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“Do you see what I mean about dull?” Ariana murmured to her an hour into the party. “We’ve made an appearance. Anytime you’re ready to leave, just say the word. A friend of mine owns a club. It’s opening night and he’d love to have me show up.”
Brooke had been finding the party anything but dull. Unlike Nic, she liked to balance hours of study and research with socializing. People-watching was the best way to get out of her head and the prime minister’s party was populated by characters.
“Sure, we can leave, but this isn’t as dull as you say.”
“I’m sorry, I forget that you are new to all this.”
“I suppose you’re right. Who is the woman in the black gown and the one over there in blue?” Each of them negotiated the room on the arm of an older gentleman, but Brooke had observed several telling glances passing between them.
“That’s Countess Venuto.” Ariana indicated the woman wearing blue. “And Renanta Arazzi. Her husband is the minister of trade. The men hate each other.”
“Their wives don’t share their husbands’ antagonism.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think they’re having an affair.” Brooke grinned. “Or they’re just about to.”
Ariana gasped, obviously shocked. “Tell me how you know.”
Brooke spent the next hour explaining her reasoning to Ariana and then commented on several other things she’d picked up, astonishing the princess with her observations and guesses.
“You have an uncanny knack for reading people,” Ariana exclaimed. “Gabriel should hire you to sit in on his meetings and advise him on people’s motives.”
Flattered, Brooke laughed. “I’m trained as an analyst. Whether it’s art, literature or people, I guess I just dig until I locate meaning. Just don’t ask me about anything having to do with numbers or technology. That’s where I fail miserably.”
“But that’s what makes you and my brother such a perfect pairing. You complement each other.”
At the mention of Nic, Brooke’s good mood fled. “If only he wasn’t a prince and I wasn’t an ordinary girl from California.” She kept her voice light, but in her chest, her heart thumped dully. “I didn’t tell you earlier, but I made arrangements to fly home tomorrow morning.”
“You can’t leave.” Ariana looked distressed. “At least stay through the wedding.”
The thought of delaying the inevitable for another week made Brooke shudder. Plus, she hadn’t yet been offered the opportunity to apologize to the queen in person and didn’t feel right taking advantage of the king and queen’s hospitality with that hanging over her. “I can’t stay. Coming here in the first place was a mistake.”
“But then I’d never have met you and that would have been a tragedy.”
Brooke appreciated Ariana’s attempt to make her feel special. “I feel the same way about you. I just wish I’d handled things better.” By which she meant the incident with the queen and Nic’s discovering that she was pregnant.
She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d left her room the day before. She’d dined that night with Olivia and taken both breakfast and lunch in her room. Ariana had joined her for the midday meal, bringing with her the gown Brooke was wearing tonight and reminding her of the promise she’d made to attend the birthday party.
Suddenly the crowd parted and Nic appeared, looking imposing and very princely as he strode through the room. Brooke stared at him in hopeless adoration, still unaccustomed to the effortless aura of power he assumed in his native environment. What was so different about him? He’d always radiated strength and confidence, but he’d been approachable despite his often inherent aloofness. What made him seem so inaccessible now? Was it the arrogant tilt of his head? The way he wore the expensive, custom tuxedo as easily as a T-shirt and jeans? The cool disdain in his burnished gold eyes?
And then he caught sight of her and the possessive glow of his gaze melted the chill from his features. Brooke’s heart exploded in her chest and she abandoned Ariana with a quick apology, slipping through the party guests in Nic’s direction before she considered what she would say. When she’d drawn to within five feet of him, her path was blocked by a petite brunette in a shimmering black mini.
“Nicolas Alessandro, I heard you returned home.” The woman’s cultured voice stopped Brooke dead in her tracks.
She turned aside and spotted French doors leading onto a terrace. Moving in that direction with as much haste as she dared, Brooke chastised herself. What had she been thinking? She and Nic couldn’t act as friends or even acquaintances at this public event. All eyes were on the returning prince. During her self-imposed incarceration, she’d pored over the local gossip blogs and read several news articles speculating on Nic’s abrupt return. The media were having a field day detailing all the women who’d been invited to the royal wedding the following week and speculating on who might be the front-runner to become the next Sherdanian princess.
