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

by Melanie Summers

  “And that’s the one thing I can’t let you do. I know how to apologize, I know how to keep my mouth shut, and I know how to agree to whatever is needed in order to control some of the damage.” I set my jaw. “Now, I’m not going to stand behind you while you fight my battles, so if you don’t mind, please get out of my way.”

  “It’s your funeral.”

  “Fine. Bring on the bagpipes.”

  ****

  In hindsight, insisting on attending the meeting wasn’t the smartest of the choices I’ve made. Things didn’t go quite the way I had hoped. I had expected to be able to make a humble and heartfelt apology to the king in the presence of a couple of his advisors, have him accept, then leave triumphant. Instead, I walked into a room of over thirty people in suits, several of whom serve on the public relations team, and none of whom would address me directly. I then sat through lengthy security footage of the entire incident which caused me to feel quite nauseated, at which point I began burping loudly and repeatedly. The next humiliating twenty minutes were spent watching various news reports from around the globe, including translations of what the Spanish media had to say on the matter. And I don’t think I have to tell you that none of it was even the slightest bit flattering. Apparently, I have earned a new nickname—’The Countess of Catastrophes’—for obvious reasons.

  Oh, and it turns out a bookie in Monte Carlo has set up a pool giving three to one odds that Arthur and I will break up before the wedding, and four to one odds that Arthur will end up married to Brooke. They’ve had so many people betting, their website crashed, so that’s lovely to hear.

  Arthur, who was so pissed about me insisting on attending, barely looked at me when the entire humiliating meeting was over. He walked me as far as his office, keeping an unusually wide distance between us, then told me that he needed to go straight to work to put the final touches on the trade deal with Spain, so he trusted I could show myself out.

  I’m now in the staff washroom, standing in front of the long counter, staring at the disaster that is me in the mirror, hoping no one else comes in. I need to collect myself so I won’t start bawling the moment I get in the car with Xavier. In a matter of a few hours, I’ve managed to horribly injure an already physically disabled man, humiliate myself, start an international scandal, and piss off my fiancé beyond measure.

  The door opens, and in walks none other than Brooke Beddingfield. Well, isn’t that the cherry on top of my shit sundae?

  “Tessa, I was hoping I’d run into you.” She rushes over and gives me a hug, clearly just so I can smell her amazingly delicious perfume that she probably bottles herself. “You poor, poor girl. I can’t believe what bad luck you’ve got.”

  “Oh, hi Brooke.” I pull back and nod. “Yes, it’s been quite the weekend.”

  “I can tell just by looking at you that you’ve been through hell. You should be home in bed.”

  “Thanks, yeah. I’m going home now, actually.”

  “Good. Go lie down. Rest. Replenish those fluids.” She turns to the mirror, sets her Yves Saint Laurent Classic handbag on the counter, then fixes hairs that are not now nor ever will be out of place. “I can’t even imagine the pressure you must be under. The entire world watching you, waiting for you to succeed or fail. How are you coping with it all?”

  “Apparently not that well.” I put some soap on my hands, turn on the tap, then immediately regret it. Why didn’t I just walk out? “What are you doing in town?”

  “It’s my dad’s birthday. The big six-oh. I’m throwing him a huge party.” She gives me a dazzling smile, then her expression morphs back to sympathy. “But this has got to be so hard for the two of you. The media scrutiny, those ridiculous Twitter battles, and now this. It must wear on you both terribly. Arthur tried to deny it when I slept over, but I finally managed to get him talking about his many concerns. I really let him unload, you know? So important. But then, in the end, he said there’s no point in worrying about things you can’t change. He said, ‘Yes, it’s true that Tessa will always be a mechanic’s daughter, and probably also very accident-prone, but it doesn’t mean she’s not a good person.’”

  I turn off the tap and dry my hands on a towel, my entire body going numb as I listen to her speak. I’m trying to process all the shitty things she’s saying, but there are just too many of them, and I’m struggling to figure out what to focus on first. The part about her staying the night comes to mind immediately. “I’m sorry, when exactly did you stay over?”

  Brooke gasps and puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid I’ve spoken out of turn. I just assumed Arthur would tell you that we were stranded together during the ice storm.”

  “It must’ve slipped his mind,” I say, turning the tap back on and starting to wash my hands again so I don’t have to make eye contact. The hands again? Really, Tessa? She’s going to think you have OCD. “We’re both just so busy all the time.”

  “I’m sure that’s why.”

  When I glance up at her, she’s giving me a smug grin that I wouldn’t mind slapping off her beautiful face. “Anyway, please don’t be angry with him. I’m afraid we had too much wine, and he just really needed to unburden himself about some of the stresses that come along with getting married. He doesn’t really have a lot of people he can talk to about something so intimate, and he knows he can trust me.”

  “Well, that’s a great comfort for me, Brooke. Arthur needs true friends.” Oh, I think my posh lessons are paying off because what I really meant was ‘go fuck yourself.’

  “Well, I should really run. I’m here to see if Winston will bring his bagpipes to the party. He has such the hidden talent, doesn’t he?” She gives herself a quick once-over, presumably finding everything perfectly perfect, then plucks her bag off the counter. “And don’t worry about this silly scandal. It’ll blow over. Just keep reminding yourself how lucky you are to have landed Arthur. He’s beyond the whole package—gorgeous, refined, athletic, intelligent, future king. And as if that weren’t enough, he makes the most delicious eggs I’ve ever had.”

  “Yup. That’s him,” I bark as the door swings closed behind her.

  So much for calming down. When I walked in I was teary, and now I’ve added ragey to the mix. Breathe, Tessa, breathe.

  ****

  I know I should go home. I do. I should walk out the front door, go home, shower for about two hours, then sleep for twenty so I’ll calm down enough to discuss this whole thing rationally with Arthur. But sometimes a girl’s so angry, she storms past her fiancé’s assistants to his assistant, then past his assistant, and marches right into his office, bringing hell with her.

  Arthur, who is sitting at his desk, looking very busy and important, glances up at me without a smile. “I thought you’d have left by now.”

  My legs carry me to his desk with a sense of purpose. “I was on my way out when I ran into Brooke. I thought I should swing by your office and tell you that I’m not going to look the other way while you carry on with Dr. I’m-So-Perfect.”

  “Carry on…? What are you talking about?” His face fills with confusion.

  Oh, he’s good at the lying. He might even be ‘hashtag better than Barrett’ at it.

  I tilt my head and stare at him from under my eyebrows. “I’m talking about your little sleepover. You remember, the one with the cooking of the eggs and the drinking of the wine?”

  The door closes behind me, and I realize Vincent must have done it. I cringe internally with embarrassment, then get right back to being furious.

  Arthur’s mouth falls open. Busted. “I can—”

  Holding up one finger, I hiss, “Oh, do not say it. Don’t you dare say you can explain, because I’ve got that little speech memorized from my days with Barrett.” I put on a mocking tone and say, “‘We’re just friends. Nothing happened. It didn’t mean anything.’”

  Arthur’s tone remains even and calm, which only serves to irritate the shit out o
f me right now. “We are just old friends, and nothing did happen.”

  “Oh, something happened all right,” I spit out. “You got wasted and told her how terrible it is to be getting married to a commoner.”

  Arthur closes his eyes for a second and purses his lips. “I never said that. I was just talking about the Internet trolls.”

  “You didn’t say the bit about me being an accident-prone mechanic’s daughter?”

  “Yes, but that’s out of context.”

  “What could possibly be the right context for that?” I shout. “You know what? Don’t answer that. It really doesn’t matter because I’m not going to be with someone who lies to me.”

  “Now, wait. I didn’t lie—”

  “You just didn’t tell me, right? Totally different.” Sarcasm drips from my tongue. I turn on my heel and start for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back where I belong.”

  ****

  Instead of going home, where I know the press will be waiting, I have Xavier drive me to Nikki’s. I stand on the sidewalk and push the buzzer, holding it for over a minute before I hear her voice. “This better be life or death.”

  My voice cracks. “It’s me. Let me in.”

  When I get to her flat on the second floor, I dissolve.

  Nikki, who’s in her jammies already, doesn’t say anything, but just wraps her arms around me and lets me sob for a minute. When I feel like I can talk, I pull back and make my way to the couch to sit down.

  “Did you guys break up?”

  I shake my head. “No, but I think we’re going to.”

  “Oh, hon. I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”

  “It was awful. Humiliating on so many levels. Arthur wouldn’t even look at me the entire time, so everyone there knows he’s furious with me.” I sniffle, and Nikki hurries over to the kitchen to retrieve a box of tissues.

  “As if that weren’t bad enough, when I was leaving, that witch, Brooke Beddingfield, showed up at the palace—looking and smelling perfect, of course. She told me she slept over at the palace during the ice storm and she and Arthur got really drunk and he ‘unburdened’ himself about how stressed out he is to be marrying someone so far out of his class, which is just really shitty on so many levels.”

  “Wait. Back up. That’s too much information to process. They had a sleepover?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Like a sleepover with naked tickle fights sort of sleepover, or she just happened to have slept in one of the five thousand bedrooms at the palace?”

  “It’s five hundred, and I don’t know. Either way, he kept it from me and I’m pissed.” My stomach clenches at the thought of them doing anything naked. I take a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t think I can marry him, Nikki. Not if he’s going around telling people like her that he’s having second thoughts about me. It’s just such a betrayal.” My voice cracks. “And you know the worst part? He made her eggs, Nikki. Eggs.”

  “Umm, of everything you’ve just told me, that doesn’t seem like the worst part to me.”

  “You don’t get it. That’s our thing. His and mine. He makes these delicious eggs, and I pretend it’s the only reason I’m with him. But now that’s ruined because he made them for her.”

  “Ahh…and he kept it from you.”

  “And he kept it from me.”

  “Is it possible she’s lying?”

  “At this point I’d say anything is possible, but she definitely stayed the night—and I know without a doubt he lied about it.” I sigh. “Oh, shit, I just realized something. Remember how he’s been on his phone at all hours for the past few months? All secretive?”

  “That son of a bitch. If he’s messing around on you, I’m going to slice off his jewels with my thinning scissors. Hand to God.”

  TWENTY

  Where’s Dr. Phil When You Need Him?

  Arthur

  “You idiot.” Arabella’s voice cuts into a rather satisfying dream in which I’ve just saved Tessa from a hippo (considered the most dangerous animal in all of Africa, you know) and she was about to thank me.

  “Wake up!”

  I open my eyes. “Nice to see you, too.”

  “If you cost me the chance at having Tessa as my sister-in-law, I will never forgive you.” Arabella whips the curtains open, and a blinding light causes me to wince.

  “Wow, when you change your mind about someone, you really change your mind.”

  “Don’t think you can distract me, you arse.”

  “Arse? That’s hardly fair.”

  “It’s more than fair. Now get up, get dressed, and go fix what you broke before it’s too late.”

  “We had a little disagreement. It’s hardly a deal-breaker, so leave me alone.” I roll over and pull the covers over my head. “I’ve had almost no sleep over the past two days.”

  “How can you think of sleep at a time like this? You’re about to lose the love of your life.”

  “Wait. How did you know about any of this? Did Tessa call you?”

  “No. I heard from one of the staff this morning.”

  I raise one eyebrow. Arabella lifts her chin. “I’ll never tell, so don’t bother. Did you really sleep with Brooke?”

  “No. Of course not,” I snap. “She got caught here during the ice storm. She was here examining Grandmum. I made her some dinner. We had a few laughs. I walked her to one of the guest rooms. End of story.”

  “You cooked for her?”

  “Why is that such a big deal to you women? I had let the staff go already, so someone needed to make dinner.”

  “I don’t like it. It’s too cozy.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Turn her out onto the street?” Giving up on sleep, I start to get up, but Arabella covers her eyes with her hands and shrieks.

  “Don’t get up!”

  “Right.” I’m naked. Almost forgot. “Please wait in the living room until I’ve had a chance to put on some clothes.”

  “Fine.” She nods, then leaves, with Dexter trailing behind her.

  I lay back, staring at the ceiling and wishing I could just go back to sleep. Instead, I grumble as I force myself out of bed and throw on some sweatpants and a T-shirt. By the time I walk out into the living room, she and Dex are in a full-on lovefest, with him licking her cheek while she rubs behind his ears. When she sees me, she glares.

  “I know I should have told her at the time, but she wasn’t exactly in the best mood the next day, so I put it off.”

  “For three months?”

  Sighing, I grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. “This really is none of your business. You do realize that?”

  “It bloody well is. Tessa’s the best thing that’s happened to this family in a long time, and I’m not going to just sit back and watch you mess it up.”

  “I tried to apologize. She wasn’t ready to hear it, but I’m sure if I give her a day to cool off she’ll come around.”

  “So, you just left it like that? ‘Sorry, babe, come on by when you’re ready to forgive me?’”

  “First of all, I never call her ‘babe.’ Second, she wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise, then she stormed off. In case you didn’t notice she was a bit out of sorts yesterday, so the smart move was to just let her go. Third, this truly is None. Of. Your. Business. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go in search of a coffee.”

  “No, what you need to do is go in search of your fiancée.”

  “Relax. She’ll probably wake up this morning, realize she overreacted, and it’ll all be sorted out by lunch.”

  “Doubt it. I think you really stepped in it this time.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Phil, but I don’t require your advice on women.”

  ****

  Apparently, I do need advice on women, because it’s been two days and I haven’t heard a word from Tessa. I’ve texted, called, and emailed, but I’m getting nothing. N
ow I’m starting to get a little mad. The media is having a field day with the scandal, with the Amnesia security footage playing around the clock. The Spanish Trade Agreement is also setting off waves in the financial district, and I’m thanking my lucky stars that the referendum about whether to oust the Royal Family isn’t happening now, because I’m certain we’d lose. I’ve never had so many angry phone calls in my life.

  The top trending topic on Twitter since Sunday is #BrookeIsBetter, which shows no signs of slowing down. Things are getting really vicious now. Whoever he is has created meme with a photo of Brooke and me on top and a picture of Tessa kicking that chap onto the floor on the bottom. The caption is “Why go for the sublime when you can choose the ridiculous?”

  It’s been retweeted eight thousand times now.

  My phone rings, and I see it’s Chaz. “Hello, Chaz, how’s the world treating you?”

  “For once, better than you.”

  “You’ve been watching the news.”

  “I’ve been watching the Twitter feed. You figure out who it is yet?”

  “No. I haven’t had a chance to even think about it with the whole Spain scandal debacle.”

  “I suppose not. You and Tessa all right?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope things will clear up.”

  “At this point, I wouldn’t bet my crown jewels on it. Can I call you later? I’m just heading into a meeting.”

  “Keep your eyes open. Whoever it is, is probably right under your nose.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Divorcees in Short Skirts

  Tessa

  It’s been three days since I stormed out on Arthur, and each day is a little worse than the last. I think it’s over. I meant, it really has to be over, doesn’t it? I stare down at my “Break Up or Make Up Sheet” that sits on my desk.

  Break Up: