Her Accidental Prince - A Married by Mistake Romance

by Holly Rayner

  “Kids,” I say. “Do we want them?”

  He blinks. “As a member of the royal lineage, I am expected to—”

  “I know,” I say, hurriedly. “For sure. But you’re not one to do something because it’s expected of you, and neither am I. What do we want?”

  “I want them,” he says. “Preferably a couple.”

  A long exhale makes me sink against him. “That’s what I want, too.”

  Max laughs and buries his head in my hair. “Excellent.”

  We stay in the embrace for a long time, holding each other and swaying slightly. It’s an impossibly sweet moment, and I never want it to end.

  “Well?” Max says into my hair.

  “Well, what?” I murmur back.

  “You still sure you want this?”

  I draw back to stare at him. “Is there something else big we need to discuss? Because I’m pretty sure we covered it all. Where we’re going to live. Kids. Dogs. Unless… are you talking about cats?”

  He makes a face. “I’m not really a cat person.”

  “Hey, they’re not that bad.”

  “I didn’t say they are,” he says, chuckling.

  “You made a face.”

  “Because they’re not dogs,” he says. “That was my ‘cats are not dogs’ face.”

  “Mm-hmm. Okay. I’m going to remember this.”

  “I am sure you will. Is this something we truly want to argue over?”

  I grin. “I kind of like arguing with you.”

  He pecks my lips. “Yes. It’s not so bad.”

  My smile dims. I feel like there’s something he’s not telling me.

  “Let’s get serious. Why did you ask me if I still want this?”

  He blinks, his face hardening a bit. “Even with us avoiding exposure and royal expectations as much as we wish…”

  “I know. There will still be some expectations. You told me that when I agreed to the fake marriage.”

  “Yes.” He winces. “And as it’s turning out, we are becoming more involved in the pomp than I expected. I do apologize to you for that.”

  The formality of his apology makes me laugh. We’re married, for goodness’ sake, and he’s still talking to me like we’re at a business meeting.

  Not that I mind. It’s pretty hot how he’s always so polite, no matter what.

  “I didn’t think we would need to have a Stromhaer wedding,” he says.

  “Max.” I place his palm against my cheek. “We don’t have to do anything. I said yes to that kind of wedding because it’s important to your family. Also, it really does sound fun. But if it’s not what you want, tell me, and we don’t have to do it.”

  “I want to make you happy,” he says.

  “Okay.” I laugh. “I appreciate that, but we need to make sure you’re happy as well.”

  “No.” He growls and squeezes my hips. “It’s all about you.”

  “Geez.” I roll my eyes. “My husband is a prince who’s devoted to putting me first. How unfortunate for me.”

  He’s not laughing. “My life is a lot to handle. My family is a lot to handle. If even part of you wants the opportunity to bow out, Poppy, this is me giving it to you… with a large amount of love,” he adds, “because I will always love you, no matter what.”

  My heart swells, and I’m crying and smiling at the same time. Our hands and eyes locked, I take a deep breath and speak from my soul.

  “Max,” I say, “you know what?”

  “Yes?”

  “You never formally asked me to marry you.”

  Without skipping a beat, he’s down on one knee. “Poppy Moran, will you marry me?”

  “Yes.” I bite into my smile. “Absolutely.”

  He’s smiling as he stands. “You’re sure?”

  “Stop asking me that!”

  His shoulders rise with a long inhale, and suddenly he’s grinning ear to ear.

  “Good,” he says. “Consider that the last time I bring it up, then.”

  “You never have to ask me again, because guess what?”

  I raise my face, and he moves in closer, his exhale kissing my lips.

  “What?” he asks, our mouths an inch from touching.

  “As long as your hand is in mine, I’m ready for anything,” I say, right before his lips touch mine.

  Epilogue

  Three Months Later: Poppy

  “It’s so long,” Laura gasps.

  I turn and look into the floor-length mirror. She’s right. The veil I’m wearing comes nearly to the floor.

  “Yes,” Greta, who stands on my other side, says with pride. “This is the length Stromhaer princesses always wear for their weddings.”

  Stromhaer princesses.

  For as long as I live, I don’t think I’ll get used to the idea of being a Stromhaer princess.

  The last three months, since the truth came out and we smoothed everything over with his family, Max and I have been busy planning a wedding. But in between the cake testing and tailor fittings and honeymoon weighing, we’ve been doing pretty normal things.

  We went backpacking in Ireland for a week. Then we flew home to see Laura and family. We went to South America to check on the progress of one of the nonprofits that Max supports. We’ve decorated the cottage on the palace grounds—because it really needed some photos and more personal touches. We’ve talked about getting a dog.

  And now, we’re getting married. Again.

  Completely normal couple stuff.

  Excepting the whole royal thing.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say, lightly running my fingertips over the veil. The fabric is so thin I’m worried it’ll crumble to dust if I touch it too hard.

  “You’re beautiful,” my sister says, and from the pride glowing on her face, I can tell she means it.

  “Thank you.” I turn and give her a hug, but she’s careful to not crush up against me. “You can hug me,” I say on a laugh.

  “I don’t want to ruin the dress.” She draws back and flicks something off my shoulder. “What is it, like half a million dollars?”

  “Something like that.”

  I don’t want to even think about how much money this dress cost. What eases the pain from that a bit is the fact that Greta told me that, after the wedding, we can auction it off for charity, like she did her wedding dress.

  My dress is mermaid-cut with three-quarter length sleeves made from lace. While it’s an amazing gown, the showstopper is the veil. If that were only a little bit longer, I’d be tripping on it left and right.

  “It’s so quiet,” I say, looking around the palace sitting room that’s been converted into my dressing room. It’s hard to believe that a wedding will be happening in a few minutes.

  “Soundproof walls,” Greta says. “But don’t doubt it: everyone is out there waiting for you.”

  By everyone, she means several hundred of our closest friends and family. Not to mention all the cameras that will be broadcasting this wedding to the world.

  My stomach tightens, but there’s also a thrill going through my veins. Not only do I get to marry the love of my life today, but I get to do it with the whole world as witnesses.

  Still, I have the pre-wedding jitters something bad.

  “How’s Oscar getting on?” I ask Laura, needing to distract myself. Talking about other people is a great way to do that.

  “I’ve barely seen him today,” she says. “But he did text me a while ago to tell me he’s been talking with Sacha about making some modifications to the gardens.”

  I inhale sharply between my teeth but decide not to say anything.

  I’m not so sure Oscar talking to Sacha about the gardens is a good idea. Oscar can be blunt and sometimes a little pushy, and things are done in a very methodical and, for lack of overusing the word, traditional way around here. I don’t want my family being, well, overbearing and imposing.

  As if he knew we were talking about him, Sacha walks by the doorway. At the sight of us, he does
a double take and stops.

  All smiles, he looks me up and down. “Gorgeous.”

  Oscar appears in the doorway behind him. “Wow, Poppy. You look amazing.”

  My cheeks warm. “Thanks, you guys.”

  “Oscar and I are discussing the gardens,” Sacha says. “He has some very innovative ideas.”

  My jaw drops. “Really?”

  That’s not what I expected at all. Sacha is almost as much of a stickler for customs as his father.

  “Yes,” he says, quirking an eyebrow. “I understand what you are thinking, but, following Max’s example, I have decided it might be time to break with tradition.”

  “All right. Cool.” I nod, impressed.

  A third man appears behind the two in the doorway. It’s Henrik, waiting to be acknowledged.

  “Hi, Henrik,” I say, standing on my tiptoes to better catch sight of him.

  It’s a rather casual way to greet someone who works at the palace, but what can I say? Unless it’s in public, I can’t get behind being as formal as the rest of Max’s family.

  He clears his throat. “Mrs. Ramirez, your children, it seems, are in need.”

  Laura groans. “Oh, God. What did they do now?”

  “Nothing alarming, ma’am. It is only that Mr. Jackson needs some guidance with keeping the rings balanced on the pillow, and Miss Hallie is adamant that we find her more flower girl petals.”

  “She already has enough to spread across a mile,” Laura says. “How much more can she need?”

  “That’s our girl,” Oscar says. “Go big or go home.”

  Laura gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry. I’ll be quick.”

  I send her a kiss through the air. “Go. Take care of it. And I’m with Oscar. The girl has needs. Props to her for expressing them.”

  Laura and Oscar take off with Henrik, and Sacha steps into the room.

  “You are truly beautiful,” he tells me.

  “Thank you, Sacha.”

  I smile at him, and he bows his head.

  “I want to apologize again,” he says.

  That makes me blink in surprise. “For… I mean, you don’t have to. You already did. If anything, I should still be apologizing.”

  “I do not need you to.” He raises his head to look me in the eye. “I understand that you are sorry and that you only did what you thought best.”

  “I know it’s the same for you,” I say, my throat clogging with emotion.

  No matter how much we talk or don’t talk about this, it will always be a tender subject. Out of the corner of my vision, I see Greta dab at her eyes.

  “I am glad we have found ourselves here today,” Sacha says. “After getting to know you some, I can think of no better match for my brother.”

  “Thank you, Sacha,” I murmur.

  His eyes are red and wet, and he blinks and clears his throat. “Yes. Thank you for coming into Max’s life. I’ll see you when you walk down the aisle shortly.”

  Nodding his head at me, he departs.

  I hear Greta sniffling.

  “I know,” I say, tears filling my eyes.

  Turning my face up, I enlist gravity’s help in keeping the tears back. My makeup is freshly done, and showtime is any minute now. No crying.

  Not yet, anyway. I have a feeling that there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to contain the waterworks for the whole ceremony.

  “Your family is charming,” Greta says.

  “You think so? I guess that’s one word for them,” I say with a smile.

  “Yes. They are much like you. Honest. Loving. They are open to everyone they meet.”

  “Yeah,” I smile. “They are pretty amazing, aren’t they?”

  “Wonderful people to have by your side on your wedding day.”

  My heart sinks, and my smile falters. I’m thrilled Laura and Oscar and the kids are here, but… God, I wish my parents were, too. It’s the happiest day of my life, and I think I might miss them more than I ever have.

  That’s life, isn’t it?

  “What is it, dear?” Greta asks.

  “It’s a bittersweet day,” I whisper.

  “I understand.” She nods, and I’m glad that I don’t have to say anything more.

  There’s a knock on the door, and we turn to find Otto standing there. He’s wearing a suit, his hair combed to the side and his mustache and beard neatly trimmed. On his lapel are several medals, which I learned not too long ago come from his time in Stromhaer’s military.

  At the sight of me, he smiles.

  I can count on one hand the times I’ve seen King Otto smile, so it really means a lot.

  “Everything is ready,” he says, “assuming the bride is.”

  I suck in a breath. “I can be ready. I mean, yes. Yes, I’m ready.”

  Greta places a hand on my shoulder. “You will do splendidly. Walk out there and say your vows. There is nothing more to it.”

  I nod, but my gut says that’s easier said than done.

  Greta starts for the door, and I follow, but Otto doesn’t move out of our way. Instead, he extends his arm to me.

  “I know I am a poor substitute for Frank,” he says, “but I would be honored if you allowed me to walk you down the aisle.”

  I open my mouth, but I can’t get anything out. We didn’t talk about this. I figured I would be heading down the aisle on my own today.

  Which I’m completely fine with. There’s no point in wishing my father was here to give me away. I already wish he was here simply to see me marry Max; longing for any more than that might tear me in two.

  “I’m the one who would be honored,” I finally manage to utter.

  He bows his head, and I loop my arm through his.

  We go down the side hall and into the main one. The wedding is set to take place in the gardens adjacent to the palace, and even though I’ve spent months picking out every detail, as I step into the sunny morning, everything feels shockingly new.

  The guest list is in the three hundreds, which would be a massive amount of people for any other venue but here comes across as comfortable. The garden is in full bloom, the scent of roses and a dozen other flowers I don’t know the names of filling the air.

  Lavender and cream is the color scheme we went for, and it turned out to be the perfect choice. Ribbons adorn the folding chairs—because, yep, even at a royal wedding folding is the way to go—and the white wedding arch is woven with ribbons in various shades of purple.

  Hallie’s already at the aisle’s start, Laura just ahead of her, encouraging her to move forward. Hallie takes her sweet time, tossing petals on the runner and smiling at every person she passes. People smile and make awing noises over her, and I’m sure they’d be taking pictures if that were allowed.

  Laura waves her hand and whispers at Hallie to pick up the speed, but Hallie ignores her mom and keeps on keeping on.

  Yep. That kid definitely takes after me.

  There are cameras off to the side, each of them broadcasting the wedding to a different part of the world, and flashes start going off. It feels almost like a regular wedding, at this point. The only difference is that the cameras documenting it all are super nice.

  The pianist starts playing a new song. It’s none of the regular wedding songs we have in America, but it’s pleasant and makes my heart feel lighter. Frank and I step onto the rolled-out carpet, and I cling to his arm. I’m not quite nervous enough to faint, but I’m definitely afraid of getting there.

  For the first time, I really study the area around the arch. It’s a wooden one, decorated with ribbons and more flowers. There are several people standing in front of it—Max, the wedding officiant, and Max’s two best friends. But I only have eyes for the handsome prince I am about to pledge my life to.

  Max’s hands are folded in front of him, and even from the other side of the garden, I can see the love and delight sparkling in his eyes.

  His adoration for me is a magnet drawing me closer to him. Just like that, my nerve
s are gone.

  I have to work to slow my pace. If I go as fast as I want to, I’ll leave Otto in my dust and get to the arch long before the song is over.

  It seems to take forever, but finally I’m to him. The song ends, and everyone takes their seats.

  Otto lets go of my arm, and Max nods at him.

  “Thank you, Father,” he says.

  Otto grins and goes to take his seat in the front, next to Greta.

  Max’s hands close over mine, and the officiate starts talking, but I hear none of it. All my attention is taken up by Max’s lips brushing my ear.

  “You look stunning,” he whispers, his warm breath making me shiver.

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” I whisper back.

  No doubt, it’s bad form to be carrying on our own conversation while the officiate is beginning the ceremony, but I don’t think I’d be able to hear anyone else if I tried. My ears, like my heart, belong totally to Max.

  “You know what I’m really excited about?” I murmur. “Remembering this wedding.”

  He chuckles low. “Bits and pieces of the first are continuing to come back to me.”

  “Really?” I gawk at him.

  We’ve been talking about making a trip to Copenhagen to visit the location of our first ceremony, and I hope that once I see the all-night chapel, I’ll remember more about what went down there.

  “What do you remember?” I ask.

  “Random images.” His eyes twinkle. I know there’s more.

  “Of what?” I ask.

  “…and now, the rings, please,” the officiant says. She smiles at Jackson, and Oscar helps him carry the pillow bearing the rings over.

  “Of the woman I am meant to love for the rest of my life,” Max tells me.

  Tears fill my eyes. I’m speechless.

  “Maximillian Ostergaard,” the officiant says, “will you take this woman to be your wedded wife?”

  “I will,” he says.

  The ceremony is much like an American one, with slight variations. As Max slips the diamond ring on my finger, warmth spreads through me.

  “Thank you, Jackson,” I tell him, taking the ring from the pillow.

  My nephew smiles with those lady-killer dimples.