The Crown Jewels Boxed Set (A Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy Series)

by Melanie Summers

  “Oh, Mum…” A lump forms in my throat, choking out my words.

  “No. It’s okay. You can’t help but be caught up in his family, in his way of doing things. It’s how it has to be if you’re going to survive your new life. And I’m happy for you. I truly am. You’re going to get to live a life so much larger than anything I had imagined for you.” Tears fill her eyes, and she reaches across the table and touches my cheek. “It’s a good thing. Arthur is a very good man. But it means I need to let go of the dream I had for you since the first time I held you in my arms. Because you’re going to trade it in for something so much better. I know it sounds silly but, in a strange way, I’m grieving.”

  Tears fill my eyes, and I nod quickly, holding her hand on my cheek. “It doesn’t sound silly. The truth is, I’m terrified of all of this. There are moments when I wish Arthur was something else—a mechanic like Dad, or a pharmacist, or…anything else than what he is. I’m terrified I won’t be able to become who I need to be. But I’m equally scared of becoming her and forgetting who I once was.”

  “Me, too.”

  Me, too? Isn’t she supposed to tell me there’s no way that’ll happen, and I’ll never change?

  “I’m afraid you’ll be walking a tight rope for your entire life, but one with great rewards along the way.”

  Well, that wasn’t very comforting, now was it?

  ****

  It’s almost lunchtime on Thursday, and I’m standing in the boardroom at The Weekly Observer office, staring at the incredible mess I’ve made. Stacks of photographs cover every inch of the table, the chairs, and the floor, allowing me only a very small space in which to make my way around the table.

  I’ve been working on this project for the last several days now, and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight. Trying to organize these first by year, then by subject is proving to be a hair- pulling experience. It doesn’t help that my mind keeps wandering to the massive wedding preparation list I have waiting for me when I get off work every day. Unlike most brides, I need to familiarize myself with twelve different types of forks, spoons, and knives for any dining experience I should find myself in once Arthur and I are married. I also must learn to speak with the eloquence of Grace Kelly, and exactly how one learns to do that, I’m not sure. Then there’s dress-fittings with Olivia Paul, finalizing the guest list for the big event, trying to tone my arms (I know, I know, but I still want toned arms), which requires more exercise than I can fit into my schedule. Oh, and I shouldn’t forget that with Christmas quickly approaching, I need to find the perfect gifts for my future in-laws, who truly do have everything, on a budget that pretty much only allows for me to make macaroni jewelry for them.

  I mean, honestly, what do you buy a woman like Princess Arabella, who can snap her fingers and have any designer in the world appear to make clothing for her? A pair of socks from Old Navy? And it’s not like she can use kitchen gadgets or has any need for gardening tools or fancy loose teas.

  I open the last box of photos and freeze, a slow smile spreading across my face. I may have just found a way to strike something off my list.

  FOURTEEN

  Waterloo

  Arthur

  Today is a day that will require the use of all my years of education and experience in both diplomacy and international relations. The Sharpes and Baz, the tiny, rude wedding planner, are coming back to the palace for the second wedding-planning session. Unbeknownst to Tessa, I’ll be sitting in on the entire two-hour meeting to let that little dickhead know exactly how I feel about his suggestion that Tessa starve herself until the wedding.

  There’s also the matter of the financial aspect of the wedding. This, I shall have to approach lightly so as not to insult my future father-in-law, who has only slightly warmed up to me in the past few weeks. There is absolutely no way he will be able to afford even the booze tab, even if he bankrupted himself to do it. But since this is not exactly something you can say to another man, I shall have to find a way to get him off the hook for the cost of everything while keeping his dignity intact. Tricky business, this.

  I collect my notebook and pen and make my way towards the nuptial planning headquarters at the far end of the palace. When I arrive, I see Tessa standing in the corner with her parents, engaged in what appears to be a very tense conversation. Her face lights up when she sees me, and I stride over to them.” Good morning, Evi, Ruben.”

  I shake Ruben’s hand and give Evi a kiss on the cheek, at which she blushes a deep red. I wink at Tessa, who I don’t need to say good morning to because she spent the night last night for the first time in weeks.

  “Artie, glad you’re here,” Ruben says, showing that, apparently, he’s coming around. “We need to sort out how we’ll split the cost on this whole thing.”

  “Yes, indeed. I received the budget earlier this morning from the planning team, so we should be able to figure that all out now.”

  “Excellent.” He nods. “Hate having these things hang over my head. Mum’s brought the checkbook in her purse.”

  “No, I haven’t,” Evi says. “You said you were bringing it.”

  “No, I didn’t. I asked you to get it when I was on the way out to warm up the van.”

  “Is that what you were mumbling about while I was on the phone?”

  “Well, you’re the one who’s always saying you can have three conversations at once and never miss a word.”

  “Not when I’m on the phone with Grace next door,” Evi huffs.

  Ruben throws his hands up in the air, then drops them to his sides. “Oh, bugger—now I’m going to have to drive all the way home and pick it up.”

  “No need, Ruben. None of the bills will be paid today anyway, and I believe my assistant, Vincent, has taken care of any deposits that were due already.”

  Ruben shakes a finger at me. “Now, don’t go thinking you can sneak behind my back and pay for this whole affair. I intend to do my part.”

  “I know you do. You’re a man of your word. But the thing is, it’s hardly fair for us to split the costs evenly when my family’s the one creating ninety-eight percent of the expenses. Plus, you’ve already paid more than your share of taxes over the years, so in a way, it’s like you’ve been pre-paying for the wedding. What if—for now—you cover Tessa’s dress, and then if we end up in a crunch later, we’ll come to you for help?”

  Ruben stares at me, and for one awful moment I think he’s about to get very angry, but then he nods. “You make a good point, Arthur. All right. I’ll cover the dress.”

  A loud clapping sound interrupts our conversation, and one of Baz’s minions—the female one—calls out, “Baz is on his way in. Everyone, take your seats please. Let’s be ready!”

  Oh, I don’t think so. Turning to Ruben, I smile. “Let’s grab some scones before we sit down.”

  Ruben grins over at me, catching on immediately. In an act of shared defiance, we deliberately take our sweet time selecting a pastry.

  Her voice grows louder. “Baz is coming down the hall. Please, take your seats.”

  “Sounds like she’s starting to panic a little,” Ruben says under his breath, giving me a sly grin.

  “Well, selecting the right pastry is not a decision that can be rushed, now is it?”

  The tall, skinny minion pipes up. “Your Highness, excuse me, but Baz has a very strict no eating rule during meetings.”

  Baz walks into the room just as he finishes saying this. He stops in his tracks and stares at us.

  I give Baz a slight nod. “Yes, well, I have a strict ‘always eat during wedding planning sessions’ policy, and so does my future father-in-law here. And since we’re footing the bill, I’m pretty sure we can do it.”

  Ruben chuckles a little as he balances two very gooey, enormous treats on a very small plate. By the time the two of us saunter over to the table and sit down, Baz seems to have developed a twitch in his jaw. He stands at the end of the table in fron
t of the whiteboard, with a strange smile on his face. “Your Highness, I didn’t realize you’d be joining us today.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ve cleared my entire morning.” I pull a piece of the warm raspberry scone apart and pop it into my mouth with a grin.

  “Okay, people. We’re at the three-month mark. If you’ve bothered to read the packet, you’ll know this is the most critical time in wedding planning. We’ve been through the invitation list, and we’ve got precisely two weeks to get them sent out. As it stands, we have fourteen-hundred guests on the groom’s side and one hundred sixty-eight on the bride’s side, although, as of this morning, eighteen more of those people don’t look as though they’ll pass the vetting process. Because invitations are mailed out ten weeks in advance, my entire team will be on this steadily for the next twelve days. Once we get past mail-out, this wedding is a go. There will be no stopping it at that point.”

  “Good,” I say, “because we have no intention of stopping it.”

  Baz snaps his fingers, and the skinny minion immediately retrieves a bottle of water and hand towel from his bag. He hands it to his little boss, who dabs at his forehead, then takes a swig of water. “Okay. Guest list is done, so let’s move along to the next item.”

  “The guest list is not settled,” I say.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve had a look at the reasons for rejecting many of the guests on the Sharpe side, and I reject your rejection.”

  Baz opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again. “You reject my…you can’t reject my rejection. Each person has gone through an extremely thorough vetting process.”

  “I don’t agree with your reasons. Forty-two of them have been cut because of their postal codes.”

  “Postal codes provide an accurate assessment of income level and can be extrapolated to infer the political stance. Those forty-two people will cause you problems. I can guarantee it.”

  I raise one eyebrow. “And I can guarantee that not including them will create even bigger problems for Mr. and Mrs. Sharpe, so I’m willing to take a bullet on this one.”

  “You very well might,” he says with a smug smile.

  “It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Add them back to the list.”

  “Fine.” Baz nods to the female minion. “The next item on the agenda is an update on the bride’s weight issue, but I can see by looking that she’s made very little progress so far.” He wrinkles up his nose and stares down at her.

  I slide my plate in front of her and say, “Darling, what say you finish this for me? I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.”

  Tessa grins over at me and takes a bite of the scone.

  Baz nods. “Okay, I see what’s happening here. She’s gone whining to you about what I said, and now you’re pretending she’s perfect just the way she is so you won’t have to be the bad guy. That’s fine. You’re paying me to be the bad guy so I can do the job.” He turns to Tessa. “Put down the scone. “

  “She’ll do no such thing. She’ll eat what she wants, when she wants. Tessa is absolute perfection exactly the way she is, and I won’t have anyone—even the world’s second foremost wedding planner—telling her she needs to starve herself.”

  “You’re making a very big mistake, Your Highness.” Baz closes his iPad case and makes to leave.

  “No, you’re the one making the big mistake. How long do you think it will take for me to convince all my single, rich, influential friends that you’re incompetent?”

  He stops where he is and glares at me.

  “I will do it, Sebastian. My preference would, of course, be for us to resolve this little matter in a way that’s satisfactory to me and to Tessa so that you continue your work. But if that’s not possible, we’ll gladly go in another direction.”

  I watch as his nostrils flare. He stares at me for a long moment, then opens his iPad case and says, “Item number three, final menu selection.”

  Oh, I am so getting lucky later…

  ****

  “That.” Pant. “Was.” Pant. “Fucking amazing.” I try to roll off Tessa, but she pulls me back down and kisses me some more. When she finally lets me go, I lie on my back and grab a tissue so I can dispose of my heir-stopper. “Uh-oh.”

  “What uh-oh?” she answers lazily.

  “It’s gone.”

  “What’s gone? Your brain? Because mine is nowhere to be found at the moment.” She sighs happily.

  “The condom.”

  “What?” Tessa sits up quickly. “What do you mean it’s gone?”

  “You know how you kept me in there for more delicious snogging? I think by the end, I was…worn out and…”

  “Oh, my God! Are you serious? It’s still in me?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  She reaches under the sheet and wiggles around for a moment, her tongue sticking out over her top lip. After waiting for what feels like an hour, I say, “Need some help?”

  “No! Definitely not. I can get it.”

  I watch some more while she squirms and grunts a bit, then she finally goes very still. “It’s lost.”

  “Lost? Well, it can’t have gone far,” I say with a slight chuckle. “Your arms just aren’t long enough for you to retrieve it.”

  “Yes, I gathered that, thanks,” she says, now with a slight edge to her voice.

  “It’s no problem. I can get it.” I prop myself up on one elbow and turn on the bedside lamp.

  “Shut it off! You can’t go…digging around in there with the lights on.”

  “Well, I’m hardly going to find it in the dark.”

  “Nope, I can’t let you do this. It’s too embarrassing. Sorry.”

  “Would you rather I call one of the maids to help?”

  She closes her eyes for a moment and breathes out loudly through her nose, reminding me of an angry bull. Not that I’d ever tell her that.

  “Oh, fine. Just get it over with.”

  I sit up and tug at the sheet to pull it down, but she’s got a firm grip on it.

  “Do you really need to take the sheet off?”

  “Have you forgotten I’ve spent many a happy hour down there?” I say, gesturing with my head.

  “Yes, but not with the lights on…or for condom-removal purposes.”

  “And yet, the situation does require me to remove a condom, and I imagine you’d prefer me to do it sooner rather than later.”

  “Okay,” she groans.

  “Tell you what, cover your face with your hands so you don’t have to watch,” I say in a light tone as I move to the end of the bed. “Good God, your knees are really locked together.”

  “They do that at the gynecologist, too.”

  “Try to relax, Ms. Sharpe. I’ll be in and out before you know it.”

  “That’s what he said.” She lets out a little laugh.

  “Christ, I hope not,” I mutter. “Tessa, please try to just let your knees fall to the sides.”

  I look up at her, and she has her arm slung over her eyes, her cheeks bright pink with embarrassment. Clearly, I’m going to have to ease the tension.

  I put on my Attenborough tone and say, “The human male has his work cut out for him. Not only is he dealing with a very skittish female, but time is of the essence. He has just minutes to find the condom before the sperm escapes and impregnates the female. If he doesn’t manage to unlock her knees, this could be the moment that sparks a tremendous scandal.”

  Tessa bursts out laughing, her legs finally relaxing.

  Hmm, that was easy. Might as well keep going. “With the female now relaxed, he’s in position to retrieve the all-important heir-stopper. He’s going to have to go in with a gentle touch and a long reach in order to get the job done.”

  I keep talking while I do what I have to for another minute or so. Good God, that condom went very far up there. Oh, there it is. “And, jackpot! He’s managed to find the elusive condom and
will now dispose of all evidence, then open a bottle of Champagne so the pair can forget this awkward incident ever occurred in the first place.”

  Tessa pulls the sheet up around her. “You can probably knock off the Nature Channel thing now…”

  “Righto.”

  FIFTEEN

  Enchanted Castles at Christmas

  Tessa

  “You’re skipping Christmas with your family?” Nikki says into the phone.

  “Yes, and I can tell you my parents are none too pleased.” I’m currently at my desk in a now empty office. Everyone else has gone for lunch, so I’ve managed to sneak in a phone call to Nikki.

  “Arthur asked me to go to Didsbury to stay at the castle with his family for three days. I really need to get in some face time with Arabella.”

  “But still, Christmas?”

  “I know. I feel horrible. My mum looked so hurt when I told her, but once I explained it, she understood. I think.”

  “Huh.”

  “I’m going to make it up to them. I’m making a big brunch on the twenty-seventh.”

  “Oh, the traditional two-days-after-Christmas-guilt-brunch. How lovely.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Speaking of the hens’ weekend, have you figured out when we can go so I can book flights?”

  “We weren’t—”

  “Yes, I know, but if I don’t bring it up, you never will,” she says. “I can get us a crazy good deal if we go in March.”

  “Where, exactly, are we going?”

  “I thought we said Ibiza.”

  “No one said Ibiza, which is a terrible idea, by the way.”

  “Come on. I need some sun and men who’ve had lots of sun so they have nicely tanned muscles for me to gawk at. The men in England are all so pale and covered up. We might as well just stay here if we’re going to London.”