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

by Melanie Summers

  “Yes, well, that may be true, but I’m not sure how Tessa would feel about me complaining to you when I really should be talking to her.”

  “It has to be a two-way street, Arthur. She can’t expect to be engaged in a modern relationship, in which she maintains a career that complicates your life, and not allow you to have friends to talk to when you’re upset about it.”

  I stir the eggs with more vigor than normal. “Her job doesn’t complicate my life.”

  “Well, it certainly doesn’t ease your burden in any way that I can see,” she says. She pauses for a moment, waiting for a response. I don’t give her one.

  I tip back the rest of my wine, then pour another before dishing up the eggs and the fried tomatoes.

  When we’re seated, she puts her hand on mine. “How about this? You air one grievance about your relationship and I’ll do the same.”

  I slide my hand out from under hers and pick up my fork. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

  “I had to find one since you were never going to come around,” she says, laughing even though I’m not entirely sure that was a joke. “He’s an accountant for the Doctors of the World Foundation. It’s a long-distance thing, though, since he’s stationed in London.”

  “Wait a minute. He’s in London and you’re here on your time off?”

  “Things are very casual at the moment, but he’ll be joining my family at Christmas for a couple of days.”

  “Is that what bothers you about him? You’d like it to be more serious?”

  “No. To be completely honest, he’s a little bit long-winded. And, even for an accountant, he can be a bit dull. But he’s a good man and a very good kisser, so I can overlook the rest.” She takes a bite of the eggs, then makes an mmm sound. “Delicious, Arthur. I can see why you stick with this dish.”

  “Thank you.”

  She empties her wine, then picks up the bottle and tops us both off. “Now, you.”

  “You what?”

  “You go. I told you my complaints about Evan. Your turn.”

  “I already did.”

  She raises one eyebrow. “You’re no fun. You’ve only told me that she has a career.”

  “Other than that, she’s perfect.”

  “Nobody’s perfect.”

  “She is.”

  Brooke makes a gagging face and points at her mouth with her index finger.

  “No, seriously, she is.”

  “You know what’s serious? The trouble you’ll be in if you don’t take off those blinders before the wedding. Couples fare much better when they’re honest about each other’s shortcomings from the start. It prevents the big letdown that most people get when they finally acknowledge the other person is human.”

  “I know what her faults are, Brooke. I just don’t feel the need to badmouth her.”

  “It’s not badmouthing. It’s just letting out a little of the buildup of frustration. Fine if you don’t want to talk to me, but find someone to talk to. Have you spoken to Chaz lately? Maybe you’d feel better talking to him.”

  “He’s been living in New York for the past couple of years since they moved to be near her family,” I say, happy to change the subject. “As far as I know, they’re doing quite well. Two kids already and his law firm is killing it.”

  “Good for Chaz. But that still won’t help you.”

  “I don’t need help. I’m very happy.”

  “Okay, suit yourself.” She shrugs. “You always have been a stubborn arse, never admitting when someone else might know what’s good for you.”

  “All right, fine. I just wish the rest of the country would either accept our upcoming marriage or shut the hell up about it already. So what if she’s a mechanic’s daughter or she’s a little accident-prone? She’s a good person—strong and brave and kind, and she’s going to make a wonderful queen one day.”

  “There. Was that so hard?” she asks, standing and making her way over to the island and getting out another bottle of wine. She uncorks it and brings it to the table without asking if I’d like more. Honestly, I don’t even mind because I do want another drink. I’d like several, in fact.

  Before I know it, I’m getting up to grab a third bottle of wine. Fuck it. Might as well make a night of it. I end up pouring my heart out about how difficult it is to be engaged to someone whose supporters hate me and who my supporters hate. I tell her about Hazel, and Phyllis and Daniel, the couple from the hospital, who warned us against marrying each other. I tell her about the #IHateTessa Twitter feed, but stop short of mentioning the #BrookeIsBetter bit.

  She listens intently, nodding and providing a surprising amount of sympathy for both Tessa and myself. “I have to admit, Arthur, I wasn’t a fan at first. Not after all the things she wrote about you in her Royal Watchdog days. But if you say she’s a good person, I believe it.”

  “Thank you. If only everyone else out there were like you. I can’t even seem to get Arabella to give her a chance.”

  She puts her hand over mine. “She’ll come around. You just need to give her time.”

  It’s late by the time I walk Brooke to one of the guest rooms. I was going to send her home in a cab but the police haven’t opened the roads yet. My wine-soaked brain is attempting to set off warning signals of some sort but I can’t figure out what for. Or for what? What’s the proper way to word that? The not-drunk way?

  Fuck it. I’m drunk. “There you are Lady Dr. Beddingfield. Your room. You should find everything you need.” I bow, tipping forward slightly and bumping into her.

  She laughs hysterically and grabs me, pulling me up to standing. Then her face grows serious and I know exactly what she’s about to do. So I back up two steps and say, “Sleep well.”

  “You, too.”

  I turn to stumble toward my room but her voice stops me.

  “Arthur, it really is nice to be with you again like this. I almost forgot how much fun we have together.”

  I stop and turn. “Me, too. I’m glad we had a chance to get caught up.”

  “If you ever need to talk, please know I’ll always be here for you. In fact, I’ll be here for whatever you need.” Her face grows solemn. “Any time.”

  “Why, thank you, Madame,” I say, putting on as formal a voice as possible to try to make light of what I know was a very serious offer.

  “Can I tell you something?” Her gaze is intense, and I’m not sure that I want to hear what she has to say, but I nod anyway.

  “I’m worried that you and Tessa are rushing into this marriage without really knowing each other. You just have such different backgrounds, and it seems to me that you have very different ideas about what you want out of this life. I just think you should slow down a bit, maybe.”

  I lean one hand against the wall to stop the hallway from spinning. “The date is already set. It’s happening and I’m absolutely thrilled about it.”

  “Are you?” She shakes her head a little bit. “I’m just trying to say—as a friend—that maybe you could find a reason to postpone the whole thing. Just to give yourself a little more time to be sure.”

  “No need, my friend.” I spin on my heel and make my way toward my room, calling back to her, “We’re very much in love.”

  A few minutes later I flop onto my bed fully clothed, and drop into a dead sleep, completely forgetting to text Tessa to say goodnight and tell her I love her.

  Text from Brooke to Me: I knocked on your door this morning, but you were either gone or still sleeping. I wanted to thank you for last night.

  Me: I was probably working out already. Did you find a ride home?

  Brooke: Yes, thanks. Always the gentleman. About my offer…that came out wrong. I only meant that I’d like to be here for you as a friend. Tessa, too. I’m sure she and I will become the best of friends as soon as we have a chance to get to know each other.

  Me: I’m sure you will. She’s amazing.

  Brooke: Let’s make sure we have some time together before I leave t
own. The three of us, I mean.

  Me: Yes, let’s.

  I stare at the exchange, wondering if her tone last night held her true intention or if her text today does. I suppose, in the end, it doesn’t matter, does it? Even if she does have an interest in me, it’s not mutual. She can wish we were a couple all she wants, it won’t change anything. Not that she does wish it. But I suppose she might…

  Text from Tessa to Me: Hey, sweetie. Just getting up now. Was at the office until close to one a.m., so by the time I slid my way to Nikki’s she was asleep.

  Me: So, no naked tickle fights then?

  Her: Haha. No. I’m not in the mood anyway. I’m super grouchy from all the crap at work lately. What’d you end up doing?

  Me: Had some eggs and wine and went to bed, missing you horribly.

  Her: You made eggs without me? That sucks. Now, I’m even more grumpy than ever.

  Me: Come by now, I’ll make you some and show you how much I missed you.

  Her: I wish. Heading back to the office.

  Okay, so I know that was a perfect opportunity to tell her that Brooke was here, but I’m not sure that’s the type of thing you text to your fiancée when you don’t have a chance to a) gauge her reaction, and b) explain. Plus, she did admit to being ‘super grouchy’ so, clearly, this isn’t the time, and if there’s one thing about making a relationship work, it’s that timing is everything.

  Eleven

  The Toilet Paper Bride Champion

  Tessa

  It’s Saturday morning and I’m up with the sun, in spite of the fact that I worked until well after midnight last night. I lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, wishing I could go back to sleep for another couple of hours but knowing that it’s not going to happen. I’m far too nervous to get any sleep at all. This afternoon, my bridal shower will take place in the small ballroom at the palace, hosted by the Princess Dowager Florence, much to my mother’s chagrin. She was very disappointed to be invited to my bridal shower rather than hosting it.

  To be honest, I don’t want a shower at all. It’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable to be in a room with two hundred—yes, that’s right two hundred—guests, one-hundred-and sixty-five of them I’ve never met before. Most of the ladies who will be attending would rather see Arthur marry Dexter the pig than marry me, which kind of adds a special level of cringe-worthy awkwardness to the event, don’t you think?

  At least I won’t have to suffer through the uncomfortable act of opening gifts in front of everyone, having requested donations to the Avonian Literacy Foundation in lieu of presents.

  I roll over and grab my phone off the night table and check for messages. There is one from Nikki that I’ve been ignoring.

  Text from Nikki: What time should I be by to do your hair tomorrow morning? I’ll need lots of time to get myself ready first for Xavier. Yum, yum. BTW, you’re giving me a ride to the palace, yes?

  I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell her that I’ll be having my hair done by the Princess Dowager’s stylist today, having found it very difficult to turn down her kind offer. Princess Florence is really the only member of the royal family who approves of my relationship with Arthur so I couldn’t very well turn her down, even though Nikki will be very hurt when I tell her the truth. I stare at my phone for a moment, my gut churning and bubbling as I try to think of how to word my response back to her.

  My dread of today’s events makes me long for the days when the worst thing I had to suffer was a family dinner at my parents’ house every few weeks. Now that I’m living with them full-time, it’s like my life has turned into one long, endless Sunday family dinner, separated by the occasional break to go spend some time with Arthur.

  Text from Me to Nikki: Hey, Nikki, change of plans. I’ll have to meet you at the palace. Don’t worry about my hair. I got talked into letting the Princess Dowager’s stylist do it so I need to be at the palace early.

  I hit send, then bury my head under the covers, wishing this day would just be over already. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I’m still on this ridiculous pre-wedding diet, even though the logical part of my brain is telling me I don’t need to. The terrified part of my brain keeps asking me what if Baz is right and I’m not spectacular enough as bride to the Crown Prince of Avonia, and it sets off a horrid chain of events for both single people and married couples around the nation?

  That’s just stupid, though, right? But, still, since the first wedding planning session, I find myself panicking any time I eat something with a lot of calories, or a lot of fat, or a lot of calories and fat. I haven’t had a bowl of crisps in weeks, and the last time I bought jelly babies for my nieces and nephews, it practically killed me to hand them over to them rather than scarf them all down in one sitting.

  My stomach rumbles again, and I throw the covers off and go down to the kitchen in search of something nutritious and very bland since, besides rumbling, my gut is also churning with nervousness. I stand in front of the open fridge for a good two minutes before I decide to go with half a cup of fat-free yogurt and some berries, even though the sound of a big stack of pancakes and some sausages right now sounds much better. How is it possible to feel sick to your stomach and starving at the same time?

  Maybe that would be a good article for The Weekly Observer…The Mystery Behind a Hearty Appetite When One is Nervous. Oh no, that’s crap. Good thing I’m on the announcements desk.

  The sound of footsteps on the creaky stairs breaks my train of thought.

  My mum walks into the kitchen in her bathrobe, her hair in rollers. “You’re up early, Twinkle. Couldn’t sleep again?” She plucks the kettle off the stove and fills it with water from the tap.

  “I needed to be up early anyway. It’s going to be a long day.”

  “Is that all you’re eating again?” She wrinkles her nose at my yogurt and shakes her head. “You’re fine the way you are. If Arthur wanted some anorexic, he would’ve found one to marry.”

  “It’s not for him. I just would like to have… toned arms for the wedding.”

  She raises one eyebrow at me, clearly not buying any of it. Luckily, she gets distracted. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, I’ll be getting a ride with you over to the palace this morning so I can get a few things set up in the party room while you’re getting your hair done.” She smiles, looking far too excited for my comfort.

  “Well, you’re welcome to come along but I’m pretty sure the staff has everything covered. You’re meant to be a guest, so you can just relax and enjoy the afternoon.”

  “Oh, hog noodles. Those stuffy people won’t have the first idea how to put on a proper bridal shower. I mean, really, no gifts? Everyone will be bored to tears.”

  My mother was not in favour of the no gifts idea. Even though Arthur already has enough of every household item to open his own Bed, Bath, & Beyond, my mother told me she’s a bit miffed that we’re taking away the chance for people to choose something nice to start me on the path to married life properly. But I probably shouldn’t focus on that right now when she’s just basically admitted she’s planning what I’m sure will be some type of humiliating party games to play at the shower. “What exactly do you mean by a proper bridal shower?”

  “Nope,” she says, holding up one finger and shaking it at me. “I’m not saying a word. Otherwise, it will spoil the surprise.”

  “Mum, this is not our typical crowd. There will be almost two hundred guests—and they’re not exactly the ‘party game’ type of people.”

  My mum waves her hand at me. “Everyone loves a good party game, Tessa. Even rich people. Now, I’ve hosted dozens of showers, both bridal and baby, so I know exactly what I’m doing. And, since they won’t let me bring any food, I can at least bring some fun.”

  My phone buzzes before I can continue to argue and I looked down to see Nikki’s face on the screen. I cringe, then answer the phone. “Hi, Nikki.”

  “Are you seriously letting some eighty-five-year-old woman’s st
ylist do your hair today? Do you know what a disaster that could be? You’re likely to end up with your hair chopped off, dyed blue, and permed into tight curls.”

  “Well, let’s hope not.” I let out a weak laugh, hoping Nikki will start to find whole thing funny as well, even though I can tell by her tone that she’s more than a little hurt. “Hey, you’re up early.”

  “Yes, I got up extra early to get myself ready so I’d have enough time to do my best friend’s hair for her bridal shower.”

  I get up and walk out of the kitchen, making my way to the bottom of the stairs while I talk on the phone. “I’m really sorry, Nikki. Obviously, I would much rather have you doing my hair than the Princess Dowager’s stylist. But it was one of those situations where I didn’t really feel like I could say no.”

  “Well, you could’ve told me sooner so that I wouldn’t have gotten up so early today.”

  Oh, fudge doodles. I’ve really managed to screw up the day already, haven’t I? “You’re right. One hundred percent right. There’s no excuse for me not letting you know sooner, except that I’m a bit of a coward who tends to put things off when I know I’m going to upset someone.”

  “No, that was the old Tessa, remember? The new Tessa deals with problems straight on.”

  “You’re right. I am afraid I had a relapse, but it’s over now, and I have a feeling that I have a way to make this up to you…”

  “Really?” Nikki asks, sounding intrigued, which is a huge improvement from pissed right off. “It better be good, because I’m very mad.”

  “What if I ask Xavier to swing by and pick you up after he drops me off at the palace?” I lower my voice so my parents won’t hear me pimping out my bodyguard to my best friend. “It’ll give you to a little bit of time alone together…”