“Yes, madam. He is handsome, isn’t he?”
“And I’ll take all the hosiery. You may pack the dark green silk suit also.”
“Yes, madam.” The woman went away without an answer to her question.
When she was alone, Aria smiled at herself in the mirror. She had spent days alone
on an island with an exquisitely handsome man—and she hadn’t even noticed. Of course something had to be said for his despicable manner, which overrode any physical beauty. Before she had left Lanconia, her sister had teased her about spending time with the handsome American soldiers and here she had spent what would seem to be a romantic time alone on an island with a very handsome man and she had never once looked at him.
“Princess, we got to go. That train leaves in one hour and we have to drive there yet,” J.T. said angrily from the other side of the screen.
Aria closed her eyes for a moment, braced herself, then left the dressing room. So much for handsome, she thought. She had heard the devil was handsome and now she knew it was true.
The man Bill gave a sort of whistle when she walked into the room that Aria found offensive, but before she could speak, it was echoed by the man who had delivered the luggage. As far as she could tell, the whistle seemed to be a type of compliment.
Of course Lieutenant Montgomery said nothing but grabbed her arm and started pulling her toward the door.
She jerked away from him—how good she had become at that motion since she had met him—and sat down. “I am not traveling with my hair like this.”
“You’ll do what you’re told and be grateful that—”
The saleswoman cut him off by stepping between Aria and him and removing a comb from her dress pocket. “If I may be so bold.”
“We don’t have time for anything fancy,” J.T. said.
The woman combed Aria’s tangled hair then quickly braided it and wrapped it atop Aria’s head. “It looks like a crown,” she said, pleased.
Aria looked in a hand mirror and saw the arrangement was neat but then she saw Mavis snickering at her. Mavis’s hair was shoulder length, pulled back at her temples in a becoming way, and looked cool and very modern. Aria’s hair, perfectly all right at home in Lanconia, looked old-fashioned here in America.
J.T. took the mirror from her. “You can admire yourself on the train. Come on. We got two taxis waiting, one for us and one for all your damned luggage.” He pulled Aria from the store.
As he was shoving her into the taxi, the saleswoman came running out carrying a bottle of perfume. “For you,” she said. “Good luck.”
Aria held out her hand to the woman, palm downward.
Through some basic instinct that years of American freedom had not erased, the woman took Aria’s fingertips then half curtsied. She caught herself in midbend and straightened, her face red. “I hope you enjoy your new clothes.” She backed away.
J.T. started pushing Aria again but Bill stepped forward and placed himself between them. “Your carriage awaits, Your Royal Highness.”
Aria gave him a dazzling smile then gracefully entered the taxi. Bill entered from the other side, J.T. next to him.
“I sure wish my wife could hear about this,” Bill said as they sped away. “She’ll never believe I met a real princess.”
“Perhaps you could visit Lanconia one day. My house will be open to you.”
“House? You don’t live in a palace?” He sounded like a disappointed little boy.
“It is made of stone, is three hundred years old, and has two hundred and six rooms.”
“That’s a palace,” Bill said, smiling in satisfaction.
Aria hid her own smile because she was glad she had not disappointed him. She vowed to greet his wife and him wearing the Aratone crown, the one with the ruby the size of a hen’s egg in the center.
“If you two are finished playing old home week, we have some business to conduct,” J.T. said. “Here, Princess.” He held out a stack of green papers.
“What is that?” she asked, looking at them in the dim light.
“Money,” he snapped.