I laugh because that’s exactly what I was about to do. “You can hardly blame me, can you? I mean, if you got to see yourself naked, you’d be doing whatever you could to get you into bed and keep you there.”
“I have seen myself naked. We have mirrors all over the place here and I can say, with one hundred percent certainty, I’d much rather look at you.”
“Well, then, this should work out just fine.”
“Yes, it should.” He gives me a quick kiss on the lips, then says, “You look thirsty. I’ll be right back.”
He stands and pulls on a pair of boxer-briefs then strides across the bedroom, giving me a most spectacular view of his incredible backside. As soon as he leaves the room, I flop back on the pillow and think about how lucky I am. I don’t know why I let those stupid I Hate Tessa people get to me. They don’t know Arthur the way I do. We’re perfect for each other, no matter what anyone else thinks.
Damn. That stupid photo just popped into my head and now I’m thinking about the fact that, at some point, Arthur must have wanted to shag Brooke. Maybe I should come right out and ask him if he and Brooke have ever been an item. It would be the smart thing to do. Just get it out in the open.
He returns, carrying two tumblers and a large bottle of water, along with a bag of crisps under his arm. Dexter, Arthur’s pot-bellied pig, who has been sleeping soundly on the couch, trots in behind him. Arthur hands me a glass, then fills both before he settles himself next to me.
I prop myself up on one elbow and look at him. I’m just going to leave it alone. But surely, even Grace Kelly would have asked Prince Rainer in a very round-about, general sort of way. It’s no good to let these things fester. And if I can just reassure myself, then I can let this whole thing go and forget it forever. Yes, best to ask. “Have you ever felt this way about anyone before?”
“Nope, never.”
Good answer. Stop now while you’re ahead, Tessa. “Promise?”
Arthur narrows his eyebrows. “What’s this about?”
“I don’t know. I’m just wondering.”
“Why?”
“Why aren’t you answering the question?” I sit up and tuck the sheet under my armpits.
“I did answer, which only led to you asking again. My Spidey senses are tingling right now, which means you’ve likely got a hell of a whammy queued up and I’d rather get out ahead of it, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t have a whammy coming your way. I was just curious.” I have a sip of water, and when I look at him the expression on his face calls me on my evasiveness. Sighing, I say, “I saw an old photo of you and Brooke today online. It kind of bothered me.”
He shrugs. “She’s just a friend. You know that.”
“Yes, but has she always been in the friend zone?”
“Of course she has, but even if she had been more to me at one point, would it really matter now? You have exes, so do I.”
“I know it shouldn’t bother me, but—”
“It does anyway?” He grins at me. “Ms. Sharpe, are you a little bit jealous?”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “Not jealous. More like needing to have some assurance.”
Arthur purses his lips for a second, then says, “Explain, please.”
“We’ve only known each other for seven months. I guess I found myself curious about whether you’ll be…” Oh, shit. How do I say this without saying it?
He raises one eyebrow. “A cheating bastard?”
“I was going to say faithful.”
“I’m really surprised you feel the need to ask that. It’s a little insulting, actually.”
“I’m not trying to insult you…” What am I trying to do?
“You’re just insinuating that you’re not sure if I’ll cheat on you or not.” His smile is gone now.
“Well, it’s not like we’ve ever discussed the matter of fidelity.”
“Is it negotiable?”
My head snaps back. “What? No, of course not.”
“Why discuss it if it’s not negotiable?”
My muscles tense up. “People do discuss things that aren’t negotiable. It’s part of getting to know someone. And I’m pretty sure we should really know each other if we’re going to get married. However, the fact that you have found a way to avoid answering the question is honestly a bit alarming.”
“Avoided the question? I’m merely pointing out the fact that the question itself is unnecessary in hopes of putting to rest any other ridiculous accusations disguised as questions.” He sets his water down on the night table and opens the bag of crisps.
“I’m not stupid, you know. You can’t use your Jedi mind trickery to make me forget that you still haven’t answered the question.”
His eyes hardened. “Fine. I won’t cheat on you. Next topic: Are you going to kill me in my sleep one day?”
“What? That’s a horrible thing to ask me!”
“Oh, you’re avoiding the question. Must mean that you’re thinking of doing it…” He pops a chip into his mouth and maintains eye contact while he chews.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“The smug chewing. Don’t do that. I don’t like it.”
“Smug chewing?” he asks, looking far too amused for my liking.
“You knew exactly what you were doing with that crisp.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You know what? I’m not going to sit here being smugly chewed at.” I stand and cross the room, picking up my knickers and sliding them on. I pluck my bra off the lamp shade and stick my arms through the straps furiously.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” I jam my sweater over my head and I’m now standing in my socks and my cardigan, having forgotten my T-shirt and jeans in my desire to flee.
“It looks to me like you’re getting dressed and quite possibly preparing to leave, which would seem like a very bad idea given the fact that we’re in the middle of an argument and we won’t see each other for three days.”
“I think it’s a brilliant idea. It’s exactly what you do when you don’t want to be around a complete arse.” I hunt around until I find my T-shirt then tug my cardigan up over my head, managing to get my arms tangled in the sleeves. I struggle for a minute, my entire body heating up with irritation and embarrassment. Very elegant, Tessa. Come on arms, really? Don’t do this right now when I’m trying to make a point.
Just when I’m starting to feel that panic that sets in when you really have to pee and you can’t get your wet swimsuit off, I feel the sweater being gently lifted off of me.
“I’ve got it, thanks,” I snap.
“Calm down, I’m just trying to help.”
“You did not just say that.” I cover myself with the cardigan and glare.
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Christ. What is it with women and being asked to calm down?”
“First of all, you didn’t ask. You ordered.” I waggle my finger in front of his nose. “And I’m surprised you don’t know this about me yet, but here’s a news flash for you: I don’t exactly take well to being ordered around.”
“And I don’t like being accused of something I have not and would never do. So, perhaps you’d do well to apologize rather than getting all high and mighty. This really is not the way to get what you want.”
“Thanks for the advice! Is that what you read in The Art of War?” I spit out. “Or did you learn that bit of wisdom watching The Godfather?”
“Wow. Tessa, I’m doing my best to stay calm and be logical about this. I would appreciate it if you could do the same.”
“Sure, it’s easy for you to stay all calm and logical. You’re not the one having to look at photos of women everyone considers to be much more suitable for your fiancé!” I sigh and look down at Dexter, who is now sniffing along the bed in search of the bag of crisps. He looks up at me with his big black eyes, and I swear the look on his face is suggesting that I calm down. “You know what? I’m just gonna go. I’m sorry that I bro
ught it up.”
I hop up and down until I finally have my jeans pulled up, then exit the bedroom to find my suede boots. By the time I’m fully dressed my anger has drained away, and in its place regret fills my body. I turn to see Arthur in just his jeans, leaning against the door jamb, watching me. The look on his face melts me completely. I sigh and let my shoulders drop. “I don’t want to go.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing…I’m just really scared. There’s about five million people who don’t want us to be together and only two people that I know for sure who do. And now there’s the I Hate Tessa Club…”
His eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
“On Twitter. It started the night we got engaged. #BrookeIsBetter.”
“What? How the fuck did I not hear about this?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve been pretending it’s not happening, which includes not telling you about it.”
“Oh, Christ. Come here, you.” He holds out his arms to me.
“Are you sure you want me to?”
“Very much. I need to hold you until you forget all about those ugly people.”
I walk to him and he wraps his arms around me and holds me close to his chest.
Pressing his lips to my forehead, he holds them there for a long time before saying, “I had no idea you were under this kind of pressure. Is that really the hashtag? Brooke Is Better?”
“Yes,” I groan.
Arthur sighs. “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with that. People can be fucking awful.”
“I suppose I deserve it. I spent years being one of those awful people.”
“No, you—”
I look up at him with pursed lips. “It’s okay, Arthur. You can admit it.”
“Okay, so you were pretty much the most awful of the bunch,” he says with a hint of a smile. “But you more than made up for all of that. Is it too much to ask for the rest of the nation to forgive and forget it?”
“I think it may be,” I say. “We’re going to have to accept the fact that a lot of people—in fact, most people—won’t approve of our relationship, or understand it. Quite possibly for a very long time.”
“Which means it’s even more imperative that we believe in us.”
We hold each other for a deliciously long time. He rubs my back with one hand, and the feeling is so hypnotic I find myself melting in his arms. “I believe in us, Arthur. I do. I guess I just let them get to me today.”
“Promise me one thing,” he says.
“Anything.”
“That you’ll come to me straightaway if you read, see, or hear anything in the news about us that upsets you.”
“I promise.”
Planting a kiss on my head, he says, “Good. It’s the only way we’re going to get through this together.”
“Okay. Deal. I also promise I’ll never murder you in your sleep.”
“I appreciate that.”
Six
Twitter Battles are the New Duels
Arthur
“Welcome to ABNC’s Royal Wedding Watch. I’m Veronica Platt, reporting live. There’s more news from Valcourt Palace today. Giles Bigly joins us live from just outside the palace gates.”
“Good morning, Veronica.”
“It looks chilly out there today, Giles.” Veronica smiles.
“Yes. Quite.” A bitter expression crosses his face. “I think I’ll just get the reporting done so I can get back inside.”
“Excellent.”
“We’ve got a big report today on the upcoming wedding. Prince Arthur has broken his silence on Twitter today about speculation that he and his fiancée, Tessa Sharpe, are expecting. The tweet says, ‘No need to send baby gifts just yet. Absolutely no reason for Tessa and me to marry quickly other than being madly in love.’”
Veronica nods and gives a thoughtful look into the camera. “Interesting. What do you make of that, Giles?”
Giles freezes for a moment, then says, “She’s not pregnant.”
I hate to admit it, but I’ve done something rather foolish. I’ve let my sense of protectiveness overrule my sense of intelligence and have started my own secret Twitter account with the handle @WeLoveTessa and #TessaIsTops. I know it’s not terribly creative but I think it should get the point across. The problem is one can’t just start a Twitter account aimed at demolishing the #BrookeIsBetter movement and then leave it unattended.
No, once you engage in this form of online fighting you must be constantly vigilant, ever at the ready with a clever retort and irrefutable evidence to oppose one’s enemy. Unfortunately, in this particular case, my enemy seems to have nothing better to do with his—or, most likely, her—time. Oh, I know you’ll say, ‘That’s a little sexist, Arthur,’ but let’s be really honest. I’m Avonia’s most eligible bachelor, which means there are more than a few ladies in the kingdom whose wishful thinking may have gotten away from them. One of them was bound to overreact and believe that she can ‘be the difference’ between me tying the knot or remaining single long enough to find her standing alone in the spring rain and rushing to her to pledge my instant and undying love.
‘But, Arthur, why would she want to point out that Brooke Beddingfield is better?’
Because she knows I don’t have any interest in Brooke, so she can use Brooke as a pawn in her little game to get Tessa out of the way. Well, I have news for you @IHateTessa. It’s not going to work. I’m not going to change my mind even if you tweet every hour, which you seem to do.
So, now I’m stuck in a ridiculous battle of wits that takes up time I don’t have. And given the fact that I obviously must keep this endeavor a secret from absolutely everyone—so please keep it between us—I cannot enlist the help of Vincent or any of the other staff in this regard. So, I find myself sneaking off with my phone whenever I get a notification that the @IHateTessa person has tweeted something new. Most of the time, I end up using the excuse that I need to use the restroom which has set off certain alarm amongst my staff, who have more than once over the past three days suggested we call the doctor to examine me. This morning I found a pamphlet on my desk about prostate issues, which I can assure you I do not have. So, my idiotic plan is not only taking up massive quantities of time that I don’t have, but it is also quite likely to lead to me bending over and coughing if I’m not careful.
At the moment, I’m meant to be reading over the fourth draft of a rather contentious trade agreement between Avonia and Spain. However, instead, I’m in a three-way Twitter fight with some douche who calls himself @KingSlayer99 and @IHateTessa. I don’t know who will emerge victorious in this little battle, but I can say without hesitation that we’re all the losers here.
A knock at the door interrupts me while I’m thinking up the perfect retort. I quickly set my phone down and pick up my pen, pretending I’ve been working on the agreement this entire time. “Come in.”
When I look up I see my father standing in front of me, a bored look on his face. He’s just returned from two weeks in Singapore, so he’s sporting a tan.
“When did you get back?” I ask.
“This morning. Heard you got engaged while I was gone.”
“Yes, I did.” I turn my attention back to the paper—a little power play I learned from him.
He crosses the room to the drink cart under the window and pours himself a scotch. “You didn’t think you should clear that with me first?”
“If I had thought that, I would have done it.”
“I suppose there’s no way to talk you out of this, is there?”
“No more than I can talk you out of that glass of Oban in your hand.”
Tipping back the drink, my father has a big swig. “It’s a mistake, you know.”
“You mean like threatening to cut all ties with Spain and calling their Prime Minister a mealy-mouthed worm?” My phone starts vibrating and I know it’s one of those #IHateTessa twats. My fingers itch to respond.
“They’re one of our biggest trading partners, and you’ve really screwed the wool exporters on this one.” I consider bringing up his choice of bodyguard for Tessa, just to let him know I’m onto him, but that would be like admitting that I’m threatened by Xavier—which I am not in any way, shape, or form.
“You’re not smart enough to change the subject on me. We were talking about your completely unsuitable bride-to-be.”
“She’s in no way unsuitable and she is not a topic I’m willing to discuss with you, so if there’s nothing else I’ll get back to trying to sort out your latest faux pas.”
“She’ll never make it, Arthur. She’s not cut from the right cloth and you know it. You’re setting yourselves up to fail miserably.”
“You are not qualified to make that claim. You’ve spent all of one minute with her and you know nothing about her.”
“I know everything I need to—she’s cheap, common, and clumsy. Now, it’s time to stop thinking with your pecker and call this off already.”
I stand, my fists balled up, the blood coursing through my veins so hard it pounds in my ears. I cross the room in three steps and stand, towering over him, realizing for the first time how much smaller he is. “I have never wanted to punch someone the way I do you right now.”
“That’s because you know I’m right,” my father scoffs. “She’s not the one you marry. She’s the side action.”
A knock at the door saves me from what I was about to do. Vincent walks into my office, staring down at a folder he’s holding. “Your Highness, I’ve got those forms for you to sign.”
He looks up, sees my father with me, and stops. “Sorry, Your Majesty. I had no idea you were in here.”
“That’s fine. I was just leaving.” Father glares at me for a second, then says, “I trust you’ll do as I’ve asked.”
I lower my voice, and say, “Then you are mistaken. I think you’d do well to remember that I take on the lion’s share of the actual work of running this kingdom. If I stop, you won’t be able to spend most of the year globe-hopping and doing…whatever it is you do while you’re away.”
The Royal Wedding: A Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy, Book 2 Page 5