Princess Ever After

EIGHTEEN





Tanner paused on the second-floor landing of Wettin Manor, the morning papers tucked under his arm, and peered down the hall that led to the governor’s suite of offices.

The press surpassed themselves with the morning’s stories. The papers ran front-page, full-page photos of Regina shoving a photographer. Even the paper of record, the Liberty Press, went tabloid with the headline, Hessenberg Braces for American Invasion.

The Informant went cheeky: Meet Our Redneck Royal.

But the Sun Tattler was Tanner’s favorite. They ran a full-page photo of his derrière as he dove into the car with his legs flailing, before Regina could leave without him.

The cutline read, Minister of Culture Displays His Better Side.

What bothered him more was the media leak in the first place. He had half a mind to walk straight up to Seamus and demand an explanation.

But was it his place to do so? Seamus answered to the prime minister and the king, not to the Minister of Culture. In their ten years of friendship—mentor and mentee—Tanner had never resisted the formidable man in any way. He’d listened and learned. Followed his counsel. Until yesterday, Tanner never had reason to doubt the old boy’s integrity. At the core of it, he owed Seamus, and shy of violating the Ten Commandments, he’d do just about anything for the man.

Tanner squared his shoulders, cleared his throat, and started for the governor’s quarters.

Seamus, I say, what’s this business all about? Arrest? Enemy of the state? And did you alert the media?

Tanner’s heart thudded with determination to the same rhythm of his click-clacking heels, but as he rounded the corner, he stopped. Seamus knew things about him only a few others knew. Was it wise to risk making this press leak personal? Which was exactly how Seamus would see Tanner’s confrontation.

He turned round. Keep your nose where it belongs, chap. In the business of Hessenberg’s culture. Leave the media business to Henry and His Majesty, King Nathaniel II.

For a soft moment, he felt a coward. But truly, this was not his fight. If it became his, then he’d like to think he’d boldly enter the fray.

Louis met him at his office, falling in step, reading from his tablet. “The king is on his way with the prime minister. The archbishop will be along momentarily and Dickenson is driving in with Regina.”

“Splendid. We need a plan for moving forward.” Tanner shifted his thinking, his emotions, compartmentalizing, putting his disappointment in Seamus in one corner of his mind, his feelings for Regina in another, and the reality that he had a decision to make about Sunday’s party in another. “Do we know of anyone who might take my place as Regina’s mentor? Preferably a woman. We can give her name to the king.”

Tanner needed to get back to normal. His life before Regina. Before the party invitation. Before this business with the press.

“What of Sibella Glenn, one of the museum curators? She’s keen on culture and often appears on the talk programs discussing the Brighton and British royals.”

“You’re a genius, Louis.” Tanner dropped the papers to his desk and headed for the tea cart. “She’s perfect.” A cup of hot, bitter tea ought to help sort out the things swirling in his heart.

“So you saw the papers?” When Tanner glanced up, Louis was leaning over his desk, reading the Sun Tattler. “Do I want to know how you got yourself in this pickle? Hanging out of the car, your legs flailing?”

“She wouldn’t open the door.” Tanner sipped his tea. Perfection. “When she rolled down the window, I plunged. She was about to leave without me.”

Louis perched against the side of the desk, arms folded. “What do you make of her? The princess? Does she have the stuff?”

“Yes, I believe she does.” Tanner took another hearty drink of his bitter tea as a light knock sounded on the door.

King Nathaniel and Henry arrived with the archbishop, Tanner’s dad, in tow.

Louis went down to meet Dickenson and Regina. When she arrived in Tanner’s office, they gathered round and King Nathaniel went straightaway to business.

“First, our apologies about the press frenzy yesterday, Regina.”

She shrugged. “No worry.”

“You are most gracious. But I’d like to organize a plan to care for you the next few days while the barristers sort out this authority canon business along with Seamus’s petition to the EU court. Tanner, I must return to Brighton this morning. Mum is introducing Susanna to several charities, and I’m told in no uncertain terms that I am to be there.”

“Welcome to married life, Your Majesty,” Henry said with a discreet chuckle.

“Your Majesty, can the governor really have her arrested?” Dad asked with a kind glance at Regina. The men remained standing as they talked and none had poured tea except for Tanner. Regina stood among them, withdrawn and shy.



“He can charge her, certainly. Then the police and the courts go to work. Seamus will have to build a case. But . . .”—Nathaniel looked them all in the eye—“he has the political persuasion and clout with the people to do it.”

“But he can’t build a solid case,” Tanner said with confidence. “So he’s waging his war in the press. I’m almost certain he’s our leak.”

“My guess as well, Tanner. None of us predicted this assault from the governor,” Nathaniel said.

“Shall we go forward and organize a presser for Regina?” Tanner glanced around the circle, waiting for advice.

“Oh, I don’t know, Tanner.” Regina spoke for the first time. “I’m not prepared.”

He regarded her, and for a flash moment he felt the warm wetness of her tears on his skin. And he changed his mind about Sibella Glenn. He’d be her mentor, and protector, as long as the king saw fit.

“We’re going about this all wrong.” The king moved around the room, lost in his own thoughts. “No presser. Regina is right. She’s not ready for the questions they’ll ask. Nor their fervor. But the key here is not the press, our actions as leaders, nor what Seamus does. The key is Regina.”

“Me? What can I do? I’m so new . . . so unsure . . . of everything.”

“Quite right,” Nathaniel said. “Nevertheless, you are the princess minus the official formalities. Tanner,”—the king’s countenance changed as he formed an idea—“let’s slow things down just a bit. The EU court has not yet agreed to hear the case. We might be fretting for nothing, but we have the princess here, so let’s get her out and about in the city.” The king turned to Regina. “You shall see the sights. Listen to the people. Forget the petition and Seamus’s threats. Take the weekend to tour around. Have fun! Embrace the beauty of Hessenberg.”

“Quite right,” Henry added. “Let her meet the people one on one.”

“The press will be all over us, sir.” Tanner held up his hands in quiet objection. “We’re organizing security this morning, but if we go out in the streets . . . and people get word . . . it will be a madhouse.”


“I see your point.” Nathaniel pressed his fingers to his chin, thinking. “Susanna and I went out in disguise recently. You could always—”

“Let’s do it.” Regina moved to the middle of the convocation. “Let’s get out in the city, among the people.” She looked toward Tanner. “I came here to see what Hessenberg was all about, so let’s do this. Embrace the good, the bad, and the ugly.” She raised her chin, squared her shoulders. But Tanner could see her trembling beneath the surface.

“Take her to Wisteria Park,” Dad said. “There’s always something going on there.”

“But first”—she jabbed the air with her finger—“I need a coat.”

“A splendid idea,” Nathaniel said. “Take her to the shops. Melinda House will be more than eager to clothe the princess, the future Grand Duchess of Hessenberg.”

“How about the pubs, like the Fence & Anchor?” Henry offered.

“The Fence & Anchor . . . stellar idea, Henry.” The king patted his prime minister on the back.

“Treat her like the princess she is, Tanner. Woo her, and she’ll woo the people.”

Woo her? Shops and pubs? The park? She was his sovereign. His royal charge. Not his girlfriend. Or even his friend.

Did the king and prime minister, his dad, see they were fashioning for them a first-rate date?

Tanner peeked at Regina. Her cheeks were a bit rosier than they had been a second ago. And he knew one thing. He wanted to spend time with her more than he’d wanted anything in a long, long time.

“Tanner, I’m confident you can handle this well. Regina, I have full faith in you.” Nathaniel glanced at his watch. “I hate to lay a plan and be off, but I must.” He shook Tanner’s hand. “Let’s reconvene on Monday. Miles”—he turned to the archbishop—“perhaps we can begin preparing the oath ceremony. Regina, if you’re willing, we’ll proceed with the official ceremony next week.”

“Wow. O–okay. I guess we’ll see.”

“You’ve got the weekend. Think it over. Pray.” Nathaniel lightly gripped her arms. “Prayer makes all the difference in my life and decision making.”

“I’m familiar with the power of prayer.”

“Good. Then use it.” He started for the door. “Miles, you’ll gather the ceremony script and sacraments.”

“Will do, Your Majesty.”

With the king and prime minister gone, Tanner retreated to his desk, waiting for his dad to leave. But he lingered by the office door. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“Your mother was curious to know if you’d received an invitation from Trude for the twins’ birthday.” Dad took a few steps farther into the office.

“I did, yes.” Tanner folded the newspapers in half and stuffed them in the rubbish bin. He did not want to discuss this in front of Regina.

“Your mother talks of nothing else.” Dad laughed softly, scratching his head. At fifty-eight, his hair was still thick and blond. “She’s been shopping at least three times, buying presents. And of course, nothing in her closet is good enough to wear. She must have four new dresses. I warn her they probably won’t remember her, but I’m not sure she really cares. She wants to see them.”

Dad locked his hands behind his back as if waiting for Tanner to join in the conversation. This private, personal exchange in front of Regina was highly inappropriate. Besides, when had his father ever approached something so personal so . . . openly?

Tanner cut a glance at Regina who was at the window, surveying the city. It was her. She had this odd effect on people that made them want to open their hearts.

“Dad, is there anything else?” Tanner reached around for his chair, his gaze averted. “I need to get this day organized with Regina.”

“No, no, nothing else. I’ll be off then.” At the door he paused and started to say something, but then simply bid good-bye to Regina.

“Tanner?” Dad cleared his throat. “We’re here if you need us, son.”

“Have a good day, sir.” Tanner fussed with the items on his desk, surprised and unnerved by a soft blur of tears leaking from his eyes to the dry, hollow wells of his soul.



In all her days, Reggie never imagined she’d hear the words “I’d like to introduce you to your security detail, Clarence and Todd.”

“How do you do?” Reggie curled her arms against her torso, guarding against the cold, making her way down the manor’s steps. The sun sat high in the sky, but its warmth had not yet reached the shadows lurking between Wettin Manor’s stone columns.

“Regina,”—Tanner followed her, offering her a large navy-blue cardigan with a big KU crest on the breast pocket—“wear this until we purchase your coat.”

She took the sweater, and the very action of Tanner giving it to her wrapped her with warmth. “Do we really need two security guards?”

“Do you not remember yesterday? The media mess?”

“I remember you riding around town with your face planted in the passenger seat and your feet flailing in the air.” She slipped her arms through the fine-wool sleeves. “Whose is this?” When she lowered her arms, the sleeves slinked past her hands and dangled near her knees.

“Mine. From university. I keep it in my office.”

“So . . . are we . . . like . . . going steady now?” She grinned, rolling up the sleeves, liking the feel of the words on her heart. She’d never gone steady and, well, it was on her bucket list.

“Har-har. You’re quite chipper today.” He started down the rest of the steps toward the black SUV and the two serious, Navy Seal–looking dudes waiting by an open passenger side door. “Did you see the papers?”

“I did, and the one with the shot of you in all your glory got me laughing—”

“If you’d have opened the door like I asked . . .”

“You didn’t say please.” Reggie walked toward the waiting SUV, the click of her boot heels resounding.

Something about this morning—sitting in the parlor . . . staring out over the lawn toward the forest . . . talking with Jarvis . . . looking at Gram’s portrait . . . reading the fairy tale with a whole new view of things . . . talking to Jesus . . . talking to the king and his men—gave her peace. Gave her a bit of confidence.

She’d heard about faith and trust in God her whole life. But not once had she lifted her wings and tried to catch a current knowing nothing was beneath her but the invisible hand of God.

College? Safe because Daddy and Sadie were across town.

CPA degree? Safe because she was good with numbers.

The shop? Safe because Al was there.

Even hanging around Mark. Safe. Because she had known him her whole life.

But princess of a small North Sea nation? Terrifying, and there was only one Man who could see to her success. Jesus himself. If he could hang on a cross for her, she could scope out a princess gig for him. If, of course, this whole journey was his idea in the first place. She wouldn’t know for sure unless she lifted her wings.

Tanner stepped around her to hold open the back door of the SUV. She slipped inside and Tanner went around, joining her from the other side. The security goons sat up front, Clarence behind the wheel.

Reggie rode down to Strauberg and through the city streets in peaceful silence, the clear day beginning to fill the streets with a warm light.

“This is Market Avenue,” Tanner said when Clarence turned right at the light. It was a broad street with thin, tall shade trees and Victorian lamps dividing the lanes. “Three hundred years ago, this was where all commerce happened.” He tapped his window and lightly touched her arm. “See through those buildings? The bay, South Port. The ships from Germany and Italy, all southern countries, dock here.”

Reggie leaned into the fresh burst of wind as Tanner powered down his window, and the clean, subtle fragrance that she’d come to know as “Tanner.” He intrigued her. He was a puzzle. She could see most of the pieces but not how they all fit together.

Beyond the window, however, the sun created a golden stream in the middle of all the blue-green water, and Reggie drew a deep breath.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tanner said just over her shoulder.

“It is, yes. Very.”

But when Reggie glanced at him, he wasn’t watching the bay but her. With his very intense blue eyes. Sir Blue Eyes.

She jerked back into her seat, her heart snapping and popping, a funny, disturbing sensation burning up her middle.

“Sir.” Clarence peered at them through the rearview mirror. “Turning down the lane for Melinda House. Please close your window.”

The SUV ambled down a narrow, cobblestone lane nestled between two tall buildings and thick with shadows. Clarence stopped by a small, lean door.

“Wait here, please.” Todd stepped out and disappeared beyond the door.

Reggie turned to Tanner. “For real? Security? This is crazy.”

“Recall yesterday.”

“I know, but that was at Wettin Manor. Someone leaked I was there, right? This is some dark back alley. Who’s going to know we’re here?”


“Regina, a photograph of you is probably worth thousands if not hundreds of thousands of dollars. You’re the new royal on a very old royal front. You saw what happened to the British royal family when Kate officially came on the scene? Even before she was official . . . men will stalk you, haunt you.” He gently held her chin. “Hear me, please. Never, ever let your guard down.”

Todd emerged from the door a few minutes later and opened Reggie’s door. “Go straight in, miss. Up the stairs to the second floor.”

“Wait for me.” Tanner exited his side of the SUV and met her at the alleyway door, leading her inside.

“This cloak-and-dagger stuff feels so over the top.”

“Yes, love, but this cloak-and-dagger stuff will keep you safe.”

Love? He stumbled over the word, but kept rising up the stairs, talking, without peeking back at her. But, ho boy, the word landed on her heart sweet and tender.

Good grief, she was crushing on Tanner Burkhardt.

They landed on the second floor and stepped into an open loft area with brick walls and hardwood floors. To her right, the loft looked out over a gleaming showroom through a steel railing. From the exposed ceiling, white lanterns hung suspended from thin black pipes, and soft music sweetened the air.

Up front, floor-to-ceiling mirrors were anchored into the brick, and the glass gleamed, catching the lights and twinkling them back into the room.

“Your Majesty, welcome, welcome.” A lean, platinum-haired woman in a tightly tailored chartreuse suit was striding her way. “This is most exciting. I’m Melinda.” She curtseyed. “We are thrilled you chose Melinda House as your first designer.”

“Melinda,”—Tanner pressed his hand lightly against Reggie’s back—“thank you for this special appointment. After yesterday’s media mess, I thought we should take every precaution and come in the back door.”

“Agreed! Think nothing of it. We do value privacy and confidentiality for all of our clients.” She clasped her hands at her waist, smiling all the while, eyes glued to Reggie.

She was starting to feel self-conscious. What was this fashion guru thinking? Hubba, but we got our hands full with this one. Mack, bring out the industrial-strength girdle and push-up bra.

“Well, shall we get started?” Melinda moved toward the mirrors in quick, short steps, hindered by the tight hem of her long skirt. “We’ve selected several coats for you to try, Your Majesty. We also took the liberty of choosing a few of our newest dresses we’d be delighted for you to debut.”

“Reggie. Please, just call me Reggie.” She grabbed Tanner’s arm as he started to move, letting Melinda walk toward the coats without them. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Designer coats. Debut? Don’t you have a Target or Burlington Coat Factory around here? All I need is a simple coat.”

“Melinda, hold on, please.” His eyes glanced past Reggie’s and she stepped back, surprised at what she saw beneath those blues. Discouragement. As if he was letting her down, that his effort did not please her and it . . . hurt him.

She pressed her palm to her forehead. “Never mind, it’s okay. Let’s look at the coats.” When would she learn everything wasn’t about her? Tanner was trying his darnedest to do his job.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sorry, Tanner. It’s just that . . . Shew, this is all so thrilling yet terrifying. Last week I was a wrench jockey. This week I’m a royal princess . . . kind of gives a girl whiplash.”

“Right, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

“No, no, it’s okay. Just, zoom,”—she sliced her hand through the air—“zero to sixty.” She linked her arm through his, wondering for the first time if this wacky journey was every bit as much about Tanner as it was about her.

“Help me pick out something that will go well with jail wear.”

“Regina,”—he held her back—“you’re not going to jail. Seamus can huff and puff all he likes, that arrogant bloke and his binky pipe, but he cannot make it stick. He’d have to buy off the entire European court, and I daresay he’s not got enough reputation or financial wherewithal to do so.”

“Even so . . . what sway does the court have?”

“More than they should, I’ll say, but not enough to throw you in the tower.”

“There’s a tower?” She made a face.

“Metaphorically speaking. Listen, love,”—there was that word again—“they can rule in favor of his petition on behalf of the Hessenberg people, but that will only be the beginning. Then it’s a fight for government control.” Tanner paced off, the reflective light highlighting his thick blond hair. “You can bet that’s what Seamus is about . . . making himself some sort of supreme leader. Perhaps even the Grand Duke. He doesn’t mind a royal house. He just wants it to be his.” He circled back to Reggie. “I daresay he’s bitten off more than he can stuff in his blooming pipe.”

“What’s with you and his pipe?”

“Oh, it just annoys me.” He reached for her hand. “No more talk of Seamus or lawsuits or arrests.” He walked backward, peering down at her. “I think we both need some giggles . . . a spot of fun. And the king ordered a day of frolicking, so let’s obey him and enjoy the day.”

“Frolicking?” Reggie laughed, quickening her pace to keep up, not wanting her hand to slip from his. “He never said frolicking. I was listening. But you, however, said frolicking.” The word rolled off her tongue and tickled her ears. Teased her spirit. Made her laugh.

“I do believe you’re mocking me,” Tanner said, feigning a weak frown. But his eyes were bright with humor.

“No, just loving the sound of frolicking.” Reggie tried for a Hessen accent, failing miserably, which made Tanner laugh. “After shopping, can we take the Mercedes out and race up the hill again? Now that’s a frolicking good time.”

Tanner slapped his hand to his chest. “Be kind to my weak heart, dear Regina.” He swooped his arm wide and took an exaggerated bow, but oh, his words . . . anything but teasing.

She released his hand, trembling from the feelings he stirred in her, and faced the waiting, ever-smiling Melinda. Reggie didn’t know about Tanner’s weak heart, but hers was weakening by the second.

Just a crush. A schoolgirl crush. Don’t overthink this, Reg.

But mercy, he was charming and confident with a James Dean kind of smolder. Something dark lurked beneath the surface, longing to come out. She just knew it.

Besides all of that, he was handsome. Poster-on-her-wall, heartthrob handsome.

“Your Majesty—”

“Call me Reggie, or Regina. Please.”

“All right.” Melinda gave her a curt nod, her perfected smile faltering.

“Or miss. Miss is good.” The woman seemed reluctant to call her by her first name.

“Well, miss, here we go . . . Melinda reset her smile and slipped a coat from a silk-wrapped hanger.

Tanner, meanwhile, took a seat behind Reggie, choosing an oval-shaped, white leather ottoman.

“This is our latest.” Melinda held up a long, creamy beige coat, exchanging it for Tanner’s college sweater. “In fact, after Mr. Burkhardt’s call last night, we rushed it from the factory.”

When Reggie had slipped on the coat, Melinda situated it on her shoulders, belted it closed, and stood back with a complete look of wonder.

“Marvelous,” she said with a glance at Tanner. “We are so proud of this coat. Doesn’t it accent her gorgeous red hair so well? Stunning. Just stunning.”

Reggie could see Tanner angling to catch her reflection in the mirror. “The coat is beautiful. Regina?”

She made a face. Glanced at Melinda, then Tanner through the mirror, and smoothed down the coarse material with her hand. “Well—”

“It’s mohair. All the rage this season.”

“I–I don’t think I’ve ever owned mohair.”

“So what do you think, miss?” Melinda walked around Reggie, her chin in her hand, inspecting. “We’ve had a lot of interest in this design, and we really wanted to make a splash with it at the spring show. But, Your Majesty, we’d be honored for you to wear it this fall. It’d be the only one like it in the world.”

Ho boy. No pressure.

“Regina, be honest,” Tanner said.

“All right . . .” She faced her audience of two. “I look like a lit match. Red hair, tight beige coat that goes past my knees. If the press sees me in this, I’ll go from redneck royal to Princess Match-on-Fire.”

Tanner snort-coughed into his fist while Melinda frowned, a solid steel glint in her glare.

“I completely disagree, but if you’re not comfortable,”—she moved to help Reggie out of the coat—“we’ve other styles.”

“Look, let’s just save some time here,” Reggie said as Melinda returned the coat to the rack. “I need something simple and serviceable, every day, you know? I like blue and black, maybe green if it’s the right green. Otherwise, I look like some kind of rose.”


Tanner’s laugh popped once, then faded with his cough and throat-clearing. Reggie winked at him through the mirror while Melinda sorted through the coats. She liked making him laugh because it sounded good on him.

“May I suggest you start thinking more like a princess rather than, well, whatever it was you did before?”

“Restored classic cars. Before that I was a CPA.”

Melinda cast her a dark, hooded gaze, her expression tight with frustration and confusion. “Your Majesty—”

“Reggie.”

“Or Regina,” Tanner tagged on.

“R–Regina,” Melinda began, slow and deliberate, “women around the world will write blogs about what you wear and how you wear it, when you wear it. The copycat designers will scurry to knock off our originals. Don’t you want to make a bold, brilliant statement with your first royal coat, as it were?”

“I appreciate your insight, Melinda. I do. All of these coats look . . . lovely. But let’s face it, I may not be the princess of anything for very long, so for now, let’s keep it simple. How about a car coat or something? My mom used to have one.” A sudden missing-mama splashed Reggie’s heart and seeped into her voice. “In fact, if she were alive, she’d be the one standing here with you now instead of me.”

Melinda regarded her for a moment, her lips forming a question she did not verbalize, her fashion designer demeanor giving way to one of a woman talking to another about the loss of her mom.

“Then a car coat it is. Navy blue? You won’t look like a match or a human rose.” She allowed herself a soft laugh. “Lost me own mum a year back. I still miss her.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Were you close?”

“Talked by phone every morning and every night.” Melinda offered up a simple but beautiful coat. “Were you close to your mum?”

“She was killed in a car crash when I was twelve. So yes and no. I didn’t get to know her as an adult because some guy ran a light and took her from us.”

“Oh, that’s rubbish. Pure rubbish. I’m so sorry, Princess. Rotten thing for a girl to lose her mum at twelve, just when she needs her most.”

“I had Gram for a while, but she was ninety-nine and not always keen on what was going on. My dad, though, he was . . .” Her heart yearned for her daddy. “Amazing.”

Her voice mail to him had yet to be answered. But that was his way. Reggie pictured him sitting up to the table with Sadie . . .

“Reg called. Says she’s doing all right. Ah, dinner looks good, Sadie. Don’t you know that crew on the south side had me straightening out their mess all day? I never did get to lunch.”

Then sometime in the next day or two, he’d remember and call her back.

“Me own dad was a louse, but I’m glad for you girls with good ones. There.” Melinda patted Reggie’s shoulders and stood back. “What do you think?”

Reggie examined her reflection front and back, then checked with Tanner. He had the same look on his face as when he showed her the bay. Heat burst beneath her skin and sank into her soul, lighting the dark, cold regions where love had not yet shone its light.

“Perfect,” he said, shifting his gaze, resituating his sweater over his leg.

“I’ll take it. How much?” Reggie fixed her thoughts on the coat, on Melinda. Not on the way Tanner made her feel. She’d best get ahold of herself. Falling for Tanner in any way, shape, or form would taint her decision-making process. “No charge. It’s our gift to you. Welcome to Hessenberg, Princess Regina.” Melinda clapped her hands together, then held them at her waist.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.” Reggie worked the buttons to remove the coat.

“Wh–why not, miss? It’s our gift . . . to you.”

“One thing Daddy taught me a long time ago. There’s no such thing as free. If I take this coat now, I’ll be obliged to you. Then sometime down the road, an issue of some kind will crop up and I’ll find myself compromised because I accepted a free coat. I don’t know squat about politics, being a princess, or being a fashion designer, but in the CPA and the car business, the ‘I’ll-scratch-your-back-if-you-scratch-mine’ thing usually leaves some poor knucklehead bleeding and in trouble.”

“I see.” Melinda. Stiff and solemn. Insulted.

“Melinda, it’s not you. Please hear me. I don’t think you’d hold a car coat over my head, but if I take this from you, then I have to take gifts from other designers and on and on. Besides, my daddy also taught me, ‘A laborer is worthy of her hire.’ ”

“Melinda,” Tanner said, standing behind Reggie, “send the bill to my office.”

“Hey, no, wait.” Reggie pressed her hand to Tanner’s chest. “I don’t want to owe you either. I can pay.” How much could a car coat cost? Couple hundred?

“This particular coat is two thousand pounds, miss.”

Reggie spun toward Melinda. “For a car coat?” She itched to remove the thing and make do with Tanner’s sweater, but the look on Melinda’s face said, “Don’t do it.”

“Send the bill to my office.” Tanner.

Reggie sighed. “Yes, send the bill to his office.” She wagged her finger at the Minister of Culture. “But I’m paying you back.”

He made a wry face, making her laugh. “I’m sure you will. One way or another.”

Their banter was smooth. Light. Flirty. Reggie already liked the coat ten times more because it would forever remind her of today. Of Tanner.

Melinda suggested trying on a few dresses, but Reggie was done with shopping.

“Maybe next week?” She checked with Tanner. “Do I need a dress?”

“You didn’t bring one?”

“No . . . I packed so fast . . . I didn’t think . . . just grabbed my usual jeans and T-shirts.”

“Melinda,” Tanner said, “select a few of your favorites with Her Majesty in mind and send them to the palace. Her lady’s maid can help her choose a dress.”

“What of accessories? Shoes? Handbags?”

“Send those as well.”

Reggie shot him a look. “What kind of budget does your office have?”

“Never mind.” He tried to sound stern, but his twitching lips gave him away. “Melinda, thank you. We appreciate your kindness and discretion.”

Tanner backed toward the stairs, motioning for Reggie to follow.

“Thank you, Melinda.” Reggie offered Melinda her hand, but when the designer reached for her, Reggie drew her into a hug. “Sorry I’m not a good shopper. And . . . sorry about your mum. It does get easier.”

Melinda’s stiff posture relaxed and she returned Reggie’s hug. “You don’t know how much that means to me, Your Majesty.”

With glistening eyes, Melinda escorted them to the door, asking about the rest of their day, agreeing that showing Reggie the city and taking tea at the Fence & Anchor, a favorite pub of the locals, was a splendid way to get a feel for Hessenberg. Reggie was about to start down the stairs when Melinda snapped her fingers, her eyes bright with an idea.

“Want to have some real fun, Mr. Burkhardt? Walk about the city unhindered?”

He narrowed his gaze. “What do you have in mind?”

Melinda turned to Reggie. “Your Majesty, are you game?”

She liked the woman’s enthusiasm. “Sure, I’m game. Tanner?”

He hesitated. Then, “Y–yeah, I–I guess.”

“Oh, this is marvelous. I’ll be right back.” And Melinda ran off.



Tanner emerged from the loft’s side door with Regina’s laughter ringing in his ears. She’d laughed when Melinda came out of her storage room. Laughed while the designer presented her idea. And while wholeheartedly agreeing to the entire scheme, completely ignoring his protests.

“Regina, I can’t do this.” Tanner peered down the sidewalk, praying no one saw him.

“Yes you can. This is hilarious.”

Clarence and Todd exited the SUV, smirks on their broad faces.

“Excuse me, but we were waiting for the Minister of Culture and the Princess of Hessenberg,” Clarence said, walking around the back of the vehicle and stepping up on the curb. “We’re going to need to see some ID.”

“But it’s obvious, Clarence.” Todd crossed his arms, his feet in a wide stance. “It’s Sonny and Cher.”

Regina started to sing “I Got You, Babe,” but lost the melody in her laughter.

Next to her, Tanner growled and frowned, his straight, bad-bangs wig twisting in the soft breeze. “We are going to look more conspicuous than if we didn’t have on this getup.” He shook the fringe of his suede vest.

“Don’t be a rotten egg.” Reggie flipped the long, silky black ends of her Cher wig. “What do you think? Do I make a good brunette?”

“No, your red hair is marvelous.” Tanner turned back to the door, holding up the bags with their real clothes. “I’m going to change.”

“No you’re not.” Reggie motioned to Clarence with a flip of her hand. “Grab him and let’s go.”

So now she steps into her authority. Fine. But this was a foul way to do it. Mumbling to himself, Tanner walked around to his side of the SUV. How could Melinda do this to him? Just last month he’d given her first go at organizing Hessenberg’s first fashion show in decades.


“So,” Reggie said, continuing to explain to Clarence and Todd, “Melinda had this ’60s thing in the spring and kept the costumes, thinking she’d need them again. So here we are, Sonny and Cher.”

“Not really, we just look like a couple of ill-dressed hippies with bad hair.” Tanner peered down at Reggie, who was doing no wrong in that bodysuit and striped, multicolored hip-huggers.

“You don’t have to wear the wig if you don’t want to, Tanner.” She curled her lip at him. “You’re such a fusspot.”

“Drive on, Clarence.” Tanner was sure the big man was snickering, but he didn’t care.

He wanted to move, get into motion, and leave his creeping, yearning thoughts behind. Every molecule in his formerly rugby-trained body wanted to grab that Cher imposter and kiss her until one of them couldn’t breathe.

No mistake, she could be as annoying as a rain drip on a steel pipe. And she made it very hard to play by his own rules. To not get his heart involved.

“Where to, sir?”

“City center. Wisteria Park.”

Regina peered out her window as Clarence steered the motorcar through the midday traffic. Tanner exhaled, easing the grip on his heart.

His king sent him on a precarious mission and he’d found . . . her. And maybe a little piece of himself.

“What’s that building?” Regina tapped her window. “It’s gorgeous.”

“St. John’s Chapel.” Tanner knocked on the back of the driver’s seat. “Clarence, can we park, walk a bit?”

It took a few passes for Clarence to choose a parking situation, but once he did, Tanner stepped with Regina out of the dark SUV and into the blue, crisp day.

Clarence took point while Todd watched the rear. Tanner walked beside Regina, negotiating the bustling sidewalk. Their strides hit the same rhythm, and everything he hated about his costume evaporated because he was walking with her.

“What’s the population of Hessenberg?” Regina sidestepped a hustling lass in a yellow coat.

“Five hundred thousand in Strauberg. Four million on the duchy.”

“What’s the GDP?”

“GDP?” Impressive.

“You can take the girl out of accounting but you can’t always take the accounting out of the girl.”

“Last report of our gross domestic product was around three hundred billion.”

She stopped. “And the country has financial woes?”

“Ah, clever, you understand what so few do.”

“Well, I paid attention in a few of my finance and econ classes.”

“Our financial relationship with Brighton has not been handled wisely. We’re like codependent sisters, taking each other down. We’ve lived beyond our means, as well. Much like America.”

“Touché. That is a problem.” And she walked on.

Around the corner, St. John’s Chapel came into view again. Regina pressed toward the gothic-styled columns, jumping into the street nearly ahead of Clarence.

“Can we go inside?”

“I believe we can.” Tanner started down another narrow side street.

“What’s the story of this place?” Regina skipped along beside him.

“St. John’s?” Tanner knew the history from the time his father served here. “It was founded by a Dutch missionary who came to the island in 1682. He had a vision of Jesus telling him to start a church that prays.” They stopped at the short, thin chapel steps leading to the narthex. “He built a thatched dwelling where we now stand, and three hundred some odd years later here we are, with this grand structure built late in the nineteenth century.”

“The real question is, do they still hold prayer meetings? Let’s go inside and see.” Regina dashed up the steps, and her excitement charged him to see his city, his country, his life with fresh eyes.

The narthex was a simple, pure area with a red marble floor and white walls. No paintings or religious symbols.

Tanner tiptoed toward the sanctuary doors. But Regina held back.

“Can you feel it?” She breathed deep, eyes closed.

“Feel what?”

“The millions of prayers. The peace. The presence.”

Tanner closed his eyes, trying to feel what she described. But nothing. All he got was a blast of hot air from the overhead vent for his trouble.

“This was the official church of the royal family,” he said, reaching for the sanctuary doors.

Regina stepped in with a “Wow” and awe, her white go-go boots a stark contrast to the deep-red carpet. “Tanner, this is incredible.”

As he followed her, his shoes, which were his own because he refused the horrid ankle boots Melinda offered him, sank into the plush floor covering.

Hands tucked in her coat pockets, Regina walked the red-carpeted aisle, gazing up at the ribbed trumpet beams of the nave’s arching ceiling.

“Look at that.” She pointed overhead. “It’s like the architect had in mind that they’d blast a sound to the heavens.” She slipped her hand over the top of the pews. “Stained glass. How old do you reckon these windows are?”

“Not awfully. St. John’s was hit with bombs during both wars.” Tanner trailed after her. “Most of the windows were blown out except that one right there.” He gestured to the image of a resurrected Christ at the end of the nave, behind the pulpit.

When Dad served here, Tanner used to stare at the image the whole service, imagining the return of Jesus, seeing him in the clouds, and Tanner nearly scared himself out of the faith.

What if he wasn’t worthy . . . well, he wasn’t now, was he? Not that God couldn’t or wouldn’t forgive him. Tanner just didn’t see how he had the right to ask.

“What are these?” Regina bent next to the gold plates on the sides of the front pews. “Ciphers? Here’s one like the one in Gram’s fairy tale. GD PF I R.”

“Grand Duke, Prince Francis the First, Regent. St. John’s is the coronation abbey.”

“Gram’s coronation would’ve been held here?”

“Most likely.”

A forceful whisper came from the back of the sanctuary. “Might I help you?”

“Begging your pardon, we’re just looking.” No way was Tanner going to introduce himself to the bishop as the Minister of Culture wearing a bad wig and psychedelic bell-bottoms.

“Yes, you can.” Regina skirted around Tanner and toward the bishop. “Do you still have prayer meetings here?”

“We do, yes. Every morning at six and seven. Every evening at nine and ten.”



“Good.” Regina nodded with a sigh, hands back in her coat pockets. “That makes me feel good.”

Tanner couldn’t confirm it—he wasn’t even sure Regina knew—but he had a subtle feeling some part of her heart had just made a decision about her future as Hessenberg’s regent.