§ § § -- September 12, 1997: Fantasy Island
"Okay, Melanie Downs, so tell me all about this movie I'm supposed to be the star of," Julian suggested. They'd gone to the stables and rented horses, and were now on a leisurely ride down one of the many well-marked trails through exotic tropical woodland.
"Well, you yourself aren't exactly the star…that is, you'll be portrayed by an actor," she said. "And see, this is the problem. I don't know which one would suit you. Ever since I started writing about you, you've been an enigma to everybody—even me."
"Yeah?" Julian glanced over at her with a faintly condescending amusement. "Does that mean you want me to tell you what I'm like, or what?"
Melanie lifted her chin and said, "That seems only fair. Don't forget, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't even exist."
He snorted. "I still don't understand that, but all right, whatever you say. I guess you might say that what you see is what you get. Six-foot-one, black hair, brown eyes, hundred and fifty pounds…give or take…agent for World Intelligence, based out of a secret bunker in a secret location, country unknown to the public at large. And—apparently according to you—ladies' man, good-time guy, and general all-around rake."
"I know all that," said Melanie. "But who is Julian Noble inside, down deep? I mean, do you keep in touch with your parents? Any brothers and sisters? Keep an apartment someplace with a dog or a cat? Ever want to get married and have kids? What sort of things do you enjoy? Hobbies? What kind of music do you like? Ever watch movies, read books, play sports? What characteristics do you like and hate in people?"
"Holy hell on wheels," Julian said, gaping at her. "If I'd known you were gonna get personal, I'd've taken off for less inquisitive pastures hours ago."
"Dammit, Julian, just bear with me," Melanie said in exasperation. "I told you, I'm your creator. I won't necessarily expose all that for the world to see. It's for me personally, so I can write about you more accurately."
"Yeah," Julian muttered, drawing the word out with great skepticism. "Well, I can tell you one thing—I hate nosy people. Put that in your little black book."
"You're a cad," Melanie said, rolling her eyes. "That's something I learned about you all by myself, just now. I think it'll be easier to choose someone to play you now: all I have to do is pick the rudest, most egotistical actor in the bunch." She spurred her horse onward in agitation. Julian, however, wouldn't be left behind and urged his own horse ahead, easily catching up with Melanie.
"Wait, Melanie, I apologize," Julian called out, making her pull her horse to a halt and stare at him in disbelief. Julian stopped his mount and actually smiled at her, which proved to be her undoing. She smiled back, unable to resist the immense appeal of his very handsome face. Julian nodded. "Looks much better. Okay, okay…let's see. My parents are still alive, yes, but I haven't contacted them in years. I'm not allowed to stay in touch with any of my family—which includes two brothers and a sister. And me, get married and have kids? Even if I were inclined toward that sort of thing—which I'm not—no marriage would ever withstand the kind of work I do. Kids to me are one of those little evils that you can't seem to avoid. No dogs, no cats, not even a goldfish. I live in hotels around the world because I'm always working. That give you some idea?"
"So you're about as free a free bird as any that ever existed," Melanie said. "That fits the image in the books so far. But I think you should learn to relax and enjoy yourself. I'll have to figure out what kind of books you'd read and what sort of movies you'd watch."
"I already know that," Julian said flatly, "and I don't need you telling me. No time to either read or go to a movie."
"I'll see to it that you get time," Melanie decided. "Starting right now. How about some lunch? I'm hungry, aren't you?"
"Yeah, now that you mention it," Julian agreed. "I wonder what kind of food they have on this island."
Melanie grinned and informed him, "Fantasy Island is the most popular resort on earth. There's a waiting list months long to have a fantasy granted, and you have to book your vacation at least a couple of years in advance. This is a five-star resort, no matter what travel guidebook you're consulting. Nothing but the best around here."
"Lead on, then," Julian said, gesturing, and she cheerfully sent her horse on down the path, looking forward to spending more time with him.
§ § § -- September 12, 1997: Tokyo, Japan
The long flight chased the sun, so Leslie didn't lose too much of her Saturday in transit. For that she was glad; her time was limited for several reasons, and she wanted to make the most of it. She stared in amazement at the enormous city below her as the plane approached the airport, and bit her lip, consulting some carefully-compiled notes in her carry-on bag. She was to meet the limousine outside the nearest exit to the baggage carousel where she would retrieve her suitcase, and from there she need only relax till she reached the hotel and checked in.
It was most of another hour before she had settled into the limo, and for the first time she found herself shaking from anticipatory nerves. Trying to distract herself, she watched the city slide past the windows as the big car glided down one street after another. It struck her by surprise to realize that Japanese drivers drove on the left, as in England. The streets here were often quite narrow and pedestrians choked the sidewalks.
It was another half hour before they reached the hotel, and the driver carried Leslie's suitcase into the lobby for her before taking his leave. She checked in and was given a key for a room on the eighth floor. Thanking the delighted clerk with a "domo arigato" and a bow, Leslie lifted the suitcase and her carry-on and headed to the elevator, once more feeling those abdominal tremors.
When the car came to a stop at the proper floor, a dainty little chime sounded, making her grin, and the doors opened. She emerged to find a figure relentlessly pacing the floor. As soon as she stepped out, the figure stopped, whipped around and ran right for her, catching her in a bear hug. "Whoa!" she exclaimed involuntarily, laughing.
"My Leslie Rose, you're here at last!" cried Prince Christian Carl Tobias Enstad of Lilla Jordsö, whirling her around once before setting her back onto the floor and studying her face. She gazed right back at him; he was much as she remembered him, with the same glossy chestnut-colored hair, hazel eyes that just now gleamed with joy, and infectious grin. "Do you know how crazy I've been all day today, waiting for you to get here?"
"How long have you been wearing out the carpet in here, anyway?" Leslie teased him, beaming. "I've been practically sick with nervous anticipation ever since I took off from Fantasy Island, you know." She sobered then and bit her lip again, eyeing him through her bangs. "Father doesn't know I came here primarily to see you."
Christian gave her a look of mock reproach. "Shame on you, Leslie Hamilton—keeping secrets from your own father!" He grinned, unable to tamp down his jubilance at being with her once more. "I'm sure that what he doesn't know won't hurt him."
"Oh, you don't know my father," Leslie remarked, smiling ruefully. "He knew something was up, and I'll probably get the third degree after I get back home. But look…I'm here now, so why don't we get out of this lobby so I can change into more comfortable clothes and we can sit down and really talk."
"Talk?" Christian echoed blankly, picking up her suitcase as he spoke. "You were planning to talk? I was going to do something else with those lips." His over-the-shoulder glance was comically suggestive, and Leslie burst out laughing.
"Rogue," she said. "Come on, let's go."
In her hotel room, he dropped her suitcase, took her overnight bag away from her and tossed it onto the bed, then pulled her close and kissed her the way they'd both been longing for. Leslie discovered instantly that he still had that same effect on her, making her forget everything on earth. As he kissed her, his hands roamed in urgent caresses. Not till he had released her did her conscience suddenly jab her, and she lowered her head in consternation. Christian slipped two fingers under her chin and lifted it right back up. "What's wrong, my Leslie Rose?"
She hesitated. What she wouldn't give to let herself go around this man…but there were just too many obstacles in the way. "Where's Marina?" she asked at last.
"Out shopping," he said. "She does plan to be here so that we can all have dinner together." He didn't need to ask her why she wanted to know; they both knew her reasons, and the thought sobered them. But there was torment in his hazel eyes. "Let me assure you, my darling, Marina wouldn't care."
"Father would," said Leslie. "And I came to live with him early enough in my life that his ethical sense rubbed off on me. However platonic yours and Marina's marriage is, the fact remains that you're married, no matter what. Even though it's a political match, even though there's no love between the two of you—it doesn't matter. You're married, and that puts you off limits, period." She closed her eyes and shook her head a little. "It kills me to say that. I can read your face, and believe me, I want the same thing. But it just wouldn't feel right."
Christian searched her face for a very long moment before drawing in a slow, deep breath. "Yes, I can see that, and deep inside, I agree with you. I can't understand how you've stayed under control like this—I know you've not been with a man since your husband's death seven years ago. I've been celibate since I met you; but that's been only a little more than a year, and I sometimes have dreams that would mortify you to hear about. I don't know how you do it."
Leslie shrugged. "Depends on the circumstances, I think. I wasn't interested in another man till you came along, so it wasn't hard for me." She smiled wistfully up at him. "But it is now…yet that ethical sense that Father instilled in me is a strong deterrent."
"So it seems," sighed Christian, releasing her with great reluctance. "In that case, I think we'd better find another subject to focus on."
"Agreed." Leslie settled onto the bed and removed her shoes, wiggling her toes. "How long were you and Marina in England, anyway?"
"Five days," Christian said and sighed again, this time in weary fashion, sinking into a chair and raking his hand through his hair. "The funeral was exhausting, and I believe it's the saddest event I've ever attended in my royal capacity. Everyone truly loved Princess Diana. It was quite the shock to hear of her death."
Leslie nodded. "Hard to believe it's already been two weeks. My friends and Father and I were watching the funeral on TV. I think the whole island was. What an incredibly sad thing to happen! Was your whole family there?"
"Yes, we all went as a group," Christian said. "My niece, Anna-Kristina, had met Diana on a few occasions, and she cried throughout the ceremony and the procession. More than anyone else, I felt sorriest for Diana's two sons. The princes will find it difficult without their mother, I fear." At that moment the telephone rang, and Leslie blinked in amazement before grabbing it.
"Hello?" she said curiously.
"Leslie, you're here! Hello!" said Marina's soft voice with cheerful warmth. "I just thought I would call to tell you I've returned from my shopping trip, and if you would join Christian and me for dinner, I would be very happy."
"We'll be up shortly," Leslie said. "Thank you, Marina." She hung up and relayed this to Christian, who nodded.
"If I can't make love to you, I may as well eat," he said with mock resignation.
Leslie gave him a wicked little grin. "Well, no wonder you're so fat." He jumped out of the chair as if to attack, and she exploded with laughter. "Just let me change and we can go on up. Don't worry, you're still gorgeous."
"Nice of you to say so," Christian snorted, but grinned. "All right, then, hurry."