut butter sandwich? “It’s just, um, we aren’t quite ready,” Imogen said. “The chef won’t be arriving until morning. And the cleaning staff isn’t quite finished up.”

  “I trust you’ll overcome these difficulties,” the Prince said.

  His voice was so beautiful it sounded as if he had said something outrageously sexy instead of something extremely mundane.

  Of course she would overcome these difficulties. Even though she wasn’t the greatest in the kitchen and cooking department, the Lodge was well stocked.

  But before she could figure out the specifics of how she was going to overcome these difficulties, the crisp mountain air was split with a scream from inside the Lodge. It sounded as if someone was being murdered.

  The scream snaked along Imogen’s spine. She turned to the Lodge, frozen with shock. Neither of the men experienced that same paralysis.

  They both bolted toward the front door, and she snapped out of it and ran after them, even as she registered surprise that the bodyguard would be running, with his Prince, toward an unknown situation.

  The men, with their long legs, quickly outstripped her. Though neither man had ever been in the Lodge before, they must have followed the sound of wailing, and when she found them, they were squeezed into an upstairs bathroom with Rachel.

  “Cristiano
?” the Prince asked.

  The bodyguard, on the floor with Rachel, looked up. His expression was calm, but his voice when he spoke held urgency.

  “She’s going to have the baby,” he said tersely. “And she’s going to have it soon.”

  “But she’s not due for another two weeks,” Imogen stammered.

  “Where’s the nearest hospital?” Prince Luca asked her.

  “There’s a walk-in clinic in Crystal Lake, but they can handle only very minor emergencies. Rachel’s been going to a specialist in the city.”

  “I have to have the baby at Saint Mary’s Hospital,” Rachel managed to sob. “They’re set up for it. They know—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “How far to Saint Mary’s?” the Prince asked Imogen.

  “It’s in the city. At least two hours,” Imogen said quietly. “If the roads are good.” She thought of that storm cloud boiling up over Crystal Mountain with a sinking heart.

  “Take her by helicopter,” Prince Luca said to Cristiano. “Do it now.”

  Cristiano gave him a questioning look, and Imogen understood immediately. He was torn. His first duty was to protect his Prince.

  “Go now,” Prince Luca said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

  “Yes, sir,” Cristiano said, and scooped up Rachel as if she was a mere child. With the Prince and Imogen on his heels, he raced outside. Imogen noticed the weather had already changed. The wind had picked up and the blue skies were being herded toward the horizon by a wall of ominous gray clouds.

  Cristiano made his way to the helicopter with the sobbing woman in his arms. With surprising gentleness, he had Rachel situated in no time.

  He turned, saluted the Prince. “I should be back within the hour, sir.”

  “Miss Albright and I will try and stave off danger until your return,” the Prince said drily.

  Cristiano turned and got into the pilot’s seat. The engines roared to life and the rotors began to move, slowly at first, and then so rapidly they were but a blur. In moments, the helicopter had lifted off the ground and was moving in the same direction as that quickly disappearing ridge of blue sky.

  Imogen hugged herself against the sharpness of the wind. A single snowflake drifted down and she tilted her head to it. Knowing these mountains as she did, she was certain of one thing.

  Unless he was prepared to fly through a full-blown mountain blizzard, Cristiano was not going to be back in an hour.

  “I’m sorry your arrival was so eventful,” Imogen said, turning to the Prince. “I can’t thank you enough for offering your helicopter.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he said.

  “Do you think it was normal labor, or do you think something was wrong?” Imogen asked him.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

  She could have kicked herself. How would he know? Dealing with pregnancies was hardly going to be one of his princely duties.

  “You’re very worried about her,” he said with grave understanding.

  “Terrified for her,” she admitted, and then, even though it might not be allowed, according to the protocol book, she felt driven to expand on that. “While I’m sure your position requires you maintain a certain formality with your staff, it’s not like that here. We are a very small hotel, and Crystal Lake is quite an isolated community. In a way, we all become family.”

  His eyes rested on her very intently for a moment.

  “Do you know everyone in the village of Crystal Lake?” he asked.

  “Residents, yes. Visitors, no.”

  He contemplated that for a moment. She was sure he wanted to ask her something, but then he did not. Instead, he put his hands in his trouser pockets. She realized he was very probably getting cold. His tailored suit was obviously custom-made and absolutely gorgeous, but lightweight. The shirt underneath, which had looked white at first glance, was the palest shade of pink, and silk, which was hardly known for its insulating qualities.

  “I’m sorry, Prince Luca,” she said. “I’m distracted. It’s very cold out. I’ll show you your room and you can get settled.”

  Then she realized there was nothing for him to get settled with—his luggage had just gone away with the helicopter.

  Still, she showed him the room, chatting about the history of the Lodge as they moved up the sweeping staircase and down the wide hallway to his suite. She was glad she had done this so many times it was second nature to her. She could not get her mind off Rachel, plus there was something about the Prince’s presence that could easily tie her tongue in knots.

  Finally, she opened the door of the suite she had personally prepared for him. “I hope you’ll find the accommodations comfortable,” she said.

  He barely looked around. He went to the window, and when he turned back to her, he was frowning.

  “It’s snowing,” he said.

  She could see the window beyond him, and even though she had been expecting snow, she was a little taken aback by how quickly it was thickening outside the window.

  She didn’t want to let her alarm show; if this kept up, the helicopter might not be able to return. The chef might not arrive. And what about a replacement for Rachel? Imogen was not certain that she was up to handling a royal visit all on her own.

  Where the heck was Gabi when she needed her?

  Still, Imogen told herself it was much too soon for alarm. Sometimes these autumn squalls were over almost before they began.

  With a calm she was far from feeling, she said, “The weather in these mountains can be very unpredictable. We have a saying here—if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute.”

  “I am from the mountains, too,” he said. “Casavalle is in a sheltered valley, but there is quite a formidable range of mountains behind it that acts as a border to the neighboring kingdom, Aguilarez. This actually reminds me of my home. I understand this unpredictable weather.”

  But if he was from a mountainous region, and if this reminded him of home, why come? Why not choose something less familiar for a getaway?

  None of your business, she reminded herself firmly. Her business was to make sure he was comfortable and cared for, for the duration of his stay.

  “I’ll have dinner ready in about an hour, Prince Luca. Would you prefer I bring it to you, or will you come down?”

  “I’ll come down, thank you, Miss Albright.”

  She noticed the Prince looked exhausted. Almost before she had the door closed, he had thrown himself on the bed, and his hand moved to his tie, wrenching it loose from his throat. He looked up at the ceiling, his expression deeply troubled.

  She shut the door quickly and made her way down the stairs. She stopped at her office and used the landline to call Rachel’s husband, Tom. There was no answer, and so she left a message for him to contact her as soon as possible. And then she tried Gabriella’s number.

  That same cheerful message she’d been getting for three days came on.

  “You’ve reached Gabi. I must be hiking mountain trails. You know the drill. After the beep.”

  The beep came, and Imogen said, “I certainly hope you are not hiking the mountain trails right now, Gabriella Ross! There’s a terrible storm hitting. Please let me know you are all right as soon as you can.”

  But of course, Gabi would be all right. She had, just as Imogen had, grown up in these mountains. She knew what to do in every situation. Tourists might sometimes be caught unaware by the fickle nature of mountain weather, but locals rarely were. Imogen suspected her urgent request for Gabi to call her had an underlying motive that served her.

  She was here alone with a prince, a blizzard was setting in and she needed Gabi’s help! Plus, she needed to know what the heck was going on with Gabi. What better circumstance than riding out a blizzard together to inspire confidences?

  She sighed and went to the window.
Night was falling, and between the growing darkness and the thick snow, she could no longer see the tree line at the edge of the lawns.

  With worry for both Rachel and Gabi nipping at her mind like a small, yappy dog nipping at her heels, she went to the kitchen and once again investigated the contents of the fridge.

  She sighed at all the unfamiliar items, then grabbed a package of mushrooms, some cheese and a few other ingredients. Despite her distress over Rachel’s departure and the brewing storm, she had a job to do, and she would do it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  PRINCE LUCA VALENTI woke to pitch-blackness. He almost wished for the disorientation that came with waking in a different time zone, in a strange bed, but no, he was not so lucky.

  He knew exactly where he was and what day it was. He was at the Crystal Lake Lodge in the Rocky Mountains of Canada.

  And it was the worst day of his life.

  Oddly, since it was the worst day of his life, his thoughts did not go immediately to the sudden onslaught of difficulties he was experiencing.

  Instead, for some reason he thought of her, Imogen Albright. It wasn’t that the wind had tangled her hair, or that she had looked adorable and completely unprofessional in her plaid shirt and faded jeans and those sneakers with the neon pink laces, that made him think of her. It wasn’t that she hadn’t addressed him correctly, or that she had offered her hand first. It wasn’t even the look of distress on her face when they had found the maid in such anguish on the bathroom floor.

  No, it wasn’t those things that made her, Imogen Albright, his first waking thought.

  And it was not really that the fragrance in this room was like her—fresh and light and deliciously clean—and that it had surrounded him while he slept and greeted him when he opened his eyes.