Malquar, here I come.
Chapter Four
The Queen
The newspaper is on the nightstand where it always is. Queen Charlotte of Malquar sips her preferred strawberry blossom tea in preparation to peruse the daily news. It helps to keep her blood pressure even. That is, until she sees that photograph and headline. No amount of tea will help this.
The Spare is at it Again!
Alistair George Henry Bere Hale, Prince of Malquar, poses on the royal yacht with two new friends. Most readers will probably recognize Hallie Fox (on his left) as the star of the American television program Fox Hunters. But what of the beauty on his right?
Guests of the prince’s latest excursion inform us she’s none other than one of the catering staff hired to serve at the event.
We’ve seen it before, and we presume we’ll see it again: Prince Alistair is an equal opportunity playboy. While that must give the everyday gal hope—who doesn’t dream of becoming a princess?—we’re sure it’s a cause of despair in the monarchy.
King Alfred and Queen Charlotte are generally all smiles when asked about their offspring, but we can’t help speculating they must be ready for the wayward prince to settle down and take his royal responsibilities more seriously.
Tossing the paper aside, Charlotte picks up the bell on her tray and rings it. When her maid comes in, she says, “Please get me Prince Alistair immediately.”
Alistair
There are several things I enjoy about my life. The food is world-class. I quite like the travel—our planet is such an interesting place. The housing is decent. I have my own cottage (six bedrooms, seven baths—so not a cottage really, but that’s what we call it) on the royal grounds. I mostly adore living near my family. Lastly, it’s nice not having to worry about my future security.
That being said, the scrutiny of the press is unbearable. I can’t throw a party without the country speculating on my supposed debauchery. I love women, but the last time I looked, that wasn’t a crime. I’m single, and therefore allowed to date, even though I haven’t been. The articles they run about me are one hundred percent fiction.
According to my mother, I’m making a spectacle of myself and should treat the whole “looking for my future duchess” thing more seriously. The last time I was in a relationship, the woman had her sights set higher than me, so forgive me if I don’t give the impression that I’m looking for a wife. I’m not.
I wonder what the queen expects me to do, send out invitations and interview for the position? I don’t think that’s how it’s done. It’s sure as heck not how I plan on doing it, anyway.
The knock on my front door is followed by it being opened with such force, I wonder if the wall it slams into is still intact. Putting my coffee cup down on the kitchen counter, I head toward the entry.
“If it isn’t the heir,” I say when I spot my older brother, Andrew, charging in my direction. He hates when I call him that.
I can practically see the steam coming out of his ears. Mission accomplished. “Why can’t you throw parties here?” He gestures wildly with his hands as though spokesmodeling my living room for me.
“Drew,” I reply calmly, “I do have gatherings here, but I occasionally like to be let out of prison and take a ride on the boat. Is that a crime?”
“It should be,” he mutters. “Because every time you get out, as you call it, I wind up being held to an even higher level of decorum. ‘Thank God you aren’t like your brother,’” he mimics our mother’s voice—poorly— before adding, “And then she starts in on me about why it’s taking me so long to find a wife.”
“If you’d just do that already,” I tell him, “she’d get off my back and have something else to focus on.” I lead the way into the living room before dropping down onto the sofa.
Hot on my heels, Andrew declares, “About that … Geoffrey and Claire are coming home this week to officially announce their engagement.”
Clapping my hands together sharply, I reply, “Wonderful! Mum will have her royal wedding to plan which means the two of us will be off her radar for the foreseeable future.”
“You’d think.” My brother sits on the chair across from me. “The truth of it is, it’s about to get a lot worse for us. Our mother will be fielding questions about why the third in line is marrying before the heir or the spare. The heat is on, brother. And with that heat comes Mum’s scrutiny that we do not appear in the news carrying on with two women at once.”
“I’m not carrying on with either woman. I was just being friendly.” I don’t bother to tell him that I was trying to evade the clutches of a Hollywood starlet. He’s the target of enough social climbing women, I’m not certain he wouldn’t be sympathetic.
“While that may be, to anyone who saw the picture in today’s news, it appears you were on your way to an orgy. That crap has to stop, Al.”
“I have never been the orgy type,” I tell him, trying to redeem some of the fraying image my family has of me. “I’m not dating Hallie Fox or the waitress. I’m not dating anyone.”
“That’s not what the papers are selling,” he says in an almost warning tone.
“Because truth doesn’t sell papers. You know that better than anyone. I can’t help what people say about me, Drew. The press loves sensationalism. With the exception of Chéri, who just married her longtime girlfriend, our sisters are as traditional as they come. Geoffrey has lived abroad since college, so they never got much dirt on him, and you’re about as exciting as dry toast. That leaves me to fulfill their slot for ‘wild, partying, bad-boy royal.’ It’s not a spot I’ve earned, trust me. It was appointed by default.”
“Good, then it won’t be hard for you to behave while Claire and her family are here.”
“Her family?” I met Claire’s mother and aunt before when they were at the palace for a private royal concert. Our father has a real thing for American country music. But I didn’t meet Claire or her sister for the first time until Chéri’s surprise wedding, which took place at the lodge in Oregon where Geoffrey and Claire work. It’s the sister who’s currently piqued my interest.
Andrew seems to be aware of this and says, “Keep it in your pants, party boy. Lutéce Choate is not an option for you.”
“Why, because she’s prickly as a pear? You’d think that would be exactly the kind of woman who would please our mother.” I cross my arms across my chest in a belligerent fashion. Is there no satisfying these people?
“She’s not an option because her sister is marrying our brother. What if you two got together and it didn’t work out? Can you imagine the upset that would cause for future events?”
“What if it did work?” I reply heatedly. As I’ve mentioned, I’m not really looking for something serious, but I do love to rile my brother.
It’s my second favorite pastime.
Drew snorts. “What are the chances of that happening? I’m not just giving you a hard time, either. From what I remember, Lutéce isn’t exactly a warm and welcoming person.”
“I thought her snippiness was her most endearing trait.” She isn’t the kind of woman who would be interested in me for my title. She made that abundantly clear in Oregon. If she ever did desire something more, it would be as my equal, not my subordinate.
That may be her most attractive quality.
“You’re just looking for a challenge. And while I might normally be on board with that, you may not involve yourself on a personal level with Claire’s sister. That’s a direct quote from Mother.”
“Mmmmm.” The one thing I hate more than empty adoration is being told that I can’t do something, especially by my parents. The petulant teen inside me comes roaring out every time.
That’s not to say I’ll embark on anything more than flirtation with Miss Choate. If memory serves, she was a bit of a handful. In fact, she treated me like I was a particularly virulent strain of mold she’d found growing in her basement.
“When do they arrive?” I ask.
&nb
sp; “Tomorrow. The dinner announcing their engagement is on Saturday evening, so don’t make other plans,” Drew says.
“As it’s already Wednesday, I think it’s fair to say my social calendar is otherwise engaged.”
“Alistair …” my brother says in a warning tone.
“Fine, I’ll cancel. I don’t suppose Mother wants me to bring a date?”
Shaking his head, my brother replies, “Family only.”
“Whoever will I bend to my wicked ways then?” I reply with a mischievous grin. “Unless Mum has hired some attractive servers, that is,” I say with a wink.
“Come alone, and that’s an order.” Andrew gets up and strolls toward my front door before calling back, “Seriously, Alistair, do not mess this up.” Slam.
How insulting. I’m known throughout Europe as the “Party Prince,” a moniker that I have always hoped meant that I was the fun one. But now I’m starting to wonder if it’s not the compliment I’ve always thought it to be.
My brain immediately zooms back to thoughts of Lutéce. Talk about stuck up and bristly, she’d be the perfect royal. Alas, I’ve been warned to stay away from her.
It’s a good thing I don’t always do as I’m told.
Chapter Five
Sheila
Leaning over their shared armrest, Sheila asks her sister, “Why don’t you get one of these things?”
Without looking up from her book, Tooty replies, “If you mean a private airplane, hon, these things cost millions.”
“And?”
“I’ve got better ways to spend my money.”
“Are you still hoping to find the perfect land to open your theme park?”
“Nah, Tootyville is a thing of the past. I’ve been thinking about starting a summer camp for underprivileged kids. You know, a place where they can get away and learn to dream of a brighter future.”
“Tooty Jackson, I love that idea! You need to talk to Lu. That kind of thing is right up her alley.”
Tooty looks across the jet at her niece who’s sitting on a loveseat by herself. “I think Lu has enough on her mind right now, don’t you?”
“She does look like a hot corn kernel about to pop, doesn’t she? I wish she’d realize we were all on her side already.”
Lutéce
If I had a dollar for every time my mother gave me “the look”—the one that says, “Poor Lu, why can’t you just live the life I planned for you?”—I’d be flying to Malquar on my own jet.
Not only did I pack up my bags at the spur of the moment to support my little sister’s happy ending, but I’ve subjected myself to endless glances of disappointment from my mother. They started the moment she boarded the plane.
Looking up from my laptop, I stare right back at her. “Is there something on your mind, Mother?” I ask, making it perfectly clear that the question is rhetorical. I don’t want to hear the answer.
Instead of grasping the nuance of my mood and leaving me alone, she stands up and walks over to me. “Now that you mention it, why do you want to have a stranger’s baby again?”
Geoffrey overhears this and his eyes pop open with interest. He looks uncomfortable as my sister explains, “Lu wants to have a baby, but she’s not in a relationship right now.”
He smiles at her lovingly before saying, “I can’t wait to start our own family.”
I’m tempted to get up and kiss Prince Geoffrey right there. That one statement causes my mom to shift her focus from me to them. “Are you trying?” she asks boldly.
“We thought we’d get married first,” Claire says. “You okay with that?”
Our mother shrugs nonchalantly. “I suppose.”
Geoffrey adds, “My parents are pretty strict on protocol. As in, babies don’t come before the wedding. It used to be that if they came less than nine months after the wedding, they were called premature. It’s harder to sell that now that everyone wants to know how much the baby weighed.”
Mom goes back across the aisle to sit with Tooty, and my dad takes her place. “How’s my girl?” he asks. Dad has always been the calm in our storm. He doesn’t ride the highs and lows of emotion like he’s a trapeze artist hanging onto a greased bar a hundred feet off the ground the way the rest of us do. Instead, he instills tranquility wherever he is.
“I wish Mom would leave me alone,” I tell him honestly.
“Believe it or not, Lutéce, your mother loves you. She only does what she does because she wants you to be as happy as she is.”
“I’d be a whole heck of a lot happier if she didn’t always think she knew what was best for me.”
He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “She does it out of concern. She just needs to say her piece is all.”
“I don’t know how you’ve lived with her for forty years,” I say unkindly.
“Your mother is the love of my life, Lu. She brings sunshine wherever she goes.” He turns and gives her a look of adoration that causes my heart to physically ache. What I wouldn’t give to be on the other end of a stare like that by a man who loves me.
Dad has always been very vocal about how much he adores Mom. It’s sweet and nauseating at the same time. It also feeds my mother’s unrealistic pipe dream that we are all destined for the same outcome she’s had. Sheila Choate is an optimist, and while I was once like that, life has beaten me down in the last several years.
Changing the topic, I announce, “I bet you’re getting excited about walking Claire down the aisle.”
His smile is radiant. “A father wants nothing more than to know that some lucky person loves his daughter as much as he does. Honey,” he starts to say. My eyes tear up at that one word alone—damn these hormone injections. “I don’t know how I know this, but I do. Somewhere out there is the man who will love and cherish you above all else. Don’t give up hope, okay?”
I want to believe that he has an inner line to some higher source, but my well of hope has been sucked dry. I’ve even started to wonder if I should pack up and move to a normal place. I’m not sure where that might be—maybe Iowa or Oklahoma or something. The only problem is that most people my age in those locations are probably already settled down and raising their families.
Unconsciously, I release a sigh of yearning for taco Tuesday, pizza Friday, family bowling nights, and camping trips. I have this deep-rooted pie-in-the-sky dream that if I ever do meet Mr. Right, he won’t already have a family. It’s not that I couldn’t love someone else’s children—I certainly could—I just selfishly want to have my own kids that I don’t have to share with someone else. I’ve also seen enough movies to know that I never want to be on the receiving end of some kid yelling, “You’re not my mother!”
The last man I dated with kids used to reprimand me if I asked his four-year-old monster twins not to kick me. It was ultimately the reason we stopped seeing each other.
The flight attendant comes by and offers us a lunch menu. “We will be serving in a half hour if you’d like to make a selection,” she says with a hint of a French accent.
“Thank you.” Dad takes the menus and hands one to me. “Oh, chateaubriand—I know what I’m getting. How about you?”
My stomach is heavy with dread at the thought of the week ahead. “I’ll probably just have a salad.”
“Have I told you how excited I am that you’re planning to make me a grandfather?”
I look up, surprised. “You are? I thought you and Mom were both of a mind that I should wait until I find the man I want to marry.” I say the last bit like I’m referring to a unicorn or other mythological creature.
“I’d love for you to share the journey of parenthood with your soulmate, but that doesn’t mean I don’t support you if you choose another path. Any baby of yours will be one hundred percent welcomed and adored by me and your mother.”
I scoot over so I can rest my head on his shoulder. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, honey. So, so much.”
In that moment I feel like I’m a li
ttle girl all over again. Even though I’m from a generation that believes you don’t need a partner to fulfill you, I’ve lived alone for long enough to know that I really want to share my life.
Call me old-fashioned, but I was raised on the fairy tale ending, and I can’t stop myself from hoping mine is still out there somewhere. But first I have to get through the next week in Malquar.
God help me.
Chapter Six
The Queen
“I don’t care if you have other plans, Alistair,” Queen Charlotte tells her middle son. “We’re all going to the airport to greet Claire and Geoffrey. The press will be there, and your father and I don’t need them speculating on which inappropriate woman is keeping you from performing your royal duties.”
“Tell them I’m reading to orphans. Surely that will be enough to get them to focus on Geoffrey,” Alistair responds grumpily.
Giving her son a look of pure disbelief, the queen says, “Reading to orphans? That’s the best you can do?”
“Your lack of faith in me is truly heartbreaking, Mother. Do you know that?”
“Darling, I have more faith in you than you have in yourself, which is why I have such high expectations of you. You can do so much better than you’ve been doing, and it’s high time you meet your potential.”
“Fine, I’ll cancel with the orphans and go to the airport with you. Although, I have no idea how that will aid in my reaching your lofty aspirations.”
“Make sure to wear a suit jacket,” his mother tells him.
Alistair grumbles as he walks off. “Yes, Mother. Whatever you say, Mother.”
Alistair
“I’m sorry, Sister Hennepin, I need to cancel today’s reading session. Our family has a reception to attend,” I tell the nun who’s in charge of the orphanage.
“The children will be disappointed,” she replies sternly. “Will we see you next week?”
You're So Vain: A Royal Haters to Lovers Romance (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 4) Page 3