Olivia’s words provoked many questions as Brooke realized that the princess had been confronted by a similar choice of whether to marry her prince when doing so put the future line of Alessandros at risk. But as much as curiosity nipped at her, Brooke feared asking would insult the princess.
“I think Gabriel is more of a romantic than Nic,” Brooke said. “Your husband’s heart led him to choose you and he will never question whether he made the right decision. Nic approaches matters with logic, listing the pros and cons, assigning values so he can rank what’s most important. I think he takes after his mother in that respect.”
Olivia’s beautiful blue eyes clouded. “You know him well so I will just have to accept that you’re right, but I hope for your sake that you’re wrong.”
Eleven
Both Olivia and Ariana had ganged up on Brooke and convinced her to go to the prime minister’s birthday party the next evening. As it was her last night in Sherdana—she was due to fly out the next morning—the princesses were opposed to her spending any more time alone. Their concern was a balm to Brooke’s battered spirit and because Ariana had tapped into her contacts in the fashion world and found Brooke the perfect Jean-Louis Scherrer gown to wear, she’d caved with barely a whimper.
Trailing into the party behind the crown prince and princess with Ariana beside her for support, Brooke experienced a sense of wonder that made her glad she’d come. The gown Ariana had found for her had the empire waist Brooke loved and a free flowing skirt. With every stride, the skirt’s bright gold lining flashed and showed off the most perfect pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes with tasseled straps. The bodice was crusted with bronze beading that made her think of Moroccan embellishment and the gown’s material was a subdued orange, gold and pink paisley pattern that exhibited Brooke’s bohemian style.
After meeting the prime minister and wishing him a happy birthday, Brooke relaxed enough to gaze around at the guests. With Ariana at her side, no one seemed overly interested in her. It wasn’t that she was ignored. Each person she was introduced to was polite and cordial, but no one seemed overly curious about the stranger from California. Brooke suspected that Ariana’s social nature brought all sorts of individuals into her sphere.
Of Nic she saw nothing. The party was crowded with Sherdanian dignitaries and Brooke was determined not to spend the entire evening wondering which of the women Nic might choose to become his wife.
“Do you see what I mean about dull?” Ariana murmured to her an hour into the party. “We’ve made an appearance. Anytime you’re ready to leave, just say the word. A friend of mine owns a club. It’s opening night and he’d love to have me show up.”
Brooke had been finding the party anything but dull. Unlike Nic, she liked to balance hours of study and research with socializing. People-watching was the best way to get out of her head and the prime minister’s party was populated by characters.
“Sure, we can leave, but this isn’t as dull as you say.”
“I’m sorry, I forget that you are new to all this.”
“I suppose you’re right. Who is the woman in the black gown and the one over there in blue?” Each of them negotiated the room on the arm of an older gentleman, but Brooke had observed several telling glances passing between them.
“That’s Countess Venuto.” Ariana indicated the woman wearing blue. “And Renanta Arazzi. Her husband is the minister of trade. The men hate each other.”
“Their wives don’t share their husbands’ antagonism.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think they’re having an affair.” Brooke grinned. “Or they’re just about to.”
Ariana gasped, obviously shocked. “Tell me how you know.”
Brooke spent the next hour explaining her reasoning to Ariana and then commented on several other things she’d picked up, astonishing the princess with her observations and guesses.
“You have an uncanny knack for reading people,” Ariana exclaimed. “Gabriel should hire you to sit in on his meetings and advise him on people’s motives.”
Flattered, Brooke laughed. “I’m trained as an analyst. Whether it’s art, literature or people, I guess I just dig until I locate meaning. Just don’t ask me about anything having to do with numbers or technology. That’s where I fail miserably.”
“But that’s what makes you and my brother such a perfect pairing. You complement each other.”
At the mention of Nic, Brooke’s good mood fled. “If only he wasn’t a prince and I wasn’t an ordinary girl from California.” She kept her voice light, but in
her chest, her heart thumped dully. “I didn’t tell you earlier, but I made arrangements to fly home tomorrow morning.”
“You can’t leave.” Ariana looked distressed. “At least stay through the wedding.”
The thought of delaying the inevitable for another week made Brooke shudder. Plus, she hadn’t yet been offered the opportunity to apologize to the queen in person and didn’t feel right taking advantage of the king and queen’s hospitality with that hanging over her. “I can’t stay. Coming here in the first place was a mistake.”
“But then I’d never have met you and that would have been a tragedy.”
Brooke appreciated Ariana’s attempt to make her feel special. “I feel the same way about you. I just wish I’d handled things better.” By which she meant the incident with the queen and Nic’s discovering that she was pregnant.
She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d left her room the day before. She’d dined that night with Olivia and taken both breakfast and lunch in her room. Ariana had joined her for the midday meal, bringing with her the gown Brooke was wearing tonight and reminding her of the promise she’d made to attend the birthday party.
Suddenly the crowd parted and Nic appeared, looking imposing and very princely as he strode through the room. Brooke stared at him in hopeless adoration, still unaccustomed to the effortless aura of power he assumed in his native environment. What was so different about him? He’d always radiated strength and confidence, but he’d been approachable despite his often inherent aloofness. What made him seem so inaccessible now? Was it the arrogant tilt of his head? The way he wore the expensive, custom tuxedo as easily as a T-shirt and jeans? The cool disdain in his burnished gold eyes?