His to Princess

by Theodora Taylor

  Bernard, who’s been standing behind Aldrich on the stage, pulls a satin veil off a poster showing the logo of the grant recipient.

  Aldrich gestures towards an elderly couple sitting at a nearby table and starts clapping. Talia recognizes the organization’s founders who she met with several times to vet their non-profit. The amazing couple spent their lives nearly eradicating malaria on les Iles de la Victoire, and were now focusing their attention on other, lesser known tropical diseases.

  “Thank you so much Madame and Monsieur Collins! May your good work continue for years to come,” Aldrich says, clapping into the microphone. The founders wave happily, and blow kisses to Talia and Aldrich. When the applause dies down, Aldrich reaches down and squeezes Talia’s hand.

  “The other grant will go to Gaétan de Samuels, who has been operating as a one-man non-profit on Terre d’Or for decades. Anyone from the island knows, if you have a problem, if you need help, go see Gaétan and he’ll find a way.”

  Talia’s eyes shoot to Papy, who looks just as surprised as she feels, standing at the foot of the little stage.

  “Gaétan has been campaigning against the development project planned for Terre d’Or in defense of his people’s quality of life. Well, we listened. We have not only decided that the utilities infrastructure will be rebuilt for the entire island, ensuring clean running water and stable electricity in all homes, but we will also help him set up a non-profit for the older residents so they can continue to make a living in a more traditional way, and won’t be required to do manual labor in the resorts.”

  Talia’s hand flies to her heart.

  “This is my gift to Monsieur de Samuels and,” Aldrich turns to her, “his granddaughter, Talia. A few months ago, our nation lost a great man. I cannot hide how difficult it was to watch my father decline in health, and eventually pass. After his death, I was forced to reassess my priorities, to dig deep and rediscover myself. I couldn’t continue to be the young, reckless prince, but needed to focus on becoming the future king of this great nation.” Aldrich lifts his chin, and many of his compatriots do the same.

  “In my grief, I retreated to Vieux Victoire, the beautiful chateau beside our beloved Terre d’Or. And there I met a beautiful young woman. She was the caretaker at the time, filling in for her recently deceased grandmother. And she was…is incredible.” He glances at Talia again. “A young law student from the United States who…” he brings their clasped hands to his chest, “who truly stole my heart.”

  The flutter is back, and feeling like she might lift off the ground, Talia's eyes start to shine. Aldrich pulls his gaze from hers and turns back to his audience.

  “Mesdames et Messieurs…it is my great honor to present to you your future queen!”

  Chapter 22

  “What in the hell is going on?!” Talia shouts as soon as she’s made it through the audience chamber door, her heart pounding in her ears. She turns on Aldrich and Bernard like a lioness crossed, just as the two men close the door behind them. They are damn lucky they managed to shuffle her off the stage and into this room before she completely lost it.

  Just thinking of the scene she’s left…with everyone, including Papy, staring at her in complete shock…it’s enough to make her head explode.

  What did he mean their “future queen”? She and Aldrich had never discussed or so much as exchanged a word about her staying on after Monday. And now he’s introducing her as his fiancée to his subjects and the collected press?

  “The future queen? Your wife?! Care to let me know when we decided this, because I’m pretty sure I would have remembered that conversation!”

  “Please, lower your voice,” Aldrich says through gritted teeth. “We do not need our guests hearing your little outburst.”

  Oh, no he didn’t. “Little outburst? Are you fu—”

  “Gentlemen, give us the room,” Aldrich says, cutting her off with a terse nod towards his guards and Bernard. “I need to speak with Madame Jeffries in private.”

  They glare silently at one another as the men leave. Once the door closes with a soft click, Aldrich comes to stand in front of Talia.

  “First, please calm yourself…” he says, his voice barely level—as if he had something to be angry about.

  “Uh, yeah…no. That’s not happening. So you might as well get that thought right out of your head,” Talia answers, nostrils flaring angrily. “Now who gave you the right to announce this?”

  “Talia—”

  “Please tell me this wasn’t your plan all along.” She jerks her chin back. “To produce an heir, and get the people on your side by announcing you’re going to marry a commoner. I know you said you didn’t know how to ‘king,’ but you could have looked farther than a damn fairy tale for inspiration!”

  His chin drops. “Talia, that is an unfair assessment of what I’m trying to do here.”

  “Oh my God, it was your plan!” she shouts. “You really are that self-absorbed!”

  “I am self-absorbed? You are the one attempting to return to your sad, boring life in America, despite the fact that you are carrying my babies.”

  “Really? This again? In my world, baby-on-the-way isn’t a great reason to get married. In fact, I’ve already had the pleasure of taking some very illuminating divorce law seminars, so I know just how badly that can turn out for everyone involved, especially the children. People should get married after getting to know each other over the course of a few years, not a few months, one of which was spent with me not even knowing your identity.”

  “They need parents,” Al insists stubbornly.

  “I agree! But they don’t need unhappy parents. If we’re not good together, we shouldn’t stay together for the kids. They’ll do better with happy, but separated parents!”

  “So you think it’s better to make the children bounce between two countries with whole continents in-between? They’ll spend their entire lives in airports! And all because of a few extreme cases you read in a textbook!”

  She crosses her arms as best she can over her large bump. “You do realize there are tens of thousands of divorces that started with your exact reasoning, right?”

  Aldrich steps in closer, his eyes blazing with hot fury. “And after last night, Talia? What did you think would happen?”

  She falters for a moment, but rallies with, “What did I think would happen? Aldrich, one night of hot sex is not the same thing as me agreeing to marry you! And it definitely does not give you the right to hit me with a marriage announcement…in front of hundreds of people including my grandfather!”

  “I prefer to think of it as a romantic surprise.”

  Talia stamps her foot in frustration. “Finding out you are secretly a prince, and that you think I’m going to marry you is NOT romantic!” she shrieks at him. “What on earth ever gave you the right to treat me this way? And knowing me like you do, how could you even think I’d ever agree to something like this!?!?”

  Aldrich’s voice lowers, but somehow sounds even angrier than hers as he responds, “Talia, I am done trying to reason with you. Do not be naïve. We have babies on the way, of course we are getting married! This is no longer up for debate.”

  Talia’s eyes widen in anger. And then something settles over her. Something that effectively shuts down her fire of rage as effectively as a bucket of cold water, and cranks up her resolve to be done with this man until it is as hard and uncompromising as the marble floor beneath her feet.

  “You cannot compel me to marry you,” she answers, her voice steady and firm. “And we would not even be having this conversation if you weren’t sterile. Would we, Aldrich?”

  He stills, his expression freezing over despite the tropical clime. “Who told you this?”

  “Your mother,” she replies, rolling her neck. “Seems you forgot to have her sign an NDA like everybody else.”

  “That is…” he shakes his head in one furious jerk, “beside the point.”

  “Is it?” Talia asks, her e
yebrows raising coolly. “Because I am certain if you hadn’t found out about your little problem, we wouldn’t be here. Instead, you’d be introducing Philomena as your future wife, and I’d be back home avoiding Bernard’s NDA calls like the plague.”

  Realizing the truth makes Talia’s stomach turn. Aldrich’s reaction is even worse. He stands there with his jaw ticking, unable to deny any of it.

  Then he tries a different tactic. “Talia, I am very fond of you. But you are being very difficult,” he takes a step closer to her, shaking his head as if she’s a cute but difficult child refusing to cooperate with an adult. “It does not matter how we came to be here, the fact is… we are. And if you will be reasonable, you will find yourself the recipient of riches, fame…more than a law degree could ever offer. If you stop this…if you will agree to be my wife, then I will—”

  Talia takes a large step back, carefully avoiding the long train of fabric behind her. “No more negotiating, Aldrich,” she returns in a strong and steady voice. “I. WANT. TO. GO. HOME. That is the only thing I want from you right now.”

  Aldrich grabs her arm. “Talia, you are home,” he says, his voice as hard as the diamonds his uncle’s kingdom is known for. “The sooner you accept that, the easier all of this will be on both of us.”

  She shakes her head sadly at the man she once trusted, and who she thought understood her. “I’ll never accept it,” she whispers, her voice wretched with defiance. “You might be the future king of this country, but you’ll never be the king of me.”

  Chapter 23

  “You’ll never be the king of me.”

  She says this, her brown eyes burning with a mixture of sympathy and contempt. “Now. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to go back in that room and tell everyone there’s been a big mistake.”

  Talia turns and starts toward the door.

  “If you leave this room…if you create another scene…I will give the order to pave Terre d’Or over tonight! Starting with your grand-père’s precious vanilla farm.”

  Aldrich regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Regrets grabbing her. Regrets the entire conversation.

  He just doesn’t understand. They’d been so happy during the past month. How can she still want to leave him? Want to make a fool of him, of them both, in front of the press?

  But his threat works. Talia stops in her tracks, turning around. “And there he is,” she says with another sad shake of her head. “The spoiled asshole you’ve been hiding from me for the last four weeks. I suspected he might still be in there. Lurking. Biding his time. I should never have let you anywhere near me last night.”

  Did she not feel even an iota of what he’d begun to feel for her over the past few months?

  Aldrich shakes his head, and instead of answering her, he pushes the small button on his desk.

  Matthis appears a moment later, and gently takes her by the arm.

  “I am sorry, but I must escort you to your quarters,” Matthis says, a hint of regret in his voice as he guides her toward the room’s back entrance which leads directly to the residential wing.

  “I understand, Matthis. You’re just doing your job,” she answers stiffly. “It’s not your fault you have to follow this monster’s orders.”

  Talia lifts her chin and walks out with the guard, anger and hatred for Aldrich positively radiating off her body.

  Bernard appears in the doorway a few moments after the rear door closes behind them. “Can I do anything, Your Highness?” he asks.

  Aldrich doesn’t move, doesn’t respond. So Bernard leaves, quietly closing the door.

  Now what? Everything is ruined.

  Aldrich still holds the champagne flute from the toast. There’s a little liquid left in the bottom. He raises it high. “Long live the king,” he says to an empty room. The champagne is warm and flat.

  Putain de merde! He throws the glass against the wall, watching it smash into a hundred tiny pieces.

  Everything has gone wrong. He’d thought after what they shared last night, Talia would be his forever. But instead, he’s made the mother of his twins hate him even more.

  Chapter 24

  “This is simply brilliant, Your Highness!” a chamberlain declares the next morning. “International newspapers are abuzz with the news of your engagement to a commoner, and with that master stroke, you’ve managed to completely rewrite your story in the press! Superb!”

  But is it superb? Aldrich shifts on his father’s ornate throne. It’s the Monday morning after the disastrous coronation ball, and the padded gold chair feels especially uncomfortable. Aldrich wonders why his father never had a more modern one created.

  “Oh yes, Your Highness,” simpers another member of his council from a seat on one of the Throne Room sofas. “So cunning of you to choose a commoner whose grandfather is the leader of the anti-development project on Terre d’Or! What a masterful way to turn the people in your favor!”

  The men around him smile and call out in approval. But Aldrich only scowls. Talia was supposed to be here today. Beside him. Planning their nation’s future. Planning their wedding. That was how he’d imagined the first council meeting after his coronation going.

  “It does go against tradition to marry a commoner, but the world expects nothing less of the bad boy prince of Victoire,” says the head of public relations, pulling out a folder of newspaper clippings and downloaded articles. “His Highness is breaking tradition in a good way. Like our chamberlain said, the story has been picked up all over the world! Finally, the press is talking about something good, and not about the death of His Former Majesty, King Georges Luc, or the Terre d’Or land dispute. They are focused on something happy and beautiful. Love! Even better, your fiancée is half-American, so we’re expecting a record year of tourism from the States with a real royal wedding in the works…”

  “I hadn’t thought of that…” Another chamberlain rubs his hands together and turns to Aldrich. “Your Highness, this could be bigger than Grace Kelly! We’ve struck the jackpot. Madame Jeffries’ character alone,” he runs his finger down a list in the dossier they’ve each been given, “she’s been to the best schools, Ivy League universities, she’s not too young,” a few members of the board chuckle at this, but Aldrich narrows his eyes, “she’s from a decent, upper middle class family with a good work ethic. She’s done volunteer work since childhood, her record is spotless…”

  “And local approval numbers are through the roof! Which will further smooth His Highness’s transition from prince to king,” Bernard adds.

  The eight men sitting in various arm chairs and sofas surrounding the throne smile and nod at each other. But not Aldrich. He feels sick.

  “Sir, you could not have played this any better,” says his PR head.

  “Couldn’t he have?” Hervé, Duke of Diamant—and the only member of the council who doesn’t seem all that excited by the news—asks.

  Yes, couldn’t he have? Aldrich asks himself. Talia hasn’t spoken to him since the coronation ball except to send word through Pascal that she would not be held responsible for her actions if he so much as thought about showing up to her weekly doctor’s appointment this morning.

  Not that he could have gone. He had to attend the council meeting. But…this is not how things are supposed to be.

  In the days leading up to the ball, he’d imagined her sitting by his side, running the meeting with him, as a team. He’s gotten used to her company over the past few weeks, and that’s not a good thing. He’d missed her with a bittersweet feeling for the three months they were apart after Vieux Victoire.

  Not to mention the horniness. After four weeks of waking up with a painful set of blue balls, their Friday night encounter wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy his cravings.

  He’d woken this morning feeling desolate and sorry for himself. Wishing for her in a way he wasn’t accustomed, wanting her there with him so he could bury himself in her soft warmth. Two days after his announcement, he’d tak
en matters into his own hands, so to speak, imagining Talia in his bed on her hands and knees. Bent, and panting for him with his babies in her full belly.

  But the fantasy faded as soon as he shot his load over his hand and sheets. Leaving him with a terrible empty feeling. Like hunger, only worse. Frustrated and cold, as if something has been ripped out of him.

  And now, here he sits on his father’s throne, the queen’s chair empty beside him, while he receives congratulations for an upcoming wedding to a woman he will quite possibly have to force down the aisle at gunpoint. Which he knows is illegal—even for the king.

  “Well, I think that’s everything, gentlemen,” says Bernard, wrapping up the council meeting that the sullen prince doesn’t want to be at anyway. The men stand and button their suit jackets.

  But as they file out the door, nodding their goodbyes to Aldrich who responds with a lazy flick of his finger, Hervé has not moved. Once the other men have gone, the duke pushes off the ornate wall he has been leaning up against, and approaches the throne.

  “Aldrich, I have an important matter to discuss with you in the wake of your unexpected announcement,” his uncle says.

  Aldrich holds up a hand. “Uncle, I have my daily briefing with Bernard now. We can speak after.”

  Hervé folds his arms and blinks. “I am the Grand Duke of Diamant, Aldrich. And one of this country’s most important trading partners.”

  Bernard glances up from his daily briefing tablet, clearly distressed at being in the same room as these two high-powered, angry men. “Sir, it really is no trouble. We can go over this later.”

  “No, no, Bernard. Please continue.” Aldrich takes the tablet from his assistant to review his daily schedule listed in colored time blocks. “Uncle, if you’ll excuse us.”