by Erika Kelly
Rosalina stood at the podium in the wood-paneled room. As a little girl, she’d watched her father speak. He’d seemed so different in this context, tall, commanding…and yet he’d had an affability and sense of humor that put everyone at ease. They trusted him.
In this moment, she didn’t quite have her footing, not when she felt a strange mix between Rosalina and Rosie. Especially when all twenty men and five women watched her with grave expressions, and she knew without a doubt they didn’t appreciate her hijacking their session.
Before speaking she glanced down at her phone, at the referendum she’d posted on her personal website, surprised to see she already had twenty-five hundred virtual signatures.
Proof, indeed, that it was time to throw out the old playbook. Time to join the modern age.
“Mr. Speaker, members of Parliament, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time this afternoon. When our principality was formed six hundred years ago, it was unquestionably a man’s world, where women were treated like chattel, and where property ownership and legal power resided exclusively with men.”
She wanted to drag her sweaty palms on her pants, but they’d take the gesture as a sign of weakness. And, right now, I’m not weak. My message is strong, powerful, and vital.
“Today.” She made sure to pan the room, looking each individual in the eye. “Women have substantially achieved equality throughout Europe, where many have become heads of state and of royal households. The one exception is our beloved country, where the royal house is still defined by the masculine bloodline.”
She glanced at her uncle to see whether he approved of her message. Brow furrowed, his attention seemed divided between her speech and the audience’s reaction. Glancing down at her phone, she noted she now had twenty-nine hundred signatures in the thirty minutes since posting the words that had become her speech.
“This archaic remnant of our past should be eliminated. Our women should bear the responsibilities and rights of men in all matters, including those of state.”
The air-conditioned room chilled the perspiration on her skin. As she continued to scan the faces, she noted that stoicism had cracked. She’d grabbed their interest. That didn’t mean they’d stand with her, but in St. Christophe one only needed a thousand signatures to initiate a referendum on any law. “I stand before you as an educated, strong, industrious woman who is expected to marry a man so that I can produce an heir who will one day lead this nation. I think you can see how patently absurd it is, in the twenty-first century, to use my body as a vessel for the next male heir instead of using my mind and character to carry on the legacy of my father and grandfather and all the men who came before that carry my genetic code and who taught me how to be the kind of woman who can lead this country.”
She cut a look to her phone. Thirty-three hundred votes. “With a thousand signatures I can call a referendum to any law. I’ve gathered thirty-three hundred in half an hour. Therefore, I wish to call for an immediate parliamentary vote to change the royal charter to allow succession to flow through the female Villeneuve family bloodline, as well as male, so that neither I, nor my sister, nor any future generation, has to marry in order to retain the royal house and bloodline or award our husbands the leadership of our noble house and country.”
Empowered and energized, she decided to use her platform for one more topic. “And, while I have your attention, I ask that you please stand with me against the People’s Party’s repudiation of the royal house and its agenda to strip my family of its property, wiping out our nationhood and history, the very culture that makes us unique and powerful. I stand against this movement, not because I’m the hereditary princess, but because I love this country with all my heart. For our economic strength, our standard of living that soars above all others on this continent, for our schools and healthcare, and for our very identity, I urge you to reject it in favor of six hundred years of progressively better lives for our people.” She turned to her uncle. “Your honor, will you please bring this matter to a vote?”
Slowly, he got to his feet. He reached for her hand—a gesture that made her nearly weep with the respect implied, and said, “I will.”
And the room broke into thunderous applause.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As they tore across the meadow, Brodie’s dirt bike sailed off a lift and landed with a bone-jarring thud.
He couldn’t get Rosie’s last voice message out of his head. I hate this, Brodie. I hate it so much.
Approaching a pile of logs, he shifted into second gear, smashed the first trunk with his front wheel, double blipped his throttle, and sailed over it.
I don’t regret a single minute that I spent with you, but my time’s run out, and now I have to take on the role I was born into.
The finality of it. Jesus. Frustration turned him wild. Heading for the next feature twenty feet away, Brodie swerved off course at the last moment, gunning it for the river.
If word gets out about his heart attack, it could destroy us in Tuesday’s vote, but I just wanted to thank you. Thank you so much for… Her voice had thickened. For everything. I will always cherish my time with you. It was the best… She’d hitched a breath. Goodbye, Brodie.
Channeling all his focus into his jump, Brodie bore down on the accelerator. Over the terrible buzz saw-sound of his engine, he heard his brothers calling him, but he didn’t care.
Standing up on the foot pegs, knees bent, he took off, only vaguely aware of the brown, churning water beneath him. He leaned back slightly to gain more air. The gyroscopic spin of the back wheel brought the front end up, and he pumped the brake to pull it down. With the ground in sight, he stood up, preparing for the impact. Adrenaline pumping, he throttled up and absorbed the landing with his legs.
Pumping his fist, he unbuckled his helmet and turned back to find his brothers had landed beside him. All three of them looked pissed off.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Fin said. “You trying to send us to the hospital?”
“What?” Crazy energy spun through him. “We’re riding.”
“On the track,” Will said quietly.
“Since when do we stay on a fucking course?” Foot perched on a peg, his knee jackhammered.
“Since I have a three-year-old at home.” Will yanked off his helmet. “You said one more ride before you build your house here. That’s why we came.”
“Don’t deal with your problems this way, man,” Gray said.
“Deal with…what’re you talking about?” He hated the way his brothers looked at him, like he was losing his shit. “We’re having fun.” Because he was losing his shit. “She’s getting married, for fuck’s sake.”
Fin cringed, Gray gave him a look that said, You sure about that? And Will held his gaze, strong and steady.
“She has no choice.” He hurled his helmet, watched it bounce on the hard earth and spin. “They’re going to take this smart, creative, fucking amazing person, and turn her into a robot. She’s going to get married, pop out kids till she has a boy, and she’s never going to make perfume again. Do you have any idea how wrong that is for her?”
Worse, I fucking love her.
And every second that goes by without her feels like a living hell.
“Have you talked to her?” Gray said.
“Of course I have. But, with her dad’s heart attack, it’s a done deal. Besides, I saw the announcement for the engagement party. It’s over.”
“But she’s not married, right?” Will asked.
“Not yet.”
“And the douchenozzle’s the wrong man for her?” Will asked.
“Of course he’s wrong for her. He cheated on her.” Brodie tipped his head back, glancing up at the dark gray sky but only seeing Rosie’s smile. Thunder rumbled over the mountain, but he only heard her laughter. Her excitement when she talked about her essential oil. “The day I met her, she ran in front of my bulldozer. She was all worked up because I was going to mow down, like, fif
ty square feet of her flowers.”
His heart—it felt like a giant fist was squeezing it like a sponge. “She wanted to buy the land from me, lease it, anything to keep me from tearing up her lyantha.” The pain of his loss spread through his body, making his limbs heavy with it. “It’s over for her. The thing that lights her up, that makes her who she is, they’re going to strip her of it. They’re going to shut her down.”
“Are we talking about Rosie?” Fin looked to his brothers.
“Exactly,” Gray said.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Will said.
“What? What’re you talking about?” He wanted to pull his hair out, wanted to tear up the meadow with his bare hands.
“I don’t know her as well as you, but the Rosie I met wouldn’t just go along with some plan,” Fin said.
“Hell, no,” Gray said. “She’s like us. She’s a fighter.”
“But, mostly, she’s like you,” Will tipped his head to Brodie. “She’s a visionary.”
Which means she won’t just accept her fate.
As soon as she knows her dad’s all right, she’ll calm down.
And come up with a plan.
“Okay, but even if she does figure out a way to avoid marrying that prick, she still has to live in St. Christophe. Still has to marry someone and get pregnant.”
Pregnant. He could picture her belly rounded, her cheeks ruddy. Her smile soft, her fingers sifting through his hair, as he pressed his ear close to hear their baby’s heartbeat.
Our baby. Mine.
His was the only baby she’d carry. He knew it in his gut and in every fiber of his being.
Want, need, hunger, all of it lived under his skin. Just like when he was a kid and wanted his mom to come home.
“What’s really going on?” Will asked.
“As much as I want to beg her to come back, I can’t. I can’t stir shit up for her…it’s not right. I’m not right for her. I’m just another complication, and she’s got enough guilt over her dad’s heart attack.” Fuck. His brain was too wired to think clearly. “The reality is that she has to be in St. Christophe. She has to be the hereditary princess, marry some guy, and pop out kids. It’s just how their laws work. It’s fucking over, and I need to find a way to let it go. Let her go.” Pushing her would only create more stress. Stress she didn’t need.
Right?
“In snowboarding, we make changes all the time to make the sport better, safer,” Fin said.
“They’ve tried changing the laws,” Brodie said. “It hasn’t worked.”
“Jesus, Brodie,” Gray said. “You want her or not?”
“Of course I do.” He’d chosen this plot of land for its location, so Rosie could smell her flowers every June.
“Then quit fucking around and go get her,” Fin said.
“This isn’t the kind of thing you can work out alone,” Will said. “It’s something the two of you have to figure out together.”
“Besides, it doesn’t have to be Marcel she marries, does it?” Fin asked.
“No.” Energy roared through him.
“Then, what’re you still doing here?” Will said.
The fact that neither Rosie nor her bodyguard had responded to his text messages only became problematic when he’d arrived in Villeneuve and had no idea how to get to her.
At a stoplight, he texted Harrison again. Just got into Villeneuve. You think I could see Rosalina?
He’d storm the castle if he had to. His brother was right—this was a problem they could only solve together.
And Rosie wouldn’t just blindly go along with anything. That was one of the reasons he loved her.
Cruising down the main street of the capital city, he found himself still trying to get a handle on driving on the left side of road. The businesses all looked like fairytale cottages, with flower beds hanging off the windows and dark brown wooden shutters. Wrought iron streetlamps lined the pretty, clean street.
His phone chimed, and he pulled it out of the cup holder at the next stop sign. Harrison.
“Hell, yeah.”
Yes. You can’t miss signs for the castle. Follow them up the road and park in the visitors parking lot, but then come around back. I’ll meet you in the garden.
A second one followed. Took you long enough.
Brodie smiled. It hadn’t even been a week. He’d seen signs for the castle everywhere, so he pulled a U-turn at the intersection and headed up the long and winding road. Halfway up the mountain, he followed the signs to a driveway that took him through a copse of woods.
When he emerged back into the sunlight, he got a spectacular perspective of St. Christophe. Villeneuve sat in a valley created by snow-capped mountain ranges. It was green, lush, and vibrant. As he pulled into a spot, he noted how out of place the asphalt parking lot seemed beside the ancient stone castle and English garden-landscaping. Cutting the engine, he got out, surprised at the number of tourists milling about.
No wonder she had to be on her best behavior all the time. Even her private life was public.
He shot a text to Rosie’s bodyguard. Here. Then, he headed around to the back of the castle. Harrison, a fucking behemoth of a man, couldn’t be missed, striding across the lawn towards him.
“Hey.” Brodie hurried over and shook his hand. “Thanks for helping me out. Does she know I’m here?”
“No, sir. It’s been a hectic couple of days. Follow me.” He led Brodie into an expansive, low-ceilinged kitchen. Copper pots and pans hung from wire racks, and an enormous forest green stove took up the length of one wall.
“Is she all right?” Brodie asked. “I haven’t heard back from her.”
“On a good day, the princess doesn’t remember to take her phone with her.”
“How’s her dad?” Last he’d heard, the prince had pulled through but would have a six-week recovery. But maybe he’d taken a turn for the worse? Brodie nodded to the chef, who came up the cellar stairs with a huge crate of eggs.
Harrison led them out of the kitchen and down a long, windowless hallway. “On the mend.”
He let out a huff of breath. “Glad to hear it. I thought maybe she wasn’t getting back to me because…”
Harrison cut a sharp glance over his shoulder.
Got it. We don’t talk about the prince dying. Damn, this place looked like Versaille. Family portraits hung on the walls, side tables held vases and all kinds of knick-knacks, and the rugs were well-worn.
The bodyguard crossed a marble-tiled foyer, lit by an ornate and massive crystal chandelier that hung from a two-story ceiling. They heard voices, some exercised. “They’re in the library.” He paused outside the large, oak-paneled room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. “Hang on. Give them a moment, and then I’ll announce you.”
It was crowded with people. When he saw Rosie in a white dress and Marcel in a suit, Brodie’s blood pressure spiked. A wedding ceremony. Fuck. Pushing past Harrison, he raced into the room. “Don’t do it, Rosie. Don’t marry him.”
The tension in the room pulled tight, and everyone turned to him with stunned expressions.
Rosie’s eyes went wide, her hands covering her mouth. “Brodie?”
He stalked toward her. “Marry me. You don’t love this weasel.” He scanned the room for her parents and couldn’t miss the regal posture of a man in dark gray slacks and a white button down. “Mr.—”
Wait. Shit. He’s not a mister. “Prince…sir, I love your daughter. I’d like to ask for her hand in marriage. I’m a hardworking man with the means to take care of her. I come from a good family, and…” Well, hell, he didn’t know what this family looked for in a husband for their oldest daughter. It wasn’t like Marcel had any outstanding qualities. “I’m a businessman. I run successful businesses.”
Maybe shut the fuck up? Jesus, he felt like a sumo wrestler invading a ballet recital. Just get to the point. “You can’t make someone with the brains and talent and…and spirit of your daughter marry some weak-wille
d cheater.”
“Brodie—” Rosalina began.
“Hang on.” He reached for her hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed her palm. “I understand your duty. I do. I understand what you need to do for your family and your country, so I’ll move here. I’ll marry you right now.”
Her father rose out of his chair, all imperious. “Do you have royal blood?”
Brodie had to think fast, back to conversations they’d had with their dad and uncle over campfires and long hikes. “I think around the time of Mary, Queen of Scots…it’s possible we—”
“Brodie.” Rosalina’s voice gentled. “My dad’s teasing you.”
Oh. Heat rushed up his neck, burning his earlobes.
She laid a hand on his arm. “I’m not marrying Marcel.”
“But you’re wearing…” As he paid more attention, he realized she wore a simple white sundress. “You don’t have to marry him?”
“No. We’re making changes, and the Allard family is part of that.” She reached for his hand. “Come with me.”
He turned back to her father, who grinned at him. His wife stood by his side, a stunning dark-haired beauty. “I’m sorry for bursting in here.” He let out an awkward chuckle. “I thought…” Shut up. They know what you thought.
They nodded, but no one said a word as Rosie led him across the room. At the doorway, he turned back. “But I meant every word I said.” He pointed at Marcel. “You had your shot, and you blew it. Sucks for you, because you’re going to miss out on one wild ride.”
Rosie tugged on his hand, dragging him down the hallway and into a parlor. “What are you doing here? How’d you even get in?” She closed the door behind him.
He reached for her, pulling her close. “I get to, though, right?” What if coming home had changed her mind about them?
She looked confused. “Get to what?”
“Go on the wild ride with you?”
She fought a smile. “I don’t even know how to answer that. Would you please tell me how you got in?”
“I texted Harrison and asked if I could come talk to you.” She smelled so good—sweet, feminine. He brushed his lips over hers, but the need was too powerful, and he swept her up into his arms. He kissed her with all the pent-up worry and heartache that’d built over the past several days. He kissed her with relief and a rush of pure love. She felt so perfectly right in his arms, and everything just felt better with her.