The Princess Read online



  The next thing he knew someone was yelling “Ready!” in his ear. He came awake suddenly, sitting upright and thinking there was another ammo fire. It took him a moment to get his bearings.

  The princess was lying beside him, wearing some frilly pink thing, her fists clenched at her side, her legs stiff—in fact her whole body was so rigid she could have been made out of steel. It took him a minute to understand that she expected him to ravish her. He had never seen anything as undesirable in his life as this cold, unfeeling woman.

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or rage at her. It made him angry that she seemed to have successfully reduced him to her idea of a primitive male who wouldn’t be able to control himself at the sight of a beautiful female in his bed wearing a low-cut, gossamer-thin nightgown that clung to and outlined every one of her not-inconsiderable curves.

  The next thing he knew he was yelling at her.

  Her expression didn’t change—after all marble didn’t move. She got up from the bed and left the room.

  Immediately, he had felt guilty, as if he had done something wrong. He turned on his stomach and punched his pillow with his fist. If she would just smile at him, just show him that she could be human. If she could be human, that is. It took him awhile before he could go back to sleep.

  Now, he looked at the clock and knew it was time to get up. Maybe he had dreamed the whole thing. Maybe he wasn’t married to the haughty princess after all. Maybe he was just plain Lieutenant Montgomery and not Public Enemy Number One.

  * * *

  At nine the next morning Aria looked up as Lieutenant Montgomery emerged from the bedroom, still wearing his rumpled uniform, his jaw now black with whiskers. He looked like a pirate.

  “It’s true then,” he mumbled, looking at her with eyelids still heavy with sleep. “I thought maybe I dreamed all of it.”

  She rose from the couch, not letting him see her stiffness.

  “About last night…” he began.

  She started past him toward the bathroom.

  He caught her arm and pulled her around to face him. “Maybe last night I was a little too harsh. The brass kept me awake for hours, then when I finally got to sleep I get a call saying you’re in jail.”

  She looked at him with cold eyes.

  “Is that what you stole?” he asked, his voice lowering, one hand moving to touch her shoulder. “It’s nice.”

  “It is a—as I believe you called it—‘silly’ garment.” She moved away from him but he grabbed the long, flowing skirt of her negligée.

  “I’m trying to tell you that I’m sorry about last night. You could have been Rita Hayworth and I wouldn’t have touched you. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “You did not,” she lied, chin up. “I merely misunderstood the situation. If you will release me and allow me to dress, we can get started on my learning to be an American.”

  “Sure,” he said with anger. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can get your kingdom and I can go back to controlling my own life.”

  She did not slam the bathroom door; she was able to control herself that much. She looked at herself in the mirror. Was she so unattractive? Perhaps her nighttime braid was too tight, perhaps she didn’t look so young and carefree as the pretty American girls she saw, but was she really so undesirable?

  She dressed in a simple little Mainbocher suit: slim skirt, padded shoulders, a little veiled hat perched over her left eye. She had a devil of a time with the seams in the hose but she managed at last.

  Lieutenant Montgomery was lounging in a chair when she emerged. “Finally,” he muttered, barely looking at her before entering the bathroom.

  He emerged shaved and showered, a towel around his waist. Aria left the room.

  He started lecturing her the moment they left the suite. He showed her how to use the room key, and the elevator. He lectured her about menus and American waiters. They ate breakfast and he said nothing to her that wasn’t a criticism: she was holding her fork in the wrong hand, she was to use her hands to eat her bread and not cut it with a knife and fork, she was not allowed to return her eggs, which she had ordered soft-boiled and received scrambled. And in between his corrections he handed her change and told her how to count it, laying little piles of coins on the tablecloth and making her total the amounts in her head between bites. He was ready to leave when she was only half finished.

  “We haven’t got all day,” he said, pulling back her chair. “Every American should know about the nation’s capital.”

  He made a telephone call then half pulled her along to a waiting military car.

  All day they went sightseeing. He dragged her through one building after another, lectured her on the history of the place, then impatiently waited while she got back into the car and they were off again. When they were in the car, he told her about glorious American women who had died for their country, women who were afraid of nothing, women who lived for their men. He seemed especially taken with someone named Dolley Madison.

  “What’s that?” Aria asked just as he was shoving her back into the car after seeing a statue of someone named Lincoln.

  “It’s a drugstore. Come on, let’s go. We still got the Smithsonian to go to and the Library of Congress.”

  “What are they drinking?”

  “Cokes. We don’t have time for lollygagging, let’s go.”

  Aria watched the drugstore until it was out of sight. How she would like to do something pleasant.

  At the Smithsonian, they met Heather. She was a plump little blonde who came hurrying around a corner and nearly ran into them.

  “Excuse me,” she said, then the next moment she squealed and said, “J.T.!” She dropped the leather portfolio she was carrying, threw her arms around J.T., and kissed him passionately.

  Aria stood by and watched without much interest except to note that Americans acted this way on public streets.

  “J.T., honey, I’ve missed you so much. How long are you in town? Let’s do the town tonight. Then later we can go back to my place. My roommates can leave us alone for a few hours. What do you say?”

  “Baby, there’s nothing I’d like better. You don’t know how good it is to see a woman smile at me. The last few days of my life have been sheer hell.”

  Aria walked away at that. She didn’t halt when J.T. yelled, “Wait a minute!”

  He caught up with her, holding Aria’s arm with one hand and the blonde’s with the other.

  “J.T., who is this?” the blonde demanded.

  “This is Prin…I mean—” He looked at Aria. “What is your name?”

  “Victoria Jura Aria Cilean Xenita.”

  After a moment’s pause, J.T. said, “Yeah, that’s right. Vicky. And this is Heather Addison.”

  “Aria,” she corrected. “My family calls me Aria.”

  Heather looked at J.T. suspiciously. “And what do you call her?”

  Aria smiled sweetly. “Wife,” she said.

  Heather gave J.T.’s cheek a resounding slap then turned on her heel and walked away.

  “Stay here,” he ordered Aria, and took off after Heather.

  Aria smiled to herself and felt good for the first time in days. It had been very nice to see that man slapped. Across the street was one of those drugstores. She waited for the light just as J.T. had instructed her then crossed the street and went into the store. Several people, young men in uniform and girls in thick socks and brown and white shoes, were sitting on red stools.

  Aria sat on an empty one.

  “What’ll you have?” asked an older man in a white apron.

  She searched her memory for the word. “A coat?”

  “What?”

  A handsome young man in a blue uniform moved down to the stool beside her. “I think she means a Coke.”

  “Yes,” Aria said, smiling. “A Coke.”

  “Cherry?” the man asked.

  “Yes,” she answered promptly.

  “You live around here?”