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“Grace wisely skipped breakfast today,” I said. “Probably hiding from Mother’s wrath, which is not such a bad idea at all.” I chuckled and slowed the speed of the treadmill since we were almost finished. “Actually, Marco drove her to the hospital to chat with the directors about their fundraising goals and how she could better serve them. She also wanted to get up to speed on the event, and see if she could make any changes to improve the outcome.”
Dante pressed the stop button on his treadmill and furrowed his brow, worry creeping into his eyes. “Is it wise to let her change something that the queen has already approved? You know how particular your mother can be.”
“True,” I admitted. “But maybe?—”
“Oliver!” Mother’s voice echoed through the gym, startling both Dante and me.
“Yes, Mother,” I said, then tapped the stop button, stepped off the treadmill, grabbed my towel, and wiped the sweat from my face and neck. “I just finished. The machine is all yours.”
She glanced at the machine and grimaced. “You know very well that I would never use such a contraption.”
I knew that.
One of these days, her sense of humor would return. She’d had one before my father died, but it has not made an appearance since.
“What brings you here, then?” I asked, even though I was confident that it had something to do with the American staying with us.
“Grace brings me here!” she hissed, her gaze unwavering. “I have it on good authority that she went to the hospital this morning without consulting me. I don’t trust that woman with our affairs. You hired her, and it’s your responsibility to supervise her. You must go there at once and make sure she doesn’t make a mockery of our fundraiser.”
“A mockery? How would she do that?” I asked.
“Good heavens—how would I know?” she said. “But she’s asking an exorbitant number of questions. Those people have jobs, you know.”
“Grace is just doing her due diligence,” I said. “She didn’t even know the event existed until last night. Give her the benefit of the doubt. Wouldn’t it make sense that she learns as much as possible, in order to better perform her duties to the best of her capabilities?”
Mother scoffed. “We cannot have this American flitting about, changing plans on a whim. Need I remind you that the reputation of the crown is at stake?”
It was always at stake.
“Go deal with her at once!” Mother ordered.
“As you wish,” I said, preferring not to get into it again with her. Especially since she seemed more off than usual these days. “I’ll just get cleaned up and I will be on my way.”
After showering, Marco drove Dante and me to the hospital, a short fifteen-minute drive from the royal palace.
We entered the pediatric ward and walked directly toward the sound of laughter that filled the air. We stopped in front of the window of the brightly colored, child-friendly play room. It was stocked with toys, games, art supplies, books and more to provide fun distractions and social engagement for young patients at the hospital. Two child-life specialists stood nearby, monitoring their activities, smiling.
In the middle of the room, however, was Grace, talking animatedly with a group of children. She knelt down to their level, her eyes sparkling with genuine interest, and her laughter joined theirs as she handed out cookies. She showed a remarkable patience with a young child who repeatedly escaped the attendants to drive a small dump truck up Grace’s backside.
“Thank you!” a young girl said, tugging on her top.
“You are quite welcome,” Grace said.
The sight was unexpected—both endearing and sincere.
“Look at that, Your Highness,” Dante said, nudging me gently. “She’s quite good with the children, isn’t she?”
“Surprisingly so,” I murmured, finding myself captivated by the scene before me. Grace seemed so at ease with her new environment, so natural, that I couldn't imagine what my mother was so concerned about. She was supposed to be working and fulfilling her duties, but she appeared to be having fun. How was that possible? I was jealous for a moment, actually. I didn’t have that ability for enjoyment with something so simple.
My gaze shifted to the table of cookies, most of them shaped like stars. “Where do you suppose those cookies came from?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” Dante said.
Marco approached, standing to my right. “Miss Grace bought them from the Verdana Bakery, Your Highness.” There seemed to be a hint of admiration in his voice. “She asked me to stop on the way here. And please pardon the intrusion. I just came up because you left this in the car.” He handed me my phone.
“Thank you.” I nodded and slipped the phone in my pocket. “The cookies were charged to the royal account, I take it?”
“No, Your Highness,” Marco said. “She insisted on using her own money, a credit card.”
