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

by Melanie Summers

  “Oh, gosh. I never would have thought of that. That really isn’t why I’m not hiring a nanny.”

  Nikki makes a light coughing sound that resembles the word ‘bullshit.’

  Hannah tilts her head and stares at me. “But won’t you be too busy with all your royal functions to look after your baby?”

  “No more than any other mum. Besides, my parents will want to help out as much as they can.”

  Judgey McLikesMeNow says, “How does Prince Arthur feel about this?”

  “Really supportive,” I say. “He wants to be involved as much as he can with the baby, too.”

  This earns collective ‘aww’s’ and ‘how sweet’s’ from around the room, which suddenly makes me aware of how many people have been listening to the entire conversation. Feeling a little high on approval of people I’m not paying to say nice things, I continue, “Yes, we’re going to give our children a very typical middle-class upbringing—except the bodyguards, of course.”

  The ladies laugh and glance at Xavier lovingly.

  “Our children will be doing chores just like I had to do growing up. Scrubbing toilets, picking up dog poop (I mean, if we get a dog, that is), learning to cook—and more than just frying up an egg and expecting everyone around her to be wowed. Real meals from scratch—appetizers, mains, and desserts. The whole deal. I want them to know what it means to work hard. We’re not going to raise any spoiled, entitled, useless little brats, I can tell you that.”

  One of the women at the far end of the table calls, “Here here!”

  “Wow. Very forward thinking, Your Highness,” Hannah says.

  “Call me Tess.”

  ****

  When I leave the salon, my hair is up in a very complicated chignon, I have beautifully applied makeup, and I feel like I’m on cloud nine, having won over a group of regular women like me. Yes, this is the way to popularity. I’ve figured it all out. Be as down-to-earth as possible whilst looking your very best.

  I can’t wait to tell Arthur we can let Dylan go now because I’ve got the whole rebranding thing covered.

  As soon we arrive at the palace, I make my way straight to his office to give him the good news and show off my new do, but when I get there, Vincent husband-blocks me, telling me Arthur’s on a conference call.

  “That’s okay, Vincent. I’ll catch him later,” I say, turning on my heel and strut away. What a perfect day! Nothing could spoil my good mood.

  FOURTEEN

  Absentee Kings, Helpful Father-In-Laws, and Big-Mouthed Wives

  Arthur

  “Knock knock!”

  Oh, Christ. It’s my father-in-law again. He’s made a habit of showing up in my office every day since they moved in. He doesn’t bother to actually knock but instead opens the door and says ‘knock knock.’ I’m not the only one to find that rude, no? I mean, what if I was naked in here? I can’t imagine why I would be now that Tessa’s lost interest in sex, but still, it’s a possibility, like say, she suddenly has some miraculous hormone shift and finds herself in the mood…I shouldn’t let myself go too far down that road in my mind—it only leads to a very ‘uptight’ Excalibur.

  Anyway, back to Ruben. What if I’d been in the middle of a very important conference call or a meeting with our national security adviser? Or imagine if I were in the middle of important national business and was extremely busy—oh wait, I am.

  “Ah, Ruben, are you and Evi finding the apartment suitable?”

  “Yes, we are indeed. This is quite the nice shack you’ve got here,” he says with a wide smile. “That bed is absolute perfection. My back hasn’t felt this good in years. We may never leave.”

  Oh, yes, you bloody well will leave. The moment your house is ready. “In that case, I’ll arrange to have the bed sent to your house when it’s all ready. How’s that coming along, by the way?”

  “They haven’t started yet. The insurance company is still tallying the damage.”

  “Goodness, that seems like it’s a longer process than I’d have thought. Doesn’t it seem long to you?”

  He shrugs and walks over to my drink cart and lifts the lid on a carafe of thirty-year-old scotch, sniffs it, then winces and puts it back down. “Nah, Evi’s friend Grace from next door said when her sister-in-law’s house burnt out, it took them about six weeks to even get through all the paperwork. They were out of their place for over a year.”

  “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  Ruben smiles and winks. “Getting sick of having the old in-laws around already?”

  “No. Heavens no. Tessa and I would keep you here forever if we could. We just know it must be terribly inconvenient for you to be so far from your friends and the rest of the Sharpes.”

  Picking up a priceless two-hundred-year-old clock off my shelf, he tests its weight while I try not to cringe. He makes a low whistling sound, then says, “Now, this is an impressive clock. Where’d you get it?”

  “It was a gift to my great-great grandfather from Alexander the Third of Russia.”

  “Solid wood. Not like the cheap crap they make in China these days.” He puts it back down with a thump. “I didn’t know your family was in bed with the Russians.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly put it that way, and it was a long time ago.” I tap my pen on my desk, hoping he’ll notice I have actual work to do.

  He glances down at the papers in front of me. Oh good. Maybe he’s getting the hint. “It just occurred to me that I don’t really know what it is you do. What are you up to there?”

  “At the moment, I’m having a look at some proposed changes to the United Nations Human Rights Act pertaining to access to clean drinking water.”

  “Oh, that sounds pretty important.”

  “Yes, it’s not a topic to be taken lightly.”

  “You know what the UN should do,” he says, sticking his thumbs in his belt loops and rocking on his heels. “They should invade Canada and demand their water. They’ve got more than half the world’s water supply over there.”

  “Yes, well, I’m not sure that would work. Shipping it would be rather cumbersome and expensive.”

  “Nah, it wouldn’t. You just get a bunch of water bombers. You know those planes they use during forest fires? They’re probably just sitting doing nothing ninety-five percent of the time. Load ‘em up with water, fly over to Africa or wherever they run out and drop it. Voila. Water crisis solved.”

  I nod. “Yes, I see what you’re getting at. I’m not sure the UN will be willing to invade Canada, though.”

  “Bah.” He waves one hand dismissively. “You probably won’t even have to invade. Canadians are a nice lot, aren’t they? Easy to push around. They’d probably just give it over if someone suggests it. You should just call up Justin Trudeau and ask ‘im.”

  “I just may do that.” Glancing out the window, I spot the one thing that may get Mr. World Adviser out of my office. “Ruben, does the gardener have the blades on that lawn tractor set too low? Maybe it’s just me, but it looks like he’s cutting the grass awfully short.”

  He turns to the window and narrows his eyes. “Yes, Artie, I think you may be right about that. And with the hot spell we’re expecting, that will prove to be a huge mistake.”

  “Dammit. I should probably run out and talk to him, but I also need to sort out this water thing.”

  Ruben tilts his head a bit as the light bulb goes on over his head. “Why don’t I go talk to them?”

  “Would you?”

  “I’m on it. You get back to work.” He gives me a quick nod and hurries away while a pang of guilt hits me. Not for tricking my father-in-law, but for siccing him on our unsuspecting gardeners. I’m going to have to make sure they get a much bigger Christmas bonus this year.

  As soon as he leaves, I call Vincent into my office. When he walks in, he says, “Sorry about that, Your Highness. He must have sneaked in when I went to get a tea. I swear he hides som
ewhere, waiting for me to leave my desk.”

  “About that. I need you to find out how the rebuild of their home is going and see if there is anyway we can hurry it along. I need them out of here pronto.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Oh, and let’s just keep this between us. I’m not sure how Tessa would feel if she knew the lengths to which I’m willing to go to have her parents settled back in at home.”

  “Understood.”

  “Thank you.” After Vincent is gone and the door to my office is closed, I stand and walk over to the window, watching as Ruben inspects the lawn tractor as the head gardener looks on with a rather annoyed expression. Better him than Antonio Guterres, the Secretary General of the U.N. or Justin Trudeau, for that matter. As nice as he is, did you see when he elbowed that Member of Parliament out of his way in the House of Commons a while back? I honestly don’t think you’d want to spend a lot of time on his bad side.

  ****

  Okay, so my day has gone from very busy and somewhat irritating to total shit. Let me back up a bit. I’ve spent the better part of the month rushing from meeting to engagement, believing my father would be returning this weekend to relieve me of his duties. Only late this afternoon, he’s sent word that he’s decided to extend his trip and will spend the next four months touring Africa, including a climb of Kilimanjaro and no fewer than six safari tours. I mean, honestly, six? Isn’t that a bit much for anyone? I know it’s magical and amazing and all, but six?

  At 5 o'clock today, Philip had sent all the meeting notifications and travel itinerary information to Vincent, including one trip to New York in November, one trip to Geneva for the EU talks, and what will likely turn out to be three weeks of twelve-hour days in preparation for and during the Earth Summit. Hardly fair, but not exactly something I can fix at this point.

  As soon as I saw the schedule, I realized I'm basically going to miss every one of Tessa's prenatal appointments between now and the beginning of December. I can squeeze in the first ultrasound appointment, but that’s it. Other than that, she’s on her own.

  Or I guess, not really on her own. Xavier will be there for her, of course. I suppose I should take some comfort in knowing she’ll be with someone who takes a genuine interest in not only Tessa and the baby’s security, but their health as well. But deep down, some part of me doesn’t like having the world’s most ridiculously handsome bodyguard filling in for me when I can’t be there. I’d much rather she had to rely on someone less…him. Like her mother or Arabella. But even if one of them is there, he’ll be there, too. Not me.

  Oh, and I know Tessa finds him irritating and is in no way attracted to him (or anyone at this point, including me unfortunately) and I can trust her completely. This isn’t a sex thing. It’s a closeness thing. How can I stay close to my wife if I’m not going to be here for her? How can she not end up feeling closer to the people she’s surrounded by day in and day out whilst I’m away?

  Especially when she’s going through what can only be described as a very turbulent time and her husband is basically going to abandon her for the bulk of it?

  She’s going to be very ticked when she finds out my father’s decided to slough all his responsibilities onto me again, and honestly, she’ll have every right to be disappointed and angry. Hell, I'm angry myself to have to miss that much of our baby’s life. Even though he won’t actually know his dad has turned into a neglectful workaholic, I’ll know, and the entire thing worries me because these next several months are just a microcosm of my entire life. It's not like things are going to change miraculously and I’ll suddenly have hours a day freed up to be a doting dad.

  So for the past thirty minutes, Vincent and I have been trying to find ways to tweak the schedule so I can be home more than I’ll be away.

  Spoiler alert: it’s not working, and I’m totally fucked.

  I glance at my watch, realizing that I've only got twenty-eight minutes to rush back to our apartment, shower, shave, and dress in my penguin suit for this evening's formal dinner and silent auction in support of the Avonian Opera Society.

  “Shit. I have to run. Can you do me a favour and finish this?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Thank you,” I say, shutting down my computer. “Oh, and can you wait to send the notifications to Gillian and Tessa until tomorrow morning? I’d like to have a chance to break it to Tessa gently.”

  “Yes, excellent idea, Your Highness.”

  Vincent returns to his desk while I gather my cell phone and some paperwork I need to go over later. When I pass by his desk a few moments later, I wish Vincent a goodnight. Hurrying down the hall, I catch a whiff of blue cheese and turn to see him following me.

  “What's up?”

  “I'm afraid I have some bad news.”

  “Can it wait for tomorrow? I’m pretty sure I’ve had my fill of shit news today, Vincent.”

  “Sorry, sir. You’ll need to see this before you…return to your apartment.”

  I stop and turn to face Vincent, who clears his throat twice, then says, “I'm afraid Princess Tessa was secretly recorded at her salon appointment earlier.”

  “Doing what?” I say with a light chuckle. “Not dancing on a table again?”

  “In this case, that may have been preferable. She was making some…rather bold statements.”

  Raising one eyebrow, I say, “What kind of bold statements?”

  “Perhaps it's better if you just watch it yourself.” Vincent holds his iPad up to me, avoiding eye contact.

  I sigh, press play, and watch for the next two minutes as my wife not only declares that we are not hiring any nannies—a decision I didn't realize we had made—but also insults the upbringing of pretty much everyone we’re going to see an hour from now at the Prince Edward Hotel.

  I won’t go into detail because you’ve probably seen the video, but I have to say the bit about the eggs stung a bit. Making my special Gordon Ramsay perfect scrambled eggs for Tessa is kind of our thing. She’s always said she loved it, but now it appears as though she's secretly decided I’m useless because of it. I hand the iPad back to Vincent, and we stare each other for an awkward moment.

  “Well then, this should make this evening's event rather interesting.”

  “Indeed. Good luck, Your Highness.”

  I spend the remainder of the walk to my suite trying to find a way to laugh it off, only to return to a sense of indignant anger. The shit part is that we’re not going to be able to have a discussion about any of this because in exactly seventeen minutes, I’m expected to be getting into a limousine with Gran, Arabella, and Tessa for the ride over to the hotel. My mantra as I ride the elevator up is, “Breathe. Stay calm. Do not get angry at your pregnant wife.”

  When I walk through the door to our apartment, Tessa is already dressed in a black ball gown. Her hair is up, and she looks both lovely and very worried. Giving me a small wave, she says, “I imagine you've seen the video by now.”

  “Yes, a few minutes ago.” I stride past her and down the hall to the bedroom.

  Tessa follows me, her voice breaking as she talks. “I'm so sorry, Arthur. I feel horribly stupid.”

  “I’m sure you do, but try not to worry about it. It’s really not a big deal,” I say, making my way into the closet and grabbing a pair of boxer briefs from the drawer. “So, you’ve decided not to hire a nanny without consulting me? It’s fine. I’m sure you have a plan for how to manage everything.”

  I hurry into the bathroom and shut the door before she can respond. Once I’ve locked the door, I congratulate myself on staying so positive. See? I can do this. I can avoid doing or saying anything remotely critical to my wife for the rest of my life. I may not live as long on account of all the pent-up anger I’m bound to accumulate, but in the end it’ll all be worth it, won’t it?

  Twelve minutes later, I’m showered, freshly shaved, and still no less hurt and angry than I was before. When I open th
e door to the bedroom, I see my tuxedo laid out on the bed for me.

  Tessa sits next to it, looking very small. “I laid out your penguin suit for you. “

  I glance at it, then at her, not wanting to accept her help at the moment. “Yes, thank you very much, but I'm going with the Armani tonight.”

  Gripping my towel around my waist, I stride away from her. I dress in silence, then turn to see her dabbing at the tops of her cheeks with her fingertips.

  “Perhaps I should just stay home.”

  “You could do, but since the world saw you at the salon this afternoon, they’ll know you're not sick.” Shaking my head in frustration, I open my mouth to say something, then close it and shake my head again.

  “Oh God. You're so angry, you can't even speak to me.”

  “Not at all,” I say with a small shrug. “I just wish we had discussed the nanny thing before you announced it to the world.”

  “I know I should have. I just…got carried away.”

  “Clearly. No matter, though. What’s done is done.” I turn to the mirror and adjust my bow tie.

  “Why aren’t you angry? I’ve really made a mess of things, and I said that very rude thing about you not being able to cook anything other than eggs. And I love your eggs. I do. But, I’ve gone and made it sound like you’re somehow not good enough for me, which in actual fact, it’s the other way around.”

  “Come on, now. Don’t say things like that,” I say, feeling some of my anger slip away.

  “Why not? It’s the truth.”

  “It couldn’t be further from the truth.” I walk over and lift her chin gently with my hand. “Wait a minute? You don’t seriously think you hurt my feelings about the eggs, do you?”

  “Of course I did.”

  Crouching down, I shake my head. “Never. My ego is healthy enough to handle it, believe me. Now, we should really get going.”