would normally try to reason with Stefan, but Pippa knew her entire family was unreasonable about the Lafitte matter. She would have to learn to push aside her slimy feelings about this and press on. The first task was to call Nic.
Nic studied the recent reports from his and his father’s business on his tablet PC while he drank a glass of Scotch. He took a deep breath of the Mediterranean night air as he sat on the deck of his yacht anchored close enough to shore for his mother to catch a glimpse of her precious Chantaine whenever she liked. He just hoped she didn’t do anything impulsive like jump overboard and swim to shore. Rubbing his chin, he shuddered at what a nightmare that would be. He couldn’t put it past her, though, especially after she’d sneaked off the other morning.
Nic was caught somewhere between genie and parent, and he wasn’t equipped to be either. The reports on both his father’s businesses and his own looked okay for the moment, but he knew he would have to go back to the States soon for his father’s company. With Amelie’s illness, Paul Lafitte had understandably been distracted. Despite the fact that they’d separated on two different occasions, Amelie was the light of Paul’s life and Nic wasn’t sure how his father would survive after his mother… Nic didn’t even want to think the word, let alone say it, even though he knew the time was coming.
Sighing, he took another sip of his Scotch and heard the vibrating buzz of his cell phone. The number on the caller ID surprised him. After his surprise meeting with Princess Pippa the other morning, he figured he’d never see her again except for public affairs.
He picked up the phone and punched the call button. “Nic Lafitte. Your Highness, what a surprise,” he said, unable to keep the bite from his voice. Pippa had turned out to be the tease of his life.
“Hello. I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said, her voice tense with nerves, which made him curious.
“Just a perfect glass of Scotch and rare solitude,” he said.
A short silence followed. “Well, pardon the interruption, but I have some news that may be of interest to you.”
“You called to tell me you missed me,” he said, unable to resist the urge to bother her. During and after their little interlude last year, the woman had bothered the hell out of him.
He heard her sharp intake of breath and realized he’d scored. “I called about your mother.”
His pleasure immediately diminished. “What about her? Have you discussed the situation with your family, and now they won’t even allow her and my father in the harbor?”
“No, of course not,” Pippa said. “If you would just let me finish—”
“Go ahead,” he said, the semi-peacefulness of the evening now ruined.
“I found a cottage for your parents where they can stay,” she said.
Nic blinked in sudden, silent surprise.
“Nic, did you hear me?”
“Yes. Repeat that please.”
“I found a cottage for your parents on Chantaine,” she said.
“Why?” he demanded.
Another gap of silence followed. “Um, well, I have these cousins Georgina and Harry and neither of them live in Chantaine anymore. They haven’t even visited in years, and they inherited a cottage from their parents. It’s been vacant, again for years, so I thought, why not?”
“Exactly,” Nic said. “Why not? Except for the fact that my father has been banned from setting foot on Chantaine. I don’t suppose your brother experienced a sudden wave of compassion, or just a rational moment and has decided to pardon Paul Lafitte.”
“You don’t need to insult Stefan,” she said. “My brother is just defending my father’s honor.”
“Even though Stefan wouldn’t have been born if your father had married Amelie,” Nic said.
“Yes, I know it’s not particularly logical, but the point is I have found this house. Your mother wants more time in Chantaine. Staying there can make it happen.”
“You still haven’t addressed the issue about my father,” Nic said.
“Well, I thought we could work around that. Your mother mentioned that he broke his foot, so it’s not as if he’ll be able to tour much. When he does, perhaps he could wear a hat and glasses.”
“And a fake mustache?” he added, rolling his eyes. It was a ludicrous plan.
“I know it’s not perfect,” she said.
“Far from it,” he said.
“But it’s better than nothing.”
“I can’t take the chance that my father will end up in jail.”
“Perhaps that’s not your decision to make,” she countered, surprising him.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean shouldn’t he be given the choice?” she asked. “Besides, your father’s presence may never be discovered. It’s not as if there are copies of his photo posted everywhere the way you do in the States.”
“It’s called a Wanted Poster, and they’re mostly just displayed in post offices and convenience stores these days. We’ve progressed since the Wild West days,” he said.
“Exactly,” she said. “And so have we. No one has been beheaded in over one hundred and fifty years, and we haven’t used the dungeon as a prison for nearly a hundred.”
“Why don’t I feel better? I know that Chantaine doesn’t operate under the policy of innocent until proven guilty. Your judicial system, and I use the term loosely, moves slower than the process of turning coal into diamonds.”
“I didn’t call to debate my country’s judicial system. I called to offer a place to stay for your mother and father. If you want it, I shall arrange to have it cleaned and prepared for them. Otherwise…” She paused and he heard her take a breath.
“Otherwise?” he prompted.
“Otherwise, ciao,” she said and hung up on him.
Nic blinked again. Princess Pippa wasn’t the rollover he’d thought she was. He downed the rest of his exquisite Scotch, barely tasting it. What the hell. She had surprised him. Now he had to make a decision. Although his father had caused trouble for the entire family, Nic felt protective of him, especially in his father’s current state with his broken foot and his grief over Amelie.
Nic closed his eyes and swore under his breath. He already knew how his father would respond if given the choice of risking prosecution in Chantaine. Paul Lafitte was a blustering bear and bull. He would love the challenge… even if he was in traction and confined to the house.
Raking his hand through his hair, he knew what he had to do. He walked inside to the stateroom lounge where his father dozed in front of the television. A baseball game was playing and his father was propped in an easy chair snoring.
Maybe he should wait until tomorrow, Nic thought and turned off the television.
His father gave a loud snort and his eyes snapped open. “What happened? Who’s ahead?”
“Rangers,” Nic lied. The Rangers were having a terrible season.
“Yeah, and I’m the Easter bunny,” his father said.
Nic gave a dry laugh. His father was selective with the use of denial, and apparently he wasn’t going to exercise that muscle with the Rangers tonight. “Good luck hopping,” he said. “You need anything to drink?”
“Nah. Take a seat. What’s on your mind? I can tell something’s going on,” he said, waving his hand as if the yacht belonged to him instead of Nic.
Nic sank onto the sofa next to his father. “I got an interesting