the numb-nut who won’t submit to a blood test.” She stuck out an unmanicured hand. Startled, Nicole shook it. “Nice to meet you. I’m Christina.”
“Uh, yeah. I read about your wedding in People. And your daughter’s birth in—”
“News of the Weird?” the princess guessed.
Nicole’s hand shot up, too late.
“My God,” Jeffrey-the-annoying gasped. “Was that . . . a smile?”
“Shhhh, Jeff. Don’t scare her off.”
“Jeff-rey, Your Highness. As we’ve discussed, only His Majesty—”
She spun on him and said, “We’ve been over this a zillion times. You call me Christina, I’ll call you Jeff-rey.”
“Your Highness—”
“Yes, Jeff?”
“He can’t,” Nicole interrupted, smiling again and praying neither of them would comment. “Generations of duty to the royal family. Familiarity is beaten out of them at an early age.”
“Well, screw,” the princess muttered.
“I’ll call you Christina. I’ll also call you ‘see you later’ and ‘thanks for stopping by.’ ”
“They said you were never at a loss for words,” the perfectly cool, tall, blond woman said. Like every royal she had met so far, she was dressed casually: tan shorts (a bold move in forty-five-degree weather), a T-shirt (another bold move) with the logo I’M THE PRINCESS OF ALASKA, WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?, and a buttercup yellow sweater knotted around her waist. “They also said you looked extraordinarily like Alex and Kathryn, and that’s true, too.”
“Super duper. Well, what’s up? Salmon fishing? Hiking? There’s not much in season if hunting’s your thing . . .”
“No, thanks. Uh, could you cool out your boss a little? He looks about ten seconds from a stroke.”
Nicole was embarrassed; she’d been so distracted by Jeffrey (who was in his black tailored suit; duh, she should have known this one wasn’t going fishing) and the Crown Pr—Christina that she hadn’t even noticed Freeborg was at his desk.
And Christina was right. He was as pale as the belly of a trout.
“Mike? Mike!” She waved a hand in front of his glazed eyes. “It’s okay. I’m not in any trouble.”
“You’re one of them,” he accused, pointing a trembling, banana-sized finger at Christina. “Her husband said! Yesterday!”
“Oh, no,” Nicole assured him, but she was looking at Jeffrey as she said it. “Not ever.”
“Blood will tell, honey.”
Then, in unison, she and Christina said, “Don’t call me honey.”
Alone, Christina added, “See, see? Your reputation precedes you!”
“Is that so?”
“Yup.”
“And you think I’m an in-law.”
“Don’t think. Know.”
“So, if you were trying to talk one of them into something they absolutely did not want to do, how do you think it would go?”
Christina opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again, looking remarkably salmon-like. Then she glared. “Don’t confuse me with facts.”
“That’s a valid warning,” Jeff added.
“Pipe down, Jeff-rey. One thing I’ve learned living with some of the richest people in the world is that everyone has a price. So what’s yours?”
“What?”
“What’s it gonna cost to get you to come with me and submit to our DNA test?”
“Are you implying that you can pay me?” To turn my back on my mother and everything she ever did for me? God! They were all the same! “You bitch!” Then she socked her. Almost. Jeffrey moved like lightning, so she actually socked him in the throat (she’d been aiming for Christina’s left eye).
“Hey!” Christina yelled as Nicole’s boss clawed for his wastebasket and started retching. “Rule number one: Nobody roughs up the help!”
Then Nicole saw black stars explode as Christina socked her back.
Chapter 13
“Ow ow OW!” Nicole yelled, regaining consciousness. She opened her eyes, then groaned in equal parts pain and horror. About a hundred people were crouching over her.
“—didn’t mean for her to hit her head!”
“Christina, for Christ’s sake. We sent you to be a diplomat—ever heard of the word?”
“Ma’am,” a paramedic said, ripping the blood pressure cuff off Nicole’s arm, “can you tell me where you are?”
“The seventh circle of hell,” Nicole answered.
Christina elbowed two other Baranovs out of the way and peered down anxiously. “I’m so sorry, Nicole. I only meant to give you a black eye.”
“That’s an apology?” the crown prince demanded.
“I didn’t mean for you to hit your head on the boss’s desk when you fell!”
“How—how did you all get here so fast?” She was looking around, and in addition to two paramedics, she recognized Princess Kathryn, Prince Nicholas, Crown Prince David, Prince Alexander, Princess Alexandria, King Alexander, and her brand-new nemesis, Christina. “Does the palace have a teleporter pad?”
“You’ve been out cold for twenty minutes,” Prince Alexander, a shorter, younger version of his brother David, told her. “We had tons of time to get here. I’m Alexander, by the way.”
She clapped a hand over her eyes. “I know who you are. I know who you all are.” Her head was on the firmest pillow ever. Who knew Freeborg kept—
“Are you okay, kiddo?” the king asked anxiously. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Now that’s rude,” Prince Alexandria said approvingly.
“All of you back off and give her some air,” Jeffrey ordered from—ulp—directly above her. She realized with equal parts heat and cold that the pillow was him, and her head was in his lap.
As one, the royal family took three steps back.
“Your vitals are fine,” the other paramedic was telling her, “but with such a long loss of consciousness I think we should run her to the hos—”
