Cordinas Crown Jewel (25 page)

“I’ll get to it. You’re not fragile, Camilla.”

“Not as a rule, no.”

“Cordina’s crown jewel. I’ve been catching up on some magazines,” he said when she stared at him. “A jewel has to have substance to keep its shine. You’ve got substance.”

“That,” she managed to say, “is the most flattering thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“That’s just because you’re used to men telling you you’re beautiful. And I like your family.”

“My family?”

“Yeah. Your mother’s an amazing woman. I like your brothers, your cousins. Still haven’t quite figured out—for sure—which is which, but, I like them. And your sister’s sweet.” He paused. “I meant that in a good way.”

“Yes.” Camilla smiled a little. “She is, very sweet.”

“Your aunts, uncles, they’re interesting people. Admirable. I guess that’s where you get it. Had some trouble with your father. But I figure if I had a daughter and some guy was … Well, it’s natural for him to want to kick my ass for putting hands on what’s his.”

“He likes you.”

“He’d like to roast me over a slow fire.”

“He thinks you have potential.”

Del snorted, paced, then glanced back at her. “Does he?”

“Yes. Of course if you make me unhappy, that slow fire could still be arranged. But I don’t mean to pressure you.”

“You’re a clever girl, princess. Sharp, sexy mind. I could get past that face of yours, but your mind kept hooking me in.” He gestured to the thick book on archaeology resting on her nightstand. “So you stayed interested?”

“Yes. I want to learn. I really loved working with you.”

“I know.”

“I find the work fascinating. Not just because of you, you know. I want to learn for me first. I needed something for myself. Something that pulled at me, from the inside. Something beyond what’s expected—must be expected of me because of my position. I wanted to find my passion, and thanks to you I did. I’m making arrangements to join Dr. Lesuer on a project in France.”

“Yeah, Lower Paleolithic.” Del shrugged. “He’s good. Hell of a teacher, too. He’s got patience. I don’t. It’d probably be less complicated to work with him. Then again, it’d be a shame for you to miss following through on Bardville.”

She took a deep breath. “Are you suggesting that I join the project?”

“I’ve been thinking about outfitting a new site trailer. The old one’s a dump. And I need to oversee a lot of lab work. It’d probably be practical to rent a house near the university. Maybe buy something.”

The pressure in her chest was unbearable. It was wonderful. “It’s understood in my family that when one of us takes a career, or makes a personal commitment, his or her official duties can be adjusted. Tell me.”

“Listen, I’m going to complain every time I have to gear up in some fancy suit—and you’ll probably throw my own title in my face when I do,” he said, walking to her.

“Naturally.”

“But I’ll carry my weight on what you bring to the deal, and you’ll carry yours on what I bring.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “Are you asking me to ma—”

He cut her off with a quick, warning sound. “You’ve got some looks, don’t you?” He lifted her chin and cupped her face. “Some fabulous looks. You know, I don’t care how many times this face of yours is splashed over magazines. I don’t care about the gossip and bull written in them, either. That kind of stuff doesn’t matter to me. We know who we are.”

Tears clogged her throat, shimmered in her eyes again. Nothing, nothing he might have said could have told her more clearly he believed in her. “Oh, Delaney.”

“I don’t have a ring for you right now.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“I do.” Funny, he thought as he lifted her hand, studied those elegant fingers, that he would feel it was important. “I want you to wear my ring.” His gaze shifted to hers and held.

“If you don’t want me to cry again, you’ll hurry up.”

“Okay, okay. Try to give a woman a little romance.”

“You climbing down the palace walls is about all the romance I can take for one night. Thanks all the same.”

He grinned. “I’m crazy about you. Every bit of you, but especially your smart mouth.”

“That’s lovely. But I could probably stand just a little more romance than that, if you can manage it.”

“I love you.” He took her face in his hands. This time when a tear slid down her cheek, he didn’t mind. “Camilla. I love who you are. I love who we are when we’re together. I love the woman who mopped my kitchen floor, and I love the woman I waltzed with tonight.”

Joy soared inside her. “Both sides of that woman love all the sides of you. You make me happy.”

“Marry me. Make a life with me. You won’t always be comfortable, but you sure as hell won’t be bored.”

“I’ll marry you.” She touched her lips to his cheek. “And work with you.” And the other. “Live with you. And love you. Always,” she murmured as their lips met.

“Come back with me.” He pulled her close and just held on. “We’ll work out the details—whatever has to be done. I don’t want to go back without you.”

“Yes. I’ll arrange it.” She tightened her grip. “We’ll arrange it.”

“I’ll carve out some time off—whatever we need to deal with whatever we have to deal with.”

“Don’t worry.” Here, she thought, was her passion, her contentment and her love all wrapped in one. “We’ll work it all out. When there’s a question, we’ll find the answer.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, smiling as she felt his lips brush over her hair. The most important question, she thought, had been asked. And answered.

If you liked
Cordina’s Crown Jewel
, look for the other novels in the Cordina’s Royal Family series:
Affaire Royale
,
Command Performance
, and
The Playboy Prince
, available as eBooks from InterMix.

June 2000

Elizabeth Fitch’s short-lived teenage rebellion began with L’Oreal Pure Black, a pair of scissors and a fake ID. It ended in blood.

For nearly the whole of her sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days she’d dutifully followed her mother’s directives. Dr. Susan L. Fitch issued
directives
, not orders. Elizabeth had adhered to the schedules her mother created, ate the meals designed by her mother’s nutritionist and prepared by her mother’s cook, wore the clothes selected by her mother’s personal shopper.

Dr. Susan L. Fitch dressed conservatively, as suited—in her opinion—her position as Chief of Surgery at Chicago’s Silva Memorial Hospital. She expected, and directed, her daughter to do the same.

Elizabeth studied diligently, accepting and excelling in the academic programs her mother outlined. In the fall, she’d return to Harvard in pursuit of her medical degree. So she could become a doctor, like her mother; a surgeon, like her mother.

Elizabeth—never Liz or Lizzie or Beth—spoke fluent Spanish, French, Italian, passable Russian and rudimentary Japanese. She played both piano and violin. She’d traveled to Europe, to Africa. She could name all the bones, nerves and muscles in the human body and play Chopin’s Piano Concerto—both One and Two—by rote.

She’d never been on a date or kissed a boy. She’d never roamed the mall with a pack of girls, attended a slumber party or giggled with friends over pizza or hot fudge sundaes.

She was, at sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days, a product of her mother’s meticulous and detailed agenda.

That was about to change.

She watched her mother pack. Susan, her rich brown hair already coiled in her signature French twist,
neatly hung another suit in the organized garment bag, then checked off the printout with each day of the week’s medical conference broken into subgroups. The printout included a spreadsheet listing every event, appointment, meeting and meal scheduled with the selected outfit, shoes, bag and accessories.

Designer suits and Italian shoes, of course, Elizabeth thought. One must wear good cut, good cloth. But not one rich or bright color among the blacks, grays, taupes. She wondered how her mother could be so beautiful and deliberately wear the dull.

After two accelerated semesters of college, Elizabeth thought she’d begun—maybe—to develop her own fashion sense. She had, in fact, bought jeans
and
a hoodie
and
some chunky heeled boots in Cambridge.

She’d paid in cash, so the purchase wouldn’t show up on her credit card bill in case her mother or their accountant checked and questioned the items, which were currently hidden in her room.

She’d felt like a different person wearing them, so different that she’d walked straight into a McDonald’s and ordered her first Big Mac with large fries and a chocolate shake.

The pleasure had been so huge she’d had to go into the bathroom, close herself in a stall and cry a little.

The seeds of the rebellion had been planted that day, she supposed, or maybe they’d always been there, dormant, and the fat and salt had awakened them.

But she could feel them, actually feel them sprouting in her belly now.

“Your plans changed, Mother. It doesn’t follow that mine have to change with them.”

Susan took a moment to precisely place a shoe bag in the pullman, tucking it just so with her beautiful and clever surgeon’s hands, the nails perfectly manicured. A French manicure, as always—no color there either.

“Elizabeth.” Her voice was as polished and calm as her wardrobe. “It took considerable effort to reschedule and have you admitted to the summer program this term. You’ll complete the requirements for your admission into Harvard Medical School a full semester ahead of schedule.”

Even the thought made Elizabeth’s stomach hurt. “I was promised a three-week break, including this next week in New York.”

“And sometimes promises must be broken. If I hadn’t had this coming week off, I couldn’t fill in for Dr.
Dusecki at the conference.”

“You could have said no.”

“That would have been selfish and shortsighted.” Susan brushed at the jacket she’d hung, stepped back to check her list. “You’re certainly mature enough to understand the demands of work overtake pleasure and leisure.”

“If I’m mature enough to understand that, why aren’t I mature enough to make my own decisions? I want this break. I need it.”

Susan barely spared her daughter a glance. “A girl of your age, physical condition and mental acumen hardly
needs
a break from her studies and activities. In addition, Mrs. Laine has already left for her two-week cruise, and I could hardly ask her to postpone her vacation. There’s no one to fix your meals or tend to the house.”

“I can fix my own meals and tend to the house.”

“Elizabeth.” The tone managed to merge clipped with long-suffering. “It’s settled.”

“And I have no say in it? What about developing my independence, being responsible?”

“Independence comes in degrees, as does responsibility and freedom of choice. You still require guidance and direction. Now, I’ve e-mailed you an updated schedule for the coming week and your packet with all the information on the program is on your desk. Be sure to thank Dr. Frisco personally for making room for you in the summer term.”

As she spoke, Susan closed the garment bag, then her small pullman. She stepped to her bureau to check her hair, her lipstick.

“You don’t listen to anything I say.”

In the mirror, Susan’s gaze shifted to her daughter. The first time, Elizabeth thought, her mother had bothered to actually look at her since she’d come into the bedroom. “Of course I do. I heard everything you said, very clearly.”

“Listening’s different than hearing.”

“That may be true, Elizabeth, but we’ve already had this discussion.”

“It’s not a discussion, it’s a decree.”

Susan’s mouth tightened briefly, the only sign of annoyance. When she turned, her eyes were a cool, calm blue. “I’m sorry you feel that way. As your mother, I must do what I believe is best for you.”

“What’s best for me, in your opinion, is for me to do, be, say, think, act, want, become exactly what you decided for me before you inseminated yourself with precisely selected sperm.”

She heard the rise of her own voice but couldn’t control it, felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes but couldn’t stop them. “I’m tired of being your experiment. I’m tired of having every minute of every day organized, orchestrated and choreographed to meet your expectations. I want to make my own choices, buy my own clothes, read books
I
want to read. I want to live my own life instead of yours.”

Susan’s eyebrows lifted in an expression of mild interest. “Well. Your attitude isn’t surprising given your age, but you’ve picked a very inconvenient time to be defiant and argumentative.”

“Sorry. It wasn’t on the schedule.”

“Sarcasm’s also typical, but it’s unbecoming.” Susan opened her briefcase, checked the contents. “We’ll talk about all this when I get back. I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Bristoe.”

“I don’t need therapy! I need a mother who
listens
, who gives a shit about how I feel.”

“That kind of language only shows a lack of maturity and intellect.”

Enraged, Elizabeth threw up her hands, spun in circles. If she couldn’t be calm and rational like her mother, she’d be
wild
. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

“And repetition hardly enhances. You have the rest of the weekend to consider your behavior. Your meals are in the refrigerator or freezer, labeled. Your pack list is on your desk. Report to Ms. Vee at the university at eight on Monday morning. Your participation in this program will ensure your place in HMS next fall. Now, take my garment bag downstairs, please. My car will be here any minute.”

Oh, those seeds were sprouting, cracking that fallow ground and pushing painfully through. For the first time in her life, Elizabeth looked straight into her mother’s eyes and said, “No.”

She spun around, stomped away, and slammed the door of her bedroom. She threw herself down on the bed, stared at the ceiling with tear-blurred eyes. And waited.