Her father was a good one to talk. He was married to his job.
She was used to being alone. And tough if he didn’t think Stefan was good enough. The man he’d thought suitable – the man they’d both thought eminently suitable – now lived in exile half a world away and she had to move forward with her life.
She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted a family. And since Fredrik’s departure, she and Stefan had seemed inevitable. She’d known Stefan since they were children. They’d grown up in the same social circles and his family lineage was almost as impeccable as her own. They were friends.
“You met the American actor?”
“I did.” At least that wasn’t a lie.
Her father moved to the chair behind his desk and sat, steepling his fingers together.
Oh-oh, she was in trouble. She just didn’t know what for, yet. For lying to him, or for paying so little attention to her safety that she’d endangered herself? Or both?
“I spoke to him.”
His eyes narrowed. Worse, then. Did he know how rude she’d been to a visiting celebrity? He might not be big on small-talk but he was big on manners. And for reasons she couldn’t fathom, he’d wanted her to meet the man.
“What did you discuss?”
She’d replayed the conversation enough times in her head since last night to be able to answer that. But somehow she didn’t think ‘I mistook him for an escaped con’ or ‘I insulted him’ would rank highly in her father’s estimation.
“We spoke about opera and ballet … and the Los Pajaros children’s charity, of course.”
“Of course. And what was he wearing when you had this scintillating conversation?”
He wanted to talk men’s fashions? Something was going on here she couldn’t quite see. Did he know she hadn’t attended the banquet last night? Did he know she was lying? He always knew everything… but she was in so deep now.
She closed her eyes briefly and summoned up an image of Christian Taylor. Torn evening jacket, crisp white shirt ripped to reveal bare, hard chest beneath. Smooth, muscled chest… skin a rich cappuccino colour. “He wore an evening suit, like everyone else.”
Her father leaned forward in his seat. “Very interesting… in view of the fact that he never made it to the banquet last night.”
Oh-oh. She cleared her throat but couldn’t think where to start.
“Which means you never attended either.”
She lifted her chin. “It’s a long story.”
He waved his hand, not interested, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief at not having to divulge the entire sorry story.
“You have the opportunity to redeem yourself. After last night’s stunt, the film production company is looking for a PA for Mr Taylor. Someone local who knows their way around this city and who can ensure he gets to where he’s needed on time. I suggested you.”
Tessa choked. “I’m not a PA!” And it wasn’t as if she needed a job.
She flinched as Christian’s words reverberated, still sharp in her memory. “So what difference are you making in the world?” Spoken in a tone so scathing, it had burned at her all night.
“It’s not much different from being a social secretary. You have plenty of experience at that.” Her father relaxed a fraction and almost smiled. “You’ve been doing it for me long enough.”
She tried to think, but her head had turned to mush. See Christian Taylor again? Oh no! Not after last night… “I’m planning a wedding.”
“You have an assistant,” he pointed out.
Precisely. She had an assistant. “You can use Anna. I could pull her off the wedding preparations for the next week, and she’s an excellent PA.”
And Anna would probably love the idea of being around movie people all day.
Her father shook his head. “Not just anyone can do this job. I need your help.”
She shut her mouth. He never needed help from anyone. Her father was the most self-assured, most formidable man she’d ever known. She’d often had reason to be grateful she was his daughter, the one person in the world he cared about, and not on the receiving end of his less-merciful side.
Even so, he wasn’t above manipulating her or trying to control her life. Her eyes narrowed. Was this a ploy to keep tabs on her? An actor as famous as Christian Taylor no doubt had an entourage of drivers and bodyguards. People who could just as easily watch over her too. If she’d thought her life was suffocating before now, it would have nothing on that.
She pictured herself, trapped in the back seat of a limousine with the man she’d insulted last night, watched over by beady-eyed security men. It was enough to make her break out in hives.
But not for nothing was she her father’s daughter. She summoned up her own most formidable expression. “Why me?”
His gaze bore into her. “Because I need someone I trust to get close to him. I need to know everything about him. It’s a matter of national security.”
She couldn’t keep the surprise from her face. Since when was a frivolous Hollywood actor a matter of national security?
Her father rose from his chair and paced back to the window. “You’ve seen Fredrik’s ring – the Waldburg ring?”
She nodded. Of course she had. Her former boyfriend had worn that ring as a symbol of who he was. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. The last time she’d seen him, at his brother Max’s engagement party, he hadn’t worn it.
That night had been one of the hardest she’d ever had to endure. Almost everyone there had known she and Fredrik were dating before he’d been summarily exiled. Most had expected them to get engaged. She certainly had.
She’d been so grateful for the protection of Stefan’s engagement ring on her finger that night, even though he’d been away on business and she’d had to brave the lion’s den alone.
It should have been even worse for Fredrik. He’d lost so much more than she had. Instead, he’d been so wrapped around his new girlfriend Kenzie he’d scarcely noticed anyone else.
She frowned. Fredrik had disappointed her. She’d believed he was above vulgar public displays of affection. That’s what one expected from a Hollywood actor, not from a European prince.
“You would recognise the Waldburg ring again if you saw it?”
She forced the past back where it belonged and lifted her chin. “Of course.”
“Did Fredrik ever tell you there are three rings?”
She shook her head. They were the rings of the heirs of the Archdukes of Westerwald. Fredrik had one. His brother Max, the new Archduke, had one. Of course there could be another, locked away in safety in the event of a third son and heir being born, though that hadn’t happened in over a century.
Her father contemplated the view beyond the window. “It’s not known outside the royal family, but the third ring disappeared more than thirty-five years ago. Fredrik believes he saw it on a chain around Mr Taylor’s neck a few nights ago.”
Tessa tried hard to remember what she’d seen last night. She had to struggle past the vision of toned, dark-skinned chest.
A flash of silver.
It was possible. A lot of men wore jewellery these days. But if the ring was genuine – and she trusted Fredrik implicitly – then how had Christian Taylor come by it? A royal heirloom like that must surely have been as closely guarded as the crown itself.
Her