ruled this island, and Princess Samantha DeSaunters a few times. She also remembered another royal sibling, a brother, one who was pictured in magazines and newspapers more often than she’d seen any of the others. But as for this one, the crown prince, the one who would rule the island following Prince Rafferty, she had not seen as much.
The prince continued, “How did she learn about you and what did she ask of you?”
“Another one of my clients had a party and Malayka was there. As I’ve heard from both of them, my name was brought up in their discussion, and Malayka sent me an email a few days later.”
“Why didn’t she call you? Did your other client not give her your number?”
“At that time of year I am extremely busy going over resketched gown proposals and backup wardrobe pieces. There are fittings and accessory meetings, as well as lunches with reps of designers I may consider for next year’s awards season. My cell phone is always on and always with me, but there are times when I may not be able to answer. My clients know this and have been known to send a text or an email. Sometimes it’s easier to give a quick response that way, when I’m unable to speak to them personally at the time.”
If this were an interview, Landry might be failing. She was very aware of that fact.
Smile more. Be friendlier. Stop being so defensive.
Those were her mother’s words as she warned Landry for the millionth time about finding the right guy.
First impressions are everything.
“How many clients do you have?” was his next question.
Landry resisted the urge to sigh. “Ten.”
“So few. Do you plan on expanding?”
“I plan to run a small and personal business, one where I can really get to know my clients and thus provide them with the best service possible.”
He looked somber. The expression had not changed since the moment she’d sat down. “And you like catering to people?” He paused. “Why?”
“There are only some people I like catering to, Your Highness. Malayka Sampson is my client and she’s hired me to dress her for the events leading up to the wedding. That’s the only reason I’m here on your island. And if we’re finished, I really must meet with Malayka—we have a great deal to get done before the engagement party.”
She’d stood then because sitting was no longer an option. Her hands were now shaking, her heart beating a tense rhythm as she fought to remain calm. When in actuality, she was extremely annoyed. She did not like being questioned as if she were considered disingenuous, or that her business was not up to his standards. Yes, he was the prince of a gorgeous island, but he was still a man and Landry wasn’t used to cowtailing to any men, or women for that matter.
He’d surprised her by standing as well. It was a quick motion, one he either hadn’t expected to make, or didn’t appreciate having to make. As he came around that large desk, Landry remembered the book she’d read on the plane about royal protocol. Most men in America did not stand when a woman did. An attestation to the whole chivalry is dead mantra. Here, the men—correction, the royal men—were different. At least that’s what the book said.
“Welcome to Grand Serenity Island,” he stated and extended his hand to her.
Landry hesitated momentarily, but then accepted his hand and looked him in the eye.
Did the earth shake? Was that thunder she heard? Who turned up the heat in here?
A wave of heat flowed steadily from her fingers to her wrist, up her arm and rested embarrassingly in her cheeks. He looked down at their hands about a second or so before she did. He was a few shades lighter than her mocha hue.
When she looked back, it was to see him staring at her. She could swear her thoughts were mirrored in his expression. Prince Kristian DeSaunters was not blushing as she feared she probably was, but he did appear shaken. It was a faint change from the stern and serious look that had been in his eyes just moments before. His lips pressed together tightly until he almost seemed to grimace.
“Thank you,” Landry replied but made no attempt to remove her hand from his grasp.
His fingers moved over hers as their gazes held.
“No rings,” he spoke quietly.
“I’m not married,” she answered. “I thought we already established that fact.”
Neither was he, Landry thought. He was single and dashing and still holding her hand. It felt natural and odd at the same time. Welcome, yet a bit too familiar for their first meeting. And still, she did not pull away.
“I look forward to seeing more of you,” the prince continued. “More of your work, that is.”
Right, she reminded herself. She was here to work, not to ogle this man.
“Thank you, Your Highness. I plan to do my very best,” she said in her most professional tone, just as there was a knock at the door.
He was still holding her hand when someone entered, already speaking.
“Hey Kris, we need to talk about tomorrow’s meeting with the board of directors and then—” her voice trailed off as the stunningly beautiful Princess Samantha Raine DeSaunters came to a stop right beside them.
The prince dropped Landry’s hand as if she’d had a palm full of hot coals.
Landry then finished with the roller coaster of emotions brought on by the introduction to Grand Serenity’s royalty, bid a quick farewell before making a hasty retreat.
* * *
“Who was that and what did you do to run her away like that?”
Kristian stared at the door Landry had just passed through. He was asking himself an array of questions at the moment, none of which he wanted to share with his younger sister.
“That was Landry Norris. She’s Malayka’s stylist,” he replied then moved to stand behind his desk once again.
He closed the file his assistant had compiled on Ms. Norris and her business venture. The picture that was included—the one that had captured him the moment he’d first seen it earlier this week—was tucked securely in the back. That’s where he’d finally put it yesterday, when he couldn’t rationalize why he kept staring at it.
“You’re kidding, right?” Sam shook her head as she continued to walk into the office, taking a seat in the chair that Landry had vacated. “Why does she need a personal stylist? She already has her hairdresser and makeup artist here.”
Kris took his seat. “I was going to ask you that same question... Do you have someone who selects your clothes for you?”
It seemed like a silly question to ask, especially when posed to his sister, who lived in the same house with him. In his defense their house was unlike usual homes. It was a palace, after all. Wonderland, that’s what Vivienne DeSaunters, their mother, used to call the family home. Located high on the cliffs of Grand Serenity, a Caribbean island just north of Colombia and Venezuela, the royal palace was a sprawling white
