Three hours into the flight, I know the life story of the woman sitting by the window. I also know her family’s life story, and even her dead grandparents’ life story. I’m not sure I can handle six more hours of this.
I finally put in my earbuds and open a book hoping she’ll take the hint. She doesn’t. Out of the corner of my eye I see her chattering away but I don’t respond. At hour four, she pops a sleeping pill and is out the rest of the flight.
Chéri and Brigitte meet me at baggage claim. One look at my little sister and her other half snaps my mood around so fast I almost get whiplash. They don’t see me yet, but the joy on their faces and apparent love they have for each other fills me up like the first day of sunshine after a month of rain. I want what they have. Chéri lets out a shriek when she spots me and propels herself at me like a runaway train. “Geoffrey!!!” She jumps into my arms and squeezes me so tightly, I’m afraid she’s going to hurt the baby.
After I give her a kiss on the head, she jumps down, opens her coat up and shows me the slight bulge of her stomach.
“Isn’t it exciting?” Chéri asks while Brigitte gives me a hug.
“I couldn’t be happier for you two,” I tell them sincerely. “How did you decide who was going to incubate my niece or nephew?”
Brigitte laughs. Then in her French-accented English she answers, “It was a no-brainer. We used my brother’s fishies so we would both be blood relatives to the bébé. We knew your family probably wouldn’t allow us to do the same if I was to carry.”
“Plus,” Chéri adds, “Brigitte is a ballerina, and a pregnancy could end her career if things didn’t go according to plan.” She rubs her stomach like she’s expecting a genie to pop out. “As a graphic designer, I can be as misshapen as a whale and still find work.”
We spend the next three hours on land and sea until, twenty hours after I left Spartan, we pull into the port of Malquar. The weather is much like it would be in Oregon right now, cold and wet.
As I step off the boat onto the dock, a familiar feeling of homesickness nearly takes my breath away. I love this country and I miss it when I’m gone. Even though some rogue wanderlust took me away from here, I’m currently so happy to be home, I’m in jeopardy of crying.
“How do you propose we get to the palace?” I ask. “Should we call for a car?”
“Aubrey’s picking us up,” Chéri says, pointing toward the parking lot.
Aubrey feels right at home being a princess. Unlike me and Chéri, she has never desired any other kind of life, which includes having a non-royal job. For this reason, I’m not surprised she brought one of the family Bentleys to retrieve us. No part of her tries to stay under the radar.
Aubrey jumps out from behind the driver’s seat and gives me the same kind of welcome I got from Chéri at the airport. “Wait until you see your cottage! It’s gorgeous!” Then she gives my other sister and her girlfriend an equally excited greeting.
“Do Mom and Dad know that any of us are coming?” I ask. Our mother hates to be surprised. She likes to plan welcome home suppers and balls and great big splashy events when her family all congregates.
Aubrey says, “Chéri thought it would be best if they knew about everyone but you, her, and Brigitte. She wants to surprise them, not kill them.”
Chéri interjects, “I can sneak our baby news in when they’re full of joy at having us all together at the same time.”
“They’re going to know we’re here when we drive through the palace gates,” I tell Aubrey.
She shakes her head. “Beau is working today.” Beau is the son of our mother’s secretary and practically grew up with us. He and Aubrey have been best friends since they were in diapers. My sister adds, “I’ll drive right to my cottage so you can freshen up before supper. I told mother I invited a few friends to join us.”
Conflicting feelings threaten to overwhelm me as I watch the green rolling hills blur past. For the first time since leaving for college, I feel like I belong here. Maybe I’m finally coming to terms with my destiny.
Beau waves us through the front gates with a smile. “Welcome home, Geoffrey,” he calls out, before saying, “Chéri.”
“Beau,” my little sister replies. The two have had a strained relationship ever since Chéri was little and decided that Beau should be the object of all her practical jokes. Some of them got a little mean, like when she put slugs in his sandwich or the time she tied his shoelaces together while he napped under a tree.
“Send a prayer our way,” Aubrey tells her friend.
“You’ll need it with Chéri,” he says back, not sounding like he’s joking.
After unpacking in one of my sister’s guest rooms, I take a quick shower before crawling into bed. I need to regroup some of my strength for the evening ahead. Having one of her children home thrills my mom. Seven of us will turn her into a tornado of happiness, which will be exhausting.
I think about Claire. We didn’t see much of each other after our trial run for our dating event. I think she’s been avoiding me. But to tell the truth, I’ve been doing the same.
I’m grateful Claire didn’t show up in Oregon any earlier than she had. I might not have been able to resist the temptation of getting to know her better. I know nothing can ever happen between us, but I can’t help dreaming about what it would be like if things were different.
I’m in the midst of an erotic dream—that I’m enjoying to the fullest—when I hear the ping of a text come through. I ignore the ping and fall right back into my dream. But three more pings in rapid succession bring me to full consciousness. Damn.
I reach over to the nightstand and pick up my phone.
The first message is from Ruby. We wish you were here.
The second message is from Tara. Just letting you know everything is fine.
The third and fourth messages are from Claire. We need to talk … and … Call me as soon as you get this.
I look at the clock and see that it’s four o’clock my time which makes it seven in the morning in Oregon. What’s going on that everyone is texting so early there. I pick up the phone to call Claire but immediately get distracted when I hear shouting coming from downstairs.
Chéri is yelling at the top of her lungs, “Mom just pulled up! Stay hidden!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sharon
“Sugar, you need to calm yourself down,” Ruby tells Claire while she paces around her living room.
“How can I be calm at a time like this?”
“You and Ruby have the whole day to figure out what to do. There’s no point in getting your panties in a bunch now,” Sharon tells her daughter.
“Getting my panties in a bunch?” Claire yells. “We were already short-staffed with Geoffrey deciding to go galivanting across the globe, but now that Henry has gotten the flu, we’re up shit creek. Who’s going to be in charge of the kitchen?”
“I’m sure someone back there can take over. Maybe Tara can run things.”
“Tara is going to be too busy putting out desserts to take charge of the rest of the kitchen.”
“I’ll do it then,” Sharon declares. With her hands on her hips, she strikes a pose of authority. “I can certainly tell people what to do. I’ve been comfortably doing that practically since birth.”
“How can you tell them what to do if you don’t know what you’re doing? You’re not exactly the world’s best cook, Mom.”
“Claire Margaret, that’s plain mean. I may not be the world’s best cook, but I’m not actually going to do any cooking. I’ll just be at the helm to keep the troops in line.”
Claire exhales loudly before replying, “I guess you couldn’t make things any worse.”
“Damned with faint praise!” Sharon replies before refilling her coffee cup and walking out of the room.
Claire
I am so mad at Geoffrey, I could spit bullets. Why did he have to go home, this week of all weeks?
When I don’t hear from him right away, I decide I’d better get dressed and go over to the lodge so I can make sure everything is as organized as possible.
Ruby meets my mom and me in the great room to form our battle plan. She’s sitting with a pot of coffee and a plate of pastries, looking calmer than I expected she would. “Sit down ladies!” she says with excitement. “I can’t believe our first event is tonight!”
“Our first event without a chef or sous chef,” I remind her.
“True …” she drags it out like there might be something else she wants to say.
“Ruby?” I ask.
“Tara got the same bug Henry did and so did one of the line cooks. With Geoffrey gone, we’re down four people in the kitchen tonight.”
“Why are you so calm?” I nearly scream, feeling prickles of dread race through me. “We’re going to have to cancel our event! There’s no way we can do dinner service in the dining room and have our mixer. How will all of the food get made?” I’m perched on the very edge of a full-blown panic attack.
“Claire,” Ruby reaches for my hand. “We’ve been in tougher spots than this and have come through with flying colors. We can handle this. We just have to improvise a little.”
“How?” I want to know.
“Well, Chris is a fabulous cook, so she’ll be on the line tonight.” She looks at my mom and asks, “Can you make desserts look pretty?”
“Absolutely!” My mom jumps right on board.
Ruby continues, “I’ll stay in the kitchen through the rush to make sure things are expedited efficiently and Claire, you run the event. I have a really good feeling about tonight.”
How is she not a nervous wreck? In all my years as an event coordinator, I’ve been in some tight spots, but I’ve never had to worry about the food. That’s always been on the shoulders of the catering companies I’ve hired. But here at the lodge, we are the catering company.
I watch as my mom and Ruby take off for the kitchen while I head to the ballroom. We have a surprising thirty-six people signed up for tonight’s event. I was hoping to keep the number at around twenty-four, but a lot of our staff signed up after coming to the rehearsal.
I spend the morning dragging tables around the ballroom and setting them up so there’s enough room to comfortably walk around them. Then I lay out the linens and flowers before adding some final decorative touches to the space.
At two o’clock, I’m finally starting to feel like we might be able to pull this off when a loud siren starts ringing. I hurry out of the ballroom to see what’s going on. There’s smoke but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Passing several guests on their way outside, I run into my mom.
“What’s going on?” I ask, hoping she has some information.
“You know that fried cornbread my granny taught me how to make?”
“Oh no, Mom, this isn’t your doing, is it?”
“It’s just a small grease fire. We ought to be up and running in another hour.”
“Where’s Ruby?” I demand.
“She’s in the kitchen, helping the staff put out the flames.”
“Why aren’t you doing the same thing?” I ask, totally confounded.
“I forgot you weren’t supposed to throw water on a grease fire. They asked me to leave while they got everything under control.”
Sweet. Jesus.
I push past my mom and head to the kitchen in hopes of offering my help. I may not be a culinary whiz, but even I know you need baking soda or salt to put out a grease fire.
The smoke is so thick by the time I reach the dining room, I can barely see my way to the kitchen. Luckily, when I get inside, I find the situation largely under control. The back door is open, and the smoke is pouring out.
Ruby looks like a gunslinger spraying the remaining flames with a fire extinguisher. When she sees me, she smiles and says, “How’s this for a little excitement?”
“My mom did this?” I demand, not wanting to believe she caused so much trouble.
“We both did. We dropped the corn batter in from too far away and the oil hit the gas burner. But don’t you worry. Sharon and I are going to be great here tonight. We’re just getting the bumps out of the way.”
I have no words. If the two of them could create such a mess experimenting with cornbread, what in the world will happen when they have tables waiting for orders along with a party in the ballroom?
I wonder if it’s too early to start drinking.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Queen
Queen Charlotte hurries to hang up the landline in her study before nearly sprinting to the door. Her secretary calls after her, “Your Highness, can I be of some help?”
“No, thank you, Jenkins. I just thought I’d take a small drive.”
“Now?” He sounds befuddled. They were right in the middle of working on the month’s upcoming social engagements.
The queen, in her haste, doesn’t answer. By the time she reaches the front door of the palace, she has no fewer than five staff members running after her.
Benedict, the palace butler, is panting by the time Charlotte reaches her destination. “Madam,” he gasps while trying to bow without doubling over. “May I be of some service?”
“Please get me a car, Benedict.”
“Will you be requiring a driver, ma’am?”
“I’m just going to visit Princess Aubrey, so no driver will be needed. I won’t be leaving the grounds.”
“Very well, madam.” He executes another bow before going outside to do his monarch's bidding.
Queen Charlotte turns to one of the footmen who’s been following her since the second floor. “Please tell the king where I’ve gone.”
“Is there a message you’d like me to deliver, ma’am?” he asks.
“Yes,” she says brightly on her way out the door. “Tell him, ‘The eagle has landed.’”
Geoffrey
“Does Mom visit you often?” I whisper-yell down the stairs to Aubrey.
“Never! I always go to her,” she responds before gesturing for me to go back to my room.
Instead of doing so, I hide behind the corner of the wall and listen for our mother.
After knocking several times, I hear Aubrey call out, “I’m coming!”
She opens the door and sounds surprised as she says, “Mother, what are you doing here? Did we have an appointment?”
I peek around the corner and watch as the woman who gave us life pushes Aubrey out of the way and demands, “Where are they?”
“Where are who?” Aubrey asks.
“Where are Chéri and Geoffrey?” How does she know we’re here?
“Why in the world do you think Chéri and Geoffrey are here?”
“Because the captain of the ferry called the palace and alerted me.”
“What? Has he always done that?” she asks, rapid-fire.
“No. But after the last time one of you came home for a surprise visit, I contacted the transportation commission and told them I wanted to know every time one of my children returned to Malquar. Now, where are they?”
“I don’t believe this!” Aubrey declares. “Do you have to know everything? Why can’t you let us surprise you occasionally?”
“I detest surprises and you know it. Do I have to search them out myself?”
Aubrey calls out, “Come on down!” Then to our mother she says, “You’re a real party pooper, do you know that?”
I run down the stairs and get my first look at my mom since I was last home four months ago. She looks as young and vibrant as ever. Her blonde hair is streaked with silver strands, which is the only thing that shows her true age.
She throws herself into my arms. “Geoffrey! Are you home for good?”
>
“I’m not. I still have another seven weeks at work.”
“Then why are you here now?” She looks confused.
“I’m here in a supportive role,” I tell her.
“It’s Chéri, isn’t it?” she asks nervously. She has reason to be nervous -- my little sister has always been the wild card in our household. By being so determined to live her life on her own terms, she’s caused some friction.
Speak of the devil, Chéri emerges from the staircase looking sleep-mussed and wrinkled. “Mom, what are you doing here?” she demands, all the while walking into our mother’s arms.
“You look exhausted, dear. Are you getting enough sleep?”
“No,” Chéri tells her. “I’m tired all the time.”
“Maybe you need a Vitamin B shot or more red meat in your diet.” Our mother is a great proponent of vitamins and beef being the cure for all that ails you.
“Maybe,” Chéri says.
“Is Brigitte with you?”
“Didn’t your spies tell you the answer to that?” Aubrey asks.
Our mother shoots her a dirty look. “I’m just trying to make small talk.”
Out of nowhere, Chéri turns an odd shade of green and tries to push out of our mom’s grip. She doesn’t make it in time and, before any of us see it coming, she throws up all over the queen.
“Oh, Chéri, yuck,” our mother says.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve been feeling under the weather lately,” Chéri tells her, while looking for something to clean them up.
Aubrey hurries out of the room and comes back carrying a stack of towels. “Here,” she thrusts them in their direction without offering any further assistance.
The queen stares at her daughter closely before asking, “How far along are you?”
Never one to back off from a direct question, my sister answers, “Three months.”
Our mother looks elated and defeated at the same time. “Three months? Why am I just hearing about this now?”
It's My Party: A Royal Romantic Comedy (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 3) Page 14