by Lucy Parker
Both the top tier—Rosie and Johnny’s portion, to be preserved for their first wedding anniversary—and the largest bottom tier were flavored with Midnight Elixir; the remaining cakes alternated dark and white chocolate, with one obligatory fruitcake to appease the traditionalists.
The overhead lights hit the Serch Bythol sculpture on the utmost tier, the sugar crystals shimmering and dancing like a cascade of diamonds. The planes of the cake beneath were clean and crisp, and the sugar stained-glass panels caught every light on the ceiling, throwing back shimmering rainbow rays. Sylvie was most proud of the silhouette that circled the middle stained-glass tiers—the skylines of London and Johnny’s family estate in Lancashire. Only when viewed at close range did a second, hidden skyline emerge from within the reflective depths—the fantasy lands of I, Slayer, complete with a tiny flying dragon. It was a work of art—and even now, she was taken aback by the level of harmony they had achieved, twining together two very different styles.
In honor of the union of two very different people, whose lives would hopefully interlock just as successfully.
She stood at the edge of the crowd, watching Rosie and Johnny doing a very decent Charleston in the center of a ballroom that had probably seen far more scandal over the centuries than the starchy décor would suggest. Dominic’s warmth pressed behind her before his hands came to rest on her ribs.
His fingers moved as if he was enjoying the sensual glide of her silk dress—or just the feel of her body, which he traced with lips and hands almost every night and treated with more reverence than the most beautiful and valuable of masterpieces.
His mouth touched her neck, making her shiver as he said into her ear, “Quite a contrast to the public part of the proceedings.”
Eye-openingly so. She put her hands over his, unconsciously stroking his knuckles. On the dance floor, the band switched to classic rock and Johnny started undulating his hips. The intention was presumably Elvis; the execution was more like an emu that had just been stung by a bee. He was doing extraordinary things with his neck. As a mating dance in the wild, it would have netted him eternal bachelorhood, but his new wife seemed genuinely impressed. Definitely true love.
After the pomp and solemnity of the day, the ceremony at St. Paul’s Cathedral beamed out to millions across the globe and the carriage procession that had packed the streets of London, she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting for the private reception—high tea and a cotillion, probably. However, the moment the gates of St. Giles Palace had closed and Rosie and Johnny had completed the obligatory balcony snog for the screaming crowds—Rosie passing off the moment smoothly when Johnny came in too quickly in his nervous state and very obviously bit her lip—the vibe had jumped straight to the level of Ibiza nightclub.
To the dour disapproval of the bride’s grandfather, the Prince of Wales had kicked off the proceedings with a risqué toast, and they’d now reached the portion of the evening when the Duke of Albany was attempting to jive with his daughter.
Even the duchess cracked a brief smile when her husband and daughter collapsed into each other, giggling helplessly.
A lot of champagne had been consumed this evening.
“I think they’ve enjoyed their day,” Sylvie said, folding her arms over Dominic’s.
“Good. They deserve it after the tabloid pile-on. I expected it to be ugly, but . . .” He grimaced, and she nodded.
The infamous kiss photograph would be dragged into every remotely relevant article for years, and the tabloids had been having a field day for months. Sylvie felt awful for all three of them, Rosie, Johnny, and Helena, who was receiving intensive treatment. She knew Pet still felt guilty for snapping it in the first place.
“Apparently, Johnny’s planning to focus on the arts as his first major patronage. I hope the public gives him a proper chance,” she murmured. Helena’s family had released a statement and public apology, but Johnny had still lost a lot of public sympathy. “I think Pet’s in for an interesting ride this year with Team Marchmont.”
“She can handle it.” Dominic spoke with cool certainty. His lips brushed her earlobe again. It was a massive honor to have been invited into the inner sanctum tonight—and frankly, she was ready to leave now and go home to celebrate their own milestone.
Six months to the day since they’d taken each other by surprise with that kiss in the Dark Forest. Thousands of kisses since, and it still felt like the first time, every time.
With his body hard against her, his arms warm around her, she wanted to turn and kiss him now, but a light peck usually ended up with her legs around his waist and her back against the wall.
Sighing, she leaned back, feeling the fatigue slipping through her bones as she admired their joint achievement again. Months of planning had gone into that cake, weeks of practical work as they began the sculptural components, culminating in a near all-nighter in the palace kitchens to complete the finishing touches to their mutual satisfaction.
Even transferring it safely to the ballroom today had been an eyebrow-whitening experience. But the task was done, with barely a smudge of icing to fix when it was finally in place.
And their checks had already cleared.
Dominic swept a professional eye up the cake. They weren’t usually guests at the weddings they catered, and it was difficult to stop checking for problems. “We came through the collaboration with staff, kitchens, and relationship intact.”
“Touch and go there for a while.” She could feel rather than hear his quiet laughter. “It’s probably a good thing we’re not joining forces professionally on a permanent basis—”
“And personally?” His voice was a little gruff as he spoke into her hair, gently nuzzling her.
Softly, she said, “The important partnership? Unbreakable contract.”
His arm tightened around her.
They were silent for a while, just enjoying the music and the happiness in the air, watching the lights twinkle up and down the cake display as the room darkened with the night.
On the floor, through the crowds, she saw Jay dancing with Emma Abara. The pattern designer was doing a spot of contractual work at Sugar Fair. Despite the disastrous outcome of the Operation Cake final, her knack for design and unfailing patience had unexpectedly made her an unbeatable team with Mabel. The two of them were already coming up with ambitious and bizarre ideas for new sugar craft—all of which looked insane on paper and had so far been wildly successful when they came to fruition.
She and Jay had hit it off right away. They’d discovered a mutual desire to learn to play Dungeons & Dragons and had just joined a local team. So far, it was a solid friendship forming, but Sylvie was cautiously optimistic. There were definite sparks of attraction there, and his only hesitation about inviting her as his date tonight had been her employment status with them. That was temporary, however, and Emma was—fantastically for her and unfortunately for them—shortly starting a new apprenticeship elsewhere.
Dominic was rubbing his cheek against her head when his body stiffened. “What is that?”
“What?” She was trying to wiggle her fingers in between his shirt buttons without anyone else seeing. She liked the feel of his chest hair beneath her skin.
Although her onetime comment comparing it to petting Humphrey was a mistake she wouldn’t repeat.
“In the sugar bubble on the second tier.” Dominic was dropping into his Operation Cake tone, which only made her want to open all the buttons. “What is that?”
“Probably another dragon,” she said airily, rubbing him and making a shiver run through his big body. “We agreed on including Caractacus.”
“Yes. We agreed on the dragon. We did not agree on other crea . . .” He couldn’t seem to help running his fingers down her spine, but she felt the moment he realized what he was looking at. His words became dangerously even. “It has a horn.”
“You’re seeing things.” A soothing pat on his pec.
“It has hooves.” Unmist
akeable outrage.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
In public, he was still usually a little more reserved, but he swung her around now, properly into his arms. His brows had lifted pointedly, but he was unable to fully repress that laugh she loved so much. His forehead came down to rest on hers. “God, you’re lucky I adore you.”
Sylvie was smiling as she slipped her arms around his shoulders. “And despite your hopeless lack of imagination and tragic inclination toward minimalism, I love you madly.” The amusement in her tone faded, and his eyes darkened as they always did when she said those words. It never failed to bring a lump to her throat, that she somehow had the power to give another person that much pleasure. That much quiet, wondering happiness. “Endlessly.”
His hands came up to cup her head with that same gentle reverence, and their lips brushed. Once. Twice. Teasing. Lingering.
Perfect.
As the kiss deepened, someone cleared their throat pointedly.
Reluctantly, Sylvie broke away and turned her head, her arms still circling his neck.
Pet stood a few feet away in another of her gorgeous flapper-inspired dresses, holding her phone. She was shaking her head in heavy disapproval, but her eyes were sparkling.
“Pardon me and the rest of the room for interrupting yet again,” she said smoothly, “but I was just having a word with my new boss. He put his neck out with that interesting dance maneuver and is now drinking alarming quantities of highly boozed punch. And clearly discretion is not going to be the name of the game moving forward, because he not only spilled the beans on yet another royal headline breaking tomorrow, he even AirDropped me the announcement before it goes to press. I’ve given Rosie a nudge to make sure it goes no further than us, but I think you’ll find it of interest.”
She held out the phone, and Sylvie let go of Dominic with one hand to take it.
With their heads still close, they both read the drafted press release.
His Majesty King James III is delighted to announce the engagement of His Royal Highness Prince Alexander, the Prince of Wales, to—
“The bachelor prince—soon to be a bachelor no more. Rosie and Johnny’s wedding was a big deal. But the heir to the British throne?” The glint in Pet’s expression intensified as she tilted her head meaningfully. “Hell of a cake contract, folks.”
Sylvie’s gaze rose to meet Dominic’s.
The drumbeat of the band was quickening in pitch.
He lifted a brow.
And the curve of her mouth deepened.
Let the battle (re)commence . . .
Acknowledgments
Writing is often a solitary process—unless you have a new puppy walking over the keyboard every five seconds, as I’ve recently discovered—but the support and hard work of so many people go into bringing a story to life on the page.
Firstly, I’m incredibly grateful to my amazing editor, Elle Keck, and the entire team at Avon. You made me feel so welcome from day one, and have all been supportive beyond measure throughout the whole process. While dealing with the extreme difficulties of a global pandemic, you worked so hard, always offering valuable insight, helping me to take these characters and make them who they needed to be.
Thank you, as always, to my agent, Elaine Spencer. You’re at my side on every step of this journey, an expert voice when I need one but also a constant cheerleader. You believe in me even when I don’t.
I’m so thrilled to have Liza Rusalskaya illustrating the cover, bringing a whole new, gorgeous, colorful dimension to Sylvie and Dominic, and their respective bakeries.
The friends I’ve met in the book community have been one of the greatest blessings since the beginning. It’s a privilege to know all of you, I’m so lucky to have you in my life, and I think about that every day. You’re the kindest, most talented people, and the very definition of friendship.
To the book bloggers, YouTubers, and Instagrammers who work tirelessly and often don’t receive the thanks and respect they deserve: I cannot thank you enough. I’m forever grateful for everything you do.
This is a book about family, biological and found, and I couldn’t do anything without mine. You’ve taught me the meaning of unconditional love, you’re my whole world—and you’ve had to put up with me brandishing pieces of paper and plot points scrawled on whiteboards for a second opinion, keeping frequently unsociable hours, and worrying over details large and small. I love you very much.
Teddy, my newest and furriest family member: you may have introduced me to Extreme Editing, in which all of my worldly possessions were destroyed around me while I revised, but you’re an adorable (and very mischievous) light in my life.
And to every person who reads my books, thank you so much.
I appreciate you all.
Announcement
And don’t miss Lucy Parker’s next delightful romantic comedy
Starring Pet De Vere and Matthias Vaughn
Coming Summer 2022
About the Author
LUCY PARKER is an award-winning romance author who lives in New Zealand. A romance reader from a young age, she loves to write about people pursuing their dreams and falling hopelessly in love along the way—often with the last person they would expect! Her previous titles have been featured in Entertainment Weekly, Cosmopolitan, and O, The Oprah Magazine, and were included in NPR’s Book Concierge for four consecutive years.
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
BATTLE ROYAL. Copyright © 2021 by Laura Elliott. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Cover illustration by Elizaveta Rusalskaya
Cake illustration © ALEXEY GRIGOREV / Shutterstock, Inc.
Ice cream with cone © bioraven / Adobe Stock
FIRST EDITION
Digital Edition AUGUST 2021 ISBN: 978-0-06-304007-6
Version 06102021
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-304006-9
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