by Romy Sommer
I only see Khara again when we meet outside the state dining room to take our places for
dinner. She has changed into a more formal evening outfit of forest green, in a classic style that accentuates her curves, making her look like a glamorous 50s movie star.
“You look beautiful.”
She smiles, but her focus is somewhere over my shoulder. A sense of unease grips my
stomach. She’s avoiding me; won’t even look me in the eye as I offer her my arm to lead her into the dining room.
Romy Sommer
178
The tables have been set up in a horseshoe shape to accommodate all one hundred dinner
guests. The staff have worked for two days to lay the tables and get this room ready, and the amount of silverware and crystal is dazzling.
Once all the other guests are at their places, the six of us who will be seated at the head table make our grand entrance. Following the past years’ scandals in the royal family, Max decided to avoid controversy and seated his family elsewhere. There are also no politicians or religious leaders at the high table. Max is turning out to be a master of diplomacy.
He and Phoenix lead the way to polite applause, then the Mayor and her partner, with Khara
and I bringing up the rear. The only hint that the confidence she exudes is only skin deep is the way she grips my arm.
“You’re avoiding me,” I say in a low voice as we progress down the long room, smiling at
everyone. “Was it something I said?”
“Nope.”
“Something I did?”
She smiles as if she hasn’t heard me.
“Is it because I’m leaving?”
Her jaw tightens. Bingo.
“You’re the one who told me I should do something constructive with my life. Why are you
upset now that I’m doing something about it?”
“I’m not upset about it.” But she says it through gritted teeth.
We reach the high table, and I escort her to her seat. I really want to carry on this discussion, and get to the bottom of why she’s mad at me - because whatever she says, she is clearly mad at me
- but my seat is at the far end of the high table, and if I don’t take my place, we’ll hold up the entire dinner.
Once I reach my chair, Max indicates for us all to sit. He remains standing to welcome the
guests to dinner. Thankfully, it’s a short speech, then the first course is served.
Romy Sommer
179
Khara glances at the array of cutlery and wine glasses (seven at each table setting) and
briefly meets my gaze.
“You can do this,” I mouth.
And she does. Despite the fact that we are on full view to the entire room, she keeps her
poise, looking every bit as relaxed and at home as Phoenix. My heart swells with pride. This Vegas waitress is most definitely not a coward.
Throughout dinner, Khara and the mayor keep up a lively conversation, though I can’t hear
a word from where I’m seated. I wish I were with them. Instead, through the first five courses, I’m grilled by the mayor’s partner who turns out to be a political analyst who knows more about the current situation in Erdély than I do. When she hears I plan to visit, she’s vocal in her support of the idea. “The country doesn’t want to lose its independence, nor do they want to be ruled from afar by someone who doesn’t give a damn about them. Your uncle managed to win them over, but they
won’t accept any less from his successor. They’ll choose union with Hungary rather than a bad
ruler. You’ll need to commit to this.”
I don’t tell her that I’ve never committed to anything in my life. Or that I can barely commit to keeping my hands off a beautiful woman for more than a couple of days.
When the liveried footmen clear away the plates from the main course, and all the
champagne glasses are filled, ready for the toasts, Max rises, striking a crystal glass for attention as if this were any ordinary wedding.
Then he nods to Khara and she moves to the microphone at the lectern. My hands clench
anxiously for her beneath the table.
“This should be the Father of the Bride speech, but as most of you know, Georgiana’s
parents are no longer with us.” Her American accent seems more pronounced coming through the
speakers. Aside from the little wobble in her voice as she starts to talk, I can hardly tell she’s nervous. “I am honoured to be here today in the place of her family, but I’m also terrified, so I’m going to keep this short.” The guests laugh, and Khara turns to look at Max and Phoenix. “I don’t
Romy Sommer
180
know what your father would say to you right now, but a good friend once told me just as she was about to walk down the aisle to marry the love of her life, that she knew he was the one because being with him felt like coming home. I hope for the two of you that you always be ‘home’ for each other, that you will continue to grow stronger because you are together.” She turns back to the audience and raises her glass. “I invite you all to join me in a toast to those who can’t be with us here today.”
Phoenix wipes away a tear. From where I’m sitting, I can see Max take her hand beneath the
table. The guests raise their glasses, murmuring in response, and I get to my feet. As Khara passes me to go back to her seat, I give her arm a quick squeeze. Then it’s my turn to stand at the lectern and look out at the audience. I pick out a few familiar faces from the crowd.
I glance down at the speech on my phone. “I’m sure it won’t surprise most of you to know
that I wasn’t Max’s first choice for Best Man. But since everyone else was already taken, I got lucky.” There are a few nervous titters from the audience. “It was an incredible privilege to me to stand beside Max today. He’s truly one of the nicest people I know. We met when Rik and I were at Oxford together. Back then, Max was just my friend’s annoying kid brother we let hang around
with us because we needed a fourth member on our polo team.” I pause, screwing up my face as if thinking. “Actually, not much has changed.” The titters are more genuine now. “Because Max was so easygoing and fun to have around, he kind of grew on me, and I’m very proud now to count him as a friend. But no matter how nice he is, Max was always going to need a very special woman at his side, someone who shares his spirit of adventure, someone who puts up with his appalling taste in friends-” more laughter “- and someone who can support him in his role as Archduke. I think Max really lucked out when he met Georgiana. Because no one could be more perfect for him than she is.” I lay down my phone and turn to the happy couple. “Together, you are a formidable team, and Westerwald is very lucky to have you.” Then, turning back to the guests, I raise my champagne flute. “I ask you all to raise your glasses to the Archduke and Archduchess of Westerwald.”
Romy Sommer
181
There’s a scraping of chairs, a loud chorus of ‘hear, hear’ and ‘cheers’ in a number of
different languages, and from Rik and Christian’s end of the table, the sound of drumming on the tables and one loud whoop.
Once the toast is done, I move back to my seat, and Max takes the microphone. He has to
wait a few moments for everyone to take their seats and grow quiet again.
“My wife and I-” He glances at Phoenix, his eyes crinkling “-are saving our speeches for
tomorrow night’s reception, so I’ll keep this quick. The jobs we do can be lonely. It is so important that we have friends we trust and can rely on, and we have been blessed with some very good
friends.” With a sweep of his arm, he takes in his family, and Claus and Rebekah. “Tonight I’d like to thank both Adam and Khara for taking time out of their busy lives to be here for us these last few weeks.”
Phoenix rises and moves to stand beside him, and Max gestures for me and Khar
a to join
them. From under the lectern, Phoenix takes two navy blue jewellery presentation boxes, one long and thin like a necklace case, the other square, like a ring box. She hands the square one to me, and the long, thin one to Khara, giving us each a hug as she does so. We take our seats, and the noise levels in the hall rise as normal conversation resumes.
I wait until the footmen start to serve dessert and coffee, before I open my gift from Max
and Phoenix. Inside the box, nestled against a bed of blue velvet, are a pair of gold cufflinks. I lift one out of the box; it’s in the shape of the royal crest of Erdély. I raise an eyebrow at Max, but he just grins.
“No pressure, mate, but I hope you accept your uncle’s offer. You’ll make a good ruler
some day.”
No pressure? Right.
I glance down the table to where Khara is opening her gift. She pulls out, not a piece of
jewellery, but a folded sheet of paper. She unfolds it, and her mouth drops open. There are tears in her eyes when she looks at Phoenix, then at Max. “You shouldn’t have.” Her voice sounds choked.
Romy Sommer
182
Phoenix lays a hand over hers. “It’s traditional for the bride and groom to give the
bridesmaid a gift. Or would you really have preferred jewellery?”
Khara wipes her eyes. “Are you kidding? Where would I wear fancy jewels? This is perfect.
Thank you.”
She gives Phoenix a quick hug, then with an emotional sniff, she’s on her feet and heading
for the door. I’m tempted to go after her, but with so many people watching us, I don’t think she’d appreciate me drawing attention to her departure.
After dinner, many of the guests leave. Though we have to be up early again tomorrow to do
this all over again, this time for the general public, there’s still a bar open in the yellow drawing room. Max and Phoenix are surrounded by his family, but there’s no sign of Khara. I need to know she’s okay.
I’m chatting to the British Duke, another polo playing buddy, when I see a flash of green out
the corner of my eye. Khara, heading out onto one of the small verandahs that have been opened up to let in fresh air.
The Duke turns to follow my gaze, just in time to see Mateo follow her out.
“Too late, mate,” the Duke says. “Looks like Mateo beat you to it.”
Over my dead body.
I cross the room, ignoring anyone who attempts to snag my attention as I pass. The closer I
get, the more my blood pressure rises. I push aside the heavy velvet drape and step out onto the verandah. Mateo is leaning over her, boxing Khara up against the wall. Blood thunders in my ears.
Why doesn’t she push him away, or give him that icy glare to make him back off? He’s a
gentleman. If she says no, he’ll walk away.
Which means she hasn’t said no.
Neither of them notice my approach.
“You have beautiful eyes,” Mateo says as I draw close enough to hear.
Really? That’s the best line he could come up with?
Romy Sommer
183
Khara laughs, a soft, sexy chuckle. She doesn’t look as if she’s been crying. She
looks…playful. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Only if you want me to.” He leans in even closer.
“Get your hands off her,” I growl.
He straightens, looking surprised.
My fists clench. “Leave the lady alone.”
The lady in question places her hands on her hips. “Butt out, Adam. This has nothing to do
with you.”
“Hell it doesn’t.”
She turns to Mateo. “Would you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of champagne?”
He looks uncertainly between us, then with a nod he heads back into the drawing room.
Khara rounds on me, that familiar icy glare in place. Now why couldn’t she look at him like that?
“What’s got into you?”
“I’m your friend. I’m looking out for you.”
She arches a skeptical brow.
“He’s a player.”
“You are such a hypocrite.” She leans towards me, her voice low and dangerous. “You can’t
have it both ways. Either we’re just friends, and I’m free to flirt - or have sex - with any man I want.
Or we’re not.”
I wish she hadn’t said that, because the images in my head are not pretty. “You are not
having sex with him.”
“Oh really?” She draws in a shaky breath. “I can do whatever - or whoever - I want. Isn’t
that how you live your life - come and go as you please, without a thought for anyone but
yourself?”
This isn’t about Mateo any more, is it?
Romy Sommer
184
When I don’t answer, she smiles. That smile may look sweet, but there’s steel in it. “It’s
your choice, Adam. Are we just friends, or aren’t we?”
I really don’t want to have to choose. I want to be the better man, but if that means letting
Mateo sweep her off her feet… a dark, possessive hunger grips hold of me. I’m close enough to feel her breath. Close enough that all I have to do is lean in and kiss her.
But I don’t. I step back. The pregnant silence hangs between us, the voices in the room
beyond muted behind the curtains.
She shakes her head. “I thought so. There’s nothing in your life that you care about enough
to step up for, is there?”
Before I can stop her, she pushes through the curtain into the drawing room, leaving me
alone with my fists still clenched and my mind a roiling mess of regret and frustration.
Romy Sommer
185
Chapter Twenty
Khara
The second time my neighbor Carly married, she had the big, white wedding. Of course, her
idea of ‘big’ and Phoenix’s are a little different, but in many respects their weddings are just the same. We all piled into Carly’s parents’ trailer to get ready for the wedding, her sister and cousins, her bridesmaids, me, her mom, my mom. The noise was something else, and you can’t imagine the
clutter. Make-up and shoes and dresses everywhere. There wasn’t an inch of space to spare.
Space is the one thing this palace has plenty of. The suite we’re in is at least four times the size of that entire trailer, but it’s just as cluttered with shoes and make-up and dresses. Almost all the women in Phoenix’s new family are here – Anna, Kenzie, Teresa. Rebekah’s here too, and she and Kenzie are deep in conversation about birthing plans and midwives. There are also four hair and make-up stylists in the room, one of whom appears to be an old friend of Teresa’s. Apparently they worked together on the same film set where Teresa and Christian met.
While a hair stylist works on my hair, carefully pinning in place the crown of real white
tuberoses and dainty baby’s breath, I sit quietly, listening to the noisy conversations going on around me.
I should be happier. After all, my tuition fees are paid up. That was very generous of Max and Phoenix, but they’re right - that means more to me than any piece of bling. I feel as if a massive weight has lifted off my shoulders. When I get home, I can find a part-time job to support myself
Romy Sommer
186
until I graduate, something that doesn’t involve eight hours on my feet with the sound of slot machines dinging in my ears all day. No more sloppy drunks putting their hands on my ass.
I should be happier, but I’m not. Maybe if I’d gotten lucky last night I’d be smiling today, but you didn’t really think I’d let Mateo do anything more than boost my dented ego, did you?
“You’re very quiet today.” Phoenix slides into the armchair in front of me.
“I’m quie
t every day.”
“Nope. This is different.”
I am not about to admit that Adam Hatton has me tied in knots. That every time I close my
eyes, I picture him standing in my bedroom doorway, dressed in a suit and looking delicious
enough to eat. Right before he told me he was leaving. Is it entirely stupid of me that I’d started to think there might be something more than chemistry between us? Well, he made it perfectly clear last night that there isn’t.
But this is her wedding day, and I refuse to let my issues with that selfish jerk spoil her day.
So I manage a smile. “I’m about to walk down the aisle with live television cameras following my every move, and commentators discussing my hair, my dress, and my background. Aren’t you the
least bit nervous?”
“No, I’m not. Can I tell you a secret?” She leans forward, dropping her voice to a stage
whisper. “We’re already married. Today is just for show.” She laughs, throwing back her head. “Do you have any idea how good it is to be able to say that?”
I laugh with her. It must have been hell keeping their marriage secret for an entire year. It was hard enough for me, and I wasn’t here, living this lie every single day. But now she can say it out loud: she’s Max’s wife. Archduchess Georgiana of Westerwald.
“You’re done.” The hair stylist pats me on the shoulder.
I grin and hold out my hand to Phoenix. “You ready to go walk down the aisle again?”
She looks at the slip she’s wearing and grimaces. “First, I’m going to need a crowbar to get
me into that wedding gown. Whose bright idea was it to have a seven course banquet the night
Romy Sommer
187
before I have to wear that thing?”
“You’ll have to go back at least a hundred years to find someone to blame for that tradition,”
her mother-in-law Anna says from the adjacent chair.
Fortunately, it doesn’t require a crowbar to get Phoenix into her dress, just Anton Martens
with a needle and thread. He’s not in the least fazed by half a dozen women in their underwear trying to squeeze into layers of tulle and silk and lace. I wonder if the backstage area at Fashion Week is anywhere near as chaotic as this.