She gulped at the sheer mass of riches surrounding her.
Wherever she looked, there was a painting or a statue or something that was a reminder of the family’s wealth.
This was so much more than money though.
This was… heritage. Culture. Class. So many things merging into one that she couldn’t quite catch her breath.
A huge chandelier hung overhead. The rounded teardrop crystals were pendulous with their weight as they helped illuminate the vast space. The staircase before her was long and she cringed at having to ascend them in heels.
More staff of the household variety, in suits for the men and black skirts and white blouses for the women, was lined up in the hall. They wore something similar to her usual get up, so she was inordinately relieved she’d left her wardrobe in George’s hands.
George, in prince mode, smiled at them all as they passed them, and he paused to clap one man on the shoulder.
“Henri, it’s good to be home.”
“Your highness, the staff are delighted to see you once again in the palace,” came Henri’s more stilted response, but from the warmth in his eye, on an otherwise stoic, expressionless face, Perry figured Henri actually liked George.
Even though it was hard to discern much from his rigid features.
Jesus, these guys made the Brit’s stiff upper lip look positively flaccid.
Her nose twitched with the desire to laugh, but she managed to contain it, just in time to hear Henri continue, “Your parents are in the Limoges Reception Room.”
“Lead on, MacDuff,” George said with a smile, and Henri bowed in response, then stepped ahead of them and began to lead them down a hallway to the left of the staircase.
“Oh, thank God,” she whispered under her breath. “I don’t have to climb the stairs.”
George laughed, and his amusement spilled into the grand vestibule.
Henri jumped and shot a look back at George in surprise, one that had her wincing.
This place was so somber. Elegant and beautiful but like a funeral home.
George didn’t stop chuckling at Henri’s startled glance, just snickered. “I think I like you weak, helpless, and dependent on me.”
She snorted. “The shoes aren’t permanently attached, bud. They can come off at will. My will.”
He pouted at her. “Shame.”
She rolled her eyes, then felt her throat clog as they passed a piece of work that could only be a Michelangelo. It was huge, the size of a car, and depicted a Dante-esque version of heaven and hell.
More works of exquisite art were rammed down her throat as they walked down the long corridor. Her heels stuck in the rich blue carpet with every step, and she was cringing, totally unfocused on the beauty around her by the time they reached a set of white, grand doors. Doors that came complete with the royal crest emblazoned upon them.
At the sight of them, she nearly jumped for joy.
Well, she would have done, were it not for the torture devices known as high heels on her feet.
Henri tapped once on the door with his knuckles, and with a swoosh, they opened. Two men dressed in the kilt uniform, with black shirts and heavily embroidered waistcoats, guarded the doors.
They remained saluting as she and George passed through them and dropped the salute only when they’d headed deeper into another astonishing room.
An honest to God throne sat bang in the center of an atrium the size of a tennis pitch.
This was the small reception room? God, she didn’t even want to imagine the electricity bill for this place.
But then, did royal families worry about switching off lights to save energy?
She doubted it. They would though. If she had her way.
They had to lead by example. If they wanted their public to be more environmentally aware, they’d have to make changes too. And considering the country was heading for an ecological disaster, change had to be imminent.
George’s father sat on the throne and standing to either side of him were a woman she knew from pictures to be George’s mother, and then, his brother, Edward.
God, he was more handsome in real life than the magazine gave him credit. He was like an older George. In fact, they were spookily alike. But he had light brown hair that shined blond thanks to his natural highlights, and his eyes were green.
As she glanced over his beautiful mother and handsome father, she realized George took after Marianne DeSauvier’s coloring, and Edward Philippe’s—but when it came to looks, they were their father to the bone. Blood will out, didn’t they say? Well, it certainly had in the DeSauvier sons.
She swallowed when they stepped in front of the thrones and felt her legs tremble with the need to curtsey.
Only trouble was, in these heels, she wasn’t sure if her center of balance was up to curtseying.
“The reception room? Really, father, was that necessary?”
A gleam appeared in Philippe’s eye, but he got to his feet like he wasn’t sitting on a throne but a Barcalounger and strode toward his son.
She squeaked when he wrapped his arms around George and squeezed tight. The move knocked her hand off his arm, and she had to fight for balance as George, laughing, squeezed his father back.
Philippe clapped his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, son.”
“You too, dad,” came the light-hearted response.
At his words, Marianne rushed forward, Edward too.
Perry stood awkwardly to the side as the family welcomed their wayward son home.
As Edward hugged his brother, he chided, “You’ve been gone too long, but I understand why now.”
George cleared his throat, cut her a glance. “This is Perry.” He smiled at her, gripped her hand in his and tucked it through his arm. “Perry, this is my family.”
She gulped as all the attention was aimed at her. “Hi?”
She almost died at the trite greeting that spilled from her slack lips, but because that wasn’t possible, instead of dying, she whacked George on the arm when he burst out laughing.
He grabbed hold of her and hooked his battered arm over her shoulder. In almost a headlock, she had no choice but to grip him tightly from the side. It was grip him or fall over.
Fun.
She glowered down at her heels. “Be grateful for the shoes, bud, or I’d tackle you faster than Gronk on a good day,” she told him grimly, then realized she’d just threatened and committed an act of violence against a prince, in a foreign land, with armed guards at her back, and a King and Queen watching on.
Okay, so now she wanted to DIE. With capital letters.
When the ground didn’t open and swallow her up, even though she asked kindly, she shot a limpid smile at the people staring at her like she was a shark in a koi pond.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she managed to get out after clearing her throat. Twice.
“Perry, this is Marianne, Philippe, and Edward. We don’t stand on ceremony when those doors are closed.”
She held out her hand to the King and was relieved to see it wasn’t trembling. “That’s good to know.”
Philippe, as handsome as his sons, with a back so straight he’d do a soldier proud, grabbed her hand, twisted it slightly and stunned the shit out of her by raising her knuckles to his mouth.
“It’s a pleasure, Perry. If I may call you that?”
She half-smiled half-gaped. “Of course, sir. I mean, your highness.”
She knew not to call him sir! She knew he was a ‘highness.’ What the hell was wrong with her?
George snorted. “Perry is a true American. She has no idea outside of what Netflix has informed her about royal protocol.”
“That’s because somebody didn’t think to tell me how it worked in the real world,” she snapped. “And I can’t just call him Philippe. He’s a King!”
Marianne laughed, making Perry jolt. When the older woman clapped her hands, Perry wasn’t sure whether it was for good or ill. Until the statuesque bl
onde declared, “She’s good for you, child.” She then proceeded to clap those same hands on George’s cheeks and popped him a kiss on the nose.
George just chuckled. “She’s something.”
There was a weird vibe floating around here, and Perry wasn’t entirely sure what it was, just that the way they were looking at her was enough to make her cheeks glow crimson.
Permanently.
“Is there somewhere we can sit?” she blurted out. “I’m really sorry but George insisted I wear these stupid shoes.”
“For the cameras, dear,” Marianne told her calmly, but in a move that would confound Kung Fu masters, managed to maneuver them so she had a hold of Perry and was half-dragging half-guiding her across the reception room to another doorway.
“The cameras?” Perry asked weakly, wishing the doorway was one step away instead of ten.
Was everywhere in this goddamn place so big?
Before Marianne could answer, she jerked the Queen to a halt, and protocol be damned, declared, “That’s it. I can’t take it anymore.” She kicked her leg back, grabbed the heel and let her toes sink into the plush carpet underfoot. When she did the same with the other leg, she let out a sigh of relief so deep it totally overwhelmed any mortification she might have felt at behaving thusly in front of royalty.
George should never have put her in the damn things when he knew she always, always wore flats.
Goddamn his hide.
Silence fell at her behavior, then snickers started at her back. Knowing it was George, she shot him a glare over her shoulder. Edward and he were chuckling at her antics, while Philippe had that whole ‘shark in a koi pond’ look about him again.
“I’m really sorry,” she aimed at Marianne who Perry could tell, didn’t know where to look. “But it’s your son’s fault.”
“Like I said, dear, the cameras,” came Marianne’s faint and stunned response.
“Don’t worry, mother. You’ll get used to Perry’s ways.”
Perry scoffed. Like the royal family would have time to ‘get used to her.’
She was only going to be here for two weeks. And that was if she didn’t accidentally do something that was akin to treason.
Was triggering a heart attack an act of treason?
She wasn’t sure.
Philippe sure looked pasty at her behavior.
With her shoes in hand, she turned to Marianne. “I promise I’m perfectly polite and decent and respectful. But if I had to take another step, I’d have either started sobbing or would have fallen.”
Marianne’s lips twitched. “I appreciate that, dear, however you’ll have to get used to them. We have a certain image to uphold.”
Perry frowned.
Royal protocol dictated their staff wear heels?
She hadn’t noticed on the female members of the line up at the front entrance. Had just taken note of their black skirts and white shirts.
Heels?
Since when was that uniform standard?
Before she could ask, Marianne murmured, “We’re in private here, so it’s okay. I’ll have one of the staff bring a pair of flats for you to wear when we head through into the reception.”
“There’s a reception?” George asked, and she realized he’d approached and was at her side.
“Yes, George,” Marianne informed him kindly. “This is your first time back in almost six years. The press want to see you, and by see, I mean more than a glimpse of you and Perry getting out of the car!”
He groaned, managing to sound like an angry teen who didn’t want to get out of bed yet. “On our first day?”
“You know it’s best to feed the beasts a tidbit to stop them from starving and turning rabid, son,” Philippe said quietly as he stepped ahead and opened the door onto a small sitting room. “We only invited fifty journalists. It won’t take long.”
Perry’s eyes widened. Only fifty?
What the hell had she let herself in for?
Chapter Two
Edward watched the stunning brunette slip from his mother’s arm into the high-backed Louis Quinze sofa.
She had about as much decorum as Oliver Twist but there was a charm about her he could sense enchanted his brother.
If he was being honest, it enchanted him, too.
She wasn’t utterly naïve, a total, disastrous ingenue, but she was close to it. For their world, she was at any rate.
There was no avariciousness as she peered around the small lounge. No jealousy or envy as she looked over the glittering silver tea service from which his mother served them all.
She was wide-eyed and beautiful with it. Her interest genuine.
When his cock stirred, he shot George a look. The small smile on his brother’s face told Edward he understood.
George had always been a strange one. Edward had hoped his years abroad would have changed him, but it would seem not.
In Veronian, and under his breath, he murmured, “Why have you brought her here?”
“To introduce you, of course.”
Veronia was suffering with the worst drought since their records began. George had recommended bringing Perry home to consult as she was one of the United States’ most renowned specialists in water conservation techniques.
Edward, however, knew bullshit when he heard it. For whatever reason, George had decided it was time. But they were too old for these games.
Gone were the days when they could get away with being playboy princes.
Edward was widowed, but he’d have to remarry soon. The country needed an heir that wasn’t his brother or his cousin, Xavier.
They needed young blood to secure the royal seat for the next generation.
Sharing his brother’s girlfriend wasn’t something that could be on the agenda anymore. Regardless of the impetuous desire.
He took a seat in an armchair and used the delicate teacup his mother handed him to hide his erection.
Chatter went on around him, laughter too as Perry’s artless replies had his brother chuckling in a way Edward hadn’t heard since they were children. She even managed to make his parents laugh.
The amusing thing was, Perry didn’t know why. He could sense it frustrated her, but she was also relieved.
This was no pampered socialite accustomed to court protocol.
When she’d taken off her heels and had stood barefoot in the small throne room, they’d all been frozen in place at her remarkable lack of decorum. George had been the first to thaw, though. Mostly, Edward assumed, because he was used to her ways.
He’d elbowed Edward in the side even before he’d started laughing. “I wondered how long she’d last,” he’d mumbled under his breath in their native tongue.
The sight of her small feet, with shell pink-lacquered toes curling into the thick royal blue carpet shouldn’t have his erection thickening at the memory, but it did.
There was something about her…
Something that made him understand why George had brought her here. He knew she would be like kindling to Edward’s barely there fire. He gritted his jaw angrily. Hating how well his brother knew him.
Perry was not his type in the least. She was short and brunette. Rounded and curvy. He liked tall blondes, damn it. Slender with long legs.
Perry was none of those things.
Why the hell was she like catnip to him then? It had been a long time since he’d fought an erection in public, yet this crazy brunette with her madcap chatter stirred him to life in a way his wife never had.
Rubbing his jaw, he saw George cut him a glance. “What?” he asked, aware his parents’ attention was on Perry.
They were both cognizant of the fact this visit had more layers to it than a Napoleon.
Though Perry was here on business, they’d heard enough about her to know that George was interested in the American woman.
In more ways than just water conservation.
But if the looks George was shooting his way were anything to by, his plans were complete
ly different to what Edward and their parents had assumed.
“Nothing,” came his brother’s innocent response.
“You know we can’t do this,” he said in a low voice, recognizing the laissez-faire tone and distrusting it.
“Who says we can’t?”
Edward gritted his teeth, leaned forward and placed the teacup on the table. Getting to his feet, he was careful to shield his lower half from the others in the room as he swung behind the sofa to the bay windows that overlooked the garden.
This was his mother’s favorite sitting room. It was small and delicate. Prissy and very female. Her writing desk was here, and she often received visitors in this room too.
He liked it because it looked out on to the fountain, which was a feat of engineering miracles.
An ancestor had diverted a stream from the mountain behind the palace, and using water pressure created from clever plumbing, produced the magnificent stream that powered the water a hundred feet into the air.
It was a reminder of what his family had achieved in the past, when such a fountain was inconceivable. It was a simple reminder, granted. Especially considering his family’s touch was visible in every aspect of everyday life in the capital, but it touched him more than anything else.
Rubbing his chin as he watched the mist from the powerful stream, he wondered how long it would be before Perry put the engineering marvel on her hit list. He guessed it made sense. They were drastically short of water, and they were shooting it into the air because of tradition… Hardly smart, but a lot of royal traditions were dumb.
Perry, if she tried that argument with him, would find he’d agree with her totally. Still, it was one of his mother’s favorite monuments—so, for as much as it was possible to avoid the hundred-foot water spout, he’d try to divert Perry’s attention away from it.
Pondering how many 007 moves he’d have to pull to achieve that, or George would have to pull more specifically, a movement to his side had him shifting his gaze when he saw his prodigal brother had appeared to his left.
“Why have you done this?”
George sighed. “There’s no reason we can’t.”
“There’s every reason, dammit. You know I can’t…”
Perry and Her Princes Page 2