is a professional.”
“Right, because you’re very thorough when it comes to investigating who enters these walls. I get that. But what I’m really asking is, what was going on between you and the stylist when I came in? You know, when you two were standing close enough to have kissed.”
Kris looked up quickly then, staring at his sister in shock. Composure came immediately afterward because even with his siblings, Kris had to remain in control. A leader always set an example.
“As Malayka’s stylist she’s now palace staff. Personal dalliances with the staff are inappropriate.”
“Hmm.” Sam made a sound and stood with her notepad tucked under one arm. “Tell that to your brother. He’s had more dalliances with staff, visitors and whoever else he could find, than the both of us.”
Kris made a similar sound as he stood, undoubtedly agreeing with his sister. Roland was another matter entirely.
Sam was almost out the door when she looked back at him and said, “Still, I have to admit the two of you looked awfully cozy and mighty cute together.”
She was gone before he could think of another statement of denial where he and Landry Norris were concerned. When he sat back in his chair, he struggled to dismiss any thoughts he’d had when Landry had stood so close to him. When he’d definitely wanted to—against all his training and upbringing—kiss her.
Classy and elegant, that’s the look Landry was going for tonight. After all, it would be the first time Malayka was presented to the entire royal family. Butterflies danced in Landry’s stomach as she pushed wayward strands of hair from her face and zipped the back of Malayka’s dress.
“There,” Landry said, looking over Malayka’s shoulder into the floor-length mirror.
It was one of four mirrors which had been sealed together in an arch shape situated at the back of the walk-in closet. Who was she kidding? This was not a closet. The room was at least the size of two bedrooms outfitted with racks for hanging clothes, shelves for shoes, medium-sized drawers for purses and smaller ones for scarves and jewelry. Even with all the items that Landry had brought with her and the ones she’d shipped a week before, there was still a good deal of space before Malayka would come close to filling this room. The dresses tried on tonight were specially ordered designs, four of which Landry would have to ship back to the designers first thing tomorrow morning.
“You look stunning,” Landry continued.
Malayka turned to the side. She looked at her plump bottom and rubbed a hand over her flat stomach. Turning again so that she could see herself from another angle, Malayka smoothed her hands over the bodice of the dress. The neckline was cut higher than Malayka was used to but she still seemed pleased. The woman loved to display the cleavage from her size D breasts, something Landry figured Prince Rafferty also appreciated.
“This will be the first time since we’ve announced our engagement that I’ve been in a room with all of Rafe’s children,” Malayka said in that smoky voice that reminded Landry of the time she’d met Grace Jones.
“They’ll certainly have to agree that you are more than ready to dress the part of being princess of this beautiful island,” Landry told her as she moved away from the mirror and began packing up the other gowns that Malayka had tried on.
She’d been in there for the last two hours trying to figure out which dress Malayka would wear. Luckily, the hair stylist and makeup artist had already been there by the time Landry arrived, so that part of getting ready for tonight’s dinner was complete.
From behind her she could hear Malayka making a sound and mumbling something. Landry kept moving. Whatever Malayka had said was apparently not meant for her to hear.
One of the first things Landry learned about working in an industry with wealthy and famous people was to mind her own business. This lesson had come just months after she’d graduated with honors, receiving a bachelor’s degree in Apparel Merchandising and Management from California State Polytechnic University in Ponoma. She’d been ecstatic the day she found out she’d landed one of the coveted internships with Harper’s Bazaar in New York. There, she had assisted with sample trafficking, creating shoot boards and supporting market editors with office duties. It was just a few weeks after she’d been in New York that Landry met Peta Romanti, the A-list actress who was, at that time, launching her own fashion line. Bazaar was doing a full spread and in-depth interview with Peta in the weeks leading up to her launch.
Landry had recognized the woman immediately and used every method of control she could think of to resist acting like a complete groupie. Throughout the day Peta barked orders, sending interns and even editors scrambling to do her bidding. Landry had been busy with other assignments all that morning, but in the afternoon she’d offered to help out during a photo shoot. Happy to have someone else go into the lion’s den, Landry’s supervisor had given her an armful of dresses and instructions to take into the dressing room and see which one Peta wanted to wear. The actress-turned-designer had decided to capitalize on this interview by modeling clothes from her own line for the spread in the magazine. As she’d walked up to the dressing room door Landry could hear the argument. Something about Peta’s boyfriend being arrested for public nudity as he’d stood on a sidewalk arguing with the hooker he’d hired, who he was then accusing of stealing his wallet. Landry stood at the door, not sure whether she should knock and go in, or come back later—even though there wasn’t really a “later” since they had already been behind with the shoot.
The decision was made for her as the door abruptly swung open and Peta yelled in her face, “What are you doing there? Are you listening to my conversation? You’d better not speak one word of it!”
All Landry could manage to say was, “I have your dresses if you’re ready to try them on.”
The afternoon had proceeded with Peta—once she’d asked Landry her name—calling her every five seconds to do any-and everything for her. That day led to Landry being invited to Peta’s Paris fashion show three weeks after that and later to receiving personal invitations and previewings to Peta’s collection from the moment Landry opened her doors for business. Keeping her mouth shut had been an invaluable lesson and Landry reminded herself of that constantly.
Now well versed in the ins and outs of the personal stylist business, Landry admitted, there wasn’t much to be said about Malayka Sampson. She’d been in LA for just about a year when Landry had first met her. When she’d queried her services, Landry had discreetly asked around about the woman, who was neither an actor nor singer, or notable figure. All that could be said was that Malayka had been at all the right parties and premiers. She had dinner with the governor and lunch with a senator. There were pictures of her with record producers and none other than Peta Romanti, which had been the deciding factor in Landry choosing to work with her.
Landry figured that was enough of a platform to style Malayka for the months leading up to her wedding. Add that to the gorgeous scenery that Landry was already aching to see more of, and this was a good opportunity for her career. Her family, however, would say otherwise.
“The men are never a problem,” Malayka was saying, loudly this time. “It’s the females who are always jealous.”
Landry had been closing the box filled with jewelry she’d brought into the room with her. The sound echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room. She cleared her throat.
“I’ll
