Photo by Willian Justen de Vasconcellos on Unsplash

Photo by chuttersnap on Unsplash

          But it was the prince who drew her attention. She noticed for the first time he leaned heavily on his father’s chair, as if pained, though his face was carefully schooled to show nothing but the gracious smile with which he addressed the guests. Gemma racked her brain of the few little facts she’d gleaned from Cassi and her mother’s tidbits of the royal family, but couldn’t recall anything alluding to the son’s health. It wasn’t until he shifted his weight slightly that she noticed he held his right leg gingerly, though she could decipher nothing from his pressed grey slacks and matching suit jacket.

          Alejo regarded the family with mild disinterest. They were simply yet another group of American tourists craving the high of meeting actual royals in an exotic county and in the flesh.
          He knew the type.
          And he found the typical fawning to be quite irksome.
          With a polite nod, he greeted them cordially, as any prince—or gentleman, for that matter—should greet his guests. He watched the elder couple of the little party of eight as they showed proper decorum to his parents, and recalled his mother knew the Mrs White, or was at least well-acquainted with her somehow.

          Upon meeting Gemma Quinn, he again gave his customary nod, respectful, but not overly friendly. When she met his eyes briefly, obviously the more nervous of the party, he found his interest suddenly piqued. But as quickly as she looked to his face, she just as quickly looked away. She was rather small in stature, and beautifully slender, with soft features and lovely, long, brown hair, currently worn in a loose braid down her back. The hairstyle fit comfortably with the Summer dress painted in florals, and the small flat slippers.
          Her feet were tiny compared to his own.
          He stopped himself. Why was he comparing feet, of all things?

          He found himself intrigued. And he didn’t even get a good look at her face.
          With yet another slight shift to his good leg, he hid a wince. He’d stood for far too long and would most certainly pay for it tomorrow. Mamá’s knowing look caught his eyes and he sent a smile her way to assure her he was fine. Only two more couples remained before they could be seated for dinner. And it couldn’t come soon enough. But, stubborn as he was, he’d stood for the duration, he wouldn’t sit until it was complete.

          As the elderly couple before them bowed polite greetings—a duke and duchess?—he watched the receding backs of the White family and company—in particular, a long, chocolate braid.

          A knock sounded at the door of the massive suite, breaking through Gemma’s impromptu reverie.
          As grand as the White family’s private rooms were—basically an entire house inside the pristine & renowned hotel ________—she half-expected a servant to pop out and answer the door. “Thank you, Jeeves,” she murmured with a tiny smile as she rose from the large overstuffed sofa, itself overstuffed with her personal laptop, notebooks, planner, her current read, and papers she had forwarded from the States. An extended vacation for the entire Summer, and she still had to wrestle with life. Funny that.
          Forgetting to check first through the peephole—something Cassi was always reminding her to do—she opened the door to a young man waiting casually in the hall. At first, she assumed he was one of the ever-present employees eagerly awaiting the beck and call of the esteemed American family and guests. But from his dark jeans and expensive black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, she decided he was a patron of the same hotel.
          A little wary now that she recalled she was entirely alone in a foreign country, she answered with a tentative, “Yes?” and hoped he spoke English. “May I help you, sir?”
          “Senorita Quinn?” His voice was calm and deep. Rich. And his eyes were kind. He seemed vaguely familiar.

          “Your Highness?”
          He wore no disguise, but was simply dressed as any common young man might be during the Summer season, and that was perhaps what hid his identity best of all. But there was no mistaking those eyes, the strong jawline, and broad build, nor the kind features she had first noticed at the banquet nearly a week before.
          She had entertained no thought of seeing him again—a prince!—and yet, here he was standing before her. The PRINCE.
          An amused smile was playing with his lips. “Señorita?”
          Sense returned to her full force, bringing with it a confounded blush.