Love Me I'm Your Princess: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love Me Romcom Series Book 3)

by Laura Burton

  But I do look like a princess.

  Happy with the finished product, everyone leaves me, and I stagger to the bed to tickle Teddy. He sniffs me and his tail wags a little. Then he rolls onto his back to let me rub his belly.

  “I’m going to miss you, Teddy Weddy,” I whisper, biting back the tears threatening to ruin my makeup. My palms won’t stop shaking and a lump sits at the base of my throat as I try to picture what will happen to me.

  Outside, the sky is almost black. The sound of string music announces that the ball has begun.

  I am to stay in my room and wait for Mae to come get me. With every minute of waiting, I grow more and more faint.

  I check my phone, staring at Prim’s last text.

  We’re on the boat. We shall be with you before midnight. –– P

  “Miss Primrose. It’s time.”

  Startled, I look up and meet Mae’s warm smile with a nervous giggle.

  “Right. Thank you, Mae. Let’s do this, shall we?” I say, almost rambling. Teddy licks my hand and I pet him one last time, then I pick up my skirts and follow Mae out into the hall.

  Walking in a pair of heels while wearing the world’s heaviest dress should be an Olympic sport. Just crossing the hall breaks me out in a sweat, and the tight corset seems to tighten with every movement.

  Now I know why women in the regency era really swooned. Gentlemen liked to believe it was their bushy sideburns or dashing smile. But no. It was simply a general lack of oxygen.

  The string quartet is playing a piece by Chopin and the notes float up to me as I approach the staircase. A rumble of chatter has my heart racing even faster––if that’s possible.

  Don’t trip. Don’t trip. Don’t trip.

  This is easily the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do as a fake princess. The chatter dies down as I place a gloved hand on the stair rail. I refuse to make eye contact with anyone, opting instead to marvel at the ridiculously large chandelier, hanging above the crowd of guests. Man, that thing is big. There must be fifty lightbulbs and thousands of jewels. I feel sorry for the handyman who has to fix that light when one of the bulbs stops working. Or the maids who have to dust the thing.

  Wait. Focus, Violet. You’re walking down the stairs, and everyone is watching.

  I keep my head up and try my best to look poised and floaty as I take one step at a time. A gush of sighs sweeps over me like a little wave of adoration from the crowd. I can see Cristiano in my peripheral, wearing the ridiculous hat with the feather sticking up. Oh no, I’m thinking about him prancing around like a leaping nutcracker again.

  Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

  The music picks up speed, as if the musicians are nudging me to move faster. How long is it supposed to take to walk downstairs? I must have scaled this staircase at least one hundred times and I swear it’s never taken this long.

  Someone coughs to my right, and I picture my birth dad, the King, furrowing his brows and willing me to get a move on.

  With three steps left to go, I wonder what I’m supposed to do once I reach the bottom. A regal wave? A little Irish jig? Jazz hands with a little “ta-da!” Maybe I should curtsey to the King and Queen and say something terribly proper like “How do you do?”

  But just as I reach the bottom, a royal guard steps out in front of me and speaks up in a voice so loud, I swear it makes the portraits rattle against the stone walls.

  “His Royal Highness Edward and Her Royal Majesty Queen Primrose of Andonna, wish to present their daughter, Primrose, the second, betrothed to Prince Cristiano of Rossini.”

  What a mouthful. I’m glad I don’t have that guy’s job. The announcer steps aside just as I reach the bottom and a sea of smiles greet me. I opt for a charming little wave with a slight flick of the wrist and then I turn to look at Cristiano again.

  The black hair sticking out from the edges of his hat looks waxy and sleek in the yellow lamplight. He bows to me. I curtsey back. And he offers me his arm.

  “Shall we, my princess?” he asks in a silky voice. The music changes tempo and the guests shuffle apart to let us walk in the ballroom.

  For the first time ever, I truly feel like a princess.

  All eyes are on us as we reach the middle of the room, and dozens of chandeliers dazzle us with their sparkling lights. The guests mill around, forming a huge circle around us.

  Cristiano places a hand on my waist and holds my right hand in a firm grip. He smiles at me and manages to ask if I’m ready without moving his lips. Before I can reply, he steps forward, and I automatically step back to avoid his foot trampling mine.

  One-two-three. One-two-three. One-two-three.

  I chew the inside of my cheek, counting as we waltz in a neat circle. Cristiano takes the lead perfectly, so all I have to do is get out of the way before he steps on my gown and catch up when he steps backward.

  Being the center of attraction at a royal ball with all of these regal people watching us, is the most surreal experience I’ve ever had. I don’t know if it’s the smell of cooked meat from the banquet table and the fact I’ve not eaten all day, or the crazy tight corset, but I become weak and frail in Cristiano’s arms.

  I always liked to think of myself as a strong independent woman. The idea of needing a man to function would make me laugh a few weeks ago. But right now, I’m worried that if Cristiano lets go of me, I’ll fall in a little heap on the floor.

  My heart swells and softens at the sight of his glowing smile. His eyes are steady and twinkling at me.

  As long as we keep dancing, I feel like everything will be just fine. The world can crumble around us and the palace can go up in flames, but as long as we just keep dancing, I’ll be okay. Because I’ve never felt as safe and secure as I do in Cristiano’s hands. If that means I’m no longer a feminist, then so be it.

  Suddenly, an odd sound pulls me out of my fairy tale and a rush of gasps has my ears ringing. I look across the hall to see a commotion of people rallying around. There’s the distinct sound of someone choking.

  The music stops, and Cristiano drops my hand as I try to see who is choking. The crowd parts a little, and I catch a glimpse of a dark navy jacket with a white stripe along the seam.

  The same uniform my birth father is wearing.

  In the panic of the moment, I break out of character, zooming across that hall so fast, I accidentally knock a man into a tray of drinks. Someone cries out and an ear splintering crash follows, but I don’t take a second to look back. The King might be standoffish and cold, but he’s still my birth dad and I’m not going to let him choke to death on an hors d'oeuvre. Not on my watch, anyway.

  “Let me through!” I bark. I shoulder my way through the startled guests until I reach my father. The man is bent over, facing away from me, and lurching with a terrible retching sound.

  “Don’t worry, Father, I’ll save you!” I wrap my arms around the man and without hesitation, start practicing the Heimlich maneuver. After three strong attempts at thrusting his diaphragm, the man makes an almighty cough and a pair of false teeth sail through the air to land in a gentleman’s drink. I pat his back, pleased with my work. But then I look up to see my birth mom’s face, and she’s standing next to the King – who is not choking after all.

  “If you’re over there…” I whisper, horrified. “Then who?” The man in the navy suit turns and I realize he is not the King. If there’s ever a good time for the ground to swallow me up, it’s now.

  “Father!” A shout jolts me from the man and before I can say anything, Cristiano’s voice breaks the shocked silence.

  “What in the world…?”

  I glance at him and follow his line of sight. Everyone else must have done the same because a succession of gasps and whispers fly about the room.

  Standing half-way up the staircase, in a pair of blue denim jeans and a white shirt, is me.

  At least, she looks like me.

  I hurry to the staircase just as the King and Queen catch sight o
f her.

  For a few moments, no one has any words. Cristiano staggers forward, and the Queen of Andonna––my birth mom––covers her open mouth with her hands. Her glassy eyes shoot from me to Prim, then back to me again. Meanwhile, the King of Andonna––my birth dad––places a hand over his heart, looking at Prim.

  “Violet?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “No, I’m Violet,” I say, pulling off my gloves.

  Well, I wondered how Prim and I were going to tell the truth. I guess this is as good a time as any. The King and Queen look at me. “Primrose?” the King asks, staring at me with confusion.

  “No, I’m Primrose,” Prim says from the stairs.

  Cristiano’s parents stand to the side, frozen, as if not quite registering what is happening. I glance at Cristiano. He looks back at me, and then at my sister.

  “Can somebody please explain what’s going on, here?” he asks, panic lacing his voice. I turn to look at him, bite against a guilty smile, and raise my hands.

  “Surprise…” I say weakly. “We’re twins!”

  Chapter 20

  Cristiano looks at me for a long pause, and it takes me a hot minute to realize I’m doing jazz hands in front of a room full of guests, which probably isn’t the most appropriate way to deal with the situation.

  “Our dear friends, family and welcome guests. Please enjoy the music and help yourselves to the food,” the Queen announces. Her charming smile is picture perfect. Meanwhile, the King opens and closes his mouth silently, and it’s the first time I see myself in him. I did wonder where my goofiness came from. The Queen continues, choosing to ignore her speechless husband. “Please, excuse us for a few moments, while we deal with a family matter.”

  Then she coaxes all of us into the study. The doors close behind Cristiano, who looks at me with a face drained of all color. I’d feel bad for him, but the relief of not holding in any secrets is too great.

  “We have a lot to talk about,” the Queen begins, giving Prim and I a severe look. “But first…” She marches across the study and pulls me in for a spine cracking hug. “I was wondering when you were going to come out and tell us who you really are,” she says softly as she lets me go.

  “You knew?” Prim and I ask in unison. Our father and Cristiano each take a seat, looking equally overwhelmed. Our mom shakes her head with a happy sigh, as if someone has just taken a heavy coat off her shoulders.

  “Remember Mr. Pickles?” she asks.

  “Who?” Prim says, shooting her a confused look. I gasp.

  Ah. I see now, Mr. Pickles was a test. And I failed.

  But then, if she knew it was me… Her words…

  “I meant everything I said yesterday,” my birth mom says, following my train of thought.

  “I’m so sorry, but...What’s going on here?” Cristiano says, and my birth mom and I break eye contact to look at him. Then Prim and I exchange looks, and she sucks in a deep breath.

  “I suppose I have a lot to explain,” she starts off, and I stagger to a chair, suddenly dazed. As Prim fills everyone in on our switch, I wring my hands and watch Cristiano with wide eyes.

  “What are we to do?” my birth dad says, tugging on his shirt collar. “We have a royal wedding in days, and our most respectable subjects have just seen that there are two princesses.” He stands and drags a hand over his face, hardly able to look in my direction.

  Meanwhile, Cristiano looks like someone just canceled Christmas.

  “You’re not Primrose?” he asks, glancing at me. I can’t bring myself to speak, but a tear leaks out of my eye and rolls down my cheek. Instead, I slowly shake my head.

  There’s a horrible, tense silence full of nothing but ragged breathing. The constriction in my lungs is too much to bear. I look at Prim. “Is my passport…”

  “The bag is ready in my room for you. Mother, I trust we can spare the plane…”

  “No,” I cut in, rising to a stand. “That’s not necessary. I’ll make my own way back.”

  “Wait! Everyone just calm down and wait. We need to discuss how to proceed.” The Queen paces the room, holding her hands in front of her. The King makes an exasperated laugh.

  “The wedding must go on. Primrose will marry Cristiano, and…”

  “We need to issue a new decree and announce Violet as a princess.”

  “No, no. We can’t. We just can’t.”

  Cristiano’s face is totally colorless, and his gaze stays firmly directed at the red Persian rug. I swallow hard, willing him to look at me. I reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, but he does not even flinch under my touch.

  With a final look at Prim, who gives me an apologetic smile, I hastily leave the office and run away.

  I ignore the guests flooding the hall, and stumble up the staircase, not stopping when one of my heels slips off.

  I have to get out of here. I don’t belong.

  None of it hurts me more than the fact that Cristiano would not even look at me.

  I slink out of the garden, dressed in my own clothes again, and I run as far as my legs will carry me. I have no idea where I’m going, but I can hear the waves of the ocean and it calls me to it.

  Twenty minutes pass and my lungs start to burn. I bend over, panting, and look up at the moonlit sky. There’s nothing but rolling hills and countryside for miles around the palace. It will take hours to make it into the local village. But the salty air tells me I’m close to the seafront, and the longing to dip my toes in the water sends me stumbling down a grassy bank in the opposite direction to the village.

  I yank my boots off and run barefoot along the grass until I feel clumps of sand between my toes. A red and white light flashes in the distance and a low horn fills the air.

  A boat!

  I stagger forward until the ground levels off and my feet splash into the ankle-deep water. I take long breaths as the tide rolls in and out, lapping at my calves. I stand there, a boot in each hand, and stretch my arms out to let a scream rip through my core and shatter the peaceful night.

  I am an idiot.

  No. I am a royal idiot.

  How could I expect this night to go any other way? Why did I ignore my inhibitions and let myself fall for the prince?

  All I’ve done is cause a political headache for my family, break the prince’s heart, and lose myself in the process.

  Bitterly disappointed in myself, I shut my eyes and shake my boots at the sky.

  “If anyone up there can hear me,” I shout. “This is my promise; I will never, ever lie to anyone again.”

  In the absence of a reply, I trudge along the seafront and head for the boat.

  After a sleepless night involving a choppy crossing on a cargo ship, a train ride, and a cab journey, I find myself staggering in the morning light toward my apartment.

  All I want to do is crawl into bed and hide for three days. But as I round the corner of my busy street, my heart sinks at the sight of Alejandro sitting outside my door. His head is in one hand and an empty bottle is in the other.

  As I approach, he lifts his head, and his dark eyes rise to meet my discerning stare.

  “She is gone forever. My heart will never recover from this,” he says, his shoulders sagging. I roll my eyes and resist the urge to reprimand the heartbroken fool.

  “Come on––get up,” I mutter to him, tugging on his elbow. He staggers to his feet and breathes in my face, stinking of alcohol. I fumble with my keys in the lock, then help him inside, where he collapses on the couch.

  “My Primrose is gone. My sweet little firefly,” Alejandro says, staring at his empty bottle in horror.

  “Yes, yes. I know. You and I were both fools to fall in love,” I say, dragging the blanket from the back of the couch and over to him. “Come on, sleep it off, my friend.”

  Alejandro doesn’t fight me as I lay him down, prop up his head with a cushion, and drag his boots off.

  Satisfied he’s not going to hurt himself, I make for the door, but s
top as Alejandro raises his hand.

  “I love her, Vi. I love her so much it hurts me. Right here.” He presses his hand over his chest, and I nod glumly.

  “I know,” I say, sighing heavily. Then I glance at the clock. Someone will need to open Juliet’s in a few hours. So, I trudge to my room, hoping some deep sleep might free me from my sorrow.

  Chapter 21

  “Hello, Principessa. It’s lovely to hear from you.” I close my eyes at the sound of the delight in my mom’s voice. I wish desperately that I could give her a hug. “Your dad and I found a great senior home for Nanna. We’re going to stay a couple more weeks to help her get settled and then we’re going to visit some old friends. We miss you though, how is everything over there?”

  I clamp my teeth together, my eyes prickling.

  It’s been two days since I came home to find a heartbroken Alejandro on my doorstep. The two of us got into a routine at work. We both just go through the motions, neither of us talking about Prim or the Prince. In some unspoken agreement, we decided that it would be best to pretend the last month just didn’t happen.

  But upon hearing my mom on the phone, with so many unresolved thoughts swirling around my head, I can no longer keep it to myself.

  So, I puff up my cheeks and exhale all my fear. I tell my parents everything.

  Okay. Maybe not everything. I gloss over some of the intimate details. Like the time I spat water all over the table the first time I met the King and Queen. Or about the heavy make out sessions with Prince Cristiano. Instead, I tell them about my birth parents, and about the law that forced me into adoption. I tell them I fell in love with a real-life Prince Charming, and then I left the palace, heartbroken.

  My mom stays very quiet as I tell her the story. Occasionally, she hums at me, just to let me know she’s still there.