Membership is exclusively reserved to persons who are listed in the nobility archives. Those titled members are recorded below with their former titles, genealogies and photos available.
Alex scanned the list until her gaze fell on the name Grigory. She gasped softly when she saw the last name on the Grigory royal family tree. It read “Prince Oleg Rostokof Grigory, son of Prince Nicholas Grigory and Princess Vladmila Rostokof, born in New York, 1958, now living in Las Vegas, Nevada.”
Her heart clapped like thunder as she looked at a picture of her handsome, dark blond father, who couldn’t be more than eighteen in this picture. The strong physical resemblance between daughter and father at that age was uncanny.
As her head flew back, a security guard entered and brought them two sodas. After he left, the prince pushed one toward her and took a lengthy swallow from the other. When he put it down again, he said, “Where did you get the idea that your father was part of the underworld?”
“One of my nannies mentioned that she’d heard my father was involved with the Russian mafia. As I grew older and realized what that meant, I was ashamed and frightened by the possibility. I hid away in case one of them tried to find me and hurt me. My repulsion over my mother’s ghastly lack of judgment in marrying him was so severe I didn’t want to know anything more about him.
“By the time she’d gone through her sixth divorce, so many preposterous tales were circulating about her and her past husbands, I couldn’t handle it and tried to shut it out. To my horror the police came to my work and told me she’d died of what looked like too much alcohol mixed with drugs. At that point it was too late to ever ask her what the truth was. I’m not sure she would have told me anyway.” Her voice shook.
He finished the rest of his soda. “You’ve been through a great deal of pain in your life. Nothing can wipe that away, but the sooner her bills are paid, the sooner you can start to concentrate on other things.”
A fresh spurt of anger filled her system. She looked back at her father’s picture. “Are you saying I should do something as crass and ignoble as turn to my father’s family for the money? Is that what you’re suggesting? A modern-day Anastasia story with an ugly twist?” she said. Her shrill voice reverberated in the room’s confines.
“Not at all,” came his bland reply, exasperating her even more. “But it might be of some comfort to you to get acquainted with the extended family you’ve never met or known. Your grandparents are no longer alive, but your great-uncle Yuri Grigory, is still living and has an apartment here in New York. I met him a year ago at an embassy function. I can arrange for you two to get acquainted.”
Alex was so stunned by what he’d just told her she didn’t know what to say. Realizing she needed to get hold of herself, she drank half of her soda without taking a breath.
The news about her father’s lineage had come as a total shock. Mafia or not, it appeared he did descend from a royal background, otherwise the crown prince of Castelmare wouldn’t have been able to produce the evidence she held in her hand.
Puzzled and confused by this whole experience, she eyed him warily. “If you hoped this information would help give me a sense of identity, I … I appreciate it.” Her voice faltered. “However, I still fail to understand where this conversation is headed. What does any of this have to do with you?”
He sat forward, impaling her with his midnight-brown eyes. She’d thought at first they were black. “My life has been the opposite of yours. I was raised in a happy home with loving parents, a loving sister, a large extended family on all sides and good friends. Everything has been ideal except for one glaring obstacle that has driven a wedge between my father and me.”
“You mean, he wants you to give up your wicked, worldly bachelor ways and marry the princess he’s had picked out for you from birth.”
After a pause, “I can see you’ve heard this story before.”
“One of my nannies read Cinderella to me. I didn’t like it.”
He cocked his dark head. “Why not?”
“When Cinderella’s mother died, she had to be raised by a cruel stepmother. I thought it was an awful story, probably because I felt like my mother had died. In fact, it was much worse because I knew she was alive, but she never wanted to be with me.”
The glimmer of compassion in his eyes forced her to look away. Once more she was embarrassed to have been caught baring her soul to this man who was a perfect stranger to her. The prince of Castelmare no less. “I always hated fairy tales after that.”
“Then you and I have something in common,” he muttered in his deep-toned voice. “When my mother read Cinderella to my sister and me, I hated it, too, because I wasn’t a normal little boy who could grow up to do what I wanted. I was a prince, and my father was the king. Because I loved him, I knew that one day I’d have to do what he wanted and marry a princess who was ugly and mean and whom I’d despise.”
Once the words sank in, Alex burst into laughter. She couldn’t help it. What had started out as a strange, surreal conversation between the two of them had taken on something that went beneath the surface and resonated.
After her amusement faded there was an awkward silence before she said, “I’ve seen some of the princesses you’ve been with in the news and know for a fact they’re beautiful. Whether they’re mean or not, I have no idea, but none of the photos would convince me you despised them. Far from it,” she added pointedly.
He sat back in the swivel chair. “You’re right, of course. Several of my parents’ royal favorites are charming, lovely and I think genuinely kind. However, I have a little problem because I’ve never been attracted to them.”
“Just to the nonroyals.”
For a moment a bleakness entered his eyes tugging at her emotions, then it vanished as if it had never been. “What was it your George Washington said? I cannot tell a lie.” The prince had too much charm for his own good. “Have you ever had that problem with a man?” he asked, studying her features rather intently. “He has all the right qualities, but he doesn’t speak to your soul?”
All the time, Alex muttered inwardly. “Errol Flynn was the only man who became my fantasy. When I saw him in Robinhood, I asked my nanny to take me again and again. We saw it twenty-five times.”
It was his turn to laugh, the full-bodied male kind she felt to her toes. “I understand he still has a habit of speaking to every woman’s soul, even from beyond the grave.”
She nodded. “Some men are like that. Bigger than life.” Alex realized she was looking at one of them.
“Bigger than life,” his voice trailed. “A sort of chemistry of the body and spirit, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes,” she whispered. This was no shallow prince, let alone man.
“That’s what I’d hoped to find before now in the royal pickings, but it hasn’t happened.”
Alex had never given much thought to a problem like his until this minute. She was glad she wasn’t in his royal shoes because she knew herself too well and could never marry anyone for the sake of duty. Perish the thought of being tied to someone you didn’t love with your whole heart and soul.
Obviously, her mother hadn’t had the capacity to truly love anything or anyone except herself. Sometimes it frightened Alex to think that because she was her daughter, she might have inherited that same inability to be devoted to one man.
There’d been boyfriends, but Alex hadn’t yet suffered that grand passion her mother had managed to portray on the screen