Crowned: Gowns & Crowns, Book 4

by Jennifer Chance

  “Stop it!” she practically begged Ari, but he simply shook his head.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say to you, Francesca.”

  “But I’m not Francesca, that’s the point!” Her voice was desperate. Then again, so was she. “No matter what identity I take on to show the world, I’ll always be the girl with the skinned elbows and worn out clothes, who learned to fight in the dusty back lot of her dad’s bar while bikers cheered her on. You—you forgot who you are, for a while, but now you’ve remembered and that’s truly who you are. A good person. A noble person. I’ve always known who I am no matter how much I wish to forget it, and I’ve never wanted to be her.” She bit her lip to keep the tears from falling again, to no avail. “I’m Frannie Lambert, while you…you’re the crown prince of Garronia.”

  “I am,” Ari said, eyeing her curiously. “Would you prefer I become a fisherman or a net maker? Of did you prefer me as Ryker Stavros, pilot at large?”

  “No!” she retorted. “That’s not who you are, and who you are is amazing.”

  “Then how can you imagine that I want you to be anything than who you are?” Ari asked gently. “The woman who looks at me with so much caution in her eyes, whose hands held mine when they were shaking and never let go? Everything you’ve been through makes you everything you are and I love every last part of it. I love Francesca Simmons and I love Frannie Lambert and I would love every person that you were in between. Because you’ve made even the ugly, broken and painful parts of you more beautiful than anyone else could, simply because they are yours.”

  He reached over and passed his thumb over her cheek, and his smile became one of wonder. “And how do you keep your eye make-up from melting even when you cry?”

  A female staff member stepped forward as Francesca hiccupped a laugh, pushing a box of tissues toward her. The box was a little short; the woman had clearly been crying too.

  “I can’t—I don’t know,” Francesca finally said, his redirect working, at least for the moment. “I kept adding more and more layers to it, and now I think,” she looked up at him with a faint air of horror. “I think it might be permanent.”

  “We’ll have to have far more formal events in the castle, then.”

  Even as he said the words, Ari could sense Francesca rejecting them. This was all so new to her—too new. She had no way of knowing that it was new to him as well. Ari quickly scanned the far side of the table. Emmaline, Nicki and Lauren all gazed at Francesca with nothing but love in their eyes—love and perhaps a few more tears. She would get no judgment there.

  His father and mother watched from the end of the table, but it was his father’s face that seemed more strained than his mother’s, his gaze not on Ari but also on Francesca as she so painfully tried to convince an entire room of her unworthiness, when she’d already proven herself over and over in their minds without even trying.

  Finally, he glanced at Cyril, whose opinion he wanted not for any reason that would stop him, but to guide how he should proceed. Of all the Crown’s advisors, Cyril was the most shrewd. He had the ear of the council and he had the pulse of the people. He would know exactly how far Ari could push the acceptance of the nation, and when he should pull back. Ari knew he could not live without Francesca—not now, not ever. But neither would he subject her to a scrutiny that would cause her to cry such tears again. Never would he ever permit her to be in such danger again as she’d faced from his own countrymen. If Cyril disapproved…

  His mentor gave him the smallest nod. He could proceed however he wanted.

  Ari’s heart expanded in his chest and quickly he turned back to Francesca. He reached out and quieted her hands, which were shredding the tissue she’d pulled from the box to a fine pile of snow.

  “What is it you would have of me, Francesca?” he asked, and her eyes met his, blinking in confusion.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do,” he said, shaking his head. “This is not simply a question of me choosing you. If you were to come to Garronia and live with me, your life and your identity would change, again and again.” He smiled as she furrowed her brow. “To one set of constituents, you would have to be a loving mother figure, helping them to teach their children to grow tall and strong, the pride of Garronia. To another you would have to hold their hands like you held mine, in sickness, in loss, and in the sorrow they would feel when their children or their husbands or their grandmothers die. To one set of diplomats you would be laughing and filled with joy on the event of a wedding or an anniversary, to another you would be serious, for their country is at war. You would have breakfast with your enemies and dinner with your allies, and they might be the same people on a given day. It is not a life that many could manage. It is a life perhaps best led by someone who knows the value of understanding who people most need her to be.”

  “Ari, what are you saying?” Francesca whispered, but he wasn’t finished yet.

  “And then there would be the obligations you would face with me, handling my work, my position, the demands of my time. I would travel—sometimes with you, sometimes without. I would tell you all that I could, but that would not be everything, not always. Yet I would need you to be that same woman who sat next to me on the wind-swept ridge, not saying anything, not doing anything, but simply allowing me to suffer, allowing me to heal, allowing me to become the man that I most have to become in order to be a success at my work. It’s a great deal to ask of anyone, but I’m asking it of you, a total stranger to me before this week—yet someone I feel I’ve known my entire life. I want you to be my wife, Francesca. If you’ll have me.”

  By this point, Francesca was staring at him. “You can’t possibly be asking me that,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, so low that no one else would ordinarily be able to hear her, if the entire room wasn’t sitting forward in their seats, hanging on every word.

  “I’m not asking you, Francesca,” he said. But before she could glance away he held her fingers tightly, lifting them to his chest as he dropped to one knee. “I’m begging you. On bended knee, I’m pleading with you to live your life with me, to be my wife, the princess of Garronia and one day her queen, one day the mother of our children if we might be so blessed. I want nothing more than for you to hold my hand in sickness and in health and never let go, never let me face the world alone again but always with you by my side, bringing me laughter in times of sorrow, peace in times of pain. I’m asking you to let me care for you too, to love you with my whole heart, to protect you with every force at my disposal and help you be the woman you most want to be. To show me each broken, hurting part of you and let me try to help make it whole, and to accept who and what I am as I accept who and what you are, both of us imperfect but together…together something more. Something more that I want to explore with you, Francesca, you and only you.”

  Francesca tried to speak, she truly did, but her mouth was trembling so much that it seemed she couldn’t form any words. Ari took pity on her and squeezed her hands again, letting her catch her breath. “I’m asking you Francesca Simmons, Frannie Lambert, and anyone you have ever been, anyone you will ever be—I’m asking you if you would marry me,” he said softly.

  “Yes,” Francesca said, the word far more than a half-sob now, and one that was echoed by other sobs, deeper in the room. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Aristotle Andris. If you’ll have me.”

  He grinned as her mascara finally lost the battle with the saltwater of her tears, pulling another tissue to dash away the streaking lines from her beautiful, perfect face. “I’ll have you, Francesca,” he whispered. “And I’ll never let you go.”

  He leaned down to kiss her trembling lips but softly, then rested his forehead against hers. When he looked up again, the girls were all leaning together in some kind of complex group hug, his men were grinning—even the stoic Stefan—and his parents were no longer looking at him, but caught into an embrace all their own, their arms wrapped around each other so tightl
y it was as if they were fashioned from birth to be a matched set.

  When he glanced again at Cyril, he found himself unaccountably tensing again, though the advisor had already given his approval.

  But Cyril was watching Francesca, an expression on his face unlike any Ari had ever seen. He positively beamed, staring at her, and in that expression Ari realized that of everyone in this room save his own parents, he’d known Cyril the longest. The curmudgeonly counselor had been there when he’d been three years old and had helped him ride his first pony. He’d been there when Ari had fallen off the church wall—where he shouldn’t have been playing at all. He’d stood by silent and watchful through every step of Ari’s life, from childhood to rebellious teen to junior statesman, and he’d never ever smiled…not like this. Not ever like this.

  Cyril, sensing Ari’s focus, shifted his gaze to him and tempered his expression only slightly. “You’ve chosen well, Aristotle,” he said in Garronois. “When the time comes, the people of Garronia will stand with you both. Your beautiful, extraordinary Francesca will make a most excellent queen.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Fran watched Nicki running up from the water, her body soaked but her smile undimmed as she crashed out of the waves with her newest windsurfing board. Beyond her, remaining upright on his board, Stefan laughed and called to her, beckoning her back into the sea.

  They were on the Royal Beach in Garronia, in a special cordoned off section dedicated to one of the posh hotels, but no additional security was immediately obvious. Despite Ari’s declaration of a few days ago—which Fran still couldn’t quite believe—everyone agreed that they should wait on formal announcements until Queen Catherine discussed the matter with all her closest friends in the elite social circles of Garronia. With two American women set to be future royalty, it was going to cause a stir.

  Neither Fran nor Emmaline had much stir left in them.

  She looked over to where Emmaline lay now, her hair and face covered by an enormous hat and cat eye sunglasses, and her body encased in a responsible one-piece swimsuit. She’d slathered herself with sunscreen but had balked at Kristos’s suggestion of a tent on the beach. It was only a matter of time before she’d be recognized wherever she went, she’d argued. She wanted to get sun while she could.

  On Fran’s other side, Lauren let out a luxurious sigh, stretching out on a blanket-laden chaise. A cooler full of iced drinks lay at her elbow, and she ignored both the business and style magazines she’d brought down with her. Instead she held her hand to her brow, staring out over the open water. “So, Fran—or Emmaline, this might be on you. I think you should insist that the Garronia National Security Force do water maneuvers every time we decide to go sunbathing. Because seriously, this is better than HBO.”

  Fran shifted her gaze from Nicki and Stefan to where Dimitri led a team of men into the surf until they were chest high, then ordered them to turn around and beat him out of the water. The churning result of gorgeously built men and splashing water really did look like something from late night cable, and Fran noted that Dimitri won nearly every competition, except for when he was tackled or otherwise fouled by Kristos.

  Kristos had returned to the ranks of the GNSF as dawn had broken the morning after the royal ball, and Emmaline watched him now as he bedeviled Dimitri in ever new and inventive ways. “If he pulls down Dimitri’s trunks, he’ll never forgive him,” Emmaline said, as Dimitri spun away from Kristos a third time.

  “If he pulls down Dimitri’s trunks, I’m selling it to US Weekly,” Lauren retorted, pulling out her phone. “Nobody tell him, okay?”

  Fran leaned back in her chair. “So, uh, Lauren, you know we expect you to take us on vacation next year, too, right?”

  Emmaline straightened. “Yes!” she said. “I already suggested to Kristos that you could build a new business as a travel planner. When you consider your unanticipated success rate for this trip, I’d think you’d be booked out for three years.”

  “You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Lauren said. “I have quite a few friends who are starting to figure out what happened here, and they are not happy I didn’t decide to bring them along on this trip.”

  “Well, I’m certainly satisfied,” Emmaline said. “I think it all worked out exactly the way it should be.”

  “Says the girl who’s about to become a princess,” Lauren snorted. “But who’s to say I couldn’t stage another trip to say…Spain?” She screwed up her face. “They have a monarchy there. I’m sure there’re a few errant royals running around.”

  “Or you could keep all the largesse in Garronia, and bring more tourists here,” Fran pointed out. “But you’ll have to bring some men next time. We’ve kind of made a run on the most eligible guys.”

  Nicki chose that moment to head up the beach to their section, hurdling the low rope and skidding in the sand. “You guys!” she said. “What’s the point of being at the beach if you don’t get in the water? Except you, Fran. You get a pass.”

  She grinned and flopped down on the enormous Hotel Garronia towel, lifting her face toward the sun. “I could sleep for the next three days.” She glanced at Emmaline. “Did you ever get the final word from Northwestern? Because this weather beats Chicago, I don’t care what it’s doing there.”

  Emmaline tossed a bottle of sunscreen at Nicki. “You’re due. And yes, actually. I got an email last night. They said I could enroll next spring, if I did video auditions and met their guidelines.” She lifted her hand to her throat, where Kristos’s service medal hung on a chain around her neck. “Kristos said he wants me to go as quickly as possible, mainly so I can come back again sooner.” She sighed. “Between you and me, I’m thinking of finding someplace closer for the second year, if they’ll take me and if language won’t be a barrier. Like maybe Italy, I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I’ll have to do something though, with Kristos back in the military. And I do miss my parents.”

  Fran lifted her brows. She and Ari had already discussed Kristos’s hopes to join Emmaline in Chicago for at least part of her stay, but the details weren’t fixed yet. Perhaps Kristos didn’t want Emmaline to get her hopes up…or perhaps he was looking for a way to surprise her. More than anyone she’d ever met, Kristos had a flair for the dramatic. One of the many reasons why he was perfect for Emmaline.

  “And hello, speaking of planning, what’s the deal with your wedding?” Lauren asked, reaching over one pedicured foot to nudge Fran. “I know you have to wait until the constellations line up, but do you have any sense of timing yet? If I’m going to launch a new travel business, I need to schedule around you two.”

  “Drinks, miss?”

  A familiar voice sounded above them, and Fran laughed, swiveling to look up at Ari. He was dressed in a Hotel Garronia porter’s uniform, and true to his request, his tray carried several glasses of something that appeared super chilled.

  “I’m not sure that we ordered anything,” Fran said warily. Ari crouched down beside her, keeping his tray steady as he turned to Lauren.

  “Compliments of the captain of the GNSF. He says you get into trouble if you drink tsipouro, and he’s off duty in a few minutes and looking for some trouble.”

  “That’s what I love about the men of Garronia,” Lauren declared. “You’re always thinking.”

  Ari handed Emmaline and Nicki a glass as well, then refocused on Fran. “There’s so much more I want to give you,” he said, “but I’ll at least start with this.”

  Francesca frowned at him, her brows drawn together at his comment, even as she accepted the drink with its cheerful lime wedged onto the side of the glass. “Ari, you don’t have to give anything to me, I—”

  Her gaze dropped to the glass, and she froze as she realized what else decorated the glass alongside the fruit. The pale emerald earrings lay perfectly alongside the glass, and trembled only slightly as she fumbled the glass back to his waiting tray.

  “What—what is it?” Lauren peered around Francesca to s
ee the earrings she was pulling off the glass. “Oooo, those are seriously pretty.”

  “They’re more than pretty,” Fran whispered, and Ari’s heart soared. The emeralds were simple, long and delicate triangles, with a sparkling white diamond at their tips. He’d thought they captured the spirit of a certain monument in Paris.

  Apparently, Francesca did as well.

  “You lost your earrings the other night,” he murmured as Francesca stared at him, her capacity for speech apparently fled. “I wanted to give you something to remember that night by, that would still go with your beautiful gown.”

  “Okay, that does it.” Lauren set down her drink and pulled out her phone. “I’m definitely planning a travel business to Garronia. I’m going to make millions in the first year.” She kicked at Nicki’s towel. “You’re going to be my sports and entertainment director too. So don’t make plans.”

  “Well, don’t bring a bunch of foofy women then,” Nicki grinned, shielding her eyes with her arm as she kept her face pointed at the sky. “If I’m going to be directing entertainment, I better be having fun, too.”

  “Deal. And hey, since you’re here.” Lauren hit Ari’s elbow with her phone, but the bossiness in her tone was leavened by her radiant smile as she took in Fran’s delighted face. This was a group of women who didn’t judge their own success by the barometer of the fortune in their friends’ lives, Ari realized suddenly. Like he and Dimitri, they were simply friends. As happy for each other’s success as they were for their own—and in some cases, more so. Since Fran had made her halting confession the night of the ball, her friends had seemed to form a triduum of protection around her, never letting her out of their sight, reassuring her at every opportunity of their love, their faith, and their trust. Her revelation had been a surprise, but no more a surprise than if she’d told them she was allergic to shellfish.

  Which Ari seriously hoped she wasn’t.