Christmas Baby For The Princess. Barbara Wallace

a little too late.

      “You’re doing that wrong,” a voice said from behind her.

      Max. A quiver struck low in her stomach. The bambino seemed to have an opinion about him as well. Since that first day, her stomach insisted on wobbling every time she and the owner crossed paths.

      He reached over her shoulder to take the setting from her hand. “The ends have to be tucked tightly or else the silverware will slide out. See?”

      Arianna could feel his breath on the back of her bare neck. In Corinthia, it was considered disrespectful to stand so close to a member of the royal family. A deferential distance had to be maintained at all times. Max’s arms were nearly wrapped around her. She could feel the edge of his jacket brushing her spine as he leaned forward, the feathery touch causing goose bumps.

      “Now you try.”

      She tried to repeat the steps she’d done dozens of times throughout the night, but her fingers had grown clumsy. Instead of stacking the silverware, she fumbled and knocked them over. “It would be easier if you weren’t breathing down my neck,” she told him.

      “Sorry.” The space behind her cooled as he took a spot at the bar next to her chair. Better, but not by much. Arianna could still feel his slate-colored eyes watching her every move. Taking a deep breath, she rolled the napkin into the tightest cylinder humanly possible.

      “Good,” Max said. “Although next time, you might want to include a spoon.”

      Her shoulders sagged. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Darius slide a drink across the bar. Max wrapped his hand around it without looking, and settled back against the bar rail to survey the restaurant. Unable to help herself, Arianna stole a look.

      The man had the most effortless grace about him. You could see it in the way the glass dangled from his long fingertips and in the way he moved. Yet for all his smoothness, he wasn’t overly soft. Just like how the scar on the bridge of his nose kept his face from movie-star perfection, there was strength beneath the elegance. A toughness that said he wasn’t a man to be trifled with. In a way he reminded her of the ancestral portraits lining the halls of Corinthia Castle, with their impenetrable gazes that followed her every step.

      They always left her feeling very exposed, those paintings. Max’s stare did as well.

      “I hear you’re having trouble catching on to hostessing,” he said, his gaze thankfully still on the dining room.

      Trouble catching on had to be an American euphemism for making a lot of mistakes. “It was not all my fault,” she said, defensiveness kicking in. “No one told me the woman was deluded.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “The woman in the green dress. How was I to know she wanted a seat for her husband’s remains?”

      “Ah, Mrs. Riderman.” Understanding crested over his features. “You’re right, Javier should have warned you. She and her ‘husband’ come in every Friday.”

      “Every week?” With her dead husband? “Does that not violate some kind of health code?”

      “Probably,” he said with a shrug, “but seeing how she owns most of the buildings on this street, we’re willing to risk the infraction.”

      “Oh.” Whatever vindication she felt faded away. “I did not realize she was so important.”

      “All our customers are important,” Max corrected. “Without them, we wouldn’t exist.” He took a sip of his drink. “Did he tell you that every time you move a party or seat them at the wrong table, that he needs to redo the seating chart?”

      More times than she could count. “Yes,” she said.

      “Did he also tell you that having to start over causes even longer delays?”

      “No, that he did not mention.”

      Arianna fiddled with the napkin roll she’d just completed, twirling the black cloth back and forth between her fingers. Whereas being upbraided by the likes of Javier set her teeth on edge, Max’s criticisms made her feel foolish and inept. She couldn’t imagine him ever making as many mistakes as she had these past few days.

      “I had some trouble memorizing the seating chart,” she said meekly. “My brain, it...”

      She shook her head. Max didn’t need to hear how her brain had become fuzzy and sluggish, or how it took all her energy to keep her ever-present morning sickness at bay.

      “I’m sorry,” she said instead. “I’ll pay closer attention in the future.”

      “Afraid it’s too late for that. Javier’s refusing to let you back up front.”

      “He is?” That was not fair. She did not make that many mistakes. “What am I supposed to do then?” Surely they had enough tableware.

      Max didn’t reply, beyond staring into his drink. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “You can’t hostess for Javier anymore. And I can’t put you back out there as a waitress. Not after what happened with Deputy Mayor Esperanza. The man you dumped a salad on last night,” he added when she gave him a blank look.

      That man was the deputy mayor? While Corinthia didn’t have the position, she knew enough about the title to assume that in a city the size of New York, the title was an important one. “No wonder he asked if I knew who he was.”

      She must have said something amusing because the hint of a smile played on Max’s mouth. “Yes, well, Deputy Mayor Esperanza is a legend in his own mind, that is for sure.”

      “Was he very angry?” If the way the man turned a deep shade of crimson was any indication, he had been. She’d done her best to apologize, but the horrid little man simply slapped her words aside and told her to leave him alone.

      “Nothing a couple bottles of super Tuscan didn’t cure,” Max replied.

      “Good.” She would have felt terrible if her mistake caused real damage to Max’s restaurant. “I’m glad.”

      “Me, too. Although between you and me, the guy could use an arugula shower now and then. To keep him humble.”

      Setting his drink on the counter, he shifted his posture, leaning his weight on the elbow closest to the bar so he once again faced her. The smile he’d been fighting had found its way to his eyes, the shine bringing out flecks of blue in them Arianna hadn’t noticed before. Her lips curled upward in response and for a moment, they silently shared the idea.

      “So,” Max said, reaching for his drink again. “You’ve never waited tables before, have you?”

      “Of course I ha— How did you know?”

      He arched his brow. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice your lack of experience?”

      “No.” Certainly not with the way he was watching her. Still... Her cheeks growing hot, she looked down at her feet. “I had hoped I would catch on quickly.”

      “How’s that plan working out?”

      “Not so well.”

      “You think?”

      She’d prefer anger to sarcasm. “If you knew, why did you hire me?”

      “Because I’m a sucker for a sob story, that’s why,” he replied.

      Sob story? “I did not tell—”

      “You didn’t have to,” he said, frowning into the last of his drink. “I guess I’d hoped you’d catch on quickly, too.”

      But she hadn’t, and she felt like a fool for even trying. “I didn’t realize it would be so difficult.” All those people speaking so rapidly, barking orders at her. “Everything moves so much faster than I expected.”

      “Problem is, this is our busiest season. I need a waitress