Page 1 of Tempted By the Princess

Genevieve

This stupid dress was itchy. It felt like I had a bunch of fire ants moving up and down the sides of my boobs and down my torso. I should have put my foot down with my mother and insisted that I pick my own outfit for tonight, but I’d learned long ago that I had to choose my battles.

With my mother, there was always a bigger battle.

I suppressed a sigh. I couldn’t wait to get home, tear off this dress, and settle on the couch in my pajamas to watch something mindless. Maybe I’d watch the next episode of Ride or Die. I loved Hannah Waddingham, she was hot as hell. Then again, I’d always had a thing for older women.

“Princess Genevieve, so lovely to see you again. And may I say that you look exceptionally beautiful this evening.”

It took everything in me not to roll my eyes at the portly older man who was currently staring down at my cleavage. Resisting the urge to remind him that my eyes were a little higher, I reached out a hand.

“Nice to see you, Roger.”

Roger was some lower level royal from the U.K. He was something like thirty-seventh in the line of succession, but he still acted like he was going to move into Buckingham Palace at any moment.

Not that I had any room to talk. I was the ‘spare’ for a small mid-Atlantic country off the coast of western Europe. The entire country was about the size of Manhattan, but less populous than the Big Apple. Really it was a surprise that we were never swallowed up by Spain or England, but somehow Saint Marenne had remained independent for over two hundred years.

My sister Evangeline – or the ‘good daughter’ as my parents privately called her – would be queen when our father passed away. She spent her time in the family palace learning the ropes of running a small country. I had more freedom than her, something I knew she sometimes envied. I’d gone to college in America and stayed, getting a job at a private foundation here in Seattle. The best thing about living in the States was basically no one had heard of my country. It gave me a level of anonymity I couldn’t get back home. As long as I periodically played the role of dutiful princess, I was mostly free to live my life.

“Genevieve, quit fidgeting!”

I hadn’t heard my mother coming. She had the uncanny ability of sidling up to people so quietly it was almost as if she’d appeared out of thin air.

“Hi Mom,” I said, resisting the urge to sigh.

For some reason she still felt compelled to chide me about things as if I was an unruly teenager instead of a fully grown adult with a job. It made it hard not to regress into my younger self whenever I was around her.

As usual Mom looked perfectly put together, her makeup flawless and not a hair out of place. She was nearly sixty but with her smooth skin and trim body she could easily pass for a woman fifteen years younger.

My parents were in Seattle for one of their rare visits. Mostly I went home to Saint Marenne to see my family. I was expected to be there for Christmas, the anniversary of Dad’s coronation, and any other time my mother summoned me. I still wasn’t totally sure why they were here in my part of the world. They were up to something, that I could tell, I just didn’t know what.

“Hi sweetheart.” Dad joined us, leaning in to press a quick kiss on my cheek.

He was tall and handsome, with dark hair gone gray at the temples and a square chin that made him look like that old cartoon hero, Dudley Do-Right.

“Hey Dad.”

“Doesn’t Genevieve look nice?” Mom prompted.

“You both are stunning,” my father said gallantly. His fingers intertwined with hers, pulling her close.

One thing about my parents, they were still madly in love. It made me hope that someday I could find what they had. Without the running a country part anyway.

“Good evening, your highnesses.”

A man in his early forties approached us wearing an expensive suit and a blindingly white smile. Judging by his accent and his blonde hair and blue eyes he was from one of the Scandinavian countries. He was handsome, I noted absently, not much taller than me but with the muscular body of a man who worked out regularly.

“Ah Hans, there you are.” My mother greeted the newcomer warmly. “I’d like to introduce you to our daughter, Princess Genevieve.”

He reached for my hand, pressing his lips against the back of my fingers like some old school prince. “It’s a pleasure, Princess.”

“Hans is the third cousin of the King of Sweden.”

I nodded politely. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh look how cute they look together, Simon.”

My father nodded, his eyes moving between us. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a flash of discomfort, but it was gone so fast I thought I’d imagined it.