“It’s a place called Bellissime. It’s a very small country on the border of Italy and France. Right next to Monaco. Have you heard of it?”

“Um.” Maylee thought for a moment, then snuck a piece of popcorn and tossed it in her mouth. Geography wasn’t a strong suit of hers. “Isn’t that the place they’re gonna have that royal wedding?” She didn’t read a lot of tabloids, but it was hard to miss the headlines. A pretty blonde princess in some European country was marrying Hollywood actor Luke Houston, who had a chiseled jaw, a dreamy smile, and was in a lot of really bad movies. “It’s so sweet.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re going,” Gretchen said. “Griffin’s been invited to the wedding.”

She choked on a piece of popcorn, wheezing. “Beg pardon?”

“Royal wedding,” Gretchen repeated. “Big shindig. Lots of stuck-up ass**les getting their picture taken.”

Maylee coughed, the popcorn lodged in the back of her throat. “Oh. Oh mercy,” she wheezed. She knew there was a reason why she liked Ms. Gretchen. She was so down to earth. “And again, you’re sure you want me to go to this?”

“You’ll be fine,” Gretchen said, a coaxing note in her voice. “It’ll be fun. Think of the stories you’ll have to tell afterward! And don’t forget, double time. All you have to do is make sure Griffin gets to places on time and take his phone calls. It’ll be easy.”

And Ms. Gretchen had wanted her to do it? Maylee beamed at the thought. “You tell Mr. Griffin he’s got himself an assistant.”

“Perfect!” Gretchen sounded utterly delighted. “I’ll send you an email with all the deets. Thanks, Maylee. You’re the best!”

They hung up and Maylee immediately unfolded her legs, heading across her tiny apartment over to the rickety old desktop computer she had set up. She couldn’t really afford a laptop yet, and someone had sold her this great—if noisy—computer on a street corner. She clicked it on and waited for it to start up, then she snagged a local hotspot and went web-surfing to find out everything she could about Bellissime.

The Wikipedia page on Bellissime was fascinating.

One of the oldest constitutional monarchies in Europe, Bellissime is a small mountainous country bordered on the east by Italy, west by France, and north by Switzerland. Tucked into the Alps, the official language is French, but as the monarchy has had British connections since the Middle Ages, English is commonly spoken. Bellissime is known for three things: its monarchy, its chocolate, and the tiny size of the country. Only Monaco and the Vatican are smaller.

A tiny mountain country in the Alps with a princess who was having a royal wedding? And she got to go? And she’d be paid a bonus?

Maylee pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

Chapter Two

“Lordamercy,” Maylee breathed as the courtesy transport cart drove onto the tarmac toward the jet. She juggled her bags, clutching them in her lap.

“Almost there, Ms. Meriweather,” the driver told her.

“That’s rather a small plane, isn’t it?” It didn’t look very big. Or safe. She’d flown in an exceedingly large plane on the way to New York City, with three rows across and goodness knows how many up and down. This . . . was clearly not the same kind of plane.

“It’s a private jet, ma’am,” the driver said, an elderly man who seemed to be having a great time watching her reactions to everything in the airport. “Some are smaller than others. This is one of the larger ones.”

It was? She stared at it, gaping. “So there won’t be any other people on it?”

“No ma’am. Mr. Verdi won’t be flying coach.” She could have sworn he smiled to himself at the thought.

“Oh. Okay.” She felt incredibly out of her depth at the moment. Maylee clutched her luggage tighter. This suddenly felt a little overwhelming.

Double time, she repeated to herself. Double time. Gretchen had figured Maylee would be perfect for this job, and really, she was doing Mr. Griffin a favor by traveling at the last minute with him. She just needed to remember that.

He needed Maylee. Not the other way around. Lifting her head high, Maylee resolved that she was going to enjoy this trip. She’d never left the States before, and this would be the adventure of a lifetime.

The cart parked in front of the jet and a wheeled staircase had been set at the door. At the top, a flight attendant waited. The man took Maylee’s suitcase from her arms and frowned a bit at the bright red tartan of it, along with the trailing ribbons she had decorating the handle. He touched one of the ribbons. “Did you need to secure these, miss?”

“Oh, no,” she said cheerily. “That’s so it doesn’t get lost in the luggage pick-up.”

“There’s no luggage pick-up on a private jet,” he said, smiling at her. “Otherwise, it’s a smart idea.”

She beamed at him for the compliment. “I can carry the suitcase, honey. No need for you to go up all those stairs.”

“I don’t mind. It’s my job.”

“You’re so sweet,” she told him, and the man grinned at her. Mama had always told her you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so Maylee was always friendly to the staff. Heck, she was staff. These were her people. “I can’t thank you enough for the ride out here.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am,” he said again, and gestured for her to ascend the stairs ahead of him.

Maylee clutched her purse close, shifted her backpack onto her shoulder, and let him carry her suitcase. She was glad she’d worn low-heeled loafers with her skirted suit, because that staircase looked mighty steep. Didn’t most flights normally have a tunnel ramp thingie you went down to get onto the plane? She supposed this baby plane was too dinky for that sort of thing.

Nearby, another flight attendant smiled at her. She was wearing a black-jacketed suit that looked way fancier than anything Maylee owned. Her blonde hair was pulled into an elegant twist and she wore more makeup than Maylee. Still, she looked model beautiful. “Welcome. Mr. Verdi is inside. Can I take your things?”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Maylee said, and shrugged off her backpack. “You are so kind to offer. And my goodness gracious, you are so pretty!” It wasn’t a lie—the woman was flat-out gorgeous.

She chuckled at Maylee’s effusive compliment and took the bag from her. “Thank you. Follow me, and I’ll show you where you can sit.”

The interior of the jet was nothing like the time that she’d flown coach. Then, she’d been at the back of the plane and the ride was so bumpy that she’d felt like she’d ridden a bull all the way to NYC. They’d hit turbulence and it had given her nightmares so badly that she’d gone to the doctor for a prescription of relaxers, which were in her purse at the moment, for the next time she flew. She’d also been a middle seat, and had spent the entire terrifying flight squished between two fat businessmen, who’d looked terribly displeased at the thought of someone sitting in the middle seat. As if she could help it!

It hadn’t been an experience she’d wanted to repeat. The trepidation of flying had been on her mind this morning as she’d packed her suitcase, but double time pretty much won the argument every time. She had her pills. She’d be fine.

The smiling flight attendant led her in. “The first flight will be eight hours to Heathrow. We’ll refuel and then fly straight on to Bellissime.”

“Eight hours? Lordamercy,” Maylee said. “That’s longer than my cousin Bobbie Jo’s first marriage lasted.”

The attendant giggled. “It is long, but the second flight is only about four hours. And this is an overnight, so you can sleep.”

“Oh, I’ll be too riled up to sleep,” Maylee told her. And then the attendant stepped aside and Maylee got her first really good look at the private jet. “Lordamercy.”

It was like something out of a movie.

Soft golden lighting filled the cabin, the ceiling striated in a decorative seashell pattern designed to make the interior seem much bigger than it actually was. There were no ridiculously crowded—and claustrophobia-making—overhead compartments here. Instead, more lights were built into the ceiling, and beautiful carpeting in a soft, pale patterned brown lined the floor of the cabin. The few seats inside the cabin were enormous, made of a buttery leather, and a pretty table jutted out from each wall, accompanied by a flat-screen TV on an arm that could be pulled out so the seated occupant could watch whatever they wanted. Maylee counted eight of these seats, and in the back, there was another door to what must have been a private room. Flowers in small vases adorned each of the tabletops in the main cabins.

This was far nicer than her apartment. Lordamercy.

“What do you think?” The flight attendant was smiling at her, clearly seeing Maylee’s awe.

“It’s so . . . swanky. This is where we’re flying?” My goodness, they were paying her to fly in this jet? And then take a trip to Europe? Gracious, she didn’t know how she’d gotten so lucky. She couldn’t stop smiling, either.

The attendant laughed. “It is. Mr. Verdi is in the back room and doesn’t wish to be disturbed at the moment.” She inclined her head at the closed door. “Let’s put down your things and I’ll show you where the bathroom is. Just pick a spot.”

Maylee walked through the spacious cabin, running a hand over the silky-smooth leather of each seat before selecting one in the back. She wasn’t quite sure where employees were supposed to sit, but she guessed it wasn’t in the front. The back was always where the roughest ride was on a plane, right? She was pretty sure the boss wouldn’t want to sit there, then. Maylee picked a seat and sat down, then clasped her hands in her lap.

“This isn’t like a normal flight,” the attendant said. “So anything you need, you just let me know.”

She patted her purse, now in the seat beside her. “I have my panic pills in here.”

The attendant laughed and gave her a sympathetic look. “Afraid to fly?”

“Afraid of the crashing part,” Maylee admitted. “I haven’t flown much and it makes my heart race around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“Do you want a drink? I can make you a lovely cocktail.”

A cocktail? “That’d be very nice of you.”

She winked at Maylee. “How about a mojito?”

Maylee had never had one. How could she pass up a nice fancy drink? “That would be lovely.” She pulled out her purse. “Do you want to see my ID?”

The attendant giggled again. “Not necessary. This is a private flight. I’m sure you’re old enough.”

“I’m twenty-four,” Maylee admitted. She usually got carded, though. It was probably her silly curls (which made her look young) and her freckled snub nose (which didn’t help) and her round cheeks (which certainly didn’t help). Without makeup, she normally looked like a teenager.

“I’m Megan,” the attendant said, and bustled away, her h*ps swaying in that awful nice suited jacket. Maylee smoothed her own polyester dress. She’d gotten it at Sears on sale. It had buttons going up in a fake seam and the jacket was attached to the skirt so the entire thing zipped up the back. It fit a bit like a sack, but it had been on sale, and you couldn’t ask for more than that. She’d just safety-pinned it in the worst spots and called it a day. Of course, she’d had to take those out when they’d wanded her at security, so it was a little loose at the moment.

As she waited for her drink, Maylee ran her hands along the smooth leather of the seats and tinkered with the buttons she could reach. Some were for air vents, some for lighting, and one let her call the attendant (which she didn’t press). There was a control for the television, earphones tucked into a pocket on the side of her chair, and a fancy little pillow and matching blanket just for her, if she wanted them. It was impressive. Heck, it was nicer than some motel rooms she’d stayed in. The motel she’d stayed in while searching for an apartment had water damage on the ceiling and she’d had to share a bathroom with everyone else on the floor.