The Prince Next Door. Sue Civil-Brown

at her and smiled. That smile again. “I don’t think you’d understand my mother if you lived to be a hundred. I certainly don’t. But yes, that’s what she’s done.”

      “So that guy outside your apartment, he’s the kidnapper?” Ariel asked.

      Darius chuckled. “He thinks so. I suspect it’s more a case of her holding them captive than vice versa. Truth is, I pity the poor man. But yes, such as it stands, he’s the kidnapper.”

      “But…why?”

      “Oh, that’s the easy part,” Darius said with a wave of his hand. “She thinks I’m a prince.”

      If he’d said he had six ears, Serena couldn’t have been more floored. He said it so off-handedly, as if there were no great mystery involved in a mother staging her own kidnapping because her son was, or might be, a prince.

      “Ummm…” Serena said.

      “Exactly,” Darius replied. “Ummm…”

      “I take it you don’t think you’re a prince?” Ariel asked.

      He laughed. “No, I don’t. And what’s more, even if I were, I wouldn’t want the job. I mean, who in his right mind would want to be the crown prince of Masolimia?”

      “That place in the Pyrenees, with the awful sheep?” Ariel asked. Both Serena and Darius looked at her in stunned silence. “Well, I read something about it in a science magazine.”

      “Yes,” Darius said. “The place with the awful sheep. And the awful weather. And the awful…everything.”

      “But that place is going to be rich!” Ariel countered.

      Serena felt as if she had slipped into a reality warp. She’d never heard of Masolimia, but that was no surprise. There were probably hundreds of little places in the world she’d never heard of. The surprise was that Ariel had heard of Masolimia. And not only had heard of it, but seemed to be something of an expert on the place. That girl seemed to know entirely too much for Serena’s comfort. It was almost as if she’d been…set up.

      Darius nodded to Ariel. “That’s what they tell me. Something about genetic research, I gather.”

      “Yes!” Ariel said. She turned to Serena. “It’s like this. Geneticists are trying to figure out which parts of the human gene structure do what things. How much of what happens to us is inherited, how much is environmental. The old debate of nature versus nurture.”

      “Right,” Serena said, nodding as if to say, I know this, dear. “I’m a doctor, remember?”

      Ariel nodded excitedly. “Of course you are! So you know they’re trying to find out if there are genetic bases for diseases. Does this gene cause cancer? Does that gene cause depression? Things like that. But it’s complicated, because genes sometimes skip generations, lie dormant or some such. Plus a lot of places in the world have become so cosmopolitan, with people from all over the world adding to the local gene pool. So what you need is…”

      Darius cut in. “An isolated, homogeneous population, with accurate genealogical records, so you can follow the path of genes through tens or hundreds of generations.”

      “And Masolimia has that?” Serena asked.

      “Yes,” Ariel replied. “It’s a mountain principality which has had little contact with its neighbors. What’s more, their traditional burial customs—going back to before the Roman Empire—use a labyrinth of catacombs, where an individual’s crypt is connected by tunnels to his or her parents, siblings and children. The catacombs are a precise genealogical history of Masolimia. So a genetic research firm wants to use them as a case study.”

      “Which would, of course, involve a substantial payment to the people of Masolimia,” Serena said.

      Darius nodded. “About fifty million dollars, all told. Plus loans and investments to help modernize the place. Quite lucrative, mother tells me. Except…the last prince died childless, and his bloodline died with him. So Masolimia has no official in charge who can okay the contract.”

      Serena’s brow furrowed. “But surely there’s a legislature or a cabinet or something?”

      “Nope,” Darius said. “You’d think so, but no. By tradition—and everything in Masolimia is about tradition—only the crown prince can approve contracts between the government and outside companies. No prince. No contract. No money.”

      “Ahhhh,” Serena said, suddenly understanding. Or so she thought. “Your mother thinks you should be the next prince.”

      “Not quite,” he replied. “She thinks I am the next prince. Apparently my family—her side of the family—has some connection to someone who was someone six hundred years ago. I don’t pretend to understand it. Frankly, I don’t care. I don’t want the job.”

      “But what about the poor people of Masolimia?” Ariel asked.

      “Yeah, what about them?” Serena echoed. He did, after all, seem awfully callous about the condition of his native land.

      As if to confirm her feelings, he gave another of his patented European shrugs. “The people of Masolimia will settle on someone. It just won’t be me. Not even if my mother did get herself kidnapped.”

      “Aren’t you worried about her?” Ariel asked.

      “Ha! The only person who worries about my mother is God, and that’s only because she wants His job. No, I’m not worried about my mother. Not by a long shot.”

      The sky had grown dark, the moon glittering on the waves. As if sensing Serena’s disapproval of his attitude, Darius glanced at his watch.

      “And I’ve overstayed.” He stood, then reached out and took her hand, a purely polite, old-fashioned gesture that, nonetheless, sent a shiver down her spine. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

      He actually kissed her hand. Shiver again.

      Then he turned to Ariel, repeating the kiss. “And it was a pleasure to improve my acquaintance with you, young lady. It’s remarkable to meet so well-read a person.”

      “The pleasure was all mine,” Ariel said, her voice suddenly rich with a cultured depth which lay far beyond her years. “And your choice of dinner was delightful.”

      Serena made as if to rise, but he held up a hand. “Please, stay here and enjoy the night air. I’ll let myself out.”

      After the briefest of bows, he turned and strode away with a grace that was undeniably…royal.

      “Wow,” Ariel said, after he had left. “Just think—a prince helped you wash the dishes!”

      “Hmmm,” Serena replied.

      THE MOON, which had been chasing the sun across the sky all day, now hung above the water, an argent orb with an amused face. Serena figured it was laughing at her, but what the heck. Ariel had gone inside to watch television, leaving her all alone on her balcony to watch the mesmerizing rhythm of silver-capped waves. The wind was now blowing offshore, leaving her untouched in her nook.

      This vacation was certainly not going the way she had planned. Which reminded her, she needed to tell Marco to drop it before he did something outrageous that came back to haunt her.

      Maybe, she thought wistfully, it was time to grow up year-round, not just when she was working. Yes, her job was mostly dull, but she met some very nice people. Some even had fascinating stories to tell. That should be enough, right?

      Today—Ariel was right about this—she had slandered a man. In her haste to have a good time, she’d invented a dastardly criminal out of whole cloth. Instead he was an art dealer cum prince, who seemed to have a share of his own troubles.

      For some reason the old song about a prince coming someday was whirling around in her head. However, so did the old joke about kissing a prince and finding a frog.

      But