by K. S. Thomas
“Wow.” The sight before me takes my breath away. “It’s stunning.” The gazebo looks like something straight out of sleeping beauty, only without the curse. But definitely, not lacking in fairy tale magic. “People must get married here all the time.”
Gerard chuckles softly. “You two will be the first.”
“What?” It’s the first time I’m able to pry my eyes away from the gazebo. And it’s only for a second, just long enough to gape at him in surprise. “Why? It’s the most romantic setting I’ve ever seen. I would think people from all over the world would flock to this very spot to celebrate the most romantic moment of their entire lives.”
“They might,” Gerard agrees. “If they knew about it.”
“Gerard’s magic garden is Linden’s best kept secret,” Apsel muses. “I don’t think I’d even know about it if I hadn’t stopped by to ask him where to find tiger lilies one desperate Sunday evening.” He laughs, and the soft sheen of memories covers his eyes. Tiger lilies are Lachlan’s mother’s favorite flower. I know because Chase gets her a bouquet every Mother’s Day.
“So, it’s set then?” Soren interrupts, looking up from his phone for once, finger still poised over the screen. “The nuptials are happening here? At the gazebo?”
“Yes,” Lachlan tells him. “It’s set.”
“Soren, are you our wedding planner and no one told me?” I ask, releasing Lachlan’s hand to move close enough to Soren to peek over his shoulder and see his phone.
“I’m not your wedding planner,” he says dryly. And I’m pretty sure, with a hint of disgust. “I’m not keeping track of these things to organize your wedding; I’m keeping track of them to organize everything that has to happen around it. Security. Media. To name the most important.”
“Oh.” But now I have another question. “Will there be a wedding planner though? Or is there no need for one given the staff you already have access to?” Maybe I had more than one.
“I’m sure my wife will call in the same woman who arranged for Apsel’s wedding to Isobel,” Apsel senior explains with an expression that leaves much to be desired for in terms of encouragement.
“It’s why we’re sorting out certain details ahead of time,” Lachlan reminds me.
“Right.” Location, dress and cake. All covered. “What is the standard expectation in terms of wedding party?” I move on to the next pressing thought bouncing to the forefront of my mind. “Like, how many bridesmaids and groomsmen are required? Expected? Frowned upon?” I always planned on Mallory being my maid of honor. Outside of that, I’m less attached to who else shows up in matching dresses.
“Four of each,” Soren says, though he couldn’t possibly sound less interested. “Isobel will be matron of honor and Lachlan’s cousin Genevieve will, of course, be invited to be a bridesmaid. There are other more distant relatives we can call on if you don’t have anyone you can ask.”
“Um,” I don’t even know where to begin with this one. Thankfully, I don’t have to.
“Isobel will have to settle for bridesmaid. Greer’s best friend, Mallory, will be maid of honor.” Lachlan looks back and forth between Soren and his father, both of which look like they’re on the verge of saying something to contradict this. “This part is non-negotiable.” Neither tries to argue after that.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He takes my hand as we all start walking again. “Of course.” He leans in a little closer. “Plus, I don’t think anyone could handle a showdown between Myrna and Mallory if we let it come to that.”
I laugh. Then I quickly move my hand to my mouth to quiet it when both Soren and Apsel turn back to see what the noise was.
“Where are we going now?” I ask when I notice we’re still heading away from the house.
“There’s an old barn over this way,” Lachlan fills me in.
“More like the skeleton of an old barn,” Soren says, arching a skeptical brow. “I’m not sure I get the appeal.”
“Soren, my boy, I’m not sure you’ll ever make progress with your romantic relationships if you don’t learn to see the world in softer tones every once in a while,” Apsel says, forever the sound of a laugh echoing in his voice.
Soren scoffs in response but remains silent otherwise. I can’t help but marvel at how differently people interact with Lachlan and his father when outside of the confines of the castle and without the watchful eye of the queen keen on seeing them adhere to their titles’ required formalities.
I notice the distance between us and the others widen before I realize Lachlan is intentionally slowing our pace.
“What’s up?” I whisper, assuming we’re on the verge of a secret meeting. “Did I say something wrong? Is there something about this barn I should know? Some sort of backstory that makes it significant to you?”
“Nothing significant,” he says quietly. “Yet. Two weeks from now it’ll have been the place our reception was held.”
“And that will be significant for you?” I ask, trying not to read too much into it.
“The place you changed my life and solidified my future as king as well as Monroe’s father? Yeah,” he nods, turning to face me. “It’ll be significant.” His eyes are so serious and so full of gratitude, it hits me like a wave of emotions. Everything from giddy to terrified washes through me with a force that feels like it could knock me over.
“It’ll be significant for me too,” I tell him, hoping he’ll think my breathy voice is for the sake of not being heard and not due to the emotions ravaging my vocal cords as I try to force out the words. “This may be the most meaningful thing I ever get to do, and there’s no one else I’d rather do it for than you and Mo.” His gaze moves from mine to the ground. “Was there something else?” I ask. It’s not like him to look away unless his mind is on the move.
“It’s just, I know we agreed this was a job for you and that I’ll pay you for your time,” he starts, eyes still wandering the garden that surrounds us. “But now that we’re here, and we’re going through the motions, and I’m seeing what Myrna will put you through, and how much my father is involving himself...” he sighs.
“Yes?”
“I’m just not sure anyone can put a price on what you’re doing here,” he says, frowning when his eyes finally meet mine again. Then he tries to make light of it, “I mean, you’ll probably need therapy for years to come once this is all over.”
I roll my eyes at him, shaking my head and letting my mouth hitch up at the corner. No need to give him the full spectrum of my delight. And I am delighted. He’s worried. Concerned the emotional investment required to pull this off will be too high. Truth is, the longer I’m here, the more scared I am of that same thing. But now’s not the time for truth. Now’s the time for playing my part and easing his fears. “Lachlan, I know you spent less than a week with me, but you’re well aware I’ve needed therapy since long before you came along.” Then I pat his chest playfully with my free hand before I tug him along to catch up to everyone with the other one still firmly planted in his palm.
LACHLAN
BY THE TIME WE FINISH at Gerard’s, we’ve made decisions on everything from ceremony to reception, including bridesmaids and groomsmen, color scheme and, this was the root of said color scheme, flower arrangements. Being as we were in the presence of the greatest gardener known to man, it seemed prudent to collect on his wisdom where flowers were concerned while there.
It’s also time for lunch for which he head back to the castle. Despite Katia’s efforts to intercept and take Greer away early, we manage to stow away in my room for a quiet lunch for three.
Well, four if you count Cheese. Which, Greer does. So, I suppose I ought to as well.
“Peppadew peppers,” she squeals the second she spots them on the table already prepared and waiting when we arrive. “Can we serve these at the wedding?”
“I don’t see why not,” I tell her, internalizing a smug smile of satisfaction. I was hoping she would react this way to th
e appetizer. “Though, overall, it might be easiest to let Myrna decide on the menu. We have to be picky about the things we are most desperate to keep her input out of.”
“Like my dress,” she mumbles, mouth full already.
“For example.” There’s a quiet knock at the door that joins my quarters to Monroe’s and a moment later, Yvonne is holding it open and letting my daughter burst into the room, running just as fast as her little legs will carry her. Straight to Greer.
“Hey, beautiful,” Greer says, squatting down to greet her with an exuberant hug that leads to both of them swinging back and forth while giggling loudly.
“I’ll be just in here when you’re ready for me to come back for her, your highness,” Yvonne says in her usual demure fashion. Every time she speaks to me, I want to tell her to treat me the same way she does Monroe, but I know my stepmother would have her fired for it, so I don’t.
“Actually, why don’t you go ahead and take a break,” I tell her instead. “No need to stay nearby. I’ll have Soren call you when we need you again.”
She looks surprised, almost nervous even. “I really don’t mind staying, your highness. Your schedule can be so unpredictable, I’d hate to be too far when you need me.”
“You’re too sweet,” Greer chimes in, “but it’s really not necessary. If the prince has to run out on urgent business, I’ll be happy to spend some one-on-one time with Mo.” Then she quickly adds, “Princess Monroe.”
“Mo,” I remind her. “For you she’s always Mo. No matter what.”
Yvonne looks like she might faint, but I don’t mind because Greer is beaming back at me in a way that takes my breath away.
“Your highness,” Yvonne squeaks, eyes wide as she curtsies and backs out of the room, pulling the door shut as she goes.
“I can’t tell you how excited I am that third setting on the table is for Mo,” Greer says as soon as we’re alone.
“Who else did you think it was for?” I ask, ushering both of them toward the table.
“I was getting so used to Soren tagging along everywhere, I just kind assumed it was for him,” she says, lifting Mo to help her into her seat.
“There’s a highchair accompanying the third setting,” I point out.
She just shrugs. “So?”
“That was mean.” With Monroe already seated, I pull out a chair for Greer. “Funny,” I concede, “but, harsh enough you might have considered saving it for when he was around and deserved to feel the impact of it.”
She smirks. “Not to worry, I have plenty more where that came from.” I help her slide her chair closer to the table before I make my way to the seat across from her.
“I think he likes having you around for a sparring partner. I don’t give him nearly as hard a time as he’d like me to.” I lift the bottle of sparkling water from the stainless-steel chiller keeping it cold and offer her some which she accepts by moving her glass in my direction and smiling.
Once our glasses are filled, and Monroe has a sippy cup of milk in her reach, we move on to our plates. Or Monroe’s plate, more specifically. Without even discussing it, we both begin to assemble her meal, both of us picking and choosing from the platters laid out.
“You remember what she likes,” I say, noticing the hefty portion of blueberries being piled onto Monroe’s plate.
“I’m a nanny, remember? Knowing who likes what and more importantly, what not, kind of keeps my life from hanging in the balance.” She grins. “Have you ever tried to give a two-year-old a side of carrots when said two-year-old hates carrots with the burning passion of a thousand lower levels of hell? It’s not pretty.”
“I have not,” I admit. “But I have tried to give a one-year-old some overcooked, mushy broccoli so I think I have an idea of what you’re saying.”
The first bite activated her gag reflex. After that, fistfuls of broccoli went flying across the room. Soren and I both had to duck for cover. He still wound up with mashed broccoli bits in his hair.
A few minutes later, Monroe is happily munching away on blueberries, plain macaroni and slices of cheese and apples, while Greer and I begin to enjoy our own, more grown up, versions of lunch.
I’ve barely had a bite when my phone begins to buzz in my pocket. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“It’s fine,” she says, smiling while she crunches away on a half-eaten slice of apple Monroe just shared with her. “Royal-ness doesn’t break for lunch. I get it.”
I nod graciously. Sometimes I think she’s too easy on me. Then I remember that’s the whole point of this exercise. To make my life easier. Not to make it feel real. “It seems the formal dinner announcement has been postponed until the week before the wedding,” I tell her reading Soren’s message.
She looks interested but not surprised. Can’t say I am either. “Any particular reason for the delay?”
“Best guess is the queen is hoping we’ll call the whole thing off before then. No official announcement to the family means no press release and no need to recant anything, should things turn in her favor.” I have to hand it to her, she’s definitely not rolling over to play dead on this one.
“Well, I hope she uses this time wisely and finds a way to come to terms with the inevitable.” Greer stabs her fork at the air for added emphasis when she announces with great finality, “because you and me, mister, are getting married!”
“That we are.” I chuckle quietly, turning my face down to look at my plate as I do. “At least this gives us more time to prepare for the big dinner.”
“Speaking of,” she asks, opening her mouth to accept a mushed blueberry from Monroe. “What exactly does an official engagement announcement over family dinner entail? Doesn’t everyone unofficially know already?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “Everyone unofficially knows. But you’ve met both my stepmother and my grandmother, you should know by now, unofficial is far from acceptable.”
She stabs at the air with her fork again. “Good point. Carry on.”
“The official announcement will include several elements,” I explain. “One, it’s a formal occasion and therefore we will all be formally dressed.”
“How formal?”
“Evening gown, full suit, formal.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” I thought it was a bit much when my brother made his announcement over Sunday brunch as well, but that’s how it’s done and so that is how we will do it.
“Is everyone going to be this dressed up? Or just those of us making official announcements?” She doesn’t look worried about being the only one overdressed so much as she seems to think everyone should be subjected to equal amounts of discomfort over dinner.
“Everyone will be dressed up. The unofficial news of our upcoming official announcement will reach everyone prior to dinner,” I promise. “Then, once we’re all present, I make a formal introduction.”
“I get to meet everyone again?”
“No, they get to meet you. I have to give a whole speech on all things Greer.”
She stops eating. She even puts her fork down. “Come again?”
“Are you worried I won’t have enough material?” I tease.
“No,” she says, looking entirely serious. “I’m just worried the material you have is less than appropriate.”
“What are you talking about?” I feign shock. “Nothing I’ve learned about you since the moment we met would ever give me pause about your abilities to charm your way into the royal family.”
She makes a face. “Just make sure you stick to the notes we made last night and skip over all the things you know about me through firsthand experience,” she grumbles.
“Oh, I don’t know. I think my grandmother would really take a liking to you if I told her I met you mid-burglarizing my brother’s refrigerator.”
“I was borrowing, not burglarizing,” she clarifies, glaring at me. “But if you really want to tell that story, I’m sure she’d be super impressed with you and your nakedness the first ti
me we met. Very prince-like, growling at strangers while wearing nothing but a towel.”
I laugh. “I don’t know, I don’t think I’d tell it as well as you would.”
“Probably better save it for my first invite to tea with her then,” she quips. “You never know. A nice ice breaker like that might come in handy.”
“You must have high expectations of my Greer speech if you think you’re getting an invite to tea from the family’s matriarch,” I point out, still trying to subdue my amusement. It’s an ongoing issue I’m finding hard to control since we’ve been back. In New York it was easy to let myself be entertained by her, but here, smiling and laughing beyond what would be a polite gesture at the appropriate moment, is not acceptable, much like every other emotion.
“Lachlan, you don’t know me very well if you think I’m letting my fate with your family rest in your hands.” She smiles. “Your grandmother is getting so wooed by me so hard the next two weeks, she’s going to fall in love with me so deep and so fast, it’ll be done and over before she can even attempt to stop herself.”
“You know what? If anyone could do it, it’d be you.” Even as I say it, I know that it’s true. And somehow, realizing that makes this moment less amusing. Because I want that. I want my grandmother to love her. And there’s only one reason that would ever matter to me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
GREER
When I return from my escape with Lachlan, Katia is clearly miffed with me. If I had to guess, and I do, because I’m not asking, I’d guess the queen took her frustrations over me and her thwarted efforts to torture me out on Katia instead.
“Simon left three dresses for you to hold you over for the next three days until the rest of your wardrobe arrives,” she says, eyes glued to an iPad she has resting in her one arm while she uses her free hand to work the screen. “I’ve tried to reschedule today’s tasks for other days, but Soren has inundated my inbox with the prince’s requests for your presence. It’s all highly unusual, miss. Her majesty will not be pleased.”