Only A Night With A Billionaire (Only Us Billionaire Romance Book 2) Page 6

  “Really?”

  “She’d be delighted if you wore it, but didn’t want to pressure you in case it brought up difficult feelings.”

  Penny carefully removed it from the case.

  Addie clasped it around her neck. “Perfect,” she said.

  If only the situation wasn’t the opposite.

  During Penny’s breakfast with the queen they’d talked about all sorts of things: birthdays—Penny told her all about her friend Clara who dressed as an elf for Christmas and rescued dogs. She’d given Penny the elf name Flirty McSprinkles even though she was far from flirty (it was just a combination of the first letter of your first name and birth month—the queen was Snowy Peppermint, which she found delightful), favorite books, a recent play the queen saw that she thought was rubbish.

  Penny enjoyed her company and feared being on the receiving end of her disappointment and her wrath.

  When Penny entered the dining room for the second time that day, the queen and Oliver sat alone at one end.

  She approached slowly, suddenly torn between telling them the truth, about what she overheard Genevieve saying, or bowing out silently after one last dinner. One night wouldn’t turn into two, she told herself.

  As the footman pulled out her chair, voices chorused from the hall and the others joined them. No way would she expose Genevieve publicly. If she was willing to deceive the queen and prince there was no telling how far she’d go to ruin Penny if she told what she knew. It only complicated things but there was no time to think as the conversation quickly made its way around the table, outlining the day in London.

  “Personally, I think a visit to the Crown Jewels a worthy excursion, but others among us thought going to a dog shelter appropriate for royalty. Please,” Genevieve said.

  “A dog shelter?” the queen asked.

  Oliver nodded.

  “You’re an adult now, but don’t tell me you came home with a puppy,” she said to him.

  “No, but it was Penelope’s idea. In fact, she was the most helpful.”

  “Cleaning up after animals is beneath us, surely a woman worth her title knows that,” Genevieve sniped.

  The queen’s sharp eyes grazed the women gathered before landing on Penny. “Do you have an affinity for canines?”

  Penny nodded slowly, suddenly not sure the right answer.

  “Just like Amelia and I see you’re wearing her necklace. It suits you.” She turned to Genevieve. “A queen’s worth is measured in the service she provides others, not the other way around. Amelia understood that. It seems you do as well, Penelope.”

  “Is that what they taught you at the American school, Penelope?” Genevieve asked before taking a spoonful of soup. “What was it called again?”

  Penelope fumbled, suddenly flushed, and worried Genevieve suspected her true identity.

  Colette cleared her throat and said, “Marchlands Academy, was it? I had a friend at university who went there. He once commented that he knew you.”

  Penny nodded.

  “Is this the same friend you talk to and text in every spare moment you get?” Genevieve asked.

  Colette tinged pink and looked down at her hands.

  Penny couldn’t take another moment at the table without speaking up about how rude and out of line Genevieve was but she risked exposure. Instead, she pushed out her chair and rose to her feet. “Excuse me.”

  She did her best to walk calmly out of the dining room and into the hall. Then she rushed toward the kitchen.

  Chapter 8

  Oliver

  Oliver had tolerated enough propriety, manners, and ignoring Genevieve and her shrill, sharp tongue for one meal, or rather, a lifetime. If the queen wasn’t going to say something to her, he was going to do something. So often he was kept from taking action, despite his status, but that was going to change.

  He removed the napkin from his lap, stood, and said, “Excuse me.” He politely nodded at the guests as he exited. It was obvious he was going after Penelope, but he remained calm until he reached the hall. Looking both ways, she was nowhere to be seen.

  A footman stood to his left. He discretely pointed toward the right.

  “She went that way?” he asked.

  The man’s answer was a subtle nod.

  Oliver was tired of the rules and expectations; he wanted to shout, “I’m going after Penelope,” but he held his tongue and dashed down the hall. His nanny’s voice, from when he was a boy, scolded him from the grip of the past, telling him not to run indoors, but at least that rule he could defy.

  He tried her suite, but she wasn’t there. Pausing to think, he asked himself where she’d go. Perhaps she needed fresh air, but it would’ve been easiest to go on her balcony. The smell of chocolate reached his nose; it must be time for dessert.

  “The kitchen,” he said out loud. He’d even given her directions.

  The creamy, buttery, sweet smell of melted chocolate overwhelmed him the closer he got. His mouth practically watered. Ahead, a figure in a dark dress leaned against the wall half in the shadows. He worried she was fretting over how rude Genevieve had been. He should’ve warned her about how life among royalty wasn’t always genial.

  “There you are,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her.

  She pushed off the wall and clasped her hands against her chest. “Here I am,” she replied in a small voice.

  “Did you suddenly feel like taking a walk? Getting lost? Leaving?” he asked afraid she’d bolt like a spooked pony.

  “I want to bake cookies. It’s something I do when I’m stressed. I just follow the recipe, mix it up, and every time they come out delicious. It’s straightforward, doable—” She stumbled slightly over her words.

  He made a show of sniffing. “Did you follow your nose? This chocolate scent is divine if I do say so.”

  She tugged the knotted gold necklace that brushed the soft skin below her collarbones. He envisioned himself untying the knot and planting his lips on the soft skin there. “This life here—it’s not me,” she said.

  “I understand.” He truly did. Right then, he had the vision of whisking her off her feet and running away to a secret island in some far-flung locale.

  She shook her head and bit her lip.

  “The truth is they can be stuffy.”

  “Do you mean stuck up?”

  “Take Genevieve for instance. She’s a diva riding a high horse but what did she do to earn it? She was born into the nobility but has no accomplishments or claim to anything worthwhile. And if I have to hear her talk about how they do things at her estate one more time, I might just tell her to go back there.”

  Oliver searched Penelope’s face for a smile, a hint that his honesty soothed her. But her expression was unreadable.

  “Also, I’ve learned to ignore them. You’ve lived outside the royal bubble so this is all new to you. It’s people like her who want attention, to get a rise, or make you feel bad about who you are. You can’t let them.” He extended his hand to brush her arm assuringly and it was like she melted under his touch. There was no doubt being back brought a lot of feelings that she was likely able to dismiss while abroad.

  “But that’s the thing, no one here knows who I am.”

  He met her eyes. The warmth from where his hand had landed shot straight into this chest. “I’m enjoying getting to know you. Let’s see, you play soccer, love dogs, enjoy baking, you’re beautiful, and your roommate had a poster of me on her wall, meaning you probably don’t mind looking at my face.”

  She bit her lip again as if to keep from smiling.

  “Ah, and you’re ambivalent about reclaiming your royal role.”

  She sank back. He needed to proceed with caution. She was probably confused, frustrated, overwhelmed, and needed someone to talk to—he couldn’t imagine being tossed into the fire with Genevieve and the royals-in-waiting after living what he thought of as a normal life back in the States.

  “I have a confession to make.”

/>   She looked up, once more meeting his eyes. They were warm brown and chipped with amber.

  Something swooped through him and he let out a ragged breath then cleared his throat.

  “As I was saying, my confession. I don’t particularly enjoy the whole royal thing. Yes, it’s all I know but it’s not all there is. From outside it might look exciting and fancy, but they’re all about prim and proper, manners and virtues. But I assure you there are vices too. There are secrets and lies, snitching and sneaking.” He shook his head then leaned in. “If there’s one thing I do not abide is dishonesty. Telling the truth is of utmost importance, but I will tell you something that you must keep a secret.” He smirked. “I've tried escaping. Through the front door. The back…”

  Her eyes widened as though panicked.

  “Don’t worry. We're not actually locked up but they'll know. They'll disapprove. Wag their fingers and remind me of my place. I just have to accept this is my lot in life. To be under lock and key, my every move accounted for, no privacy and my life organized around the ring of a bell.” He paused because the next part carried risk. He wasn’t sure he was ready to admit he’d felt stirrings in his heart, but he needed her to know. “Even the biggest choices—even the ‘til death do us part kinds—are rarely mine.” He hoped she understood his meaning.

  She smiled then said, “You make it sound like you want to do something wild, out of the ordinary. How about we rob a bank? I've never done that before.” Her expression was blank, a practiced poker face, probably tested on her nannies and used on the headmistress of her boarding school.

  He rubbed his chin as though considering.

  Her lips lifted into a smile that made her eyes crinkle.

  He couldn’t help but smile back.

  It felt like something passed between them, something unnamable. He felt understood and like he could tell her and trust her with anything. But whatever was to happen wasn’t up to him. Although, he’d make a stink if the queen selected Genevieve.

  “If there were such thing as a cookie bank, I’d say we rob that but short of one of those we could return to the dining room for dessert. My nose tells me something chocolate is on the menu.”

  She looked longingly at the kitchen.

  “I’d rather get messy and sticky with flour, butter, sugar…”

  His smile grew. She wasn’t like any of the other girls and that may have been what he liked most about her, well, and the swell of her lips, the sweep of her long lashes, and the smooth skin peeking out from the hemline of her dress. “Well, I could arrange for you to bake.”

  She hopped on her toes. “Really?”

  “Since I assume you've never done this courtship thing before, it goes like this—”

  “Wait have you done it before?” she asked, stricken.

  Perhaps she felt the same stirrings he did or maybe she wondered if there was another round of royals-in-waiting. “No, but it's custom at least in this situation, which is unconventional to begin with.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He leaned against the wall and let his head drop against the plaster. “My parents held dominion over Concordia, but because of their untimely passing, the country has been in mourning for twenty-nine years. That is a year combined for each that my parents were king and queen before their death. The heir, me, must marry and claim the throne by the end of that time period or my uncle, who’s been living in a hut on a beach somewhere in Western Australia, gets the throne.”

  “Though that sounds fun I take it he’s not qualified.”

  “Hardly, he left Concordia at eighteen and has never been back. Granted, I also left Concordia, but return monthly and have been trained in leadership. Uncle Garfield has mostly been trained in the ways of the beach bum. And it gets cold there, I don’t think he could stand it. Although we’re a wealthy nation, importing coconuts is a bit of a problem—he has a thing for frilly, frozen drinks.”

  “You said frozen, it sounds like there’s plenty of ice and snow…”

  Oliver laughed. It was so easy to talk to Penelope, even about things he kept close at hand. “I enjoy living here and the many privileges it’s afforded me but would like to go back, lead my people, and start a family.

  Sometimes I’m not sure I’m up for it.” He sighed. “I want to be worthy of them as my father was.”

  She drew a deep breath. “Then it sounds like you’ll need to prove that to yourself, that you’re honorable and capable of making your own choices.”

  Was she referring to whom he married? If so, he would, however, it was up to his guardian, the queen. It even said as much in the Concordian Articles. “Yes, but when it comes to leadership, it isn’t always about what I want but what’s best for the people—the queen’s choice would reflect that.”

  Penelope’s smile was slim and her eyes shone. “Spoken like a true king.”

  She lowered her gaze and he felt like he was losing his grasp on the moment. He had to return to the dining room soon and that meant stepping closer to his life on the throne, but that also likely meant away from Penelope.

  She peeked around the corner toward the kitchen. “Do you have a master baker in Concordia?” she asked.

  “I believe so. If not, I’ll have to remedy that.”

  “Is there an official kitchen?”

  He nodded. “Instead of the warm golds of Burklingham, the castle there is decorated in shades of silver, stone, and gems that are similar to diamonds. There are windows everywhere, letting in natural light and a hearth burns in every room. It’s a bit smaller than this palace but the kitchen is rather grand.” He longed for the home he only knew from visits, but it would soon be a place of his own.

  “But it’s still a castle and every castle should have cookies. I vote your first order of business when you take the throne is to make sure you have a steady cookie supply.”

  “Ah, yes, baking. I started telling you about the courtship customs. First, there was the presentation in the throne room.”

  “When I swooned.” She cleared her throat. “I mean passed out. I did not swoon. I don’t know why I said that.” Her gaze darted away from his.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “I was lightheaded from hunger,” she said, backtracking.

  “Right. It had nothing to do with seeing a handsome young man such as myself.” He smirked.

  “Yes. I mean no. Nothing at all.”

  He suppressed a grin. “We mingled, followed by a private dinner.”

  “Which was delicious. Thank you by the way and I’m very grateful for the wardrobe.”

  “You’re welcome. Did your luggage ever turn up?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Shame. I can have my valet look into it. He’s very resourceful.”

  “You don’t have to go through the trouble.”

  “It’s the least I can do to make myself useful. I mean, helpful.” Oliver’s station had afforded him travel and experiences not available to ordinary people, including diplomatic trips on the heels of the queen but also access to a luxurious lifestyle not afforded to many: private island visits, private jets, exclusive access to new technology and pretty much anything his heart desired. A private visit to Euro Disney when he was ten for instance. He wanted to use the next phase of his life to benefit others.

  “You’ve been very generous, Oliver,” Penelope said. “I thought you were snobby, selfish, self-absorbed, but you’re down to earth, kind, thoughtful…”

  “Do I take that as a compliment?”

  She quaked a little as though it pained her to admit it. “Yes.” Her eyes drifted to his and held.

  Again, he felt a surge between them. She seemed distant earlier that day at the museum and upset when they went to the shelter. Genevieve’s behavior was no surprise to him and surely, she had thicker skin, but perhaps it bothered her more than she’d let on. After all, she did leave the meal. He wanted to make it up to her somehow and spend more time together, if possible. But not the scripted cou
rtship kind. Instead, quality, spontaneous time. But every moment was punctuated by Winston’s blasted bell.

  “You were saying about the courtship?” She interrupted his thoughts.

  He hoped that maybe she felt the same way about spending time with him. “Then the group activity, which was rather problematic.” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “Winston was there to report back to the queen, to see who cooperated and collaborated versus who caused trouble.”

  “I doubt Genevieve passed the test.”

  If it were up to him it would be a definite no. “That brings us to tomorrow when you pick an activity for us to do together—just the two of us. Winston has designated three-hour blocks of time.”

  “This is intense.”

  Oliver nodded. “I say baking cookies with you sounds delightful unless you have another idea. Winston will let me know when it's our turn together. I feel confident the pantry will have all the ingredients you need.”

  She shrunk back against the wall.

  “If that’s what you want to do, of course.”

  She blinked her eyes a few times as though brushing off a worrisome thought. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

  “It’s decided then. During our time together tomorrow, we’ll bake. Bonus, that means we’ll get to eat what we make. The queen will be pleased. She likes you a lot.”

  Penelope nodded timidly. “You said we had the dinner date, the day out, an activity I pick then what?”

  “Ah yes, then the following day it's my choice.”

  “Which is?”

  “A surprise.” He brushed his hands together.

  “Then what?

  He felt hopeful that she seemed interested in spending more time with him. “Then…” Oliver’s cheeks puffed up because he wasn’t sure if Penelope would like it considering she showed up wearing boots and a dress the queen no doubt stuffed her in. “We have a ball.”

  Chapter 9

  Penny

  Penny woke from a dream where she carried a bag full of cookies and ran from the royal guards who chased her through a palace made of melting ice.