The Royal Wedding: A Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy, Book 2

by Melanie Summers

  My mum completely misses the extreme sarcasm and beams at him. “She loves yellow lilies with orange tips, and she loves ‘90s dance music, her favourite meal is turkey with baby potatoes and lots of gravy, and she loves those little sausage rolls, you know the ones you can get at the deli. Oh, and tiny weenies on toothpicks! Oh, and I saw the best little parting gift on Pinterest. We give each of the guests a baggie filled with jelly beans and attach a little tag that says, ‘Thanks for bean here!’”

  Baz wears an incredulous look on his face. “Rory, Ricky, Ryan, are you getting this all down?”

  “Yes, Baz,” they all say as they quickly start tapping away on their laptops.

  “Good, because I’d hate it if we forgot the tiny weenies.”

  I rest my hand on my mum’s forearm and give it a squeeze. She suddenly notices the look on his face and stops talking.

  Baz continues, apparently finding time in his busy schedule to make fun of my mother. “What else? Should we go with a massive backyard barbecue theme? Perhaps have a bouncy castle for the kiddies and maybe a big water balloon fight in front of the Abbey directly following the ceremony?”

  I open my mouth to let him have it but Vincent beats me to it, managing to make his point whilst remaining much more diplomatic than I would have. “Baz, I know you’re in an incredible rush, and we were so fortunate to obtain your services on such short notice. Perhaps we could hear your plans for the wedding now so we don’t keep you.”

  “Yes, please. Let’s get on with it so we can eat already,” my dad says, licking his lips and staring forlornly in the direction of the food carts.

  Baz stands again and goes through the wedding day at breakneck speed. I’m shocked to see that my entire day has been planned right down to the minute, starting at four-forty a.m. when I have to wake, and ending at ten-fifty-eight p.m. when Arthur and I will finish wishing the last of the guests good-bye. I stare down at the itinerary, realizing I’ll spend four hours and fifty-two minutes greeting guests that day. Not that I’m complaining but, dear God, I had no idea it could possibly be that long.

  Once he’s finished going over the itinerary, Baz informs both sides that the guest lists will be required by the end of the week at the latest so that we can move on to P2 of the N.P. (I looked it up: it means phase two of the nuptial preparation.) Vincent then tells us that our guests will need to fill out security check forms as soon as possible so they can be vetted.

  “Oh dear,” my mum says. “That means Uncle Carl won’t be able to attend.”

  “And your nephew, Billy. Remember? He had that run-in with that stripper who said he—”

  I panic, causing my voice to come out loud and squeaky. “Thank you, Vincent. Just get me the forms and I’ll sort it out.” My entire body heats up with humiliation as the rest of the room breaks out into snickers. At least Arthur isn’t here to find out about my love for tiny weenies and the criminal elements of my family.

  Baz closes his packet, then looks at me. “I need the bride.”

  “Pardon me?” I ask.

  “Stand,” he says, gesturing wildly for me to walk over to him, as though that should have been perfectly clear in the first place.

  I do as I’m told and make my way over to him at the head of the table, feeling completely self-conscious to have so many people staring at me while I walk in these heels. Oh, crap, how am I going to do this in front of millions of people if I can barely manage it in front of ten?

  “That’s what I thought.” He looks down at Rory. “P and W.”

  She nods and types some notes.

  “Excuse me?” I say but they both ignore me because, apparently, this has nothing to do with me.

  “Five and a half months will barely be enough time, but we’ll do what we can,” Rory says. “I’ll see if Julie is free.”

  “Sorry, what is P and W?”

  Rory rolls her eyes. “It’s on page three.”

  I drop the courtesy smile I was wearing in favour of a ‘don’t fuck with me’ look. “Please indulge me. I haven’t had a chance to memorize the list yet.”

  I hear papers rustling behind me, then my mum pipes up excitedly, “It says here ‘P and W, posture and weight.’”

  Baz lifts an eyebrow at me. “Will this be your wedding-day weight or do you intend to lose?”

  “I don’t know, I hadn’t…I guess I was thinking of trying to firm up,” I stammer.

  “You need to decide now. If you can manage to shave off twenty before the wedding, I can get Ralphio to design your dress. Maybe. Not likely, but he owes me a favour. If you’re not one to cooperate, however, I’ll save the favour for someone who will.”

  “Cooperate?”

  “Listen, here, mister,” my dad says, clearly very hangry now. “She’s perfect the way she is. If your designer only wants to make dresses for coat hangers, you can keep him.”

  I smile gratefully at my dad, who’s too busy glaring at Sebastian to notice.

  Baz ignores my father and turns to me. “This will be the single most important moment in the lives of any woman in your generation. The eyes of the entire world will be on you but, in spite of that fact, none of this is actually about you. It’s about the fairy tale, the fantasy of the perfect couple. The handsome crown prince and his beautiful princess. Do you understand how important this is to the monarchy? To Avonia? To women everywhere? People need to be inspired Teresa—”

  “Tessa,” my mum says.

  “Whatever,” Baz says, waving her off. “People need to be inspired. They also need to see the reason he chose you. It’s the only way they can make sense of their pathetic lives. Do you understand?”

  I say nothing, certain that my expression says I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about.

  Baz sighs heavily, then goes on. “You have to be special. Spectacular. Better than every other woman on the planet. There has to be a reason for him to want to be with you. You can’t be some ordinary woman. Because, if you are anything short of perfection, it leaves all the other ordinary women wondering ‘Where is my prince? Why I am marrying this normal man who sits around all weekend watching football and drinking beer?’ And if they do that, suddenly nothing will make sense to them anymore. It will lead to a general sense of dissatisfaction with their own ordinary lives, which will cause divorce rates to skyrocket, which leads to all sorts of financial burden on the nation and the collapse of society as we know it.”

  “No pressure, though, right?” I say, and laugh awkwardly.

  Baz keeps his poker face in place, causing me to start to ramble. “Umm, well, okay. Sorry. I’m really quite…normal, I’m afraid. I’m in pretty good shape, I think. I like to run but I also like to eat…”

  “Yes, I can see that. But the good thing is, you’ve got potential. There’s enough here to work with and almost enough time. Follow the regimen that my team will set out for you, and by the time the big day arrives you might almost be able to fool most of the common people.” He turns to Rory. “Twenty pounds will bring the waist in enough to make up for these child-birthing hips. I want tight arms. Ribs showing.”

  “Won’t they be hidden by her dress?” My mum asks.

  “No bloody way do I want her ribs showing.” My father stands. “That’s it. We’re eating. Tessa, too. Come on, love, I’ll fix you a plate.”

  Baz looks at me. “The decision is yours. but you must make it now.”

  I stare at him for a second, then hear myself say, “That’s okay, Dad. I’m not hungry.”

  Baz almost smiles, then says, “Done,” before turning and walking out the door while he places a call on his mobile phone.

  What the fuck just happened?

  “Ms. Sharpe, do you have a moment?” Vincent calls to me from down the hall just as my parents and I are about to leave.

  I turn, knowing by his tone that whatever it is he needs to tell me, I’m not likely to want to hear it. I just want to get out of here after being publicly humiliated by a tiny man in cream- colour
ed linen.

  “Certainly.” I look at my parents and say, “You two go ahead. I’ll see you at home.”

  My dad narrows his eyes at me. “Are you sure? We can stick around if you need us.”

  “That’s okay, Dad. I can handle this.” I give each of them a quick kiss on the cheek. “Mum needs to get to the cheese shop before they run out of Brie.”

  My mum’s eyes light up. “I almost forgot, it’s usually gone by noon. We’d better hurry, Reuben.”

  I watch them as they hurry out the door, then follow Vincent to his office. Once we’re settled inside, he offers me a water or tea.

  “No, thank you. Even though those are both calorie-free options.” I smile too wide in my attempt to act like what just happened didn’t bother me.

  Vincent doesn’t smile back; instead his expression is filled with empathy. “If you don’t mind me saying, Ms. Sharpe, I think you look just lovely. And please don’t worry about what Sebastian said. It’s all a bunch of rubbish. If each wedding he planned didn’t have far-reaching consequences beyond the actual ceremony and dinner, it would be much more difficult for him to go around being so pretentious.”

  I feel my body relax slightest bit at Vincent’s words. “I can see why Arthur likes you so much.”

  “Thank you, Miss.”

  “Can you do me a big favour? “

  “Certainly.” He picks up his pencil, ready to take notes.

  “Could you call me Tessa? Or Tess is fine, too. I would just feel a lot more comfortable.”

  Vincent smiles at me. “I can see why Arthur likes you, Miss.”

  I laugh. “So, it’s a ‘no’ then?”

  “At the palace, we have very stringent protocols in place for a reason. Allowing ourselves to cross certain barriers can complicate things in a way which serves no one.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “Having said that, I asked to speak with you because I think you could use my help. You’re about to enter the very choppy waters of not only a royal wedding, but the royal life as well. And as you know, not everyone is in favour of this marriage.”

  I chuckle a little and shake my head. “That might be a bit of an understatement.”

  “Yes, well, better to understate it than to put too much focus on what you can’t change.” Vincent stands and pours two glasses of water from a pitcher on an antique credenza behind his desk. He walks around and hands one to me, then returns to his seat. “What I’m about to tell you must remain between the two of us.”

  I nod, feeling my heart speed up a bit in anticipation of what it is he’s about to say.

  “Sebastian is a complete douche. He’s a horrible little man with a Napoleon complex and, after this morning, I’m sorry I suggested him to Prince Arthur. Unfortunately, he truly is one of the only people who can pull something of this magnitude off in such a short period of time. Had you and the prince been more willing to allow for a more standard period of time, we wouldn’t need him.”

  “Are you suggesting we postpone the wedding?”

  “Not at all, Miss. What I’m suggesting is that we don’t fill Arthur in on the details of today’s meeting. You may have noticed he has a bit of a protective streak when it comes to you. Were he to hear about Sebastian’s treatment of you today he will fire him, which is not something we can afford to have happen unless you’re willing to postpone.”

  “I’m not comfortable keeping things from Arthur, and I don’t think you should suggest that I do so.”

  “Ms. Sharpe, I know the prince better than anyone, including his own family. I’m not suggesting that you make a habit of keeping things from him but, in this case, if your goal is to have the wedding in May, you would be acting against your own interests to tell him. A very small omission in sharing the events of one meeting will serve you much better in the long run. I know how badly Prince Arthur wants you back under the same roof as he, and I’m just trying to help make that happen as quickly as possible.”

  I stare at him for a moment. “I’ll give it some thought. Thank you.” Standing, I place my water glass on his desk and start for the door.

  Vincent’s voice stops me. “He’s really only happy when you’re here, Miss. And because I care for him very much, his happiness is really all that matters.”

  I nod and give him a small smile. “I feel exactly the same way.”

  Eight

  Never Underestimate an Octogenarian in a Bright Pink Jogging Suit

  Arthur

  “There’s been a slight change of plans, Your Highness,” Vincent says, sliding into the back of the limo with me. “The French Ambassador will be at the meeting after all.”

  “Oh, Christ, is it still that LaPorte fellow?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he says. “I’ll have to cancel your appearance at the shelter for abuse victims or your dinner with Ms. Sharpe. You won’t be able to make it to both once he’s finished talking.”

  I sigh, irritated that my day is about to be hijacked by the most long-winded man in all of Europe. “I can’t very well be yet another man to let down the women at the shelter, can I?”

  “Not really, sir.”

  “All right. I’ll need a few minutes to call Tessa, then.”

  “Certainly.” Vincent nods. “I’ll need about four minutes to go over the prep for the meeting.”

  I glance at my watch, then dial her number.

  She answers with, “How long do we have?” She’s such a trouper. She never complains about my unavailability, but makes the most of every second we have.

  “Three minutes. How was Baz?”

  “He’ll definitely get the job done.”

  “Uh-oh, what happened?”

  “What makes you think something happened?”

  “Your tone and the vagueness of your answer.” I turn to face the window, knowing that Vincent will hear my end of the call anyway. At least I can pretend to be alone.

  “It was just a bit of a challenge for my parents. They expected to have more say in the entire thing, I think. My mum, especially. She had all sorts of ideas, but I’m afraid none of them are going to fit with Baz’s vision.”

  “Any that you wanted?”

  “No, not really. I think it’s best to let the expert make the decisions. I don’t have the first clue about planning an event of this scale.”

  “You sure? Because it’s your wedding, too.”

  “I’m sure, darling. Thirty seconds left. What did you call for?”

  “You’re going to hate me.”

  “You need to cancel tonight?”

  “Yes. It was either you or I would have to skip out on the women’s shelter.”

  “Oh, don’t do that. They need your support more than I do.”

  “You’re a good woman, Tessa Sharpe.”

  “I know. Time’s up. I love you.”

  “You, too.”

  I hang up and sigh. “She really is wonderful.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  I turn to Vincent, who hands me the prep package for the trade meeting. I flip it open, then say, “How can I get everyone else to see what I see in her?”

  “I suspect they just have to spend a little time with her, Sir.” He points to the paper in front of me and says, “You’ll want to pay particular attention to the section on water rights.”

  I nod and read the first few lines. “We should host a big bridal shower for her. Very soon, so she can win over all the ladies as soon as possible. That way, they can bring everyone else around long before the wedding.”

  I smile and nod, ignoring the urgency in Vincent’s expression and the way he’s pointing to the package. “I’ll ask Arabella to host it. If she does it, they’ll all come.”

  Twitter Feed, #BrookeIsBetter

  IHateTessa: Thank the good lord, the shock jogger beotch isn’t preggers. Still hope for #BrookeIsBetter

  Kingslayer99: @IHateTessa Hopefully, their yacht goes down at sea on the honeymoon and puts an end to the pair of them.

  IHateTessa
: Totally wrong, @kingslayer99! Prince Arthur is the bomb. Tessa’s the only one who should go down with the ship.

  WeLoveTessa: @IHateTessa Sod off. If anything, Arthur isn’t worthy of her. #TessaIsTops

  I really need to stay off Twitter. That wasn’t even a good comeback and this really isn’t good for my rage. I toss my phone onto the coffee table and lean back on the couch, considering going to bed early for a change instead of staying up half the night to argue with these half-wits.

  I know I should be ignoring them, but the nation needs to know that more people than just me have a favourable opinion of the future queen. Although, when I really think about it, it may not be exactly true. Even my own family is split on their opinion of her. My father and sister versus Grandmum and me. I suppose I should start with them, shouldn’t I?

  My father’s pretty much a lost cause, but I can work on my sister and bring her around. Her ego is still bruised from all the things Tessa wrote about our family in her Royal Watchdog days. In particular, I know she objects to the things Tessa wrote about me. I don’t blame Arabella for how she feels but I do hope that, in time, she will see my future wife for who she really is—a kind, caring, truthful person who has the best interests of our nation at heart.

  If I can get Arabella to come around, others will soon follow. I stand suddenly, disturbing Dexter, who was fast asleep next to me, and hurry to the kitchen. I need to ask Arabella for a gigantic favour. And gigantic favours require gelato. I scoop out two big bowls of chocolate ice cream whilst trying to think of the best way to ask her to host Tessa’s wedding shower. Even if she doesn’t actually approve of Tessa, if she’s willing to host the shower it will give the appearance that she’s forgiven and forgotten.

  I know it’s going to be a tough sell, which means I’ll likely find myself making my way down the hall with a variety of yummy treats many times over the next couple of weeks. Not that Arabella can be bought with food—it’s just that this is our way of spending time together. I suppose we’re not so different than other families in this way, but in our case we rarely share a meal together because of our schedules. So, we’ve developed a little ritual of eating junk food together late at night. But don’t worry, my morning workouts more than make up for it.