Postcards At Christmas

“But I did try to kiss him....”

“And?”

“He caught my arms and kind of held me, really gently, away from him.”

“You mean you didn’t kiss him after all?”

“No. He stopped it before it happened. And he looked in my eyes and told me that it could never work, that I’m so young and inexperienced and I wear my emotions on my sleeve. He said he would never want to hurt me, but of course he would hurt me because I would be in over my head with him. He said he doesn’t, you know, sleep with virgins and that he’s got no time for anything serious right now anyway, because acting is his life.”

What a fatheaded ass. “You are adorable, Luce, and thoroughly charming. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

She put one of those flying hands to her heart. “Oh, Dami. See? That’s how you are. Not only have you treated me like someone who matters from the first time I met you. Not only did you come to my rescue and fly me to Manhattan when I’d almost given up on ever getting there. Somehow you just instantly, always, say the exact thing that I need to hear.”

He made another stab at finding out where all this was going. “So you came to me for advice, then?” He reached for his coffee cup.

And Lucy said, “No. Not advice. Sex.”

He set the cup down sharply. “Say again?”

“Dami, it’s so simple. I want you to have sex with me. I want you to be my first.”

Chapter Two

Damien found himself experiencing the strangest sensation of complete unreality. “Dearest Luce. Did you just ask me to be your lover?”

She nodded, her shining brown head bouncing up and down as though on a spring. “Oh, yes. Please. I like you, Dami. I truly do. And when I think of having sex with you, it doesn’t seem like it would be too awful—and you are so experienced. I really do need someone who can help me be more sophisticated and you just happen to be about the most sophisticated person I know. And as for having sex with you, well, you seem like you would know what you were doing and I...” The words ran out.

He started to speak but fell silent when she moaned.

And then she let out a cry and put her hands to her cheeks as though in an effort to cool her fierce blush. “Oh, God. You should see your face. This is not going well, is it?”

“Luce, I—”

Before he could say more, she shoved back her chair and leaped to her feet. “Seriously. I don’t know what I was thinking. This is a bad idea. A really stupid, utterly inane idea. And now you’re going to think I’m such a complete child, a total dork...”

He got up. “No, I do not think you’re a child. Truly, it’s all right. It’s...”

But she didn’t stay to hear the rest. She whirled and bolted for the door.

“Luce!” Dami went after her and managed to catch up with her halfway down the hall to his private foyer. He grabbed her hand. “Wait.”

She moaned again and tried to pull away. “Let me go.”

He held on. “Please. Don’t become so worked up. I promise you, you’re neither a child nor a dork. And I’m quite flattered.”

There was yet another moan. “Oh, no, you’re not.”

He lifted the hand he’d captured and kissed it lightly. Then he wrapped his other hand around their joined ones. “Listen to me.”

A little whine escaped her.

“Tell me you’re listening,” he coaxed.

“What?” She sagged against the hallway wall, between two handsome nature prints he’d bought at one of his sister Rhia’s charity art auctions. “All right. Yes, I’m listening.”

“I am flattered.” He tried a hint of a smile and watched her soft lips quiver in reluctant response. “Really, Luce, you are so unpredictable. You know, I find I never know what you might do or say next. But at the same time, at heart you are so wonderfully direct, so honest.”

“Direct and honest,” she grumbled, but at least she’d stopped trying to make him let go of her hand. “Ugh. So I’m a good person, but I’m not especially exciting—that’s what you’re saying.”

“No, that is not what I’m saying.”

“Yes, it is.”

He moved in a fraction closer, keeping their joined hands between them, connecting them. The scent of soap and cherries was a little stronger now, sweet and tart and so very...clean. “Don’t forget. I said you are unpredictable, too. That makes you exciting.”

“No....”

“Yes. It does, I promise you. And may I add that you are also like a breath of fresh air, both bracing and sweet.” He watched her flushed face and thought how very much he liked her, how he’d liked her from the first time he met her, at her brother’s Carpinteria estate when she’d dragged him to her sewing room and showed him several of her creations, after which she’d plunked her portfolio down on the cutting table and started flipping through the pages, chattering nonstop about her ambitions as a fashion designer.

Now she gazed at him through big eyes full of hope and trust. “Oh, you do know how to dish out the compliments.”

“It’s easy when I’m only telling the absolute truth.”

“Oh, right. Sure you are.”

He turned his mouth down at the corners in a mimic of sadness. “Luce. You wound me.”

She started to giggle—and then she blinked. “Wait a minute.”

“Yes?”

“Are you telling me that, um, you will?”

Ouch. Leave it to Lucy to cut right to the heart of the matter.

The thing was, he wanted to tell her yes, that he would be her lover. He truly did. But he was no more a seducer of virgins than Brandon of the butterscotch eyes. He absolutely did find her attractive, but in the way one finds a child attractive, because she was pure and honest, innocent and sweet yet also funny and surprising and perceptive, too. Not to mention splendidly talented. However, he couldn’t quite make himself think of her as a grown woman, as an eligible female he might take to his bed.

She was watching him suspiciously. “Long silence. I’m taking that for a no.”

Above all, he did not want to hurt her. “You truly are lovely, Luce. Your shining seal-brown hair, those enormous eyes that tip up so playfully at the corners. That one dimple in your left cheek that’s deeper than the one on the right when you smile....”

“You’re an absolute genius at making me feel good-looking.”

“Because you are good-looking.”

“But you still haven’t answered my question,” she accused. “I’m thinking that’s not a good sign.”

The solution came to him. “Tell you what.”

For that he got an eye roll. “Stalling. That’s what you’re doing, right?”

“Well, yes. I suppose that I am.”

“Oh, I knew it.” She wrinkled her cute nose at him. But at least she no longer seemed on the verge of shedding more tears.

He qualified, “However, I am stalling in a good way.”

“Ha.” She made another attempt to free her hand from his hold.

He didn’t let go. “Listen. Please.”

“Fine, fine.” She tipped her head from side to side, her words a singsong. “Go ahead.”

“We’ll take things a bit slower.”

That brought a frown to crease her smooth brow. “Slower than what?”

“You’re here for the holiday weekend.”

“I am, yes.”

“We’ll spend the time—or much of it, anyway—in each other’s company.”

“You mean like we’re dating?”

“Yes. As though we were dating.”

“Oh, Dami. I may be naive, but I’m so on to you. I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to let me down easy.”

She had it right, but he had no intention of admitting that. “Come to the kitchen.” He tugged on her hand again. “We can finish our coffee....” He expected her to require more coaxing and encouragements before she’d agree to sit at the table again and discuss the situation frankly.

But as she so often did, she surprised him. She said, “Yes. All right.” And she followed him back the way they had come.

* * *

In the kitchen, Lucy reclaimed her seat at the table and Dami refreshed their coffee cups before settling opposite her again.

Lucy watched him. He really was so nice to look at, in his sexy black robe and all, with that slice of sculpted chest on view, with his thick dark hair and his eyes that sometimes seemed the darkest brown and then, in certain lights, a green so deep it was almost black. So different from Brandon, who was clean-cut and outdoorsy with a handsome, open sort of face. Dami exuded power and ease, a hint of danger and strangely, humor and tenderness, too. They called him the Player Prince. Everyone said he’d been with more women than her big brother, Noah. Which was seriously saying something.

Noah used to be quite the lady-killer. But in the past year or so, he’d changed. He’d stopped seeing women at all for a while. And then he’d found Dami’s sister Alice. Lucy did adore Alice. Alice was perfect for Noah. Lucy felt real satisfaction knowing that she could strike out on her own and her big brother had someone to love him the way he’d never let himself be loved before. Someone to keep him honest and stand up to him when he got too full of himself.

“Luce.” Dami was frowning at her. “What are you thinking?”

She sipped her coffee. “That my brother’s happy with your sister, and I’m really glad about that.” Well, she had been thinking about Noah and Alice—after she’d admired the man across from her in his sexy robe.

“They are good together,” he agreed.

She laughed, feeling lighthearted suddenly. Okay, she got the message that Dami wasn’t up for teaching her the ways of love and sex. But at least he hadn’t acted as if he couldn’t wait to get rid of her, the way Brandon had when she’d tried to put a move on him. Dami would still be her friend always—somehow she just knew that—no matter what gauche, immature thing she did or said.

“What is so humorous?” he demanded.

“I don’t know. I was really scared to ask you. And now I’ve done it, and...it’s okay. The sky didn’t fall. You didn’t toss me out the door on my butt.”

“I would never toss you out the door—on your butt or otherwise.”

“Exactly. I love that about you.”

He ate a little more of his pastry and then he said thoughtfully, “I do realize I have something of a reputation with women. But even someone like me doesn’t instantly fall into bed with any female who wanders by, no matter how fetching and well dressed she might be.” A wry smile twisted his mouth. “Or at least, I haven’t for the past few years.”

This was getting interesting. “You’re saying you had a lot of indiscriminate sex when you were younger?”

“I suppose I did, yes.”

“You suppose? Oh, come on, Dami. You did or you didn’t.”

He chuckled. “I like you, Luce.”

She beamed. “It’s totally mutual.”

“And I think that spending time together over this long weekend is a way to find out if there could ever be more than friendship between us.”

Yeah, okay. She fully got that he was only being nice to her. And his suggestion of the two of them together for the weekend, just having fun, wasn’t what she’d come for.

But so what?

It would be wonderful to spend a whole weekend at his side. And maybe a little of his smoothness and elegance would rub off on her. That certainly couldn’t hurt. She might not get the whole sex-for-the-first-time thing over with, but at least she could acquire a little sophistication—if that was possible in a few short days.

She sipped her coffee and he sipped his. When she set her cup down, she said, “So, then. Sunday I’m flying back to New York. And you’re saying it will be you and me, together in a dating kind of way, today, tomorrow and Saturday.”

He inclined his dark head. “Starting this morning with the Prince Consort’s Thanksgiving Bazaar on the rue St.-Georges.”

* * *

Dami leaned close to her. “Ignore them,” he whispered. “Simply pretend they’re not there.”

They stood side by side on the cobbled street, in front of a booth that sold handmade Christmas ornaments. By then it was nearing eleven in the morning. Lucy couldn’t resist a quick glance over her shoulder.

The street was packed with milling holiday shoppers and the air smelled of savory meats, fried potatoes and baked goods from the numerous food booths and carts that jostled for space with the stalls offering jewelry and handmade soaps, pottery and paintings and all kinds of bright, beautiful textiles. People chatted and laughed, bargained and shouted. And there were children everywhere, some in strollers or baby carriers, some clutching the hands of their mothers or fathers. And some running free, zipping in and out among the shoppers, cause for fond amusement and the occasional cry of, “Watch out, now,” or, “Slow down a tad, young man.”

Even in the holiday crowd, though, it was easy to pick out the photographers lurking nearby. Each had a camera in front of his face, the wide lens trained on the Player Prince.

Dami elbowed her lightly in the side. “I said ignore them.”

“But they’re everywhere.”

“Yes, my darling. But they know the rules within the principality. Here they are careful to keep their distance. Believe me, it’s much better than in France or England or America, where they come at you without mercy, up close and very personal, firing questions as they click away.” His voice was low and teasing and almost flirtatious. Or maybe she was just reading into it after their discussion of earlier that morning. Most likely, Dami wasn’t flirting at all but only being kind to her.

And she was going to completely take advantage of his kindness and love every minute of it. “What happens if they approach you?”

“Someone from the palace guard or my brother Alex’s Covert Command Unit will appear from the milling throng and escort them directly to the border.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes,” he assured her. “Just like that.”

Dami had three brothers and five sisters. Lucy had yet to meet them all. “Alex is your twin, right?”

“Yes, he is. We’re identical, though no one ever has any trouble telling us apart. Alex has always been the serious one. And you know me.” He gave a supremely elegant shrug. “I make it my mission in life to take nothing seriously.”

“What is a Covert Command Unit?”

“A small, specially chosen and trained corps of Montedoran soldiers who are always at the ready to take action in a critical situation.” He said this in his usual lighthearted tone.

“Seriously?”

He nodded at a passing couple and they nodded back. And then he told her, “All the family’s bodyguards are from the CCU. And my sister Rhia’s husband, Marcus, is one of them—and, Luce,” he said indulgently, “will you please forget about the men with the cameras? To keep slipping them sideways glances only encourages them.”

She laughed and caught his arm and grinned up at him. “I can’t help it. Dami, you know how I am. Homeschooled. Most of my life, I hardly ever left the house—except when I had to be rushed to the hospital. I have a lot of life to catch up on. Everything fascinates me, even pushy men with cameras.”

The merchant in the booth, a large woman with a wide, lined face, held up a pair of snowflake earrings, delicate and silvery, accented with tiny rhinestones that caught the late-November sunlight and twinkled festively. “Highness. For the lady...?”

Dami nodded. “Very pretty. Yes, she’ll have them.” He handed over the money without even a glance at Lucy for approval.

Lucy almost protested, but the woman in the booth looked so pleased and the earrings were pretty and not that expensive. Also, it did seem good practice for becoming sophisticated to pretend to be the sort of woman who casually received trinkets from a handsome prince.

The merchant put the earrings in a small cloth pouch and passed them to Dami, who gave them to Lucy. She thanked him and they moved on to the next booth, where she spotted a bright scarf she wanted and whipped out her wallet. The vendor glanced at Dami, as though expecting Dami to buy it for her.

Lucy did speak up then. “Please. Here you go....”

The vendor scowled and kept looking at Dami, who put on an expression both grim and resigned. The merchant took her money with a disapproving shake of his head. And Dami bought a child-size leather belt studded with bits of silver.

She almost turned to him then and asked why the merchant had wanted him to pay for her scarf and what was with the child-size belt. But then, what did it matter, really? She knew already that he was generous to a fault. And maybe the belt was for one of his nephews.

As they moved on, he bought more gifts for children, boys and girls alike. He bought toy trucks and cars and any number of little dolls and stuffed animals. He bought a tea set and three plastic water pistols, Ping-Pong paddles and balls, packets of crayons, colored pencils and a stack of coloring books.

She finally asked him, “Who are all these toys for?”

He only smiled and advised mysteriously, “Wait. You’ll see.”

She might have quizzed him some more, but she was having far too much fun finding treasures of her own. Just about every booth seemed to have at least one small perfect thing she wanted. The bazaar was giving her so many ideas for new designs featuring the colors and textures all around her. A kind of glee suffused her. It was like a dream, her dream, from all those lonely shut-in years of growing up. That she would someday be well and strong and travel to exciting places and be inspired to make beautiful things that women all over the world would reach out and touch, saying, Yes. This. This is what I want to wear.

But wouldn’t you know that Dami got quicker at detecting her choices? And the merchants all seemed to expect Dami to pay. They ignored the bills in her hand and grabbed for the ones in his.

She finally had to lean in close to him and whisper, “Okay. Enough. I mean it, Dami. If I want something, I am perfectly capable of buying it myself.”

They stood, each weighed down with bags and packages, beside a flower stall where glorious bouquets of every imaginable sort of bloom stood in rows of cone-shaped containers. He bought a big bouquet of bright flowers, then took her arm and guided her to the side, out of the way of the pressing crowd. “Do you realize that this bazaar was established over thirty years ago in honor of my father, in the year that my oldest brother, Max, was born?”

“How nice. And what does that have to do with why you keep buying things for me when I have plenty of money of my own?”

“It has everything to do with it.”

“I don’t see how.”

“My dearest Luce,” he said with equal parts affection and reproach, “Thanksgiving is, after all, an American holiday. Yet Montedorans embrace it and celebrate it. They do this for my father’s sake. And this bazaar was named for him because he gave my mother happiness—and a son, very quickly.”

“How virile of him. And why do you sound like you’re lecturing me?”

He actually shook a finger at her, though his eyes glittered playfully as he did it. “My darling, I am lecturing you. We celebrate Thanksgiving in Montedoro for the sake of my father, and this bazaar exists in respect for my father. And when a Bravo-Calabretti prince attends the bazaar, he tries to buy from each and every vendor, in thanksgiving for the gift the Montedoran people have bestowed on us, to trust us with the stewardship of this glorious land.”

“Well, all right. Wonderful. You bought a bunch of things. And you paid for them. In thanksgiving. But no way are you expected to pay for my things.”

“Don’t you see? Each item I buy blesses the vendor. The more I buy, the better.”

She laughed. “Good one. I’m actually helping you out when I let you buy my stuff.”

Along with the usual all-around hotness, he was looking very pleased with himself. “That’s right. And the vendor, as well. Surely you cannot deny us these blessings.”

She stared at him. He looked at her so levelly under those straight dark brows. His mouth held a solemn curve. But the usual mischief danced in his eyes. She accused, “You’re making this up.”

“Why ever would I?” Lightly. Teasingly.

She still wasn’t sure she believed him. But he had a point, she supposed. Why would he make up a story like that? And the vendors really had seemed to want him specifically to be the one to pay.

She tried to explain, “It’s just that you always look like you’re teasing me, Dami. Even when you’re serious.”

“Because I am teasing you—even when I’m serious.”

She shifted the mountain of bags in her arms in order not to drop any. “You’re confusing me. You know that, right?”

He bent a fraction closer and she caught a hint of his aftershave, which she’d always really liked. It was citrusy, spicy and earthy, too. It made her think of an enchanted forest. And true manliness. And a long black limousine. “Try to enjoy it,” he said.

“Being confused?”

“Everything. Life. All these people out for the holiday. Sunshine. This moment that will never come again.” Suddenly, she wanted to hug him close. There was something so...magical about him. As though he knew really good secrets and just might be willing to share them with her. He added, “And won’t you please believe me? The Thanksgiving Bazaar is in my father’s honor and the more I personally buy here, the happier the merchants will be.”

She groaned, but in a good-natured way. “I think I give up. Buy me whatever you want to buy me.”

He inclined his dark head in a so-gracious manner that made her feel as if she’d just done him a whopping favor. “Thank you, Luce. I shall.”

By then they’d strolled the length of one side of the rue St.-Georges and bought goods from about half of the booths. Dami set down the bouquet of flowers and a few bags of toys and got out his phone. He made a quick call. A few minutes later two men appeared dressed in the livery of the palace guard.

The guards carried their packages for them, falling back to follow behind as they worked their way up the other side of the street, buying at least one item from each of the vendors. The ever-present photographers followed, too, snapping away, their cameras constantly pressed to their faces, but they did keep enough distance that it wasn’t all that difficult to pretend they weren’t there.

Midway back up the other side of the street, they came to the food-cart area, a separate little courtyard of its own in the middle of the bazaar. The carts reminded Lucy of old-fashioned circus cars, each brightly painted in primary colors, some decorated with slogans and prices and pictures of the food they served, others plastered with stenciled-on images of everything from the Eiffel Tower to jungle cats. Dami bought food from each cart—pastries, meat pies, sausages on sticks, cones of crispy fried potatoes, flavored ices, tall cups of hot chocolate. There was no way the two of them could have made a dent in all that food. But conveniently, groups of Montedoran children had gathered around. They were only too willing to help. Dami bought food and drinks for all, while the food sellers smiled and nodded and accepted his money. Were they grateful to be so richly “blessed”? Or just pleased to be doing a brisk business?

Lucy decided it didn’t matter which. Dami had been right. She was enjoying the experience, reveling in this moment that would never come again.

When they left the food carts, the children followed, falling in behind the palace guards with their high piles of packages.

Dami spotted someone he knew across the street. He waved and called out, “Max!”

The tall, gorgeous man with the unruly hair and mesmerizing glance bore a definite resemblance to the prince at her side. He returned Dami’s greeting and then went back to his negotiations with a vendor who sold scented soaps and bath salts.

Lucy asked, “Your oldest brother, right?” Dami nodded. “Will he make the rounds of every booth?”

“And buy something from each one.”

“No wonder the vendors feel blessed. I mean, there are nine of you, brothers and sisters together. That’s a lot of blessings.”

“We don’t all attend every year. But we do our best to make a showing—and come on now. We still have several booths to go.”