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“So you don’t believe in romance or fairytales?”
“Those are two different things. Fairytales are fabricated stories.”
“And romance?”
Leo looked off in the distance. “Romance is real. But not everyone gets to have it.”
“I can’t imagine marrying for anything but love. What’s the point?”
“Financial security. Protection. Duty. That’s why the nobility married in the past, as well as in the present. A lot of commoners still marry for convenience. Romantic love is only a few hundred years old.”
“It’s been written about for thousands of years.”
“So have fairytales.”
“Well then, it’s lucky for us that we’re both common folk, and we can choose to marry for love and not duty.”
“Yes. Lucky us.”
A throat cleared behind them. Esme looked up to see the disapproving Giles glaring once more at her.
“My apologies, Esme, but duty calls.” There was true regret in Leo’s voice. “I have to get back to work. It was lovely meeting you.”
He reached out for her hand. She gave it to him. There were pie crumbs on her fingertips. She jerked to bring her hand back in an effort to wipe the pie off, but Leo stayed her hand. He turned her palm over, and he kissed it.
Butterflies went off in Esme’s belly. She wanted to say something, but her tongue was tied. And the moment she had her wits about her, he was gone.
Chapter Five
Leo licked his fingers, catching the last crumbs of morsels from the sweet treat that reminded him of home. The golden crust had transported him to the sandy beaches of the island just east of Barcelona. The sweet and fruity notes had called to the French wine country to Cordoba’s north. And the spice mixture gave a kick to his Moorish ancestors from the south. The pie maker had captured all of Cordovian history and culture in one perfect bite.
“Can you order a few of these for tonight’s dinner?” Leo said to Giles.
Giles pulled out his cell phone and placed the order while Leo licked the last bit from his fingertips. It was bad manners to suckle one’s fingers, to be sure, but there was no one watching him. Giles was preoccupied with the pie maker. The driver had his eyes on the road. And Leo’s mind was … elsewhere.
Just up ahead, he saw the dry cleaning truck with the green dragon logo parked at a storefront. Had it been in motion, Leo might have the notion of charging forward into the fray once more. But his damsel was safely ensconced on a stool back in the pie shop.
Leo wondered if he put his ear to Giles’s phone if he might hear her tinkling laughter. Catch the slight hitch of her breath as she leaned in and listened to him recite the boring details of his job, a job he’d pretended wasn’t his. Yet, she’d been fascinated all the same.
Esme had called him a knight, a hero. As a real king, he was none of those. He was just a nobleman in a suit. A businessman really. And the title placed him as a figurehead with a lot of responsibility. One of those responsibilities was finding a new wife.
He thought of Esme’s smile. Their easy banter. Her wild imagination. Her American accent and girl-next-door good looks. She was likely as red-blooded as an American could get. No hint of royal blue was likely to run in her veins.
She was all wrong for him, of course. Definitely not a candidate to sit beside him on the throne. But a delightful lunch companion to sit beside him on a stool.
He’d enjoyed their conversation. He’d enjoyed the escape she’d offered him, even if only for a moment. Over a slice of pie, he’d been a regular Joe chatting up a girl casually. He’d never done anything casual in his life. His every move, thought, and decisions were a matter of state.
His time with Esme had been his escape into an imaginary storybook. Now it was back to business as the car pulled up to the United Nations headquarters.
The tall glass and concrete structure looked like any other office building in the city. One of its distinguishing characteristics was the array of flags flying from posts. There were dozens. One hundred and ninety-three to be exact. Leo easily spotted the Cordovian flag with its staunch orange, red, and blue colors.
“You have your notes?” asked Giles.
Of course, he did. He was always prepared. But Giles had to ask the question, it was his job.
Leo knew that others in Giles’s position had a time with their noblemen. Alex couldn’t keep a valet or an assistant. The men, and one woman, gave up in a matter of weeks trying to wrangle the man. Most of the times, they couldn’t find Alex as he’d often hopped on a jet or yacht and was off in some obscure corner of the globe stuffing his face full of exotic dishes. Leo was the perfect employer and royal. Giles really shouldn’t complain.
“What have you done to your suit?” Giles looked down at him in horror. A few smudges from his time in the street with Esme remained at the bottom of his jacket.
