Page 4 of Tempted By the Princess

My eyes popped open so wide I was sure that I must have looked like a cartoon. “What? Are you crazy? No, you can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t even know each other.”

She gave me a charming smile and held out her hand. “My name is Genevieve Louisa San Rafael de Nova, second princess of Saint Marenne. You are?”

Wow, that name was a mouthful. I blinked at her and took her hand, feeling something arc between us as our palms touched. “Carrie. Carrie Owens.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Carrie.”

We stood there staring at each other, hands still clasped, the air between us growing thick and heavy before I finally pulled away.

“Do you really have no place to go tonight?” I asked.

It seemed unlikely, but then again, something about her earnest expression told me she was telling the truth.

She nodded. “That’s right.”

I was regretting my words before they left my mouth. “Why don’t you come inside so we can figure out a plan.”

She made a little squealing noise that shouldn’t have been cute but totally was.

“Awesome. Thank you so much. You won’t even know I’m here, I promise.”

Somehow I doubted that.

Genevieve followed me into the house, looking around curiously. I tried to see it through her eyes. It was a nice house. Simple. White walls, wooden floors, sturdy furniture. Everything was neat and clean. I didn’t like too much clutter.

“This is cozy,” she said.

I studied her, trying to decide if she was being judgmental, but her expression was sincere.

She stuck her hand down the side of her dress, scratching her side, then moved towards the doorway, rubbing her back against the door frame.

“What are you doing?”

She rolled her eyes. “This damned dress is itchy. My mother knows that I have a reaction to lace but still she shows up with this monstrosity.”

“It’s a nice dress,” I said mildly.

“I’m sorry to be a bother, but is there any chance you can loan me something to wear that isn’t itchy?”

“Follow me.”

I led Genevieve into the guest room.

“My sister keeps clothes here for when she visits,” I said, opening a dresser drawer. “She’s petite like you. Help yourself to whatever works.”

“Thank you.”

I headed back to the kitchen, then pulled out my phone to google my unexpected guest. Sure enough, the woman pawing through my sister’s dresser was a princess from some tiny European country. According to her Wikipedia page, she lived in Seattle and worked in philanthropy. The pictures on the page showed Genevieve in fancy outfits like the one she was just wearing, sometimes accompanied by her parents and sister. This woman was either a real princess or an amazingly good imposter.

“Thanks for the clothes.”

I looked up to see Genevieve coming into the kitchen looking more like a normal person. She was wearing a tee shirt and a pair of my sister’s yoga pants that fit her like a glove, although they were about an inch too long. She looked younger now too. I’d read on her Wikipedia page that she was in her twenties, way younger than me.

That made her off-limits. Well that and the fact that she was a rich and privileged runaway princess who was possibly mentally ill. Okay, sure, I could admit I was attracted to her, more than anyone I’d met in a long time. She was beautiful and innocent looking and charming, and I’d always liked petite women. Maybe I needed to start dating again, clearly I was starved for someone to crush on.