“I’m going to say it right here and right now.” Sheila prays, “Dear God, Tooty is doing a lot of good for the world, especially with her new project. What do you say you give her the reward she’s looking for?”
Then she nudges her sister and says, “Buckle up, buttercup. I have a good feeling …”
Lutéce
Alistair picks me up at the palace carrying one red rose. “This is going to be our thing,” he tells me.
“What?”
“I’m putting you on the red rose reward system.”
“What is that, exactly?”
“One red rose for every day you make me smile,” he says.
“That’s very sweet, but what if you forget a day?”
“Then you’d better try harder to make me smile.” He ducks before I successfully hit him with the first rose he’s ever given me.
After we get into his car, I tell him, “When I came to Malquar, I was angry, bitter, and so full of despair over how my life was turning out that I couldn’t imagine a happy ending for myself. I am so grateful that you didn’t take my prickliness too seriously and kept trying to get to know me.”
“I think your prickliness is part of your charm,” he tells me with a sexy grin.”
“You think, huh?”
“The truth is,” he says, “I can’t thank you enough for coming into my life when you did. It has not been easy carrying around the official title of ‘the spare.’ I keep hoping that Andrew will hurry up and get married and secure the future of the monarchy with a couple of kids, so I can get on with living my own life.”
“Has it really been awful?” I ask.
“Not awful. More like I’ve been sitting on the bench for the whole game, waiting to see if I’m going to be needed. I’d like to know that I can move on and start my own game.”
I reach over and take his hand. I don’t say anything, I just give it a squeeze to let him know that I’m here.
We continue to drive quietly. I’m going to tell Beatrice my plans about adopting her today and I’m so excited I feel like I’m going to explode. I won’t hurry her out of the abbey until she’s ready, but I sure do hope she moves in with me soon. I don’t want to miss a day with her.
As Alistair pulls up to the orphanage, Sister Hennepin is standing out front, talking to both of our moms. Tooty is there, too. I jump out of the car and ask, “Tooty, why didn’t I know you were coming?”
She smiles at me slyly. “Because, hon, we’ve all been hard at work hatching a plan and we wanted to surprise you.”
“What plan?” I ask.
The queen answers for her, “Get back into your car and follow us. We’ll show you.”
“But we came to talk about Beatrice…” Alistair says.
“This is partially about Beatrice,” Sister Hennepin tells him. “Now go get in your car and don’t make me have to tell you again.”
I love how she treats Alistair like he’s still a child. I unsuccessfully stifle a giggle at her bossiness.
As soon as we’re back in the car, Alistair follows the Bentley that’s carrying the rest of our party. “What do you suppose is going on?”
“You got me, but after the other night, I’m not going to argue with any of them.”
When we drive through the gates of a large estate, I ask, “Are we visiting someone?”
Alistair shakes his head. “This is Holly Hope House. My grandmother moved here after my grandfather died. No one has lived here since she passed on.”
“Your grandmother moved here? This place is huge!”
“You don’t go from being queen to moving into a pensioner’s apartment,” he says. “In her eyes, she went from forty bedrooms to twenty, which was a real come down.”
I can’t tell if he’s serious or not. But this house certainly looks big enough to have twenty bedrooms. “What do you suppose we’re doing here?” I ask.
Alistair gets out of the car and opens the passenger door for me. “I think we’re about to find out.”
We join the rest of our party in front of the estate. Queen Charlotte says, “Alistair, being that Andrew will one day take up residence in the palace, your father and I thought we’d give you Holly Hope House.” Holy. Crap.
“That’s very nice, Mother, but what in the world am I going to do with a house this big?”
Tooty announces, “I thought you might like to rent it to me.”
“You want to live here?” What in the world is going on?
Tooty shakes her head. “I want you to live here with Beatrice,” she tells me.
“Why in the world do Beatrice and I need this kind of room?” I ask.
“You don’t, dear. But you will if you agree to work for me,” my aunt says.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Tooty.”
“I always wanted to open a camp for underprivileged children …” she starts to say.
“Here in Malquar?” I interrupt.
“Let her finish,” my mom says. Then she motions for Tooty to keep talking.
“Your mother and the queen and I got to thinking that with a house of this size, we could move the orphanage here. The children will have much more room, and it would be the ideal location to house events to draw potential parents into their lives.”
“Move the orphanage here? And I would be in charge?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sister Hennepin scolds. “I will continue to be in charge of the orphans; you will be in charge of the camp.”
“How will that work?” I am dying to know.
“Follow me,” the queen says. And we do. We follow her along a path to the back of Holly Hope House where there’s a good-sized red brick Edwardian-style house. She says, “You and Beatrice would live here. The orphans and the sisters would use half of the main house, and the other half will be used for our camp attendees.”
“I would live here,” I repeat, sounding like I’m more than a few bricks short of a load.
“Lu, pay attention!” my mom practically yells. “You’re being given a beautiful home for you and Beatrice to live in, and you’ll have a job. There’s nothing left for you to worry about.”
Tooty announces, “Of course I’ll pay a fair rent, Alistair. I don’t want you to worry about that.”
He just shakes his head, his smile so bright it’s blinding. “Is five dollars a year too much?” he asks.
Tooty reaches into her purse and hands him a hundred-dollar bill. “Consider this payment for the first twenty years.”
All of my dreams really are coming true. I am so thoroughly overwhelmed by gratitude, I think I’m about to cry.
Sister Hennepin announces, “All right, now that that’s settled, let’s go back to the abbey and tell the children that you’ve picked a prize for all of them.”
She doesn’t wait for us to respond; she merely turns around and strides back to the car.
“Thank you,” I tell the remaining women. “Thank you so much.”
“Psh,” Tooty says. “No thanks are necessary. Now come on, your mama and I can’t wait to meet your little girl.”
Epilogue
Three Months Later…
“Christmastime is more special this year than ever before,” I tell Alistair after letting him into Beatrice’s and my new house. We’ve been here for two months and already it feels like ours. Toys are liberally sprinkled throughout, which is my favorite part about it.
“It’s more special for me too.” He pulls me into his arms for a searingly slow kiss. I lean into him and think that I would be happy staying like this forever… safe and secure in his arms.
He pulls away slowly. “Not to mention, today is your first party to introduce the kids to prospective parents. That's a red-letter day if there ever was one.”
“I can’t believe how many people are coming.” I open the hall closet to pull out my coat. “I’m half-worried they’re only coming to see you.”
Alistair shakes his head. “Not a chance. Every one of them was
vetted by Sister Hennepin herself. And you know she wouldn’t allow any looky-loos.”
“True,” I say before turning and calling up the stairs, “Beatrice, come on! Prince Alistair is here, and we need to get up to Holly Hope House to make sure everyone is ready.”
Beatrice practically skips down the stairs in her new, green velvet dress with the white lace Peter Pan collar, her curls bobbing up and down with each step. I tell myself fifty times a day that she’s going to legally be my daughter soon, and fifty times a day, I need to pinch myself to know I’m not lost in a dream.
“You are as pretty as any princess I’ve ever seen,” Alistair compliments her.
“I’m not prettier than my mum though.” Beatrice’s eyes sparkle when she looks at me. I’m her mum.
“You’re a hundred times prettier,” I tell her. “Now come on, let's shake our tail feathers. I have a feeling magic is going to happen today.
The three of us put on our coats and proceed to walk up to the main house, hand-in-hand.
I couldn’t stop smiling if my life depended on it. I offer a prayer of thanks for all the goodness in my life. Then I say another prayer: Please let more than one child find their forever home today.
I squeeze Alistair’s hand. If things go as well as they’ve been going between us, maybe one day we can adopt a few more children together. While I would still like a child or two of my own, I no longer feel the same drive I once did. I couldn’t love Beatrice more than I do already, and if I can give that love to other children who are without parents, that would be an amazing gift for all of us.
As we walk into the house, we are besieged by the sounds of excitement and joy. This is truly the merriest of Christmases ever.
I cannot wait to see what the new year has in store.
About the Author
USA Today Bestseller Whitney Dineen is a rock star in her own head. While delusional about her singing abilities, there's been a plethora of validation that she's a fairly decent author (AMAZING!!!). After winning many writing awards and selling nearly a kabillion books (math may not be her forte, either), she's decided to let the voices in her head say whatever they want (sorry, Mom). She also won a fourth-place ribbon in a fifth-grade swim meet in backstroke. So, there's that.
Whitney loves to play with her kids (a.k.a. dazzle them with her amazing flossing abilities), bake stuff, eat stuff, and write books for people who "get" her. She thinks french fries are the perfect food and Mrs. Roper is her spirit animal.
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Head Over Feet is coming in March 2022!
Preorder it here.
Princess Aubrey of Malquar has loved Grady Basset since they were kids. She followed him and her brother around wherever they went; she wrote his name in her diary repeatedly; and she even practiced saying her name with his last name—for years.
There’s only one problem. Grady has never shown any romantic interest in her.
As the son of the king’s secretary, Grady grew up playing with the royal children. His best friend is Prince Alistair, the second in line for the throne. While he’s drawn to Princess Bree, he knows that there’s no way they can be together. Bree’s station is too far above his.
As the captain of the royal yacht, Grady sees Bree often, but in recent months the princess has been rude, belligerent, and an all-around pain in the butt. When unforeseen circumstances have Grady taking Bree on a cruise in the Mediterranean—alone—things really start to heat up.
Will Grady finally give Bree a chance? Will it be too late?
Find out in the deliciously fun fifth installment of the Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Series.
While you’re waiting for Head Over Feet, check out my USA Today Bestselling novella, Love for Sale.
Chapter One
“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?” I practically yell in the direction of my phone as I furiously type away on my laptop. I’m a multi-tasker extraordinaire, which is good because in my business, time is always of the essence.
I shift my computer so it’s wedged up against the steering wheel of my three-year-old Audi. “April? Like the month?” I ask the caller.
“It is Abreeeeeel,” the cultured Latina voice echoing through my car speakers tells me. “Abril Valencia. You were recommended to me by Sandrine Flowers?” She asks like it’s a question I should already have the answer to.
“How is Sandrine?” It’s been ages since I’ve seen my old client. I knew the minute she moved into her new place, that love was right around the corner. Sandrine hadn’t wanted to look at the Coldwater Canyon property, claiming the commute to her office was a deal breaker.
When I told her I was positive that’s where she would find her happy ending, she hemmed and hawed and still tried to fight for the house in Benedict Canyon. She finally gave in when I explained the Benedict house had sadness written all over it. Like seriously, I think there’d been some kind of gnarly death there or something.
It turns out Sandrine’s future husband lived right next door to the Coldwater property. They were engaged within four months, and three months after that I attended their very fancy wedding at the Four Seasons Hotel. A week later, I listed both of their houses and found them the perfect marital love nest in Malibu. It was a real estate trifecta!
“Sandrine, she is as big as a house with los bebés inside her,” Abril announces. “But she is so happy and she says she owes it all to you. She says you are her fairy godmother, her matchmaker.”
“I’m not a matchmaker,” I say as an image of Yente from Fiddler on the Roof pops into my head, full-on with a babushka and an all-knowing look in her squinty eyes.
“You find the house that brings the love, no?”
“No. I mean yes. But I am more of an intuitive realtor than a matchmaker. I don’t know who the love interest will be, I just know where the love will happen.” That sounds sketchier than I’d intended it to, but you get my drift.
“I am also ready for the love, so I call you to help me find it. Where should we start looking?”
“Let’s meet,” I tell her. “I won’t start to get a feeling for the right area for you until I have a chance to get to know you better.” I check my calendar. “I can meet you for coffee at eleven tomorrow morning at Perky Cups on Melrose, or Friday at two at The Farm in Beverly Hills.”
“If tomorrow is the earliest, I will meet you then.” She hangs up before I can tell her what I look like. Guess I will look for a lovelorn Latina.
I hurry and press send, and voilà, the offer for Xander Fellows is submitted. His perfect house is in Hancock Park even though he was sure he was destined to live in Venice. He was convinced Hancock Park was too family oriented and wouldn’t have single men within miles of his doorstep. I assured him that single men live all over LA and that if it was a long-term relationship he was looking for, then the Hancock Park house was the right place for him.
After closing my laptop, I pull out onto the street in the direction of my office on Sunset Boulevard. I work at Pemberley Properties which is every bit as snooty as it sounds.
My office is full of women, and only women—other than my boss Frederic—who know how to play up their assets to their best advantage. Simply put, they have bleach blonde hair extensions, wear five-inch stilettos, and their boobs practically exist in another zip code. I’m nothing like them.
I, Emily Hargrove, am the epitome of the girl next door. I’m a Mary Ann in a world of Gingers. If you weren’t a Nick at Nite fanatic like I was and the Gilligan’s Island reference is lost on you, I’m a Betty, not a Veronica; a Monica, not a Rachel; a Reese, not an Angelina.
How in the world did I wind up working for a glamorous brokerage firm like Pemberley then? My best friend and queen bee of sales, Skylar Matisse, got me the
job. At first, Frederic would only take me on a trial basis, as I clearly didn’t look like his vision of success. But after selling three houses in a week, he no longer cared. I was a moneymaker, and he was willing to overlook my faults, aka normal physical attributes.
The unwritten rule at the office is that no broker can be under five foot nine. As if only giants can sell multi-million-dollar houses. That’s why my fellow brokers stagger around like they’re stilt-walkers in the circus.
While I did try to at least meet the height requirement, I fell off said shoes on three separate occasions. The first time, I accidentally pushed a client into the swimming pool of the house I was showing him. I fell in also. The second time, I tripped and landed on top of Frederic. He may have wound up with a hairline wrist fracture—the man needs a calcium supplement, if you ask me. The third time, I fell off a curb into oncoming traffic and nearly got run over by a gold-plated Hummer.
After the last occasion, my boss decided that if I were to live long enough to make him a huge amount of money, he would have to bend his rule and let me wear loafers, or Vans, depending on how I was dressed. It was the safest decision for all.
As if my style and height aren’t enough to set me apart—I’m a solid five eight in flats—my hair is brown instead of blonde. I have never penciled my eyebrows into giant caterpillars with squared off edges in my life, and no one is allowed to superglue llama lashes to my eyelids. I don’t even have cool tattoos. In fact, I don’t have any tattoos. I’m just not that girl.
I’d rather eat burgers than sushi, pitch a tent on the beach than stay at a five-star resort, and horror of horrors—according to my coworkers anyway—I’d rather be a B-cup than go under the knife and have balloons stuffed inside my chest cavity.
According to Skylar, I’m refreshing and natural. According to Lucy, the one agent who hates me with a vigorous passion, I’m boring and boyish. She thinks anything less than a D-cup lacks femininity.
You're So Vain: A Royal Haters to Lovers Romance (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 4) Page 22