He stepped into the dining room. Alex glanced up at him, surprise clear on her face. She’d changed out of her jeans and workshirt. Instead she wore a dark purple dress with long sleeves and a high neck. Glittery combs held her hair back from her face. Dark amethysts glinted from her earlobes. He found he had to clear his throat before he could speak.
‘‘I thought you might like some company for dinner.’’
She smiled that same damn smile that about drove him to his knees. ‘‘That would be delightful,’’ she said.
Delightful, he repeated silently an hour later as they lingered over coffee. Alex was everything he’d feared—charming, witty and easy to talk to. He didnotneed this kind of trouble in his life.
‘‘What did you think?’’ she asked, motioning to the empty bottle of wine sitting on the table.
‘‘Very nice.’’ He glanced at the label, then at her. ‘‘It’s from California. I thought royalty had to drink French wine,’’ he teased.
She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. ‘‘We do. I’m actually breaking the law every time I take a sip. It’s my lone rebellion.’’
‘‘Do your parents know?’’
‘‘I think they suspect, but they don’t want to confront me about it and learn the truth. All those years of governesses and finishing schools and I still prefer a good California wine to one produced in France.’’
‘‘I’m sure they’re shocked.’’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘‘Did you really go to finishing school?’’
‘‘No, I went to a university in England. But we had plenty of instruction on the proper way to behave in all situations. I know the correct placement of glasses and flatware for official functions, the proper gift to send for an assortment of occasions, how to handle potentially damaging social blunders. I can even bake bread.’’
‘‘I’m impressed.’’
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her right ear. ‘‘I don’t think so, but I do believe you think it’s mildly interesting. Our lives are different.’’
They sat at one end of the long dining room table, Mitch at the head and Alex to his right. When they’d finished eating, Mitch pushed his plate toward the center of the table and Alexandra followed his lead. Then they leaned forward, facing each other. Now, he watched the play of the overhead light on Alex’s face, which made her green eyes appear dark, but added shades of gold to her auburn hair.
‘‘I love this room,’’ she confessed. ‘‘When it’s quiet, I imagine I can hear conversations from a long time ago. There’s been a lot of happiness around this table.’’
‘‘That’s true. My family always ate here for special occasions.’’
She straightened, and her mouth twisted with dismay. ‘‘Oh, no. Please don’t tell me that you usually take all your meals in the kitchen.’’
He nodded.
‘‘I had no idea. Betty brought me out here that first night and I thought…’’ Her voice trailed off. ‘‘Sorry. All that etiquette training doesn’t seem to be helping me much out here, does it?’’
‘‘I don’t mind eating here, Alex. You’re right, there are a lot of happy memories. I’m sure the room misses being used. When my folks still lived here, they would have lots of dinner parties. Nothing formal, but plenty of friends and good conversation. I remember Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners here with too much food and extra places for unexpected guests.’’
She leaned toward him again, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. ‘‘That sounds nice. You’re still close with your parents, aren’t you?’’
‘‘Yes. We speak every week. They call at seven on Sunday evenings. They both get on the phone and tell me about their week. We talk about their guests at their bed-and-breakfast, then we talk about the cattle. It’s not very exciting, but it’s familiar and I like it.’’
‘‘How lovely that sounds,’’ she said wistfully. ‘‘When I was a little girl, I used to dream about being in a normal family.’’
‘‘Most little girls dream about being a princess.’’
‘‘I know. I used to tell myself that whenever I started complaining about something in my life. I was, and am, very fortunate. But sometimes I think how nice it would be to just fit in like everyone else.’’ She straightened. ‘‘I’m not saying my parents aren’t wonderful people. They are. They’re caring and loving and extremely supportive. But it’s different.’’
‘‘I can’t even imagine,’’ he said, and meant it. Her world was an alien place, and not one he wanted to visit.
‘‘Mitch, do you have pictures of your family?’’
He grinned. ‘‘We have enough photo albums to fill the Library of Congress.’’
She frowned. ‘‘The what?’’
‘‘Never mind. Yes, there are tons of pictures. Tell you what. You go get dessert and bring it into the living room and I’ll grab the photo albums. That is, if I’m allowed to give royalty instructions.’’
