Some Like it Secret (Going Royal Book 4) (14 page)

The next three days passed in a blissful haze. Of course, he’d still had issues to deal with and reports from the Greek authorities to go over. The men in the helicopter remained at-large. According to Sebastian’s conference call with his brother, Peterson—the head of Armand’s security—and Jonas Quinn, a man with ties to MI-6 and the family’s most recent addition to their European security forces, the chances the assailants would be caught dwindled. The yacht remained in deep, international waters and so far no chatter reached the press. The incident on St. Christos was successfully covered up.

Meredith’s fury over the burying of the incident lit her up like a fierce flame from within. He delighted in arguing with her, even as he had to disappoint her vision of what should have happened. Publicizing the incident would not only highlight the family’s holdings, but also their vulnerability. No one claiming responsibility indicated an utter failure to complete their mission objective—and they didn’t want to give away the strategic value, either.

The answer hardly mollified her, but she’d finally accepted his assurance it was for the best. They spoke, at length, about a number of subjects from her fear of flying to her actual dislike of his London townhouse, which startled him. They’d stayed there three times over the past five years, and she insisted it was creepy. Her detailed history of the place shocked him further. Apparently, it had been home to a rather brutal murder in the 1920s, a fact his realtor never disclosed. Then again, perhaps the man simply hadn’t known.

Sebastian resolved the issue immediately. He would sell the place or donate it to a family in need and transform it with better memories. She’d gaped at him when he’d made the suggestion then laughed. He could get drunk off her laughter.

O’Connor, thankfully, was already on the road to recovery. Sebastian escorted Meredith down to visit with her bodyguard and, for the first time, he tried to observe their interaction through a lens not discolored by jealousy. Odd for a prince to envy another man anything, least of all the comfort of friendship they found in each other. But he wanted it to be him Meredith turned to, not O’Connor. It was a goal worth aspiring toward.

When the subject turned to other likes and dislikes, she’d pointed to their varied course meals and asked why they couldn’t simply have a hamburger or an actual sub sandwich. Not everything needed to be gourmet.

Sebastian mentioned the chef might not be thrilled with such a banal request, and she’d merely given him a look. He should have understood what her expression meant, because an hour later she’d disappeared. He found her in the kitchens, cooking.

He leaned against the counter, watching her browning two meat patties in a pan. Philippe hovered in the background, as did Vidal and Gencome, Meredith’s newly arrived bodyguard. Sebastian met the dark-skinned Frenchman upon arrival and signed off on Vidal’s selection. Claude Gencome offered a varied history as an inspector with the French police—one of the youngest—as well as a decorated if unremarkable military record. What Sebastian approved of was Vidal’s endorsement and Gencome’s no nonsense attitude when he’d been introduced to Meredith.

She’d complained at first, worried about Terry losing his job, but Sebastian pointed out O’Connor needed time to recover and then to recuperate. When he was well, they could revisit the arrangement. If Sebastian had his way, Meredith would be a permanent addition to his household by then and O’Connor would be back in Boston.

“You know I could come find you when these are ready,” she told him over her shoulder. She’d stolen one of his shirts again, not that he minded. It looked far better on her than him. Though they were in the Mediterranean, the temperatures were chillier, so she wore slacks and a pair of deck shoes. His closet held several items for her to choose from, all of which belonged to her after being left behind or purchased for her other visits. He liked seeing her clothes hanging next to his.

“I find watching you cooking fascinating.”

She stuck her tongue then grinned. “Boy, do you need to get out more.” The casual ease with which she issued her challenges seemed to have also grown in the intervening three days. Meredith teased so rarely, yet she’d relaxed enough to pick on him. He adored it. “Cooking is not something I do very well. Mom could burn water, but I do know how to make burgers and I make a mean meatloaf.”

He had no doubts about her skill. “I’ve never eaten meatloaf.”

“No?” She flipped the burgers. “It’s a very steadfast meal with corn and mashed potatoes. Yum. I really like it on particularly cold nights. If I can get Philippe to forgive me for bastardizing his kitchen, maybe I can make some for you while we’re here.”

Before he could answer, the chef straightened. “It would be my great honor to host your meal preparation, ma’am. If you will agree to share with Philippe the recipe so he can prepare it for your future requests?”

Meredith swung her head around to stare at the chef. “Did you really just refer to yourself in the third person?”

The chef nodded once. “The frying of ‘burgers’ is simply compacting the ground beef and adding some spices, yes? Do you cook it fully or to medium rare?”

“Depends on how you like your burger. I prefer mine to be mostly cooked, so medium to medium well. Sebastian’s a rare meat kind of guy, so we’re going for medium-rare with his. Do you have ketchup?”

It took all of Sebastian’s considerable training not to laugh at the man’s expression.

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry, I don’t. I will add it to the next shopping list.”

“Maybe Bastian won’t like it.” She glanced back at him. “You’ve tasted ketchup, right?”

“Oh yes.” He reminded her, “When we ate French fries.” A midnight snack during a long weekend in Vancouver when he’d surprised her at a conference. It had been dreadful, but he’d buy stock in the red goo if it made her happy.

“Oh, right! French fries—” She looked back at the kitchen. “Do we have potatoes? I can make up some.”

It was too much for Philippe. He muttered an imprecation in French and pulled out several from a bin. Instead of giving them to her, he began to clean and peel them before chopping furiously.

Meredith bit her lip and looked away. For an instant, he thought the chef’s manner upset her, but then he caught the mischief in her eyes and he wanted to laugh all over again. She’d been tweaking the poor man. He’d have to give him a raise.

When she declared the burgers done, they settled in the dining room to eat—she’d conceded the kitchen back to Philippe. Meredith watched him take his first bite of the monstrosity she’d constructed by adding lettuce, tomatoes, onions and cheese and, though she’d decried the hard rolls Philippe sliced for buns, Sebastian actually liked them.

“Well?” she asked after a protracted silence while he chewed.

“It’s excellent.” He grinned. “Even more so because you made it for me.” It warmed him in a way he couldn’t quite express. She’d taken the time to fix him something for no other reason than she’d wanted to share her enjoyment.

She took a bite of her own and laughed around the size of the bite. Her rich brown eyes danced with merriment. “I still can’t believe you haven’t eaten fast food or burgers or something at some point. Didn’t you say Armand loved pizza?”

His brother’s love affair with the food had more to do with Anna, Sebastian suspected, but then he’d continued to eat it even in the years they’d been apart. Usually alone or with his friend Richard, always over beer. Another difference, Sebastian supposed.

“Bastian?” Meredith touched his arm, drawing his attention back to her and her question.

“Yes, Armand loves pizza.” He captured her hand and kissed it lightly before letting her go back to eating. “It was a habit he developed while away at school. He wanted an all-American, normal experience, so I think he ate quite a bit of the fast food you’re referring to.”

“But not you?”

“I didn’t attend an American university.” He shrugged. “I went to Cambridge and our father passed away during my first full semester. I had to leave school for a time, but then returned in the following autumn. With the change, it also heightened my security and notoriety. The days where Armand could disappear among the populace were long gone. Too many in the press wanted to know what we were doing, and who we were seeing. It made everything more difficult.”

Meredith sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It was what it was. Interestingly, I didn’t fully grasp the burden Armand carried all those years. I was, for all intents and purposes, his heir. Still am. Thus, what was once his security burden became my own.” He refilled his wine glass then topped off hers. It amused him that she’d actually chosen one for the meal, but then again she did know his preferences.

“So, you weren’t as surrounded before your father passed?”

Pleased with her questions, with the fact she wanted to know, he couldn’t help the stirrings of old regrets. Regrets he’d long since thought he’d abandoned. “No, not at all. I had Eduard—Vidal. He came to work for us just after my sixteenth birthday. I graduated from boarding school, and wanted to take a couple of years off to merely travel. So Vidal and I went backpacking across Europe. Well, sort of.” He grinned. “It was a good time. We traveled through small villages and towns. Avoided all of the larger metropolis’ and, though he insisted we drive rather than walk or ride motorcycles, it was just the two of us with the occasional downtime in a city for him to have some days off.”

“Which also explains why you two are so close.” Understanding kindled in her voice and, though he’d never considered it, he nodded.

“I suppose. It was only a few months. When I decided on Cambridge, I needed to study for the entrance exams and Vidal headed a detail of three. We occupied a building with several flats off campus. It made it easier for them to secure me. After my father passed, well, the detail became eight, which limited my options considerably. I was Armand’s heir and, as such, I had to be protected. It was my duty to allow it. Armand bore enough of a burden and a steep learning curve in taking over all of our family’s holdings.”

Pushing back her plate, she brought her knee up and rested her chin on it as she studied him. It made her look all of twelve, except for her eyes. Those eyes searched his and saw far too much. “You wanted to help him, which is why you studied business and diplomacy.”

He nodded once. “I changed my field of study, yes. Our father planned for Armand to come work for him after he finished his university experience. He would have learned the company and our holdings at our father’s side. His death changed everything. Armand was barely twenty-two and suddenly he was forced to make a billion dollars’ worth of choices. The livelihood of, at the time, some thousand employees depended on his choices. Arguably more, if you consider all the companies we do business with. He needed someone he could talk to and I was the someone.”

Armand hadn’t liked the idea any more than Sebastian, but there were any number of nights his brother called as he’d weeded through one report or another and they’d hashed out the decision between them. If nothing else, Sebastian learned to understand the intricacies of negotiation. “His friend, Richard, was invaluable later, after he graduated law school. He went to work for us immediately. During the interim, I did what I could.”

She picked up her wine glass and swirled the red slowly. “What did you want to study? Before?”

It was his turn to shift uncomfortably. He focused on the burger, finding it very interesting. But the weight of her gaze pressed down upon him and, after two bites, he couldn’t avoid looking at her. “It isn’t important.”

“Now I really want to know.” She set her glass down and leaned forward. “What were you planning on studying?”

“Meredith, the burger is excellent and the fries as well.”

“Thank you. Philippe made those, and don’t try to change the subject.” She tapped her finger on the table. “You do realize your life is public record? I can go look up what you studied at school before—”

“I sincerely doubt they have the information accessible.” Or at least he hoped they didn’t. He wiped his hands on a napkin and finished the glass of wine.

“Fine, I’ll pull strings.” Meredith grinned. “You may be connected internationally to all the royal bloodlines, but I’ve got academic pull.”

“You’re really not going to let this go.” He sighed and, in spite of his wish to the contrary, it warmed something in his chest that she wanted to know.

“Nope.” She shook her head. “We’ve been letting so much go and making so many assumptions. I want to know you, all of the little pieces and the big.”

“Very well.” He rose and held out his hand. Her immediate acceptance and bounce to her feet gratified him. “If you would come with me, beautiful one?”

A faint pink blush brightened her cheeks. “Hmm, I get all shivery when you talk like that.”

“Then I must make a point to do it far more regularly.” He kissed her knuckles and led her from the room. Vidal and Gencome followed at a discreet distance. Through the yacht, he escorted her, and then to an observation room kept locked. It was a private room, even the staff remained outside of it. If it needed to be cleaned, they could only enter with one of the select few guards in attendance.

Unlocking the door, he caught Meredith’s ripe curiosity and steeled himself for her reaction. “What you want to know is in here,” he told her and let her enter ahead of him. He nodded to Vidal and the men took up a position outside the door. Meredith paused in the center of the room and turned in a slow circle. He tried to gauge her reaction to the canvases scattered around the room, of which at least three were of her. Reminded, he glanced to the corner and was relieved—the nude was hidden behind another stack. Perhaps he’d save showing her that particular work for later.