LITMIR.BIZ

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      “I wonder what my grandmother would have thought about being celebrated in such a way.” Oversized blowup portraits of Princess Adelaide had been placed here and there as decoration. She’d been a beautiful, kind and graceful woman, but not one who’d enjoyed the spotlight, a vestige of her humble Pennsylvania origins. She had passed away from illness at sixty-one, when Lili was only six, followed in death three years later by her daughter-in-law, who’d perished in the skiing-vacation tragedy. All of Grunberg had mourned the losses.

      “Blue Cloud is very proud of Princess Adelaide,” Simon said. “She’s their one claim to fame. The town officials are hoping that a museum dedicated to her memory will pull in the tourists.”

      Lili understood. Her country was in much the same position. Her father’s advisors had even mentioned how beneficial a royal wedding would be to the economy. “And what about you?”

      “Me?”

      “How did you come to be the curator? Are you a scholar of royalty?”

      “Not in particular. My field of specialty was—is—Egyptology.”

      Simon had put on a second pair of wire-framed glasses, but they did not disguise the evasive shift of his eyes. Lili grew more curious. “Then why are you here in Blue Cloud…?”

      “It’s a fine job.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and tucked in the gaudy gold-and-blue King Tut tie. “Should we return to the reception?”

      “There are many things we should do,” she answered in all solemnity. “Are you an eat-all-your-vegetables kind of guy?”

      “No, I’m a burrito-takeout kind of guy.”

      “When was the last time you had hot dogs?”

      “Wednesday.”

      “Is this evening too soon to have them again?”

      “Tonight? Are princesses allowed to run away from their responsibilities on a whim? Don’t you have a shedjul to keep?”

      “Mrs. Grundy has one. I don’t.”

      “And the responsibilities?”

      Lili sighed. “You are an eat-all-your-vegetables kind of guy.”

      “I can’t be responsible for—”

      She cocked her head. “I’m responsible for myself!”

      “Then why do you have a bodyguard and a—What is Mrs. Grundy? Your baby-sitter?”

      “Close,” Lili said, feeling a tiny bit snippety. “She’s my nanny.”

      Simon put out his hands, as if he’d been knocked off balance. The velvet rope swung. “Your nanny?”

      “She was my nanny. Now she’s my traveling companion.”

      “You have a nanny.”

      “No. She’s my social secretary.”

      “A nanny.”

      Lili narrowed her eyes. Had she thought Simon was amusing? He wasn’t. He was irritating. “My lady-in-waiting.”

      “Jeez,” he said, running a hand through his mouse-colored hair. It was too short to stand up on end, except for the strands of the cowlick where his part ended in a swirl that showed a little too much scalp. “You live in a fairy tale.”

      “I am a princess. I have a certain duty to my homeland. An image to maintain.” Regardless of her yearnings to be free.

      “It’s difficult for Americans to conceive of such a thing. We’re an independent, egalitarian society.”

      “I know. That’s why I was so excited to come here. There’s so much I want to see and do and taste and touch—” She stopped suddenly. If that was so, why she was wasting time with a self-described museum wonk? The adventure of her lifetime wasn’t in here, among the static displays. Artifacts might satisfy Simon Tremayne, but they’d never be enough for her.

      “Don’t bother yourself about the hot dogs,” she said, giving him a brisk pat on the arm as she moved past him. “I’ll find my own way to them.” Her heels tap-tap-tapped across the polished floors as she hurried away.

      “Wait,” Simon called, catching up. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t take you.” He held open the wide front door for her and she swept through with her head held high, as befitted a woman of royal blood.

      “I’m sure I’ll manage on my own.” She looked over the animated crowd, the men in light-colored summer-weight suits, the women in hats and pretty dresses. A few of them had actually worn white gloves. Not even Amelia expected to put Lili in white gloves. “Perhaps I’ll find a dashing playboy among the guests to act as my escort.”

      Simon muttered a response, but the mayor had spotted them and was shouting a hello, her arms in semaphore mode. Lili waved back.

      “There’ll probably be a reception line,” Simon said, sounding as though he dreaded it as much as she. “Is your tongue up to it?”

      “I won’t be kissing any babies.” She poked it out at him.

      “Still swollen. Does it hurt?”

      “Thum.” She closed her lips. “It hurts, but the ice helped a lot. Thank you for that.”

      “You’re welcome.”

      She studied his cockeyed face. One brow was tilted higher than the other, his high-bridged nose was crooked, his lips were lopsided. Even the glasses sat slightly canted. But there was something about him—the warmth in his eyes, the smile creases that ran from his nose to his mouth—that made him attractive. He was the kind of man who wasn’t exciting, but who was strong and capable and quirky and kind. It would never be dull, talking to him. It might even be interesting to kiss him….

      “If you’re recovered, Princess,” Mrs. Grundy said, from several steps away, “your public is waiting.”

      “May we begin the introductions?” Mayor Apple-white intoned with a bit of an edgy chuckle. “The cakes are cut and the tea leaves are suitably steeped.”

      Lili winked at Simon as she turned away. She gracefully descended the steps, her throbbing tongue curled against the roof of her mouth, her smile dutifully intact. The guests responded with a smattering of applause.

      “Stay away from the flower beds,” she heard Simon say as the mayor swept her into the eager, pressing crowd.

      SIMON DREADED this part of his job. There were curators who developed a slick schmooze, who knew how to curry favor with the right people to secure grants and gifts for their institutions. He couldn’t even identify the right people from the wrong, though anyone from Cornelia Applewhite’s lengthy guest list was a good bet. If it wasn’t for Corny’s exclusive Platinum Patron list, Simon would have raised no more cash than a pauper on the street.

      Basically, he’d lucked into the Royal Jewels of Grunberg exhibition. A friend from grad school knew a translator who knew an attaché to the Swiss ambassador who oversaw the tiny neighboring principality. It hadn’t hurt that a couple of Princess Adelaide’s Blue Cloud cousins still lived on the family farm, either. Corny had worked the two old ladies like a bagpipe, huffing and puffing over the honor and privilege of the new museum hosting the exhibition on the fiftieth anniversary of Princess Adelaide’s marriage until whatever influence the Wolf sisters had with the royal family was brought to bear.

      However it had happened, securing the go-ahead from the palace had been a coup for Simon. One he sorely needed, considering the ignominious past that had landed him here in the first place. He’d been “asked” to leave his previous job—his dream job—after he’d let the wrong woman cloud his judgment. Sticky-fingered Traylor Bickett had been the last straw in a short lineup of users masquerading as girlfriends. He’d promised himself never to be so gullible again. Unfortunately, all but one of his subsequent

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