“Or what?”
He glances to the side, exhaling through pursed lips. “Or I’ll be forced to let Parliament disassemble the monarchy.”
“So the future of your kingdom lies in my hands?” My voice is laced in incredulousness, and I wish so badly that I could bring up Princess Dayanara, but then he’d know I’ve been keeping tabs on him over the years.
“If you put it that way, I suppose it does.” His response is serious. I don’t think he’s kidding.
“I still don’t understand … why me?”
“You’re my oldest friend,” he says, though I wouldn’t necessarily call us friends. Not anymore. “You’re the only one I trust. And the only one I want. And my people will adore you, just as I once did. Just as I still do … if you can believe that.”
I don’t.
My heart races for a second, irregular and defiant, but I maintain my composure. Last time I gave him what he wanted after he said all the right things, it didn’t end well for me.
“You should go now,” I say.
He places his silverware aside and dabs at the corners of his full mouth with his napkin before rising, and without a protest, he lets me walk him to the door.
“I leave in two days,” he says, turning to me before he goes. “I realize that isn’t a lot of time to make a life-changing decision, so I intend to give you your space until then. In the meantime, should you need to reach me for any reason, I’m staying at The Palmetto under the name C.H. Barstow. If you give the front desk that name, they’ll put you through to Harrison, my royal aide.”
Julian shows himself out and I lock up behind him, stomach tied in the tightest of knots as his words echo in my head.
As I make my way to the dinette to clean up, I pass a family photo taken the spring before my father passed. We were all so happy then, not a care in the world. Living for the moment. Our hope-filled futures blindingly bright. Blissfully unaware of the plans fate was making for us in that moment.
Maybe I could swallow my pride.
Maybe I could do this.
But it would only be for them and never for him.
Julian can have my company for five years, but it’s the only thing he’ll ever have.
My heart? I’ll be damned if he ever gets his hands on it again.
Chapter 6
Julian
“Here you are, sir.” Harrison places a crystal tumbler of Macallan on the table beside me Tuesday night when the hotel phone rings. “One moment.”
He strides across the room to take the call, returning a few seconds later.
“That was the front desk,” he says. “Miss Belleseau is here to see you. I told them to send her up.”
I knew she’d come.
I take a heavy-handed sip before rising from my chair and finger-combing my hair into place.
“How do I look, Harrison?” I ask.
“Like the future King of Chamont.” He makes his way to the door, waiting with his hands folded in front of him.
I fight the pride that tugs at the corners of my mouth. Now’s not the time to be smug despite the fact that my victory is mere moments away.
She’s coming here to tell me she accepts my offer, and at this time tomorrow, she’ll be flying home with me and all will go to plan.
Clearing my throat, I wait for the knock at the door and anchor myself in the center of the hotel suite foyer. Patience has never been a virtue of mine, but seeing as how I have no choice in the matter, I wait.
Harrison stays posted at the door, and the instant he hears the three swift knocks, he answers.
“Ms. Belleseau,” he says, before moving aside. “Welcome. Won’t you come in?”
Her eyes lift across the small space until they find mine, and her hands clasp in front of her waist. She’s in jean shorts, a white tank top, sandals, and a wildly colorful cardigan, and her long hair is piled on top of her head—hardly the look of a queen, but I like it nonetheless.
My all-American sweetheart …
“I’ll do it,” she says as Harrison locks the door behind her. Emelie takes a few more steps closer, until we’re only a few feet apart. “But I have terms and conditions.”
“Such as?”
“No sex,” she says.
I hide my disappointment with a smirk. “Glad we’re getting that one out of the way. What else?”
“No romance.”
“Easy.”
“Limited public engagements,” she adds.
“I’m afraid that one isn’t up for negotiation,” I say. “But you’ll be pleased to know that we aren’t allowed to demonstrate any public displays of affection, so any and all public engagements will require nothing more than a smile, a curtsy, and a few kind words.”
“Fine.” Her arms fold across her chest, like she still isn’t comfortable with the idea of this arrangement. “You get me until my twenty-ninth birthday and not a day longer.”
“Deal.”
“Oh. And I’m allowed to see my family at any chosen time, regardless of schedule or engagements,” she says.
I hesitate—logistics and all of that.
“That’s my non-negotiable,” she says. “My mother and my sisters are my everything. If I want to see them, you’re going to make it happen or the deal is off. And my friends too. I want my friends to be able to visit."
That’s her non-negotiable? I figured it would’ve been the sex …
“All right,” I say. “Shall we pinky swear on this as we did with our last agreement?”
She fights a smile—a good sign—but her poker face returns in an instant, rendering her back to unreadable.
“You have my word if I have yours,” she says, not moving so much as an inch closer. Her chin lifts and her shoulders straighten as she looks me dead in the eye. I can’t tell if she’s feeling good about her decision or giving me her best poker face.
“Apparently pinky promises aren’t as binding as we thought now, are they?”
My joke falls on deaf ears. She isn’t amused.
Her arms lower to her sides, as though she’s feeling slightly less defensive than when she first walked in the door.
“You’re going to make an amazing queen, Emelie,” I say, envisioning her in my great-grandmother’s glimmering Belcast tiara. “Welcome to the royal family.”
I move in, taking her hand in mine and lifting it to my lips to deposit a kiss. When I glance up, the most horrified expression has taken over her beautiful face.
“You don’t have to do that,” she says.
“Of course I do,” I say. “You’re my fiancée. My future wife. I shall treat you with the respect and endearment befitting of a queen.”
I sound like a schmuck, but I can almost see her melting before my very eyes. A few more opportunities to warm her up and she’ll be the proverbial putty in my hands.
Emelie’s hand retreats from mine. “It’s just … this isn’t … you’re so … I’m not used to you being so … proper.”
Harrison chuckles behind her.
“You knew me when I was a child, an adolescent,” I say. “You’ve yet to know me as the man I’ve become.”
She swallows, licking her lips as she stands, transfixed in my presence. I imagine all the ways she’s trying to wrap her head around her idea of me and all the ways I’m contradicting that.
“You have until Thursday to get your affairs in order. We fly out at three PM.” I check my watch. She has less than forty-eight hours to pack, but I’m not worried. If there’s anything that gets left behind, I’ll send someone to retrieve it once we’re home.
“The last day of the school year is Thursday,” she says. “Friday is a mandatory work day for me. I have grades to submit and—”
“—fine,” I interrupt. “We’ll leave Saturday. I’ll just have to reschedule my meeting with the prime minister. She won’t be pleased but once I explain my reasons, I’m sure she’ll understand.”
Emelie grips the purse strap on her left shoulder before s
triding to the door.
“Harrison, please see to it that Ms. Belleseau has my number,” I say before directing my attention back to her. “I already have yours, in case you were wondering. We’ll be in touch throughout the week. If there’s anything you need during this transition, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Emelie says nothing as she makes her way into the hallway with slow, uneasy steps, and when she turns back to me, she gives me the most curious stare, eyes glinting almost.
I imagine she still wants to hate me, I imagine she still wants to be right about what a monster I am because it would justify all the things she’s silently thinking and feeling about me in this moment.
Maybe she’s wrong.
Maybe she’s right.
All of that remains to be seen.
Chapter 7
Emelie
“As soon as I get settled, I’ll have him fly you out,” I say to Mama and my sisters Friday night as we pack the last of my things into a cardboard box. Everything but my clothes and a few personal items are going into a storage unit. Later tonight I’ll meet up with my girls for a farewell dinner send off. “All of you. And you can stay as long as you want.”
“Are you scared?” Isabeau asks, perched on the edge of my bed. She hasn’t said more than a few words all night. Out of all of us, she’s the least enthused about this entire thing. Then again, she’s never been one for drastic life changes. We practically had to push her out the door to get her to go to college, but once she got there, she was fine.
“Scared isn’t quite the word for what I’m feeling. Dread is a little closer … like when you dread going to a new school but you know you have no choice so you just bear down and do what you have to do and know that there’s an end in sight,” I say.
Even if that end is years from now.
“I can’t believe our Emelie is going to be a princess!” Mama gives me her dozenth awestruck look of the night, clasping her hands over her cashmere cardigan-covered chest. “Had I known I was raising a future queen, I’d have enrolled you in a few more finishing classes.”
“She did cotillion, she’s fine,” Luci says, digging her hand into a small bag of sea salt popcorn.
“Is he going to have someone guide you and teach you proper royal protocols and such?” Mama asks.
“I imagine there will be someone, yes.” I stack a small box on top of a bigger one and shove them aside before taking a seat on the carpet.
“What are you going to do when you get there?” Luci asks, brushing popcorn crumbs off her black leggings and onto my carpet like the five-foot two heathen she is.
I shrug. I’ve been a planner my entire life. I thrive on schedules. I can hardly function when I don’t know what to expect … but strangely, I think I’d rather go into this blind because if I don’t? I’ll talk myself out of it.
“Do you know where you’re going to be living yet?” Luci asks next. “And did you know they have a castle and a palace? And a ton of cottages that are ten times the size of the house we grew up in?” She turns to our mother. “Mama, why didn’t we ever visit them? Do you know how cool it would’ve been to stay in a castle?”
“Well, now’s your chance,” Isabeau interjects, her gaze moving between mine and Luci’s.
“Seriously, though. Why didn’t we ever visit them before?” Luci asks.
My mother drags in a long, slow breath before letting it go. “Your father and Leo had an interesting friendship, and Leo cherished how ‘normal’ he felt when he was with your father. He lived for his summers in North Carolina with us and so we never pressed the issue of spending the summer in Chamont. I suppose we always thought we would one of these days, but time ... got away from us.”
“I still think it’s strange that he would never invite us out,” Luci picks at a thread on my comforter.
“Chamontians hate Americans,” Isabeau says, monotone.
Our eyes collectively dart to her and no one says a word, like the oxygen was sucked from the room with those three little words.
“Is that true?” Luci asks.
I shrug. “It’s complicated.”
“Mama?” Luci turns to our mother.
“There’s a bit of history between our countries, but it’s in the past. Both sides are moving forward. Sure there might still be some tension, but our Emelie is going to represent our country with dignity and grace, and change minds and hearts all over both nations.”
“Is that why he chose you?” Isabeau asks me. “Because you’re American? Because he needed a political pawn?”
Knowing Julian? Probably.
Julian is a user.
He used me once.
Why wouldn’t he use me again?
“Girls, if Julian wanted an American queen, he could have easily chosen someone else,” Mama comes to his defense. And mine, I suppose. “The two of them have a long friendship, a history. He trusts Emelie. He chose her to be his bride, to take this journey with him. Aside from the particulars, I think it’s a beautiful thing and you should too. It would behoove us all to be happy for Emelie and to celebrate this moment. It’s history in the making.”
My mother’s spirits are high, something that hasn’t happened since before Daddy passed last year. I knew she was excited about the prospect of me taking Julian up on his offer, but I didn’t know it would make her radiant, sunbeams practically bursting from the hazel of her irises.
It’s the smile on her face that makes me choose to keep the five-year detail to myself.
She thinks this is forever.
Five years with him will certainly feel that way to me.
Chapter 8
Julian
“There’s a bedroom in the back if you’d like to lie down,” I say Saturday morning as Emelie stares out the plane window. She’s said all of three words to me since climbing aboard and the way her fingers flit and toy with the hem of her shirt, you’d think she was knitting a sweater.
“I’ll be fine, thank you.” She keeps her gaze trained on the happenings on the other side of the glass.
“Perhaps a celebratory drink would be in order?” I ask, turning to flag down the flight concierge. Of course they’re nowhere to be found when you need them.
“No, thanks.” She drags in a long, slow breath, and the bag of books and magazines resting against her sneakers remains untouched.
“I take it you’re just going to sit there like a statue the whole time?”
Emelie’s attention flicks toward me and her brows meet. “You don’t have to treat me like a toddler. You don’t have to make sure I’m fed and rested and comfortable. If I need something, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Glad she hasn’t lost her feistiness after all of these years.
“You seem nervous.”
“I’m not,” she says without pause.
“Excited?” I raise an eyebrow.
She laughs. Once. And then turns back to the window.
“Your highness?” Harrison appears from behind a curtain partition. “We’re departing in approximately five minutes.”
“Thank you, Harrison,” I say. He returns to his section of the plane and I retrieve my phone from my pocket. Once we’re airborne, I’ve got a few calls to make and a few matters to attend to. “Do be sure to fasten your safety belt, Princess. I’d prefer that the future queen of Chamont arrives in one piece.”
Without saying a word, she reaches for the straps that hang at the sides of her seat and clicks them together. A moment later, she leans back, eyes closed and hands folded in her lap.
The red-haired concierge with legs up to her neck sashays through the curtain a second later. “Your Highness, is there anything I can get you before we taxi to the runway?”
“A bourbon would be lovely. Neat please,” I say. “And a glass of champagne for my beautiful bride.”
The concierge shows no reaction just as she’s trained to do, and she disappears to the mini bar, returning a short while later with our drinks.
>
“Cheers,” I say to my bride-to-be as I lift my crystal tumbler and take a sip.
She says nothing, her delicate fingers wrapped around the thin glass flute in her hand, little golden bubbles hitting the liquid’s surface.
“You’re not going to let a perfectly good glass of Cristal go to waste, now are you?” I tease.
The plane begins to roll and the trucks and laborers below grow smaller in the distance. A moment later, we’re cutting through the late morning air, en route to my homeland.
“They’re going to love you, Em,” I say.
Especially one person in particular.
Chapter 9
Emelie
Of all the online photos I’ve seen of Knightborne Palace, not a single one of them has done it justice. It’s a massive estate, daunting and glimmering even at this ungodly hour. With the ten-hour flight and the time difference, we landed at four AM local time.
A black Range Rover picked us up the second we disembarked from Julian’s private jet, and forty-five minutes later we were pulling through enormous wrought-iron gates that led to a long drive that curved around fountains and manicured greenery that seemed to go on forever, and finally we came to a gentle stop in front of a palatial monument of a building with hundreds of windows on the frontside and all sorts of chiseled stone lions and family crests and other Chamontian symbolisms.
I should be exhausted by now, but I’m buzzing with livewire energy. I couldn’t sleep if I tried.
The driver gets my door first, assisting me out.
I have to say, normally I’m all about traveling in comfort, but now that I’m here, I’m starting to think my jeans and t-shirt and sneakers get-up is leaving me a bit underdressed.
Julian climbs out from his side, meeting me by the rear of the car where the driver is carefully removing our luggage. A few uniformed staff members appear from the front door, all of them grabbing suitcases and briefing Julian and flitting around like elegant worker bees.
A moment later, I follow the horde through a set of double doors so massive I’m guessing they’re at least a story and a half tall, and once inside, I feel the way Alice must have felt when she fell down the rabbit hole.
The Complete P.S. Series Page 59