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She ignored Stefan’s dark frown as she followed Blair out of the ballroom, her two hulking bodyguards falling into place behind her. With Stefan caught in the middle of a conversation, it would be terribly impolite for him to break off and accost her, much as he wanted to. And Lexie knew that was her very small avenue of escape.
Blair’s high heels clacked a staccato rhythm on the marble floors as she headed to the elevator, for once being quiet as they stepped inside. They were flanked by the bodyguards. Their reflection in the mirrored interior stared back at them. Were it not for Lexie’s updo, the similarity in their height, build, and coloring would have made people look twice and think of them as twins.
Not waiting for an answer, Blair went on. "Isn’t it fantastic timing Theia’s down with a migraine? One less dragon to dodge.” Her nut brown eyes, a darker shade than Lexie’s hazel ones, gleamed at her back with mischief.
“Poor Theia,” Lexie uttered with equal guilt and sympathy. “She should have told me she was feeling poorly when we arrived this morning.” But as usual, her Press Secretary/Personal Assistant was all brisk efficiency. Surprisingly, it was Stefan who had noted Theia’s pallor and had ordered her to take the rest of the day off to recuperate.
Reaching the penthouse, they stepped into a mammoth suite her uncle had booked and paid for Blair to stay in for the duration of the Las Vegas polo season. Her uncle, having no son, had hoped the Gallagher genes’ love for the game would rub off on Blair. Alas, no such luck. Blair’s only interest in that direction lay in getting laid and having affairs with gorgeous Argentine players. The tight white jeans didn’t hurt either, she had said saucily on more than one occasion.
Slamming the doors on the bodyguards, Blair kicked off her high-heeled shoes and lit a cigarette. Lexie sedately perched on one of the sumptuous dark couches, eyeing Blair disapprovingly.
“Don’t say it,” Blair warned, curling her legs under her thighs as she made herself at home.
“I wasn’t going to.” Lexie rose from the couch gracefully. Remembering her bladder, she said, “Excuse me. I have to go to the bathroom.”
Blair puffed on her cigarette. “Just say you need to pee. No need to stand on ceremony, Your Highness. It’s just the two of us.”
“There is no need to be vulgar,” Lexie said, feigning horror as she quoted her long-dead grandmother’s favorite admonition to her American daughter-in-law, her “common” Broadway actress mother. Nonna would turn in her grave if she knew what her little Lexie was planning to do.
She stepped into the spacious en suite bathroom with its gleaming marble floors, his and hers sink, and sunken bathtub. Emerging from the toilet, she glanced at herself critically in the mirror. Blair’s favorite makeup artist and hairdresser had agreed to be Lexie’s personal stylist and assistant on her five-day visit to the United States for the occasional function she was required to attend. Stefan, a bachelor, had delegated some of the more “social” engagements to her so he could concentrate on the trade issues Seirenada wanted to discuss with the U.S. government.
Lexie thought her makeup had been rather “heavy”. She rarely bothered with it back home. In Seirenada, the people were so used to seeing the present generation of royals walking about, grabbing a cup of coffee or riding a bicycle, that they had almost lost their mystique. Only the ever-present paparazzi gave their location away. And even their numbers had significantly dwindled since there was never really much going on since that last “scandal”. Only tourists, who were enamored of spotting a prince or princess, made a big deal out of it. And when they did manage to spot one, they barely held their disappointment in check at their “ordinariness”.
Guy, the makeup artist, had convinced Lexie in a faux French accent that “zee purple heather eye shadow was zee perfectamente color for your eyes.” Staring back at her reflection, her eyelids just looked bruised.
She sighed, already regretting her impulse of following through Blair’s prescribed bucket list. How pathetic can one get when one had to solicit another person to draw up her list for her? Blair had reacted like an enthusiastic puppy out for a walk for the first time, straining at the leash, raring to frolic in the park. Lexie had been counting on her cousin’s reaction. She just didn’t trust herself to go through with the plan on her own.
