Prince of my Panties (Royal Package 2)
“What plan?” Zan lets out a ragged, humorless laugh. “What on earth is wrong with you two? Marriage fraud is a crime in Gallantia and Rinderland. You realize that, right? That you could both go to jail?”
“We won’t go to jail, Zan. We never planned to—” I break off as a long shadow edges into view at the end of the lane, followed seconds later by the jean-and-light-green-sweater-clad form of Jeffrey Von Bergen. “He’s here!” I hiss, my heart pounding as I sink into the chair until only the tops of my eyes are visible above the frame. “He must have followed me back to the cottage.”
“Call the police,” Zan says. “Now.”
I huff. “I don’t need to call the police. He’s not going to hurt me.”
“You don’t know that,” Zan insists. “He’s twice your size and stalking you. And he was always the scary brother. Better to be safe than sorry. Hang up, call the police, and call me right back. I’ll stay on the phone with you until they get there.”
“I don’t need to call the police. He’s not scary, he’s nice.” I recall the accusing rumble in his voice as he said my name and amend, “Mostly.”
“How on earth would you know?”
“We’ve spent time together.” I watch Jeffrey amble past the cottage, looking so good in off-the-rack jeans it should be a crime. The designer in me can’t help but imagine what he would look like in a suit expertly tailored to fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Probably delicious. Probably very delicious. “We played cards and talked for a long time after his parents’ anniversary party when we were kids.” I chew my bottom lip. “That might be why he’s suspicious. He might remember me enough to suspect that Sabrina isn’t the same person.”
“You think? Seems like something you should have thought about before you did this stupid thing you’ve done,” Zan says, her eye roll audible in her voice. “Which is really astoundingly dumb, Lizzy. Seriously—you’re pranking me as revenge for not coming home this summer, aren’t you? Fess up any time.”
“I’m not pranking you,” I whisper as Jeffrey pauses, studying the row of cottages, mine sitting smack in the middle, with narrowed eyes. “I did think about it. I just didn’t think he would remember me. At least not the way I remembered him. I was just a kid.”
“So, he has a thing for kids. Amazing.” Zan makes a gagging noise. “Please call the police. I’m begging you.”
“Don’t be gross. It wasn’t like that. He was kind to me, that’s all.” Memories of that night flicker on my mental screen, making my chest warm with affection for teenage Jeffrey even as I will grown-up Jeffrey to turn and walk away. As much as I’d like to find out if he’s still as lovely as he used to be, I don’t have the luxury of wasting time with boys at the moment—especially boys who are trying to wreck my plans. “I’ll be fine. I’ll give him the slip and lay low until things in Gallantia work themselves out. But in case I end up somewhere without cell service, I wanted you to know that he might be onto the swap. Don’t tell Sabrina unless you have to. I don’t want her to be distracted by worry about me or the plan or anything else.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No, but I might be later. What does Chamomile put in the hot toddies she used to make when Mother was sick? Lemon and Earl Gray tea, I know, but what kind of liquor?”
“Whiskey,” Zan says. “But you don’t need whiskey. You need an intervention. Sit tight. I’ll send someone to get you. If they leave now, they can be there by ten. I would come myself, but I’m in the middle of a delicate operation and can’t leave the city.”
I frown, inching higher in my chair as Jeffrey turns his back on the cottages to gaze out across the pasture and the older homes on the other side. “Delicate operation? That sounds serious. When did business get so intense?”
“Oh, it’s not,” Zan says in a breezy voice I would buy if I didn’t know her so well. “Just high maintenance. But that doesn’t mean I’m not here for you. Let me send someone, and as soon as you get to Zurich, we’ll grab breakfast and plot a way out of this mess with minimal damage to you, Sabrina, and our family’s reputation.”
“Are you all right?” I ask, my stomach flipping with an odd mix of disappointment and relief as Jeffrey starts back down the lane toward the café.
“Are you crazy? I’m not the one who’s committing identity fraud.”
I sit up straight, moving the curtains and leaning closer to the window to watch Jeffrey go. He’s definitely trouble I don’t need right now, but still…I hate to watch him walk away.