“But you said …”

  “I’m annoyed with you, Andrew. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Why are you mad at me?” I take a step toward her.

  “Because … because …” She either doesn’t want to tell me or she doesn’t know. She finally says, “Because I don’t like you telling me what to do.”

  “But you’re my secretary. Isn’t it your job to do what I ask of you?” I’ve graduated from poking the bear to shaking a hornet’s nest.

  “During work hours only. Which is the only reason I will have lunch with you and your mother today. At six o’clock, I will be packing up my apartment and moving home.”

  “That’s not a good idea, Agnes.”

  “So you’ve said, repeatedly. But I disagree with you. Nothing your mother can say will make me change my mind.”

  I’m not getting anywhere, so I walk toward my office. “I’m going out in a bit. Meet us at the cherub fountain at noon.”

  I don’t wait to hear if she answers. Even though I’ve treated her poorly in the past, Agnes has always been a great worker. But now that she’s standing up for herself, I find that I have no idea how best to deal with her. A fired-up Agnes is an extremely tantalizing Agnes.

  She’s also scary as hell.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Amelia

  “I’m starting to think that nothing is going to happen between Prince Andrew and Agnes,” Amelia tells Jacqui as they walk out of the royal kitchens.

  “We’ve only just begun our campaign. You have to give it time.”

  Shaking her head, Amelia says, “He’s picnicking in the rose garden with someone. Such a thing would seem to indicate that his heart is engaged elsewhere.”

  “Why does it mean that?”

  “Because he’ll be in a private location where no press will be. That clearly sounds like a romantic setup to me.”

  Picking up her pace, Jacqui leads the way down the corridor toward visitors’ parking. “If that were the case, then Charlotte would have told us. Nothing goes on here that she doesn’t know about.”

  “Maybe she hasn’t had time to discover what Andrew is up to,” Amelia suggests.

  Jacqui takes her phone out of her purse and dials the queen’s number. When she answers, she puts the receiver up so that Amelia can hear the conversation. “Charlotte, it’s Jacqui. Who is Drew lunching with in the garden today?”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “Amelia and I were talking to Cook when he came in and ordered a basket. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve set up a tête-à-tête with Chantelle,” Charlotte says. “I’ve asked the royal photographer to inconspicuously take some pictures. I figured we could leak them to further the press’s excitement about Drew’s new romance.”

  “Can Amelia and I see the pictures before you leak them?”

  “Of course,” Charlotte says. “We’ll make a party of it. But I need to get running. I’ll call you later this afternoon.”

  Putting her telephone back into her purse, Jacqui turns to Amelia. “You see? Charlotte has everything under control.”

  “I still feel nervous,” Amelia tells her. “Prince Andrew might surprise us all and fall for Chantelle for real. It wouldn’t be unheard of, you know.”

  Agnes

  I want to have lunch with Drew and his mother as much as I want to mud wrestle a baboon in the wild. Unfortunately, I don’t see that I have any other choice—about lunch, not the baboon. I need to straighten out this situation once and for all, and the only way to do that is to speak to Drew and the queen at the same time.

  At eleven thirty, I check my hair and makeup in the mirror before heading out in the direction of the cherub fountain. I’m not particularly looking forward to the upcoming scene, so I take my time getting there.

  As I kick along the stone path, I become more and more convinced there will be some harsh words—from me. I’m being steamrolled by Drew, and I’m sick of it. Just because I work for him doesn’t mean he owns me.

  With every step I take, I work myself into more of a dither. How dare he kiss me and not have it mean anything? He told me ahead of time that it wouldn’t, but still, how rude. And just because I’m staying across the hall from him, doesn’t mean he can stop by anytime he wants. He doesn’t own me.

  I conveniently forget that I’ve looked forward to Drew’s company and have greatly missed it when he hasn’t been present. Yet, he can’t treat me like I’m a convenience, a buddy to hang out with when the feeling moves him. I’m his secretary, dammit, and a fine one at that.

  By the time I round the path that leads to the fountain, I’ve created a bit of a weather pattern with my thoughts. A hurricane would be the most accurate description of how I’m feeling.

  I see Drew sitting at a glass table that’s been set up close to the water but not too close, lest he get hit with the spray. He’s sitting alone, looking at his phone. A pit of despair opens inside me as I watch the back of his hair flutter in the breeze. I’m suddenly jealous the wind gets to touch him whenever it wants, but I can’t. I want to run my fingers through his hair before pulling his head toward mine in another soul-searing kiss. After I repeat that five or six times, I’d climb him like a tree …

  “Darling!” I hear her voice before I see her. Snapping my attention out of fantasy land, I follow the unwelcome sound. What is Chantelle doing here?

  Drew pushes away from the table and asks that very question. “What are you doing here?”

  With her arms wide open like she’s about to hug him, Chantelle stops in her tracks and says, “Your mother invited me.” Then she advances once again until she’s in Drew’s arms. Okay, not so much in his arms as within his reach. He doesn’t seem to be welcoming physical contact.

  “Why did my mother invite you?”

  Chantelle stands by her chair until Drew pulls it out for her. I don’t hear her response, but whatever she says causes Drew’s shoulders to tense up.

  I’ve progressed close enough to the fountain that I’m no longer an invisible entity. Chantelle looks straight at me and announces, “Andrew, your little secretary is here.”

  He turns around in a near panic. “Ah, Agnes, I … that is to say … I appear to be dining with Chantelle …”

  “Clearly,” I tell him, all the while pulling out the third chair and sitting down with them.

  Chantelle looks like she wants to throw something at me. “You aren’t joining us.”

  I give her the best condescending smile I can muster. “Of course I am.” I spokesmodel the table setting and add, “The table is set for three, after all.”

  Chantelle turns her attention to Drew. “Surely, she can’t think she’s dining with us. Tell her to leave, Andrew.”

  Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be in Drew’s shoes right now. He looks positively terrified. “Agnes, it turns out that my mother set up this lunch for me and Chantelle. She won’t be joining us, so you can … that is to say, there’s no need for you to stay.”

  “As I’ve not made any alternate plans for my midday meal, I might as well take it here.” I place the linen napkin into my lap to emphasize the fact that I’m not going anywhere.

  “Andrew …” Chantelle hisses. Oh yeah, she’s mad. Bring it on, Chantelle. Your mad couldn’t touch mine with a ten-meter pole.

  Drew tells her, “I invited Agnes to join my mother and me. It would be rude to send her away without letting her eat first.”

  Chantelle’s face turns so red, she looks like she’s about to self-combust. “Get something from the basket and leave.”

  “Chantelle, is it?” I start to say, but she cuts me off.

  “You may call me Miss Bain.” Her tone is pure nasty.

  I chance a quick glance at Drew before saying, “Miss Bain, I don’t work for you. I work for the prince. I plan to stay here and enjoy a nice picnic lunch before I go anywhere. If that doesn’t suit you, perhaps you would like to go.”

  She pushes away from the table and jolts up like she just sat down on the business end of a pogo stick. With her hands on her hips, she spits, “You may not speak to me like that.” She points at Drew, and demands, “Tell her, Andrew. Tell her that she is not allowed to speak to me like that.”

  Drew’s expression is hard to read, but if pressed, I would say he looks equal parts petrified and amused. “Sit down, Chantelle. I didn’t realize you were my luncheon companion, and I’ve already invited Agnes to stay.”

  Clearly that’s not what Chantelle wants to hear. “She’s your secretary, Andrew.”

  “Yes, she is,” he clarifies. “Now sit down.”

  Chantelle eventually decides to do as she’s told, but she’s not happy about it. I feel you, girl. This lunch is going to be excruciating, but my dignity demands I not be the one to retreat first.

  Once Drew’s fake girlfriend is situated, she scoots her chair so close to his chair she’s nearly on top of him. She leans in and whisper yells, “I am not pleased, Andrew.”

  “Neither am I,” I full-on shout across the table. Looking at the basket sitting next to our table, I ask, “Who’s going to serve?”

  “There’s only one servant here,” Chantelle seethes. “So, I suppose you’re the one doing the honors.”

  Did this evil witch just call me a servant? I stand up and open the lid on the wicker basket and start to dig through it. I find several sandwiches wrapped in paper, so I open one and put it on Drew’s plate. Then I open another and put it on mine. Once we’re both served, I reach in and pull out a bottle of lemonade. I fill two glasses. One guess who I didn’t give any to.

  As I sit back down, I tell Drew, “It looks like Isabelle made us her famous lemon poundcake and raspberries for dessert.”

  Before he can comment, Chantelle demands, “Where is my lunch?”

  I glance down at the basket. “I’m no one’s servant, Miss Bain. I suggest that if you want to eat, you find your own meal. I think there’s another sandwich in the basket.” I unroll my baguette from the parchment while adding, “This looks delicious.”

  “Andrew, fix this, now.” How can he stand this woman? She’s irritating enough to put me off my food, and I’m currently starving.

  Drew, the slimy worm, pushes his plate toward Chantelle before standing up to retrieve more food. As he moves past me, he puts his hand on the back of my chair and ever so slightly brushes it against my back. My body responds like I just stuck a finger into a live electrical socket. “Agnes,” he says, “would you mind pouring me a glass of lemonade?”

  I look over to see that Chantelle has appropriated his glass and is already drinking from it. “I already poured you a glass, Drew.” Then, reaching over to the wine bucket where I put the bottle, I say, “But if you’d like another, I’d be happy to pour it.”

  As he bends to retrieve the last sandwich, he whispers, “I’m sorry about the mix up.” Then he helps himself to the food and sits back down at his place.

  I would rather be anywhere in the world than eating with Drew and his date. But being that Chantelle would also rather that I be anywhere else, I’m staying.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Queen Charlotte

  “Holy hell,” Charlotte swears as she looks out the window with the best view of the fountain.

  “Excuse me, Your Majesty?” Gerard, the royal photographer, asks.

  “There seems to be a change in plans, Gerard. My son seems to have invited his secretary to join him for lunch.”

  “So, you won’t need my services?” he asks while unscrewing the long-distance lens from his camera.

  Charlotte shakes her head. “On the contrary. I now want you to focus your attention on Miss Dupuis and my son. Still take a few pictures of Chantelle, but I’m not as interested in those as I thought I’d be.”

  Gerard bows without questioning her. “Of course.”

  Charlotte lets the sheer fall back in front of the window. “The patio off this room has a clear view. Take as many pictures as you can.”

  As soon as Gerard walks out the French doors, Charlotte picks up the telephone and punches in Jacqui’s number. “Jax, you will not believe what’s happening.”

  “Do I have to guess or are you going to tell me?” comes the quick response.

  “Drew invited Agnes to lunch. He’s sitting out by the fountain with both her and Chantelle.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” the queen replies.

  “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Bring Amelia,” Charlotte says. Then she hangs up the phone and rings for the butler. “Simpson, I’m going to need you to bring me three pairs of opera glasses. And put a rush on it, please.”

  Prince Andrew

  I would rather be water-boarded than sitting here at the same table with Agnes and Chantelle. The women are barely tolerating one another, and they’ve begun to act like the other one isn’t even here.

  “What a delightful luncheon, Drew,” Agnes says.

  “I’ve never had a more delicious sandwich, Andrew,” Chantelle offers.

  “Are you coming by for supper tonight, Drew? I missed our walk in the garden last night.” My secretary is obviously not going to go down without a fight.

  Chantelle makes a growling sound deep in her throat. “I thought we could snuggle up at my place tonight, Andrew. You know, just the two of us …” She lets her innuendo hang in the air.

  “I’m sorry, but I …”

  I don’t get to finish my sentence because Agnes interrupts me. “Miss Bain, I’m aware of the true nature of your relationship with Drew. There’s no need to act like something more is going on for my benefit.”

  “How dare you?” Chantelle slams her wine glass down so hard the stem breaks. She throws the contents onto the patio before setting the rest down on the table. “Andrew and I have been out several times and I assure you our relationship is progressing on schedule.”

  “I’ve seen the pictures in the paper.” Agnes winks slowly to exaggerate the action. “You’re playing your part very nicely, Miss Bain. I know Drew appreciates all you’re doing to help us.”

  “I’m not doing anything to help you,” Chantelle grinds out. I wonder if anyone would notice if I crawled under the table. “I’m helping Andrew clear his name in the press so that his reputation won’t be tarnished by being linked to the help.”

  If I ever wondered if Agnes had a limit to what she can endure, I now know the answer. “Drew never meant to send you roses and the only reason he did is because we had a bad connection on the telephone. He meant to send you daisies along with a thanks for nothing note.”

  While what she says is true, I still need Chantelle’s help, so I intervene. “Agnes, that’s enough. I don’t know why you’re so annoyed with Chantelle.”

  “You don’t … you don’t …” she sputters.

  “Chantelle is graciously helping me out of a pickle. As such, I need to ask that you treat her with a modicum of respect.”

  “She needs to do more than that,” Chantelle yells. “She needs to apologize.”

  Before I can gain some control over the situation, Agnes announces, “I’m sorry that Drew would rather kiss me than you.”

  Son of a … “Agnes, that’s not what I meant.”

  “You’ve kissed her?” Chantelle demands. “You told me she meant nothing to you.”

  “She doesn’t,” I start to say, but I feel the hot glare of Agnes’s anger. “That is to say, Agnes is a wonderful secretary and I care about her very much … in a professional capacity.”

  “So much that you kiss her?” Chantelle is getting the wrong idea and I need to set things straight fast before everything blows up in my face.

  “I kissed her so that she could tell her grandkids that she once kissed the king.”

  “He’s lying,” Agnes taunts.

  “Agnes, I’m not lying, and you know it. I was quite clear our kiss meant nothing.” Her expression causes my heart to ache. She looks so hurt I yearn to pull her into my arms and assure her that I care for her very much. But the whole reason Chantelle is pretending to still be my girlfriend is because I can’t be with Agnes. Therefore, I can never tell my lovely secretary the truth of my feelings for her.

  “Poor little Agnes,” Chantelle sneers. “One pity kiss and you’re done for. You’re quite the country mouse, aren’t you?”

  I have an idea how Agnes will respond to that, so I intervene. “Chantelle, who I kiss is none of your concern.”

  “Oh, but it is, Andrew. You assured me I would not be played for a fool by anyone, and that’s exactly what’s happening.”

  “I’m not playing you for a fool, Chantelle. We’re the only ones here, so no one will ever know what has transpired. As far as the world is concerned, you and I are a couple, and Agnes is nothing more than my assistant.”

  Agnes stands up before smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll move home now.” She sounds broken.

  “Agnes …” I have no idea what to say to make things right with her. Clearly, I’ve screwed everything up by kissing her, but I refuse to regret doing so. Having Agnes in my arms was the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me. The thought that it can never happen again hurts worse than the time Alistair hit me over of the head with his polo mallet.

  “Let her go, darling,” Chantelle croons. “Clearly, the poor girl is in love with you. The best thing for you to do is to replace her.”

  Chantelle is right. I knew before this lunch that things had progressed to a dangerous territory with Agnes, but there’s no coming back from what’s been said here. I need to let Agnes go, more for my sake than hers. I cringe at the humiliation I’m about to inflict upon her. I’ve been trying to get her to quit this whole time, and now that I’m cutting her loose, I’m full of angst.

  “Agnes,” I tell her, “I will give you a glowing recommendation.”

  “You’re firing me?” she demands. “Why? Because Chantelle told you to do it or because you can’t trust yourself around me?”