“The Internet is our friend!” Jess grabbed my laptop off the bedside table and popped it open. She typed for a moment and then looked up at me. “They are from Lilaria, right? Says here they’re big into birds, so I guess it makes sense.”
“Okay. What about their royalty?” I turned to look back at my closet, realizing I didn’t have an appropriate jacket.
“Just the usual stuff. A prince is addressed as His Royal Highness.” Jess skimmed through the link she was reading. “Address the duchess as Duchess Whatever. But it says you should adopt their type of formality.”
“So, I shouldn’t call him Prince-dude or her Royal-lady?”
“I think you nailed that one on the head.” Jess closed the computer. “You’ll be fine. Just be the charming person I know you can be.”
“Note to self: Don’t eat with fingers or burp in their faces. Got it.” I smiled at Jess and she laughed.
“We’ll save you some chili.” Jess got up and looked at me. “Text me when you get there and let me know it’s legit.”
“Sure.” I smiled at her over my shoulder as I headed for my bathroom. Time to make myself presentable. Thank God, I had time to shower.
Chapter Two
Royals in Rags
—The Chicago Gazette
My truck sounded like it was on its last leg as I pulled up to the hotel. The traffic had been terrible, so I didn’t have time to park the thing myself and avoid the embarrassment of valet. Cursing under my breath, I tried to stuff some of the garbage from the bench under the seat before the attendant opened my door. Looking up I smiled at the young guy.
“Sorry, the Bentley is being detailed.”
“Looks to me like you traded up, ma’am. This is a classic.” He held his hand out and helped me out of the car. I smiled gratefully at him because I had let Jess talk me into wearing heels tonight. He handed me my ticket and I gave him my keys.
I tried to not cringe as my truck made a coughing noise before it pulled away. The hostess was watching me through the glass doors, so I took a deep breath and held my head high, all the time quietly praying I wouldn’t end up busting my ass in the damn shoes. The doorman opened the door for me, but even he had a look of disdain as he studied me.
Chili was already sounding much better. Hopefully the food would be decent. And not overly expensive. I’d just sent three hundred dollars to the hospital for my dad’s monthly payment. To say I was scraping the bottom of the barrel would be putting it nicely. I smiled at the hostess, hoping that being polite would smooth over the truck fiasco.
“Hi. I’m meeting Duchess Sverelle for dinner.”
“Does she know you’re coming?” The blond woman’s voice grated on my ears. It was high and nasally. Why would they want that for their first impression? There are lots of blond, modelesque women who would love a job like this. Her eyes narrowed and ran over me in disgust.
“Since she’s the one who invited me, I would assume so.” Operation Nice was over.
“Uh huh. And what’s your name?” The woman looked down at the list in front of her with so much seriousness you would think it was full of people waiting for a heart transplant.
“Samantha Rousseau.” I watched her as she looked at the list and then back to me. “I’m from the university.”
“I see. Just a moment.” She walked away, her hair swishing behind her like she was walking in a wind tunnel for a photo shoot and I found myself wondering how she did that.
She returned a moment later, accompanied by a man with a bored look. He was tall, thin, and older, and reminded me of Alfred from the Batman movies. But without any of the humor or intelligence. His eyes traveled over my big winter coat and glimmered with disgust. He lived here, didn’t he? How could he think it was weird to wear a big winter coat?
“Miss…” He looked at me expectantly.
“Rousseau. Samantha Rousseau.”
“Miss Rousseau, your name isn’t on the list.”
“I’m sure it was a simple mistake.” I narrowed my eyes at the man. “Perhaps you could go check with the duchess.”
“I’m sure the duchess would have informed me had she been expecting someone else for dinner.” He smiled at me and I had to take a deep breath before answering.
“Well, as close as you apparently are with the duchess, it must’ve slipped her mind.” I leaned forward. “Look, I’m just trying to keep an appointment here. Can’t you go ask her if she was expecting me?”
“I’m afraid it is against policy to bother guests while they are dining.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I brushed the hair out of my eyes and glared at mini-Alfred. “Just go ask her.”
“Miss Rousseau, this is a very respectable restaurant. I suggest you leave and not cause a scene. I will call security if I need to.”
“I suggest you go ask the duchess if she’s expecting me, or go ahead and call security and you can expect a scene. Then when she sees you escorting me out of the restaurant, you can explain why you sent me away.”
“I’ll go. This once.” He eyed me for a long moment before sighing heavily. “If it turns out you are not an invited member of their party, I will be returning with security.”
“And you can apologize when you get back with your tail between your legs.” Operation Pissed was coming into play. I had a hard time holding my tongue when I got into that mode.