But, as even Chay had to admit, a pretty damn nice production.
Chay had met the seemingly endless bunch of sisters and brothers, half-sisters and half-brothers, sisters-in-law, brothers-in-law, babies and toddlers at Tanner’s wedding. They’d all seemed nice enough, but it was different meeting them now, the weekend of the wedding, as his new in-laws.
Turned out they weren’t just nice. They were great.
They were pleasant. They were fun. They could be serious, too, as Chay discovered the night before the wedding when the brothers—two of them—and the half-brothers—they came in a set of three—took him into the study for a drink and told him, earnestly enough to make him damn sure they meant it, that they were happy for their sister and happy for him—but that if he ever did anything to hurt her, they’d stake him out and skin him alive.
Chay had given half a minute’s thought to some kind of snappy rejoinder, maybe along the lines of saying that, hey, he was the Lakota here and didn’t that make him the skinning expert? And then he’d realized that this was a serious moment and a joke might not go over well, so he’d have to explain that he meant he was talking about skinning a buffalo, except he’d never skinned a buffalo in his life. Besides, by then, after those thirty-something seconds of silence, the men’s eyes had all narrowed to slits. Logic had superseded being a smartass, which was why he’d hoisted his bottle of ale, nodded his head and said, in solemn tones, “Sounds like a plan to me.”
The wedding arrangements belonged to the sisters.
“You’re going to be so busy moving all your things to California, looking for a job, that kind of stuff,” Alessandra had said, “we’ll just handle the details for you.”
It had seemed the kindest, sweetest of suggestions.
And, it turned out, it was.
Alessandra flew to New York for a weekend. Well, they all did. And they all trooped downtown to the atelier of a famous designer Alessandra knew from the days she’d been in the fashion business. The designer greeted them warmly and her assistants brought out half a dozen spectacular gowns.
Bianca tried on all of them. The sisters and half-sisters and sisters-in-law oohed and sighed and told her their favorites.
But Bianca knew her own mind.
She wanted the lace gown but with the off-the-shoulder neckline, and would it be possible to change the design of the sleeves so they were wrist-length, and perhaps narrow the skirt just a bit, and maybe shorten the train?
The sisters and half-sisters and sisters-in-law had tried not to laugh, but they laughed anyway.
“What?” Bianca said indignantly, but then she giggled, the famous designer giggled, and then, right on time, the driver of the stretch limo that had brought them to the showroom appeared with champagne flutes and chilled bottles of Dom Pérignon and the Wilde women had cheered and toasted Bianca with jokes that made her blush as much as they made her laugh.
She thought of all that now as the first chords of Wagner’s Wedding March drifted up the stairs to where she waited with Alessandra, who was her matron of honor, and with her bridesmaid sisters.
“I know people use other music for the processional,” she’d told Chay, “but if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay with something traditional.”
Chay wouldn’t have given a damn if his bride came down the aisle to the sound of Chinese gongs.
All he wanted was her. His Bianca. His beautiful, strong, brave, smart Bianca, and when she reached him at the roses-and-lilies-of-the-valley-bedecked altar, he knew he had found all a man could ever want in life.
The wedding dinner was perfect.
Lissa-the-chef had planned, shopped, and supervised the preparation of the entire meal.
She’d asked for Bianca’s approval every step of the way.
Each time, she smiled and said whatever Lissa did would be fine, and it was, though she did ask if the petit pois could be enhanced with mint. Not a lot, she said. Just a touch. And could there possibly be a choice of sour cream as well as whipped cream with the strawberries for dessert?
In the end, she forgot about all those things.
What mattered was being in her Chayton’s embrace on the dance floor with his strong arms around her and his beautiful, perfect, elegantly simple, plain platinum band on the third finger of her left hand. There was a diamond ring on that finger too, one that had come as a complete surprise. Chay had given it to her during dinner at the Boathouse in Central Park. He’d gone down on one knee right beside their table between the main course and dessert.
There were some things he, too, wanted done traditionally.
And, it turned out, the entire Wilde clan, the Sicilians and the Texans, had a new tradition to institute.
They decided to invite their father.
General John Hamilton Wilde. The now retired four-star general they’d banished from their lives. The man who had lied to them for so many years, the man they’d all said they despised and never wanted to see again…
Except, a lot of time had passed.
A lot.
They were all older. Maybe even a little wiser.
They’d learned that life wasn’t always quite as clear-cut as it seemed, and when Bianca had carefully brought his name up, when she’d said how anger and bitterness only reaped anger and bitterness, and how, perhaps it was time to forgive, if not to forget…
They agreed.
His Sicilian sons phoned him. His Texas sons phoned him. His daughters called, too. The calls were brief, because Johnny Wilde choked up during each conversation and—though none would admit it—so did his children.
The result was that he was at the wedding, a little quiet, a lot subdued, but he was there. Bianca didn’t ask him to give her away—she wasn’t ready for that much closeness. Not yet. Her brothers, all of them, gave her away.
But she danced a waltz with him, and she was happy for it.
• • •
The day went quickly, hours falling away into minutes.
At last, it was time to leave.
Bianca’s sisters hurried her upstairs so she could change into her going-away outfit.
Jeans. Motorcycle boots. The leather jacket Chay had given her and she’d never given back. They were leaving for California in Chay’s Silverado, with the Harley safely secured in the truck bed.
The passel of brothers surrounded Chay as he headed upstairs too, along with Tanner—his best man—and the other guys from his unit, including Declan Sanchez.
“Will Annie be there?” Dec had asked, after he’d said, yes, damn right he’d come to the wedding.
Chay had checked with Bianca. Then he said yeah, she would be.
“Oh,” Dec had said in a low growl, and Chay had almost asked what that oh meant, what that hard look on Dec’s face meant—but he wasn’t foolish enough to do either.
All the guests and the family gathered outside the mansion. They stood crowded together on the porch and in the driveway, laughing, joking, cheering as Chay scooped his bride into his arms and carried her to his truck. One last kiss and the truck pulled away in a scattering of Texas dust and rose petals thrown by the assembled crowd.
Everyone went back inside.
Everyone but Declan and Annie.
“Declan,” she said softly.
Her eyes were dark. Full of pain. Well, dammit, he was in pain too.
“Goddammit, Annie,” he said.
“Whoops. Sorry. I left my glass on the railing…”
Shit, Dec thought. Just what they didn’t need. A fucking four-star retired general opening the door and stepping onto the porch.
But Dec was a military man.
“Sir,” he said, politely if coldly.
Annie went a little pale and started to turn away.
“Your Highness?”
Dec turned a puzzled face towards th
e general.
The general was staring at Annie.
“Princess Anoushka? I thought that was you.”
Dec saw Annie’s shoulders rise and fall. Then, very slowly, she swung towards the two men.
“General,” she said quietly.
John Hamilton Wilde smiled. “I thought I spotted you before, but then I thought, no, I must be wrong. What would the royal princess of Qaram be doing in a little town in Texas?”
Dec heard a roaring in his ears. “What?” he said. “What did you just call her?”
“I called her what she is, young man. The royal prin…” The general looked from Declan Sanchez to the woman who called herself Annie. He cleared his throat, snatched up his glass and went into the house.
The door swung shut.
Sanchez stared at Annie.
“A princess?” he said, on a choked laugh. “A princess from, Jesus H. Christ, from the kingdom of Qaram?”
She didn’t answer.
He could see the pulse racing in her throat as he took a step forward. “Goddammit,” he said, “goddammit, why didn’t you tell me?”
Annie, or the princess of Qaram, whatever in hell the woman who haunted his dreams called herself, looked at him through tear-glazed eyes.
“I never told you,” she whispered, “because you never asked.”
THE END
Dear Reader:
Thank you for spending time with me. Thank you, too, for all your emails and messages. I absolutely love hearing from you!
Many of you know me from my career as a top author for Harlequin. I had a great time writing books for Harlequin, but the ones I’m writing now are longer, hotter and more complex, and I think they’re even more sexy, romantic and exciting.
I hope you enjoyed PRIVILEGE and that you fell in love with sexy Chayton Olivieri. I know I did when I was writing him. Creating hot heroes and falling for them is one of the benefits of being a romance author!
STUD operative Tanner Akecheta and his bride, Alessandra, are in PRIVILEGE, too. If you haven’t yet read their exciting story, please do! The title is POWER, Book 1 of my hot STUD series.
Some of you are already asking about Book 3. I’ll tell you this much. The title of Book 3 is RENEGADE and it’s is the story of STUD op Declan Sanchez—yes, you just met him in PRIVILEGE— and the woman he knows as Annie Stanton. When Annie breaks Dec’s heart, he vows he never wants to set eyes on her again. But Annie has a dark and dangerous secret. She’s actually the Royal Princess of the Kingdom of Qatar, and when Dec learns who she really is and what secret she carries, he knows that he’ll give up everything he’s ever believed in to save her—and to make her his forever.
My books are available through Amazon, iBooks, B&N, Kobo, Smashword and Google Play. You can find the complete list at
http://www.sandramarton.com
where you can also sign up for my newsletter. No spam, no ads, just news about my books and contests. Visit me @SandraMarton at Twitter. And for all you Facebook fans, look for me at
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Last thing. If you enjoyed PRIVILEGE or any other book of mine, why not leave a review at the online site wherever you bought the book? Your review doesn’t have to be more than a couple of lines long, but reviews from readers like you mean the world to authors like me.
Until next time…
Sandra
Privilege: Special Tactical Units Division: Book Two Page 28