by Vicky Savage
Erica wears a plain ivory-colored smock, her hair pulled back into a single braid, her face devoid of make-up. She’s absolutely stunning. It’s difficult to focus on my objective of making peace with her, when I’m reminded that this beautiful woman was once Ryder’s lover and now carries his child.
I swallow the sour jealousy creeping up my throat, and attempt what I hope is a gracious smile. “There’s nothing wrong, Erica. I’d like to speak with you for a few minutes, if it’s convenient.”
“Yes. Please come in,” she says, gesturing me inside. “I don’t believe everyone will fit in my parlor.” She casts a wary eye at the soldiers.
“It’s just me,” I say. “They’re staying out here.”
The modest living room is tastefully decorated in muted, solid fabrics. Vibrant art and unusual accessories add color and interest to the room. She invites me to sit in a large overstuffed chair near her fake fireplace. She remains standing, and I realize she’s waiting for me to ask her to be seated. When I do, she perches tentatively on the edge of the sofa and folds her hands neatly in her lap.
“I’m sorry for showing up unannounced,” I say, “and for bringing half the Royal Guard with me. Ryder has informed me of your pregnancy, and I thought we should talk.”
Her eyes harden and her chest rises and falls with each shallow breath. “I am grateful that Ryder wishes to acknowledge the child as his own,” she says haltingly, “and that he has agreed to provide for us. He has made his feelings clear, though, and you need have no fear of me. I assure you I will not attempt to interfere with the wedding or any part of your relationship in the future. I could not hurt him in that way.” Her voice cracks on these last words.
“Erica, that’s not why I’m here. I’m not worried about you trying to hurt Ryder or me. I came to see if it’s possible for you and me to find a way to live with this situation in harmony instead of hatred. I was devastated when I learned of your relationship with Ryder, but I have forgiven him. It’s true that I harbored feelings of jealousy and anger toward you, and I suspect you’ve experienced feelings of resentment and hurt toward me.”
She bows her head and stares at her hands.
“But I’ve accepted the fact that you and the baby will be part of Ryder’s life after we’re married,” I say, “and I don’t want things to be awkward or weird between you and me. This child should not be made to feel any shame surrounding the circumstances of his birth. I came to ask you to set aside any hard feelings you have for me, and work with me to make this difficult situation as pleasant as possible for the sake of the child.”
Her head remains bowed, and she says nothing. After a time, I begin to wonder if I should get up and leave, but then I notice tears dripping onto the back of her hands, so I stay quietly seated. Another moment passes, and she raises her head. “Thank you for your kindness,” she says, her thick lashes heavy with tears. “I believed you must hate me, and that you would shun me and my child. Your words have comforted me more than you can know. I swear to you I will do my best to maintain harmony among our families.”
“That’s great,” I say. Remembering the package I brought for her, I add, “I’ve brought you a gift. It’s a tonic for your hair. It works miracles with extra-long hair. I thought ... well, I hoped that, maybe in time, we might grow to be friends.” I feel a little stupid after saying it—the wife and the baby mamma BFFs? I guess stranger things have happened.
She manages a soggy smile. “Thank you. It would be an honor. Catherine said you would never accept the baby.”
The mention of Catherine is like a jab with a cattle prod. “Listen, Erica, I’m happy that you have somewhere nice to live during your pregnancy and after the baby’s born. I know Meli and her son will be great company for you. But please don’t let Catherine poison you against me. She doesn’t know me, and she never will. I hope you and I can build our own relationship without Catherine interfering the way she does with Ryder and me.”
“She is very protective of him,” Erica says.
“Well, he’s a grown man. She needs to get over it.” I stand and hold out the package for her. “I hope you enjoy this.” I extend my other hand to shake hers.
She takes my hand in both of hers and surprises me by kissing it. “Thank you, Your Majesty. You are truly as grand as Ryder believes you to be.” She seems small and vulnerable. Not the powerful goddess I always imagined her to be. I’m not worthy of her compliment, but I’m grateful she said it.
“Take care of yourself and the baby, Erica. We will meet again soon.”
She walks me to the door and, as I step across the threshold, I feel lighter and purer, as if something heavy and toxic has been excavated from my soul. Maybe Ryder and I really can live happily ever after, despite all the crazy curveballs that have been thrown our way.
FIFTY-TWO
Upon returning to the palace, I dash off a message to Ryder saying that I’d like to see him in the morning and asking him to arrange to spend a few hours at Warrington Palace going over wedding plans. I consider adding a few lines about my visit with Erica to let him know everything’s good, but I decide against it. The mention of wedding plans should clue him in.
The palace is mostly empty of the visiting dignitaries from various provinces of Domerica who came to Warrington for Mother’s farewell celebration. There are still a few hangers-on, but I don’t feel obligated to play hostess tonight, so Father, Ralston, and I enjoy a private dinner in the family dining room. It’s been an emotionally wrenching day, and sharing a pleasant meal with two of my favorite people is sheer bliss. We pass the time discussing things that have absolutely no national or international significance whatsoever.
Immediately following dinner, a messenger arrives with a package for me from Lady Lorelei. Taking it to my room, I discard the string and tear away the brown paper wrapping. The black velvet box is heavy in my hand, and I raise the lid on Ryder’s wedding ring—transformed from paper to object of beauty. The wide gold band with interlocking circles is splendid, more impressive in reality than in my imagination. A note from Lorelei is tucked inside.
Dearest Cousin – Enclosed is the ring you commissioned. I hope it is true to your desire, and that you are pleased with the result. I think it is quite handsome. There remains sufficient time for an inscription, if you so wish. Jacob and I look forward to your wedding day with great love and anticipation.
Your devoted servant,
Lorelei
This day has ended far better than I could have imagined. My head swirls with romantic dreams and my stomach with overactive butterflies as I dress for bed. I’ll be with Ryder tomorrow. Our wedding is only days away. It can’t come soon enough for me.
* * *
Father departs for the Enclave before I’m out of bed. I regret not seeing him off, but I had the best night’s sleep I’ve had in weeks. Dressing quickly, I ask that my breakfast be served out on the huge front portico of the palace, while I wait for Ryder to arrive. Servants busy themselves setting up a table with linen, china, and crystal and moving a dining chair outside for me. Honestly, I would have been happy sitting on the top step and eating out of a paper plate, but the staff already thinks I’m a little eccentric, so I just let them do their jobs.
Though I can’t see him yet, I sense it the minute Ryder enters the main gate. Abandoning my half-eaten meal on the table, I rush down the stairs to meet him. Catching sight of me, he knees Tenasi into a gallop. He bounds from the horse’s back in mid-stride, sweeps me up in his arms, and twirls me around.
“I was so pleased to receive your message last night, I almost came to you then,” he says beaming.
“I wish you had. It’s been too long since you’ve snuck onto my balcony in the middle of the night,” I say, referring to a time when he thought I’d become betrothed to Prince Damien.
He hugs me joyfully, and then holds me at arm’s length. “You’re certain about this, Jade? You still wish to be my wife, and it’s acceptable that I will soon have a
child?”
“Yes. I’m certain. I went to see Erica yesterday, and I feel like the three of us together can create a loving atmosphere for this child … if Catherine stops meddling, that is.”
This seems to astonish him. “You visited Erica? At her home?”
“Yes. I told her I’ve accepted that she and the baby will be a part of our lives in the future, and proposed that we work together to make things as pleasant as possible. She was gracious and swore to do her best to make the situation a harmonious one.”
“You did that for me?” he asks.
“I did it for all of us, Ryder. You, me, Erica, the baby, and really all of Domerica.”
He draws me close to him and holds me tightly. “I love you,” he whispers into my hair.
“I know. I love you too.” I take his hand and lead him up the front steps. “We have lots of wedding stuff to get through today. Have you eaten?”
“Yes. I had breakfast.”
“Good, then let’s find Jennifer. Maybe we’ll have time for a ride before lunch.”
Our meeting with Jennifer is scheduled in a large first floor parlor. When we arrive she’s laying out sketches on a long table. Swatches of fabric, several sprays of flowers, and a small cake have been arranged on another table. Jennifer curtseys as we enter. Normally all business, she flushes and stammers when I introduce her to Ryder.
“Chief Blackthorn, I … It’s an honor to meet you.”
The impact of Ryder’s looks on most women occasionally slips my mind.
“Thanks for meeting with us this morning, Jennifer,” I say, steering her attention away from my handsome fiancé. “We’d like to take a ride before lunch, so maybe we can get started.”
“Oh, yes. This shouldn’t take long. Queen Eleanor had everything well organized prior to her passing,” she says casually. “I planned to show you the proposed setup, briefly go over the ceremony, get your approvals on the flowers and cake, and then I’ve arranged for the tailor to take the final measurements for Chief Blackthorn’s suit.”
The mention of Mother’s name triggers a twinge of sorrow. I’m glad we’re carrying out her final wishes.
Jennifer efficiently goes over the color scheme and choices of china (Mother desired that we use the Regency) and silver (Queen Matilda). She shows us several sketches of the elaborate setting for the ceremony. We’re to be married in the Grand Arboretum behind the palace. The many trees and plants will be strewn with twinkling electric candles. Gossamer white canopies will flutter overhead. The center aisle will be carpeted with white satin, and we’ll exchange our vows in a pillared white gazebo. Jennifer can barely contain her excitement when she mentions the two thousand white doves to be released when the pastor says, “You may kiss the bride.”
Ryder’s eyes begin to glaze over by the time we come to the samples of the floral arrangements, but he quickly perks up when Jennifer serves us generous samples of the wedding cake.
“Would you care to sit down while we go over the seating chart?” Jennifer asks.
“Can you and I do that some other time?” I say taking mercy on Ryder.
“Yes, Your Majesty. Two additional things need attention, however. We planned to have Irish and Cherokee dance troupes from Unicoi Village, as you requested, but we haven’t finalized the Domerican entertainment as yet.
“I trust your judgment,” I tell her. “Just choose what you think is best. Uh, no plays though.”
She nods knowingly. Who could forget the Jaden the Warrior Princess debacle? “Also, it’s rather important that the tailor take Chief Blackthorn’s measurements today if we wish the suit to be finished by your wedding day.”
I look to Ryder. “Yes, that’s fine,” he says.
While we wait for the tailor, Jennifer informs us that there’ve been a few changes in the roster of guests. “I’m disappointed to say that King Rafael and Queen Bianca of Cupola de Vita will not be in attendance after all. The King and Queen send their deepest regrets along with a note stating that Duke Ferdinand and the Duchess Isabella will attend in their stead.” The corners of her mouth pull down, causing her to look like an English bulldog with spectacles.
“There is good news from Dome Noir, though. King Philippe has requested that both his sons, Princes Gilbert and Jean Louis, be allowed to attend, along with a small party of other dignitaries. This is outstanding. Two princes,” she says cheerily. “May I tell the king that this will be acceptable?”
“Sure. How many guests in all?” I ask.
She taps the side of her glasses with her pen. “With the new attendees from Dome Noir, it will be around five hundred and sixty or so.”
Thumbing through the sketches of the Grand Arboretum dressed up like Pan’s forest, the scent of jasmine tickles my nose seemingly from nowhere. A moment later, a large blonde woman clad in a black skirt and sweater flounces into the room, reeking of the stuff. Several tape measures hang carelessly around her shoulders like a tattered scarf. A mountain of hair rests atop her head, and the fabric of her top strains mightily to cover the most enormous pair of breasts I’ve ever seen. Breast augmentation is unknown in Domerica, so it strikes me that these things have to be real.
She bows deeply to Ryder and me, and I fear she may topple over from the sudden shifting of weight. “Your Majesty,” she says in a husky voice, nodding to me. “I am at your service. And this must be Chief Blackthorn.” She smiles coquettishly and extends a beefy hand to Ryder. “I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance at last.”
Ryder stands and shakes her hand.
“My, you are a big one,” she says gazing up at him with shining eyes.
Jennifer makes a small coughing noise into her hand. Whether out of embarrassment or as a warning to Busty Girl, I don’t know.
“Shall we stand where the light is better?” The seamstress places a hand on Ryder’s back and guides him to a spot near the window. She bends and retrieves a small stepstool from under the table. “I’m going to need this. May I ask you to remove your jacket?”
Ryder shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on a chair. “Very nice,” she says, sizing him up with her eyes. Toting the stool around behind Ryder, she sets it on the rug. “I believe we’ll start with the shoulders.” She unwinds a tape measure from her neck and mounts the stool. Soft oohs and aahs issue from her bow-shaped mouth as she stretches the tape across Ryder’s broad back. Then she measures his arm from shoulder to wrist, quietly commenting on the impressive length of his wing-span.
“Would you like me to make notes while you measure?” Jennifer asks.
“No. Thank you. I can remember everything,” Busty says, not taking her eyes off Ryder for a second. She drags the little stool around and positions it in front of him. “Shall we do your neck now?” Stepping onto the stool, she reaches her arms behind Ryder’s neck stretching out the tape and practically cradling his face in her generous bosom.
“I’ll never get an accurate measure with all that hair in the way,” she coos, sweeping up his silky locks with her fingers.
He reaches back, removing his hair from her grasp. “Allow me to do that,” he says.
The whole scene is a little too touchy-feely for me, and I’m getting a prickly sensation all over. I frown at Jennifer like Is this woman really groping my fiancé right in front of me? But she plucks at some threads on her skirt and avoids my eyes.
When the flirty tailor gets down on her knees and stretches her tape to measure Ryder’s inseam, I spring from my chair. “All righty then,” I say, “Why doesn’t Chief Blackthorn send one of his suits over to you for the rest of the measurements. We really must be going now.”
A flummoxed Jennifer hurries over. “Your Majesty, is everything all right?
I stare at her like Really? “I’ll speak with you later on the seating chart,” I say. “Ryder, are you ready?”
He grabs his jacket, and we practically jog out the door. Halfway down the hall, we burst into peals of laughter.
“What was that all
about?” I say.
“I don’t know, but thank you for rescuing me. The woman was pitiless. Her hands were all over me.” He raises the sleeve of his shirt to his nose. “Good God, I smell as if I’ve been dunked in jasmine.”
Stopping him with my hand, I sniff the front of his shirt. “Ew. You do. Do you want to shower before our ride?”
“It wouldn’t help. I don’t have extra clothes here. The stench is intolerable.”
“I’ll see if there’s something of Father’s. It may not fit, but you could try.”
“Perhaps I’d better return to Unicoi to shower and change,” he says.
I take his hand. “No. Please. I was hoping you’d stay the night here. Father’s gone back to the Enclave, and well, we haven’t looked at all of our wedding gifts yet. We’d have a chance to be alone for a change.” I don’t attempt to hide my eagerness.