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

by Melanie Summers

  I knock on the door to Arabella’s apartment. A moment later it swings open to reveal her in her robe, her face covered with green goo.

  “Ooh! Gelato. Come in,” she says, stepping aside.

  “You’ve got a little something on your face.”

  “Hardy har har. What do you need from me?”

  I hand her a bowl and follow her to the couch. “What do you mean? Can’t I just want to hang out with my favourite sister?”

  She flops down onto the couch. “Cut the shit, Arthur. You only bring food when you want something.”

  “That’s because you’re always gone, and by the time you come home again I need something again. If you think of it, I really only ask for a few small favours a year.”

  Arabella rolls her eyes. “Out with it.”

  “Let’s eat our ice cream first.” I pick up my spoon and take a mouthful. “So, how was your trip?”

  Arabella shrugs one shoulder. “Not worth talking about, actually.”

  “Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?”

  “We broke up.” She takes a scoop of ice cream on her spoon and pops it into her mouth, refusing to look at me.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. You and Charles seemed so happy.”

  “Yes, I thought so, too. But it turns out he’s only happy when he’s seeing several women at once.” Her eyes filled with tears and she blinks quickly.

  “What a complete tosser.”

  “Yes, well, my instincts for finding a good man are apparently shit.”

  “He’s out there, and you’ll find him. I promise.” I pat her on the knee with one hand, in a very fatherly way. In a lot of ways I have been a father to her, even though I’m only five years older. Our own father has never been much of a dad, so a lot of the more tender moments required of the job have fallen directly into my lap. “I suspect you’ll have to kiss a few frogs yet before you find your prince. And if you keep putting that green shit all over your face, you should manage to find all your frogs quite quickly and get them the hell over with.”

  Arabella lets out a small laugh and wipes her eyes with her fingertips. “The thing is, I don’t want to kiss any more frogs. I want what you’ve got—only not with someone who isn’t an awful person.”

  Urgh. She clearly isn’t ready to forgive and forget. “Tessa’s not…” No, just leave it. She’s in pain. “You’ll find the right man, I promise.”

  The timer goes off on Arabella’s mobile phone. She plucks it off the coffee table and silences it. “Now, what is it that you came to ask me for? I have to go scrub my face and take a shower.”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to see you.” I stand and take both empty bowls, then walk to the door. “Goodnight. And don’t worry about what’s-his-fuck. You’re absolutely perfect, and if he couldn’t see that it’s only because of something completely wrong with him and not you.”

  “Are you feeling all right?” Tessa asks, sounding very distracted. She’s in bed, the light from her mobile phone shining on her face. “You’ve been in there for so long, I was just about to come check on you.”

  Bugger. I know I really need to stop engaging in these Twitter battles, but I can’t seem to help myself. I’m beginning to understand how Donald Trump feels. It’s become somewhat of an addiction for me to defeat them at any cost, including spending time with the woman of my dreams who’s finally been able to spend the night. Instead of making the most of it, I’ve been sitting on the counter in my bathroom with my phone in hand. “Never better. I just got caught up answering an email.”

  “At this hour? Surely it could’ve waited till morning.” There’s a slight edge to her voice, which has been brought on by what I’m sure she perceives as a slight neglect of her this evening.

  We only managed one round of naughty time before I got distracted by that stupid little ping on my phone. “Yes, I’m afraid it wouldn’t wait. But I promise to make it up to you.”

  Tessa yawns loudly, and I know from that sound that there will be no round two tonight.

  I don’t like the idea of keeping things from her but, in this case, it really is for the best. “What are you reading at this late hour?”

  “I’ve been foolishly watching a Twitter battle between the IHateTessa person and the WeLoveTessa people.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Good question. It’s all so middle school. Idiots, all of them.”

  “Even your WeLoveTessa person?” I do my best to sound neutral even though I’m rather offended at being called an idiot.

  “Even him. He just keeps fueling the fire. The smart thing to do would be to ignore these people.”

  “Hmm. I suppose. How do you know it’s a he?”

  “I don’t, I guess. But there’s a creepy quality about his admiration for me, so I assumed.”

  Creepy? “Women can’t be creepy?”

  “Not like this. I mean, it’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure he’s some gawky fifteen-year-old boy with food stuck in his braces. I’d show you his tweets, but I think reading the entire thread would bring out the caveman in you.” She has a smile in her tone.

  “Well, I’m sure he or she has your best interests at heart.”

  She shuts off her phone and puts it on the night stand. “I know, but I wish whoever it is would just stop already. He never even has anything intelligent to add to the conversation. Sub-par comebacks at best. Very lame.”

  Lifting her head off her pillow, Tessa gives me a light kiss on the lips—the kind that says, ‘goodnight.’ “If I’m going to have a knight in shining armor online, I’d much prefer a smart one. Like you.”

  I give a weak laugh. “Well, maybe I should log on secretly and come to your defense.”

  “Don’t you dare waste your precious time like that. I’m very greedy, and I want whatever free time you’ve got to be spent with me.”

  I’m sitting at my desk, preparing for a call with the Prime Minister of Canada. Nice chap. Knows what it’s like to be popular with women. There’s a knock at my office door, and when I look up I see my grandmother, dressed in a bright pink jogging suit, walking toward me.

  “On your way to aquasize?”

  “You don’t get a body like this without working for it.” She takes a seat across from me. “Twice a week to stay fit for the men.”

  “Well, if you’re here to try to convince me to join you, I’ve already had my workout today. Besides, I really have no interest in staying fit for the men,” I say with a smile.

  “Now, that nice, smelly fellow of yours told me you wanted to see me.”

  “Yes. I was hoping you’d be hostess for a bridal shower for Tessa. You know, show the world that this marriage has the family’s blessing.”

  “Arabella turn you down?”

  “She made her opinion known before I had a chance to ask.”

  Gran nods, then says, “Yes, of course I’ll do it.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “Good. And if you wouldn’t mind, I’d prefer to let Tessa think Arabella is away rather than have her know that she isn’t showing up because she doesn’t care for her.”

  “That’s a huge mistake.”

  “I disagree. There’s no point in upsetting Tessa unnecessarily.”

  “It’s not unnecessary. She needs to know who her allies and foes are, for her own good.”

  “Arabella will come around. In the meantime, I’m just going to—”

  “Try to create some pink, artificial version of the world?” Gran says, her tone full of sarcasm. “Why don’t you just bubble wrap her and keep her in a locked room here at the palace?”

  I set my jaw, preparing a counterargument, but Gran beats me to it.

  “Don’t give me that look, young man. You’re dead wrong in the way you’re going about this,” she says. “You’re going to have to accept the fact that she’s an adult and can handle herself. To think otherwise would be foolish, and would be a miscalculation on your part. This type of archaic behaviour will grow very tiresome for her
in short order.”

  “I’m not going to expose her to pain that can be avoided. That’s not what you do when you love someone. You protect them.”

  “That may very well be, Arthur, and I know your motivations are pure in this regard. But I’m telling you she’s not the type to put up with an overprotective man. She’s a modern woman, and you’re going to lose her if you aren’t careful.”

  “Nonsense. What woman doesn’t want to be taken care of?”

  “There’s a difference between taking care of someone when they’re hurt and trying to hide the world from them.”

  I heave out a long sigh and pick up my pen, staring back down at the agreement before me. “Thank you for the advice, as always, Grandmum. But, I assure you I know what I’m doing.”

  “I don’t think you do. You’re trying to make up for something that happened a long time ago. Something that had nothing to do with you, even though you blame yourself.”

  “This is not about my mother.” I keep my tone light, pretending the mention of her doesn’t upset me, but knowing I don’t have a snowball’s chance in a hot oven at fooling my grandmother.

  “Of course it is. Everything has been about her since she…” Her voice cracks and I shut my eyes for a moment, wishing I had never asked her to host the bloody shower.

  Grandmum continues, “Arthur, Tessa is not Cecily. Neither is Arabella—”

  “Arabella is weak. She always has been, and when I step in it’s always because she needs me.”

  “That’s bullshit. She’s weak because you step in, but if you gave her a chance you would see she’s every bit as strong as you.”

  I shake my head. “She falls apart at the first sign of critici—”

  “That’s only because she’s never had a chance to stand on her own two feet. Her big brother is constantly propping her up or standing in front of her when anything the slightest bit challenging comes her way. But, this isn’t about Arabella. It’s about your bride-to-be.”

  “Whom I know far better than you. Tessa puts on a brave face, but underneath she’s easily hurt.”

  “She might feel hurt, but she knows how to handle herself. You can’t go your whole life being terrified that she’s going to take the same way out Cecily did. Tessa has more than proven her strength, so you need to just let that go or you’re going to lose her.”

  “Are you quite done? Because I have work to do.”

  My grandmother stands and taps her knuckles on my desk. “You can choose to ignore my advice, Arthur, but you do so at your own peril.”

  Email from me to Vincent:

  Subject Line: Bridal Shower of the Century

  Vinnie, my pal,

  Gran has agreed to host the bridal shower. Please arrange to have the catering and events team set everything up. If it can take place before Christmas, I think it would be best. Also, make sure there’s lots of food of a great variety. Her family loves to eat.

  A

  Email from Vincent to Me:

  Subject Line: Re: Bridal Shower of the Century

  Very good, Your Highness.

  Sincerely,

  Vincent

  Nine

  Snack Envy & Unwanted Advice

  Tessa

  Text from Mum: Tessa, it’s your mum. Do you have a key? Dad and I are going to bed early to ‘watch Netflix and chill.’ That’s what all the young people are doing these days, right?

  Email from Rory to Me:

  Choosing of the Dress

  Tessa,

  Your request to have Olivia Paul has been denied by Baz, as she is virtually unknown.

  As per my previous email, Baz has managed to secure Ralphio, but you must meet with him by the end of this week in order to finalize these arrangements.

  Baz wanted me to remind you that the dress sets the tone for the entire event, which is why it is imperative to have a seasoned designer assist in this regard. Baz will make himself available on Friday at 10 AM to help you choose the best dress for your body type. You would be wise to take him up on this offer.

  Regards,

  Rory

  Email to Rory from me

  Re: Choosing of the Dress

  Dear Rory,

  As per my first email on this matter I have already secured Ms. Paul’s services, and having had excellent luck with her in the past I feel very confident that she will provide me with the best dress for the occasion. In addition, the Royal Family, especially the Dowager, believe in using these types of events to provide up-and-coming artists with visibility, as an act of patronage.

  I have a fitting scheduled with Ms. Paul on Thursday at five in the evening, to accommodate my work schedule. I will be happy to provide your team with sketches once they are completed.

  Sincerely,

  Tessa

  Email to me from Rory

  Re: Re: Choosing of the Dress

  Baz will be most displeased.

  “So, how’s engaged sex?” Nikki asks, squeezing an unbelievable amount of honey into her coffee. “Is it incredible? I bet it’s incredible.”

  “Could we hold off on discussing that particular topic until there are fewer people around?” I say as a large man jostles me out of the way so he can reach the creamer.

  “Not really—I barely have any time with you these days, so I have to make the most of it. If I leave all the good stuff for the end, we’ll never get to it.” Nikki picks up her mug and her plate bearing a chocolate croissant, and leads the way through the busy coffee shop to a table tucked away in the far corner, close to the fireplace.

  I follow her, dodging customers as my mug of tea starts to burn my fingers. When we’re seated I stare longingly at Nikki’s croissant, wishing I had ordered that instead of the fat-free, sugar-free, taste-free zucchini brownie. Xavier stands near the table facing the door, which means that Nikki can stare freely at his arse.

  “When we actually manage to have some time alone together, it’s amazing.” I take a bite of the brownie, only to discover it’s exactly as boring as I thought it would be. “But between work, all the wedding prep, and trying to choose my charities, we barely see each other.”

  “He barely sees you? What about me?” Nikki says, taking a big bite of her croissant. She and Dr. McPerfect broke up a few weeks ago, and instead of me being ready with a bottle of wine and a carton of ice cream, I was on the solarium floor with Arthur.

  “It’s been, like, three weeks since I’ve laid eyes on you.” Her words come out muffled as she talks. She wipes her mouth with her napkin and then gives me a thoughtful look. “You look sick or something. Like a little pale, maybe. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just a little stressed.” And really frigging hungry.

  Nikki nods, and licks some chocolate off her fingers. “This is about your hate club and that fashion critic?”

  My shoulders drop and I sigh. “Yes.”

  “Fuckers. Every one of them.”

  “It’s karma coming for me, isn’t it?”

  “Karma’s a bunch of bullshit. If it were true, how come most Fortune 500 companies are run by sociopaths?”

  “Good point.” I have a sip of my tea, the liquid warming my insides. “The fashion critic I can handle. I mean, it just takes extra thought as to what to put on before I go out the door.”

  Nikki glances at my sweater, under which is a collared shirt done up to the top. She wrinkles up her nose. “Umm…”

  “You don’t like my outfit?”

  “It’s very…proper.”

  “I can’t very well be dressing like a hooker.”

  “You never dressed one before, but you did look like a woman in her twenties. Except that one pair of granny shoes.”

  “Okay thanks, friend. Point taken.” I sigh. “I’m just trying to polish myself up a bit. Is there anything so wrong with that?”

  “No, but just don’t polish yourself until there’s no sign of the real you under that buttoned-up shirt.” Tilting her head, she says, “I like Tessa
1.0 just fine. Now, back up. You said you can handle the fashion critic, which means you’re not handling the I Hate Tessa person as well.”

  “Not exactly. I can’t seem to get it out of my head, you know? It’s really awful to know that someone you don’t know hates you so much.”

  “Oh, shit.” A look of understanding crosses Nikki’s face, then she wipes it away.

  “What?” My heartbeat picks up a bit.

  “Nothing.” She shoves another bite of croissant into her mouth.

  “Seriously, you can’t just say, ‘Oh, shit,’ and leave me hanging.”

  Swallowing, she says, “What if it’s someone you know? Like someone really high up in the Royal Family?”

  “Oh, Christ, I never thought of that. What if it is someone I know? Like Arabella? Or the king?” I push the brownie away, suddenly feeling sick. “If that were the case, I don’t think I’d want to know. I mean, how do you get past something like that?”

  “It would make for very awkward family dinners.”

  “Wouldn’t it?” I shake my head, hoping to shake the thought loose from my brain before it sticks. “It’s not someone in Arthur’s family. It’s very likely some sad little troll with nothing better to do.”

  “Yup, you’re right. It’s just a troll. The smartest thing to do would be to stop looking at that Twitter feed. In fact, maybe just stay off social media all together.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I should do.”

  Nikki narrows her eyes a bit. “Which means it’s the opposite of what you’re actually going to do—stop doing.”

  Nodding, I say, “But the entire time, I’ll know you told me not to.”

  “That’s why I love you,” Nikki says with a laugh. She has a sip of her coffee and then leans in and nods toward Xavier, who’s standing rather conspicuously about two feet from our table, watching the door. “But enough about you. I’m in serious need of a rebound. Have you found out if he’s single yet?”