The Billionaire Prince’s Fake Girlfriend by Leslie North

9

They’d stayed up most of the night, doing research on the leads they’d found in the hospital records. There wasn’t much overlap with the people from the London party, but according to Patrick, “Kate” had been to Reinia at least once, and she might not have even been at the London party.

Ben found it discouraging, but Jane was excited. Based on proximity and attendance at university, she thought that the most likely candidate was Katherine Carr. All her journalist instincts were tingling: this was the right woman, and her daughter Jess was the best candidate they had for Ben’s half-sister. At around three in the morning, they’d been able to track down Katherine’s address in Reinia, not far from the palace. They decided that an in-person visit was probably best... so they didn’t warn their candidate of why they were visiting, or give her a chance to hide, or possibly come up with a cover story or lie.

Now, several hours later, they were at Katherine Carr’s doorstep. The neighborhood was picture-book nice, as so much of Reinia seemed to be, with cheery flowers and well-maintained lawns. This house seemed small, the yard the size of a stamp, almost like a cottage.

They were trying to be discreet. Ben was wearing his disguise, hair pulled back, a cable-knit sweater, and a pair of wool slacks that despite his efforts still made him look elegant. Jane was wearing a simple skirt, blouse, and jacket with a pair of low heels, looking both friendly and unassuming. Her pulse was racing, and Ben seemed... well, he seemed freaked out, to be honest. She supposed in his position, she would be, too. They were literally on the cusp of finding his half-sister, and discovering whether his father had lied, both to his son and his wife, as well as the country. It was a big, scary step.

She found herself squeezing his hand in encouragement. He looked surprised, then squeezed back, before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door of the little picturesque cottage, not far from the center of town. It took several minutes, but the door eventually opened. To Jane’s surprise, a cute, befuddled looking elderly woman answered the door in jogging pants and a flower-patterned top, an apron over everything. “Yes? May I help you?”

Jane looked at Ben, who looked equally puzzled. “Ah... I’m sorry. I’m looking for Katherine Carr?” he said hesitantly.

“You’ve found her, dear,” the woman said, with a broad smile and twinkling blue eyes. Then, she actually got a good look at Ben and gasped. “Prince Ben? I mean... that is... Your Highness?”

He smiled back, but shot another quick look at Jane. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Jane was shocked. This could not possibly be the mother of Ben’s half-sister. She was easily eighty years old. Maybe it was Katherine’s mother? Or...

Jane shook her head, trying to make it all make sense.

“How may I help you?” the woman said. “Please, come in. I was just making some tea.”

Ben and Jane followed her, at a loss. The house was just as cozy and quaint on the inside. She had a number of teacups that she’d obviously collected, as well as houseplants. An orange marmalade cat sat on the windowsill, enjoying the sun. It gave them a regal look of disdain before turning back to sunbathing.

Jane took the seat that Katherine gestured to, Ben flanking her. She could see Ben considering his answer. “I’ve decided to surprise some people in the kingdom,” Ben said slowly. He was so bad at lying, Jane thought, and wondered how this was going to work. He really would’ve been terrible as an undercover investigator. “I, ah, wanted to ask some questions, get to know the citizens of Reinia. See if there’s anything I can do to help, as their future king.”

Katherine had hearts in her eyes. “That is so thoughtful,” she said, then offered them some tea. Jane accepted her cup absently, and Ben demurred.

“First, a bit about you,” he asked gently. “Are you married? Have any children, or other family in Reinia?”

“I was married fifty years, before Stanley died,” Katherine said, with a small, sad smile. “We had three children—all boys. My oldest, that’d be Stan junior, he lives over in Fervia, works as a banker. My middle son Edgar lives in France, as a chef. And my youngest, Jeremiah? He lives right here on the island. He’s a carpenter. They’re all good boys.”

“What are their ages?” Jane pressed.

Katherine looked surprised, then tapped her chin, thinking. “Let’s see… Stanley would be fifty-seven now, good heavens. And Edgar, he’s fifty-five. Jeremiah was our surprise baby, so he’s only forty-two.”

She bit her lip. There was no way this woman was the mother of Ben’s half-sibling. Even if the original sonogram had been wrong, and the baby hadn’t been a girl... the dates were wrong. The youngest child was too old.

How had she screwed this up? Where had things jumped the tracks?

Ben finally wrapped things up with Katherine, even giving her a hug and thanking her for her input. They got back into the limo. “Well, she was a wonderful woman,” he said with a nod, “but not the woman I was looking for, I take it.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Jane said, tugging at her hair. “I’ll know more when we get back to the palace and look at the files. I mean, she had the right name. She’s exactly who we tracked down. It’s not like there was more than one Katherine Carr on the island,” she grumbled. A little panicky flutter hit her stomach, and she tried desperately to ignore it.

“Hey. Hey,” he said, then took her hand. She’d been fidgeting, twisting her fingers together, and hadn’t even realized it. “You’re the one who’s always telling me to be patient. That it takes time to track down leads, and there’s going to be dead ends and wrong turns. You said that, right?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“So it’s a setback,” he said easily, and to her surprise, he chucked her chin, before grinning at her. “We’ll just cross her off the list, go to the next one. I have every confidence that we’ll get there.”

She nodded, but still bit at her lower lip nervously as the feeling of wrongness permeated her gut.

When they got back to the palace, they headed straight for his suite, and she dove into their leads. It was currently a pile of handwritten sticky notes and the copied paperwork. She quickly shuffled through the sheaf of paper, looking for Katherine...

She winced. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Ben looked over her shoulder.

“I... I don’t know how this happened.” She stared at the name on the paperwork. “I got the name wrong. Katherine Barr. Not Katherine Carr!”

He blinked.

“I... I must have had some kind of... brain hiccup,” she said, horror rising in her chest. “I ignored my notes, too damned sure that I knew it because I never forget anything. I was thinking of the wrong name, so I then looked up the wrong name, and tracked that wrong name down... oh my God.”

“It’s all right,” he said easily, then stared at her. “What’s wrong? You’ve gone pale. It’s not that big a deal.”

Her stomach roiled. He tugged her, setting her on the edge of the bed. She sat there, shell-shocked, as he got her a cup of water, which she sipped mindlessly.

How could she have made so stupid, so simple a mistake?

It was like ice crawled down her spine.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Ben said, taking the glass from her, putting it on a nearby table, then sitting at her side, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Talk to me. Why is this so important? Why are you scared?”

She swallowed. Ordinarily, she’d be able to rally... to brush it off. But she hadn’t messed up like this, ever.

“I never make mistakes like this.”

“So you’re not perfect,” he teased gently.

“No. I never make mistakes like this,” she emphasized, and he sobered immediately, which she was grateful for. “I deal with names and facts every day. I research for hours. This... this was beyond simple. This was stupid.”

“Perhaps you’re being too hard on yourself,” he said, stroking her arm and cuddling her closer. She wanted to turn into his warmth, breathe in his comforting scent. “We worked really late last night. It could’ve happened to anyone.”

But that wasn’t what scared her. She took a deep breath. “One of the symptoms of EFAD—that’s early-onset familial Alzheimer’s disease,” she clarified, “is the sudden inability to do simple, routine tasks.”

She felt him tense beside her. She gave in to the impulse, resting her head against his chest.

“Has this happened before?” he asked, and she could feel his deep voice rumble through his chest, beneath her ear.

She shook her head. “But I’ve always been afraid of it,” she murmured. “Memory loss. Suddenly losing time. Losing the ability to do the things that make me, me.”

They were quiet for a few long minutes. His warmth and half-embrace were comforting, and she found herself nestling closer, as if that could keep her safe.

“So it’s genetic?” he asked. “Hereditary?”

She didn’t tell most people about her mother—or about her possible condition. “It can be,” she said. “If you have the faulty gene, you’re more likely to succumb to the condition. It’s not a death sentence, but after seeing what ultimately happened to my mother...” She shivered.

“Can you get tested for this gene?”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Yes.”

He paused. “I take it you haven’t had the test,” he said slowly.

She gritted her teeth, pulling away slightly. “No,” she said. “I suppose that makes me a coward. I’ve been into the geneticist’s office a few times—they insist on counselling prior to requesting the test. And it... frightened me. They ask about where you are in life, and why you want to know. Warn that it could mess with you, if you found out and weren’t psychologically prepared. They even asked about relationships, and if I wanted to have children, and what I wanted to do if I knew I could pass the gene on.”

“That sounds harrowing,” he said, cuddling her. “And no, I don’t think you’re a coward.”

She blinked up at him. “You don’t?”

Because frankly, she had felt that about herself.

“No,” he said quietly. “You’re one of the most fearless women I’ve ever met. You go after the truth like a warrior, and you don’t let anything stop you. You’re brave and intelligent and wonderful.”

Her mouth fell open a little.

“But you’ve also been up for most of the night,” he continued, tugging her back on the bed and lifting the cover. Absently, she kicked off her shoes and climbed in, the feeling of the mattress like a dream. “You’ve worked yourself into exhaustion, and so have I. I think this is a simple mistake, because we’ve been working too hard. You need rest. You can’t just work on journalistic zeal alone.”

She smiled at him. He comforted her, almost effortlessly. “How do you do that?” she whispered.

He blinked at her. “Do what?”

“Make me feel better,” she said, and he laughed.

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, brushing a wayward curl out of her face. He seemed to be making a habit of that, and she liked it. “Is there anything else I can do?”

She felt stupid, but she found she couldn’t help herself. “Could you hold me?” she said, in a tiny voice. “Trust me, I never ask this of anyone, but...”

“Again: my pleasure,” he said, and to her surprise, he climbed under the covers with her, pulling her to him. She could feel the easy cadence of his breathing, and his warmth was like a bath, permeating her, soothing her.

She looked up at him, only to find his dark eyes looking back at her, swirling with emotions she couldn’t identify.

She tilted her head up, moving closer.

He tilted down, meeting her halfway.

They kissed, slowly, softly. With no intent other than to enjoy each other, to comfort, to show that in the bubble of this bed, they were together.

He pulled away, causing her to let out a little whimper of protest.

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” he breathed against her temple. “It’ll be better when you wake up.”

She sighed, then closed her eyes and let herself slip into sleep.