To Steal a Groom

by Cora Caraway

  The king lays a finger to his temple. “Why couldn’t you have just kept the peace?”

  “I really tried. It just wasn’t working out.” Like the king could understand the importance of a wedding dress. “Besides, Sarina offering me her gown was just that, an offer, not an order. I don’t have to accept the offer, kind as it is.”

  Darius closes his eyes as Sarina throws another black look our way. “That was to be the queen’s wedding gift to you. It is not wise to reject such a gift, especially such a sentimental gift, and especially not from your future mother-in-law. Have I made myself clear?”

  “What would you have me do, Majesty? Do you want me to wear the queen’s dress even though neither your son nor I like the idea?”

  “Do what you must to smooth things over. I do not enjoy chaos in my court. Do you understand?”

  It might be nice if he offered a few ideas, but I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere tonight. “I’ll do what I can, Your Majesty.”

  “That will be all. Take your seat, dinner’s about to arrive.”

  And that may not be the only thing. If he’s so keen on family harmony, I’m sure he’ll love his soon-to-be guests. If he’s going to lecture me over something as personal as a wedding dress, maybe he doesn’t deserve a warning about the chaos that might walk right into his court.

  I sit next to Damon.

  “How’d it go?” he whispers.

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “You did inform him that your parents may be arriving, right?”

  I set my napkin in my lap. “He didn’t let me.”

  “He didn’t let you?” Damon pushes out his chair. “Grace…”

  He starts to rise as the double doors open. A herald enters, two people trailing him.

  “Excuse me, Your Majesties?” The herald clears his throat, unnerved by two scowling monarchs. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow have arrived.”

  10

  The king shoots me an icy look. “Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow?”

  “Yes,” the herald says, “from California.”

  So they are here. They weren’t lying for once. My mom is hugged by a dress that’s much too short and far too tight, and covered in costume jewelry. She looks up at the chandeliers, no doubt wondering what they’re worth. Her jaw is moving ceaselessly, and I wince when I realize that she’s chewing gum.

  I’m not surprised that my dad is sporting at least two weeks’ worth of stubble, but it is strange that he’s not wearing his usual wife-beater. It’s almost like a uniform to him. Instead, he’s wearing the only polo shirt he owns, the one that’s still crisp because he saves it for weddings and funerals.

  Darius frowns. “May I see their invitations?”

  I let my shoulders relax. There’s no way they have actual invitations. In order to enter the palace, guests need a royal request of their presence on paper or in speech. I’ll make sure that my parents get neither from Damon.

  My dad reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled envelope. “Here you go.” He shoves it into the herald’s palm.

  The herald presents the envelope to Darius, who picks it up between one finger and thumb, as if it could infect him. He glares into the paper, and I wonder if it could spontaneously combust from his anger.

  My parents wait almost nonchalantly. Mom begins to tap her heel on the stone floor, not caring that the sound echoes through the room. My dad hums tunelessly. I can feel my annoyance rising by the second. How do they know just how to get under my skin?

  It’s so strange to see them together at all. Their entire relationship is nothing more than a series of calculations concerning how much one can get from the other. I know they can’t stand each other. My mom sent countless beer bottles flying at my dad’s head when she felt in danger of losing a fight, and my dad always drained her bank account in revenge.

  As if he can sense my thoughts, my dad puts his arm around my mom. I almost laugh at how fake their affection looks. But if they’re putting on such an elaborate show, there must be a reason. Knowing my parents, I won’t like the reason one bit.

  Darius sets the invitations on the table. “These have the queen’s seal.”

  “I didn’t invite them.” Sarina’s voice is low, dangerous. “But I think I know who did.” She fixes me with a stare.

  “I didn’t invite them either!” There aren’t words enough to convey how much I wish an ocean still separated me from my parents.

  Across the table, Marc winks at me. That bastard.

  The king gives me one more suspicious look, then turns to my parents. “I apologize for the misunderstanding. It seems like your invitations were sent in error.”

  This is it. He’s going to kick them out. I never would have guessed that the king could be my savior.

  “However, I hate to be an ungracious host. As you’re technically my wife’s guests, I think it’s only fair that she have the final word.”

  I catch the queen’s eye, giving a slight shake of my head. Don’t let them in. You have no idea what you’re getting into.

  Her lip curls. “Of course they can stay. They’re about to be family, aren’t they?”

  My mom blows a bubble, which pops loudly. The herald rounds up a pair of servers to set two more places at the table.

  Damon glances behind us to the place where Nic usually stands guard, and frowns when he finds it empty. I hope he doesn’t find that too suspicious. I wish Nic were here too, in case someone has to put us all out of our misery and toss my parents out.

  “Grace!” My mom nearly shouts my name. “I’ve missed you so much.” She hugs me so hard that she may have cracked a rib. I rub my side once she finally lets me go, trying not to choke on her perfume.

  “And this must be your fiancé,” she says.

  Damon rises to greet her. “How do you do.”

  “Simply wonderful. Grace has told us so much about you.”

  “I have?” I ask. “Then what’s his name, Mom?”

  She laughs. “You’re hilarious, darling.”

  “Don’t tease your mother, Grace.” My dad puts a hand on my back, leaning in to kiss my forehead like he actually cares about me. “Pleased to meet you.” He shakes Damon’s hand, and if I know my father, he’s trying to crush his bones.

  The prince’s face remains placid. “Welcome to the palace.”

  My dad releases Damon’s hand, and turns to the king. “Where are my manners? Thanks to our generous hosts.”

  The king inclines his head. “I am Darius Alexander Lion III. Welcome to our city.”

  “The name’s Rex. Seems I’m a king too, after a fashion.” My dad wipes his nose, then offers his hand to shake.

  “Indeed.” The king takes it, but not before pinning me with another icy glare.

  I give my dad a glare of my own. He ignores it, of course. I know he can turn on the charm when he wants to. The ignorant American is just another persona he can slip into when it suits him best. He must be angling for something, money no doubt. Maybe he thinks the king will pay to get my backwards parents to clean up their act.

  My mom leans across the table to kiss the king on both cheeks, a bit too enthusiastically. “Desiree Sparrow. So pleased to meet you.”

  Sarina opens her mouth to protest, but my mom swoops in to kiss her too. At a loss for words, the queen runs her hand across her cheeks.

  Finally, my parents take their seats. I hope they’ll do less damage from a sitting position.

  The queen looks down her nose at them. “Rex, Desiree, what do you do?”

  My mom picks up the cup in front of her, sticking her pinky out at a sharp angle. “We run an organization that helps the less fortunate.”

  By the less fortunate, of course, they mean themselves.

  “What kind of work does that involve?” Marc asks.

  “We find items that can be refurbished, recycled, or resold,” my dad drawls. “It’s not easy work, but it’s honest.”

  I choke back a
laugh.

  Marc twirls a glass. “And who exactly does this charity benefit?”

  “Why?” my dad asks. “Are you looking to donate?”

  Dinner arrives, derailing their conversation. I stab my fork into my food, though I entertain the thought of stabbing it into Marc. My parents are far from wonderful, but I still don’t want them embarrassed in front of everyone.

  My mom scoots her chair closer to mine. “Look at this!” She grabs my hand, cooing. “This diamond is gorgeous! Just like my daughter, of course. But what’s this old thing?” She picks at my lion ring with a long fingernail. “It’s tarnished. You give it to me, and I’ll see that it gets cleaned up.”

  I snatch my hand away. “I love this ring, Mom. It’s perfect the way it is.” And while she may take the time to get it cleaned, I know I’d never see it again.

  “Where’d you find that, anyway?”

  “Damon proposed with it.” I think my tone should make it clear that this line of discussion is closed, but my mom has never been good at picking up on hints.

  She nudges me with a pointed elbow. “I see why you made him get you another one.”

  The monarchs exchange a glance.

  “That’s not it at all, Mom. Damon got me another ring because he’s kind, and far too generous. I would have been happy with no rings at all.” Wait, did I really just tell my mother that Damon is generous? I wince. She’ll never forget that. My time away from my parents has made me soft. I need to bring out my thorns. To shield myself, but most of all to protect Damon.

  We make it through two courses without incident. As the servers bring out plates of wild Scottish grouse topped with shaved truffles, my mom turns to me again.

  “What a beautiful necklace.”

  My hand flies to the dangling alexandrite pendant that Damon gave me. I respond automatically. “You can’t have it.”

  “What? I was just trying to give you a compliment.” Huffing like she’s been wounded, she scrapes the truffle shavings to one side of her plate. “You could be more gracious. We spent every last penny flying over here. Of course, seeing you again is priceless. I’m so glad we were invited.”

  So there’s the first mention of money. I’m sure it won’t be the last. But that’s not what interests me. “Tell me, Mom, who did invite you?”

  My father guffaws as he sends a server for a third glass of wine. “Did Grace ever tell you guys about the first time she ever stole?”

  The room goes silent. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

  “She botched it, of course. Drew the attention of a cop and everything. Luckily, she was still cute at the time, enough to be forgiven with one look of those puppy-dog eyes. That, and the officer couldn’t figure out what a seven-year-old wanted with a carburetor.” He slaps the table, laughing at his own punch line.

  I stare at my plate, wishing I could switch places with the grouse. At least it’s well past being capable of embarrassment. My dad’s story becomes much less amusing with the additions of who sent me to fetch a part for him from a well-guarded scrap yard, and how he hid when I got caught.

  All I can do is pray that dinner ends soon, and my parents decide to leave quietly. As much as I hate their stories about me, they could start weaving tales of Mom’s affairs or Dad’s prison time at any moment.

  Damon lays a hand over the fist I’ve clenched in my lap and gives it a reassuring squeeze. At least he doesn’t hate me. “Would you like me to excuse us?” he whispers. “I can, if you’d like.”

  “No,” I whisper back. “I need to keep an eye on them, in case I need to do damage control.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “What are you two lovebirds whispering about?” my mom asks. “Planning what to do in the bedroom later tonight? How naughty.”

  My dad hitches up his belt. “Let me tell you, Damon, you’re in for a wild time there if she takes after her mother. You’ll want to keep a tight leash on her though, that’s all I’m going to say at the dinner table.”

  I gulp down the rest of my champagne. It’s far too late to teach him that none of their conversation is appropriate for any table.

  “Rex can be so funny.” My mom kicks his foot under the table, possibly reminding him not to go too far. “He might have been better off if he’d been raised by wolves.”

  My dad glowers at her. “You aren’t going to insult my mother again, are you? She was a saint.”

  “The saint of what, moonshine?”

  I don’t think they’re acting anymore. This could get ugly.

  At least Marc seems to be enjoying the proceedings. All he’s missing is a box of fucking popcorn. His father, on the other hand, is not amused. Darius gives me a cool look. I know there’s fire behind those stony eyes. His opinion of me must be sinking even further.

  Damon sets his silverware down with a clatter. “How long are you planning to stay in our city, Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow?”

  “Oh, call me Desiree, dear.” My mom is all smiles once more. “We aren’t sure yet. Probably until the wedding.”

  I bristle. “And did you get invitations for that? Is Dad going to pull them out of his pockets too?”

  “That’s my girl, always dramatic.” My mom lets out a grating laugh. “You wouldn’t keep your parents from seeing you get married, now would you?” She takes a sip of her drink, clearly considering the matter resolved.

  We can fight about that another time. “Where are you planning on staying, then?” They aren’t going to crash with us. Damon and I are having enough intimacy issues as it is.

  “We wouldn’t want to burden our lovely hosts,” my dad drawls. “They probably have no rooms to spare. I know it would be far too much trouble and expense to put us up, so we’ll find somewhere in the city.”

  The king straightens, taken aback by the affront to his hospitality. “Of course you and your wife may stay here, if you so desire.”

  “Thanks,” my dad says, “but we’ll make other arrangements. We know we can be a hassle.” Raising his glass to the monarch, he takes a deep swig.

  Darius purples. As much as I know it would peeve him to host my parents, their refusal seems to anger him more. It’s like someone told my parents how important hospitality is here just so they could insult the king.

  “We only want to ensure your comfort,” Damon says smoothly. “Let us know if you require any assistance in finding suitable accommodations.”

  My dad grunts, then fiddles with his glass. I think he’s disappointed that he couldn’t get Darius to explode in anger. My mom purses her lips in a pout. I’m sure she wanted to stay at the palace, and is upset that whatever plan they were trying to implement backfired.

  “I have a new story for you, Gracie.” My dad flicks a spoon so that it spins under one finger. “Remember Jack, my old partner? Well, I almost had to pull a knife on him the other week. He tried to rob me, can you believe it?”

  From what little I know about my father’s life, I do.

  My mom elbows him in the ribs. “Now’s not the time for that. Grace, tell me, where can I find the new Gucci purse? The nice one, with pink crocodile leather. They don’t have them in the States yet, and Amber Jameson would just die if I came back with one on my arm.”

  I grit my teeth, trying to ignore my forming headache. “That’s great, Mom, but how much does it cost?”

  “Only 32,” she says evasively.

  “32 what?”

  “Oh. 32,000.”

  “32,000 what? Not dollars, surely.”

  “Somewhere around there.”

  “You could buy cars for that, Mom. Multiple cars. Nice cars!”

  “Well, I just thought it’d be fun.” She sighs, smearing food around her plate.

  “What do you need another purse for, anyway? What’s wrong with the one you have now?” I point to the bag at her feet.

  “It’s not a shoulder bag, is it? Do you want me to be unfashionable?”

  I want her to be somewhere else, but I don’t tell her that.
Setting two fingers to my throbbing temple, I think about the black credit card that Damon gave me. It would almost be worth it to buy her this one thing. Maybe then she’d leave me alone. I push my plate aside. No. Then she’d want more, more, more. And she’d sigh and wheedle and whine until she used every last cent of Damon’s available credit.

  “I’m not asking you for the money,” she says, “but I’d love if you would think about it.”

  I’m sure she would.

  Sarina leans over, whispering something to Darius. The king rises. “Thank you all for joining us this evening. Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow, I’m so glad you could join us. It was … educational.”

  It’s highly unusual to end a dinner after the fourth course, barring times of war or crisis. But I guess my parents are crisis enough. I’m not sure if I want to slink out of the room in shame, or celebrate that they’ll soon be asked to leave.

  My dad raises his glass one last time before draining it. “Invite us back any time.”

  I see the king suppress a shudder.

  “What, no dessert?” My mom doesn’t even bother to keep her voice down. “What kind of establishment is this?”

  The monarchs rise, exiting swiftly, and I can’t blame them. I’m sure I’ll get chewed out for this fiasco later.

  Throwing surreptitious glances around the hall, my mom swipes her silverware into her purse.

  “Mom! Put that back!” I hope no one hears my harsh whisper.

  She swings her bag onto the crook of her elbow. “No one noticed, dear.”

  “I noticed!”

  “No one else will miss it. How many forks do you think they have in a place like this, anyway? Must be thousands.” She waves a hand airily.

  “They know exactly how many forks they have, because they count them every day. None of the servants are going to risk their steady paychecks over a few pieces of shiny metal, so who do you think they’ll suspect, Mom? Do you want to be invited back, or not?”

  Rolling her eyes, my mom digs the silverware out of her purse and drops them on the table, letting them clang. “There. Happy now?”

  “Not as happy as if you hadn’t stolen them in the first place, but it’s an improvement.”