Max leaned against the door frame with his hands stuck in his pockets, looking like a GQ model.
“What are you doing here?” Marty looked up at the prince in surprise.
“Prince Max is the one that came to tell us.” I shook my head at Marty’s lack of decorum, but right now wasn’t the time to correct him.
“Did you draw the short straw?”
I laughed. He was obviously my son.
“Rock, paper, scissors.” Max knelt down and smiled. “I chose rock.”
“Paper is the sneaky answer.” Marty nodded his head as if that made the most sense in the world.
“I do believe you’re right,” Max agreed.
While Marty was distracted I quickly wiped at my cheeks and dragged the tips of my fingers under my eyes to make sure I didn’t have any runaway mascara.
“Are you ready?” I held my hand out to Marty while Max picked up the tiny backpack by the door.
“Does this mean we’re going to fly on a private jet?” Marty looked at me with a little more of his usual excitement.
“I think so.” I squeezed his fingers and tried to not think of why we were being escorted “home” by Max.
“Awesome!” He bounced a little as we walked down the hallway. “Do you think I can drive it?”
“Um, that would be a no.” I laughed, but it was a show.
People had lined the hallways to watch us leave. Some of them had sad expressions as they watched Marty and me, but the rest were out in full force to get a glimpse of the royal guest. Not that I blamed them. Max filled out his suit perfectly.
“Have a safe flight.” The woman from the front desk nodded in my direction before turning around and making shooing motions at the people in the hallway.
“Thanks.” I blew out a breath. At least the private jet would be a good distraction for Marty. I was already mentally preparing myself to deal with my father. If I was lucky he’d be passed out in his office and leave everything to me. Coaching Marty through the funeral on top of making all the plans would be difficult enough. Dealing with my father at the same time would be almost impossible.
TWO
BAD.
My feet were planted just like they had been in the auditorium while listening to Meredith sing. It felt like my shoes had been glued to the floor. My legs refused to move.
Wrong. My brain refused to tell my legs to move.
This was a terrible idea.
I should leave. Why were my feet not moving?
“Marty, go up to your room please.” Meredith’s foot tapped against the stone entryway.
The little boy shot a look at the people in the sitting room, another at his mother, and beelined for the stairs. I didn’t blame him. The heat coming off the top of his mother’s head was enough to make me want to turn tail and run. But there was also something tempting in that white-hot anger. Which was an even better reason to flee. Even in her grief, Meredith Thysmer was enticing.
“What is wrong with you?” Meredith was glaring at the blurry-eyed man sitting on the couch. The reporter perched across from him looked torn between excitement and fear. The room smelled strongly of liquor and stale cigarette smoke.
“I’m telling my father’s life story.” The man who must be Meredith’s father sat up a little straighter and pulled at his rumpled suit jacket. I thought his name was Arthur, but I could be wrong.
“He’s not even in the ground!” Meredith shook her head. “And you’re selling interviews?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Arthur leaned forward. “And who is that?”
He pointed at me with disdain and I felt my eyebrows rise. It wasn’t often that I wasn’t recognized in my own country. The journalist looked at me with wide eyes and began to collect his stuff.
“That. Is. The. Prince.” Meredith bit out the words. “His Royal Highness, Prince Maxwell of Lilaria. He was kind enough to come tell me that my grandfather died before the media did. Then he brought us home.” The frustration and hurt in her voice was unmistakable. While her father was trying to make a quick buck, she had just found out a loved one had passed away.
“I’m sorry for your loss, sir.” I bowed my head.
He snorted, and his red eyes traveled over me in disdain, but he didn’t respond otherwise. His blurry attention went straight back to his fireball of a daughter. That was self-preservation at its best.
“I was here dealing with everything that happened.” He picked up a snifter from the table and twirled the contents before dumping the amber liquid down his throat.
“You left us to find out—” She stopped abruptly and looked at the journalist. “I’m sorry, but now is not a good time. Could we reschedule? I’m sure you can understand that this is a difficult time for all of us.” She paused and I could see her temper flare again. “Being that my grandfather just passed away, none of us are in the right state of mind to be giving interviews. And I’m sure that anything you print would say the same thing.”
Damn. She had just put that journalist in his place better than my sister-in-law’s sidekick Chadwick. That man had a way of making people feel small. It was a gift that apparently Meredith shared.
Another reason I should be making a hasty retreat and leaving her to deal with her family drama.
“Of course, Lady Meredith.” The man bowed his head as he stood and almost tripped on his own feet. “I’ll be in touch, Duke Thysmer.”