The Making of a Princess Read Online Free

aren’t emotional people.”
    “Ah.” He nodded. “Some people are this way. My family is very emotional.”
    “That must be nice.” Her eyes lit up. He was happy to chase the shadows away. “Do you have a large family?”
    “Yes. There is mama and papa and my younger sister, and her entire brood of children. Plus lots of aunts, uncles, cousins.”
    “It sounds wonderful.”
    “Yes. And sometimes quite loud.”
    “Wonderful,” she repeated. “So Uncle Xavier. Tell me about your nieces and nephews.”
    “What is there to tell? There is one of each. Jon is the youngest at one. And Bridgett is four.”
    “Ah ah.” She shook her finger at him. “You pretend disinterest but it’s obvious you dote on them. Especially the youngest, Jon.”
    “Yes.” How did she know he had a special affection for Jon, who had his grandfather’s naughty grin? “I have missed them.”
    “But no wife or children for you.” She sent him an arch glance. “Are you a player, Xavier?”
    “I have no time for games in my life. And too much respect for my mother.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew Yvette LeDuc would be disappointed in his behavior, even though he acted in the line of duty.
    Enough. Except for one last task, he had done all he could for now, all he was willing to do. He deliberately glanced at his watch.
    “I must go.” He stood and she rose with him. As he hoped she would. He tossed money down to cover their meal and took her hand to lead her to the walkway out front.
    She’d worn her lustrous mane of red gold hair free around her shoulders.
    “I enjoyed this.” She smiled up at him, all innocent charm.
    “As did I.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek, lifting his hand to her hair, feeling like a beast as he did so. The silkiness wrapped around his wrist, catching in his watch. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
    She hesitated long enough for him to remember she’d issued this invitation for coffee at her friend’s prompting. Finally she nodded.
    “Yes. Ouch!” She reached for her hair when he began to lower his hand.
    “My apologies.” He stopped and carefully extracted his hand, taking care not to pull her hair once he’d caught a few strands in his watch. “Such lovely hair. And now I have a memento of our morning together.”
    * * *
    “Amanda, please carry the tray of dressed olives,” Ingrid Carn directed from the other side of the counter. Statuesque in a tailored navy pantsuit, her silver hair short and stylish, she was a striking woman. “I’m so pleased you could make it this evening. We haven’t seen you in ages.”
    “I came for Sunday dinner last weekend,” Amanda reminded her grandmother.
    Doing as directed, she picked up the tray and followed the older woman from the stainless steel and granite kitchen to the parlor where light walls and fabrics offset dark wood and heavy furniture. There was nothing dainty about Ingrid Carn.
    “I do hope we’ll see you more than the occasional weekend,” Grandmother said tightly. “Your grandfather misses you. Posture, dear.”
    Automatically Amanda straightened her shoulders as she sat. Always it was her grandfather’s emotions at risk, never her grandmother’s—an obvious detachment ploy, and to this day it hurt every time she did it.
    Especially tonight, since Amanda had given up her date with Xavier to attend her grandmother’s little fête. Not that having a little extra time to consider her decision to see him again was a bad thing. She enjoyed her time with him, perhaps too much. His confidence, the way he listened, his dangerous air of alertness contradicted by his love of family made him fascinating—just as his accent and Old World courtesies made him charming.
    A lethal combination for an unsophisticated girl.
    What could he possibly see in her?
    This is where Michelle would remind Amanda he was only in town long enough to have a good time. That left her with a good news, bad news scenario. The good news was