HOLIDAY ROYALE (12 page)

Chapter Nine

“L
ucy, wait up!”

Her arms full of groceries, Lucy backed against the entry door, holding it open as Brandon Delaney jogged up the building steps toward her, wearing heavy running pants, a winter-weight hoodie and cross-trainers, his cap on backward.

Once he cleared the door, she let it swing shut. He was panting pretty hard, his handsome face red, his blond hair sweaty where it stuck out from under the cap.

“When did you get back?” he asked between breaths.

“Sunday.”

“Good trip?”

“It was terrific, thanks.” She flashed him a smile, wondering how he knew she’d been gone. She hadn’t told him she was going away for Thanksgiving. Maybe Ed, the super, had mentioned her trip, or Viviana Nichols, who lived in the larger apartment on her floor, might have said something to him.

Flashing her a broad smile that showed off a dental hygienist’s dream of straight, brilliantly white teeth, Brandon reached for her groceries. “Here. Let me carry those for you.”

Okay. Weird. Brandon had been avoiding her for a couple of weeks, ever since she’d put that pitiful excuse for a move on him. Why was he suddenly so friendly now?

Then again, what did it matter why he was being nice? If he wanted to carry her stuff, wonderful.

The elevator had stopped up on five. Rather than wait for it, they took the stairs. Lucy’s apartment was on the third floor. As they trudged up the two flights, he said, “I had no idea that you knew the prince.”

He knew she knew Dami? She was certain she’d never told him that.

On second thought, it probably wasn’t such a stretch that he would know. Pictures of her and Dami were not only all over the internet but they had made a few of the tabloids, too. Brandon could have seen them. “Yes. We’re good friends.”

“Wow.” He shook his head. “Amazing. Thanksgiving at the Prince’s Palace. That must have been something.”

“How did you know I was in Montedoro?”

“Marie. She had a copy of the
National Enquirer.
She showed me the pictures of you and the prince. You know how she is....”

Marie Dobronsky, the super’s wife, was a sweet woman. She did like to gossip, however. Lucy made a mental note not to be so chatty with Marie in the future.

They reached the second floor and started up to the third. Brandon said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him here— I mean, I heard that he does own the building. Is that right?”

“Yes, he does,” she said, and left it at that. They reached her floor. Brandon fell in behind her as she approached her door. “Thanks. You can just set the bags down. I’ll take it from here.”

“Oh, come on. Let me carry them in for you.”

She started to refuse—but wait a minute. A week ago she would have been walking on air to have Brandon carrying her groceries for her. “Hey, if you insist...” She unlocked the door and ushered him in first, pointing down the short hall that opened into her small living room and the kitchen beyond. “That way.”

He carried the bags in and set them on the retro chrome-and-red laminate table she’d found on eBay. “This is nice.” He took off his cap and looked around her tiny narrow kitchen, which had a small skinny window with a view of a brick wall. Her cat, Boris, sat in that window, watching them with a bored expression on his broad face. Brandon turned his blinding white smile her way again. “We should catch up. Let’s go get coffee or something.”

Coffee. He wanted to get a coffee with her....

Last Wednesday she would have traded her Juki serger sewing machine for a chance to get a coffee with Brandon. But after Dami, well, Brandon somehow wasn’t giving her the familiar thrill.

And that totally annoyed her.

The whole point of convincing Dami to teach her about sex had been to become more experienced, more sophisticated—not to lose all interest in Brandon, who was a good part of the reason she’d asked for Dami’s help in the first place.

Uh-uh. No way was she turning down a coffee with Brandon. Even if she didn’t want to go. “How about the diner on the corner? But I need to put this food away first.”

“I’ll grab a shower, be back for you in twenty.”

* * *

Lucy loved the Paradise Diner. It was owned by a Greek family, the Mustos, and served the usual diner fare, burgers and fries, meat loaf and mashed potatoes, coffee and pie—plus a few Greek specialties. The cook, Nestor, was a little scary. Sometimes he shouted through the service window in Greek. The waitresses treated Lucy like one of the family. There was just something so homey and comfortable about the Paradise. Lucy ate there every chance she got.

While she’d been out of town, they’d decorated for the holidays, painting the windows with Christmas greetings, hanging fat gold garland everywhere, putting up an artificial tree by the cash register and an almost-life-size crèche in the corner by the door.

She and Brandon took a booth and ordered coffee and pie. Brandon talked about the auditions he’d been on and the part he thought he was sure to get in an upcoming off-Broadway show. And his agent was pushing him to fly out to L.A. and audition for a major role in a new sitcom. Yeah, it was just television. But a guy had to eat.

And then he leaned closer. “Come on, Lucy. Are you sure you and Prince Damien aren’t having a
thing?
”

She laughed at that. “Like I said, we’re just friends.” It caused a distinct ache in her heart to say those words. Maybe more of an ache than she’d bargained for. “He’s always been good to me, that’s all.”

“‘Good to you.’” Brandon arched a golden eyebrow. “I could take that any number of ways.”

What was that supposed to mean? She didn’t even want to know. “Why should you take it
any
way? Sheesh, Brandon. Are you writing a book or something?”

He gave her that blinding white smile again, the one that just a couple of weeks ago could rock her world. “I’m an actor. It’s my job to understand what makes people tick—and ‘always’? You said he’s ‘always’ been good to you. Does that mean you’ve known him since childhood?”

Pushy. There was no other word for the way Brandon was behaving. And in any case, she just didn’t feel comfortable discussing Dami with a casual acquaintance. Privacy mattered to Dami, to all the Bravo-Calabrettis. She doubted Brandon would go running to the tabloids with something she said. But still.

She said, “He’s a friend of the family.”

Brandon wouldn’t quit. “I saw somewhere, I think, that your brother is marrying his sister Princess Alice.”

“Yes,” she answered with zero inflection. “They’re very happy together.”

He gave her a sly look from those golden-brown eyes she used to drool over. “Lucy, you are turning out to be a very big surprise.”

And that had her feeling defensive somehow. “I’m the same person I was before.”

“Well, yeah. But I just didn’t know...” He was looking at her so intently, his gaze tracking from her eyes to her mouth and back to her eyes again. “God. Was I blind or what?”

Flirting. Omigod. Brandon Delaney was flirting with her. He was flirting with her and she didn’t even care. In fact, it was kind of depressing that he was interested now and she felt nothing but vaguely annoyed with him. “Brandon, eat your pie.”

He went on looking at her in that teasingly intimate way. “I want to spend more time with you.”

She couldn’t resist reminding him, “But I’m so innocent, remember? And you’ve got no time for me, because acting is your life.”

He leaned his chin on his fist and gave her the long, lingering, melting, butterscotch stare. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Yeah, well. So had she. She opened her mouth to tell him so—and his phone, which he’d set on the table beside him, started playing “Gangnam Style.”

He snatched it up and looked at the screen. “I need to take this.” And he did. Right then and there. “Maureen...Yes...They do?...Yes!” He flashed Lucy a thumbs-up. She had no idea why. “Tomorrow? Impossible....” He scowled. She could hear the person named Maureen talking fast. And Brandon started nodding. “Yeah, I do. I know...You’re right, okay, tomorrow.” There was more. He kept on agreeing with the person named Maureen and said that yes, he would, absolutely. He was on it. Lucy finished her excellent pie and sipped her coffee.

When he finally hung up, she guessed, “Big news?”

“Oh, yeah. That was my agent. That sitcom I told you about? They want me. They
really
want me. I’m flying out to L.A. tonight. It’s big, Lucy. It’s huge—and listen, I’ve got to get moving....”

“Absolutely.” She wished him good luck in theater speak. “Break a leg.”

He was already on his feet. “Thanks, Lucy.”

“Break them both.”

He chuckled. Then he bent close and kissed her on the cheek. “We’ll talk...soon.”

“’Bye, Brandon.”

He straightened, turned and headed for the door.

Lucy watched him go. He hadn’t touched his pie.

The waitress, Tabitha, who was the owner’s daughter and around Lucy’s age, appeared beside the booth, coffeepot in hand. She refilled Lucy’s cup. “Not your type, huh?”

Lucy reached across the table and snagged Brandon’s abandoned pie. “Was I that obvious?”

“Not to him, apparently—and look. He left you something.” She waved the check.

Laughing, Lucy took it. “Not a problem. After all, I get to eat his pie.”

* * *

It snowed the next day, Thursday. Not a lot. But enough that Lucy could look out her bedroom windows and see it drifting down onto the sidewalk outside, a frail bit of it collecting in the dip of the brown awning over the door of the Italian restaurant across the street. She wished Dami was there to see it with her.

And then she felt gloomy. Because he wasn’t there, because it was only a little snow and she still wanted to share it with him.

She couldn’t stop thinking about him. And she tried to excuse that by telling herself it was natural to miss him after all that had happened between them. It wasn’t that bad to have maybe fallen for him just a little bit—not too much, oh, no. Only a thoroughly appropriate amount given that he’d seen her naked more than once and she’d done things with him she’d never done in her life before.

Good things. Wonderful things. Things she couldn’t let herself think too much about or she’d only get gloomier.

Keeping busy. That was the key. No way was she going to end up sitting in a chair staring out the window, thinking of Thanksgiving and wanting to cry.

As soon as the snow stopped, she went out and prowled her favorite fabric and notions stores, snatching up things that inspired her. She intended to work for several hours every day on clothing and accessory designs and on making a few of the ideas she came up with.

Lots of work should keep her from longing for Dami.

And, hey, it was Christmastime. There were so many organizations looking for volunteers.

On Friday morning she looked around online and chose two worthy causes. She called and signed up to wrap presents for disadvantaged kids and to put in five four-hour sessions making costumes for a children’s theater organization called Make-Believe and Magic. She worked for a while sketching a few new accessory designs and then she went down the street to the Paradise for a late breakfast.

By then the regular breakfast crowd had cleared out and the diner was quiet for that hour or two before they all started piling in for lunch.

Tabby gave her coffee, took her order, stuck it on the rack in the pass-through for Nestor and then slid into the seat across from her. “Wow, Lucy. You always look so great.”

“Thanks.” Lucy fluffed the cowl neck of the white sweater she wore under her cutaway purple jacket. “Clothes are my undying passion, it’s true.”

“Didn’t you say once that you make everything you wear?”

“Most of them, I do.” She picked up her coffee cup. Tabby was looking at her kind of strangely. “Okay.” She sipped. “Something’s on your mind. What?”

“God. I don’t even know how to ask you....”

“Oh, come on. I’m totally harmless. Ask me.”

Tabby puffed out her cheeks with a hard breath. “There’s this guy. I’ve had my eye on him. He finally asked me out for Saturday, a week from tomorrow night. It’s a cocktail-dress thing—and I mean, I know it’s really short notice, but then I was thinking how you have such amazing taste and all and maybe you could give me a few tips on what to buy, that you could—”

“You want me to make something for you? I could so do that.”

Tabby blinked. “Just like that. You would—you
could?
”

“Yeah. It would be fun.”

“I would pay you. I mean, not a lot, but—”

Lucy waved a hand. “Not a problem. I’m just getting started in my career, anyway. I need cool projects.”

“But I
would
pay you.”

“Sure. Of course. We can work that out.”

“But...I mean, something for
me,
right? For my body and coloring? Your style is killer, but it’s not me.” Tabby had streaky blond hair and amazing cheekbones. She stood five-eleven or so and rocked one of those real-woman bodies with serious curves.

“Oh, yeah. For you, only you. I’m thinking something that flows and clings and shows off a little of that gorgeous olive skin.”

Tabitha asked in a breathless tone, “Can it be red?”

“Oh, yes, it can.”

All at once Tabby looked like a kid having the best Christmas ever. “Lucy, I’m liking this. I seriously am....”

* * *

Tabby came right over to Lucy’s after her shift was through.

Lucy ushered her into the bedroom, which was big enough that she not only had her bed and dresser in there but she’d also set up a cutting table, her two sewing machines and a couple of dress forms. Lucy took Tabby’s measurements and they discussed fabric and detail. Lucy was thinking the red dress should be chiffon, with a flowing short skirt, a ruched strapless bodice and a sweetheart neckline. And there should be bling—maybe crystal beading or rhinestones to accent the bodice. She did some quick sketches and Tabby was sold. She wrote a check right then and there for the amount Lucy quoted her.

Then they started talking. Tabby talked about the guy who’d asked her out for Saturday night. His name was Henry O’Mara and he owned a shoe-repair shop in Chelsea. She said her parents were driving her crazy. She’d been engaged to a nice Greek man, but she’d called it off and they couldn’t understand what could be the matter with her. Lucy shared her issues with Noah and her adoration of Alice. She even talked about Dami a little.