by Brown, Tara
A Royal Wedding
The Royals Series
Tara Brown
A Royal Wedding
Book Three in the Royals Series
Copyright 2019 Tara Brown
This is a work of fiction.
All names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text Copyright © 2019 Tara Brown
This work is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be shared in any way. This work may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written consent of the publisher.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No alteration of content is permitted.
Published by Tara Brown.
Printed in the United States of America
Cover Art by Dark Tree Designs
Edited by Andrea Burns
All rights reserved.
ISBN - 9781099812866
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Contents
Foreword
1. Everything glistens when you’re in love. It’s like being stuck inside a Snapchat filter.
2. There are two sides to every story. And whoever tells their side first and the loudest is the one people believe. Just ask Twitter.
3. The world is your oyster. Don’t let it rot before you eat it.
4. Relationships are like buying a car. You have to test-drive some pieces of shit before you find one you love.
5. You can’t open a new door until you close the old one. Sometimes the old door won’t close, so you have to burn the house down. It’s the only way.
6. The hardest part about being friends with someone you’re attracted to is the what-if. It’s a sneaky little monster that blinds you to all the bad qualities in a person, just in case.
7. Roommates are the true test of whether you’re loveable as a human or not. They’re also the test of whether you have the capability to commit savage crimes against others. Particularly where leftovers are concerned.
8. Time flies when you’re having fun, but it also flies when you’re dreading the end of something. In fact, I think it’s faster then.
9. Drunken hookups are one thing, but hookups where you’re the only one who’s drunk, are totally something else. #NotCool
10. Dudes, mentally and emotionally self-aware is the new tall
11. The truth totally doesn't set you free. It sets you on fire and burns everyone else too.
12. Guys always go on about what a rough game rugby is, until they watch girls play it. Then suddenly they’re gentlemen and women are savages. Totally uncool.
13. Guys are always going on about how we don't know where we want to eat. They need to worry less about the side dishes and more about the fact most of them still have side hoes.
14. The new triple threat has changed. It used to be beautiful, smart, and kind. Now it’s witty, strong, and confident. Filters take care of the beautiful part.
15. Canceled culture is a crime against our morals. Publicly humiliating someone and trying them in the public eye based on shady opinions will be how we end up with Skynet #Facts
16. Funerals need to be more like birthdays. They’re for the living, celebrating a life. We should add piñatas and drinks and cake. Everyone likes cake.
17. I’m only mean to people who deserve it. Like a bitchy vigilante. Bitchilante.
18. The brighter side of things only works on stupid things. No one needs a positive spin for tragedy, Karen.
19. Why do people hate on dudes who like to wear dresses but chase down guys in kilts? Who decided plaid was the only material suitable for bros?
20. It’s science that if a man calls you his queen and wants to be called your king, you will need to patch a lot of drywall in your house.
21. When trying to have a baby, consider where you do it. No one wants to be the kid who was conceived behind that old church.
22. Scientists are cloning extinct horses from the permafrost in Russia, but they still can’t get the Lucky Charms marshmallows to go squishy before you run out of cereal.
23. If something feels off, it’s off. It’s the simplest but best advice I can offer. Trust those ancient instincts. They know.
24. If your friends don’t like your SO, it’s pretty simple, you need a new one. Friends are like dogs. They can smell a bad relationship from a mile.
25. A lot of people discount it, but it’s science. If your friend cuts all their hair off, check on them. They are NOT okay. #Brit2007
26. The worst thing we created in the 2000s is ghosting. Millennials have revitalized the small bookstores and saved us from eating at chain restaurants, but they can’t text someone back to say they’re not interested?
Epilogue
The End
Sample chapter
Mission Impossible
Afterword
Other YA Books by Tara Brown
About the Author
I dedicate this book to all the teen girls out there who have a lip gloss addiction, a penchant for Snapchats, and can’t go more than eleven seconds without touching their phone at least once. If you love sippin’ lattes and rocking leggings and texting your grandma #s, thank you. If you love pop music, taking selfies, and saying “totes,” and still haven’t figured out if hipster is really you, thank you.
Teenaged girl problems come in all shapes and sizes and shades, but they are all legit!
I know this because I have encountered some of the most legitimate teenaged girl problems in my day, and lived to tell the story.
Foreword
You should know, all the chapter headings are quotes I’ve heard teenaged girls say. Just thought I would share them.
1
Everything glistens when you’re in love. It’s like being stuck inside a Snapchat filter.
Andorra again
August, two years later - Fourth year college
“Ready?” Linna asked, sounding scared for me. Which made two of us.
“Nope.” I stared out the tinted window of the SUV as Tracy walked to it.
“You have to be. So suck it up, buttercup.” Linna leaned in, brushing her glossy lips against my cheek. “It’s five days, you can do anything for five days.” She wasn’t great at hiding the dread in her voice, though this was meant to be a pep talk. “And at least we get to see Mary, Johan, and Oswald.”
“Ladies,” Tracy said as he opened the door. “So good to see you.” His deep voice echoed off the concrete walls of the empty corner in the underground parking lot.
No one was in the underground parking except us and the driver who’d picked us up, one I hadn’t met before. My impression thus far was that he didn’t speak English, likely Tracy’s idea to conceal Linna’s big mouth.
The scent of Andorran trees and mountains caught my nose as we climbed from the SUV in the secured area under the hotel. It was strange how the wild smell of the rugged city permeated the underground parking. But the air was so fresh in Andorra, there wasn't a chance for any spot to become stale.
“The concie
rge will be here any minute,” Tracy muttered to Linna and me. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, we’re good,” I casually brushed his worry aside. Hoping to distract him from prying, I put down my purse and hugged him, smiling softly at the wooden embrace. “I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you for meeting us.”
“You’re very welcome, Miss Finley.”
“Miss Finley? Aiden and I might not be dating anymore, but I’m still Fin to you, sir.” I pulled back and gave him a stern expression.
“Of course, Fin.” He chuckled and relaxed—a little.
It had been months since I’d last seen him, a night none of us would soon forget. Sobbing, I’d forced him to take me to Toulouse in the middle of the night. And as always, he had been my pillar of kindness and strength. Taking me without even checking with Aiden.
The memory hit like a bat to the face.
It had been two months since the breakup.
Two months since The King and I had ended, a production based loosely on the original play, but in this version the king was a young and childless French-British Andorran and the tutor was played by a spoiled American girl known for temper tantrums and irrational behavior.
At least that was the version that had somehow been sold to the press, though I doubted Aiden had anything to do with it. Not that he knew why we’d broken up. At least I hoped he didn't.
What had really happened would remain a secret until the day I died if I had anything to say about it. And the reason for the secrecy was also the reason we were in Andorra, a place I vowed I’d never step foot in again unless someone got married or died. And, of course, the latter had happened.
“How is the family?” I asked, hating that we’d returned under such grim tidings.
“Incredibly strong.” He lowered his head and tone, “Fin, she won’t be easy, or happy to see you. Try not to engage, that’s all the advice I have. Because in the end, her husband has just died and she is a wreck. And she will take it out on you, we both know that.”
“I’ll be a pillar of grace and kindness.” The queen mother could shove it up her—
“I won’t be, so if a bitch gets up in our grill, I’m throwing down,” Linna added from her phone where she texted nonstop. “The dead husband has nothing to do with her being a giant whore-faced—”
“Ladies!” The concierge of the hotel saved us from Linna finishing her thoughts. “I am so pleased you chose to stay with us.” A tall, older man in a gray business suit hurried over with open arms. Behind him was a team of men and women, all stealing glances at us.
“Thank you for accommodating our security requirements,” I said politely. I hated being a burden, or rather notoriously considered one, but I didn't need to upstage the grieving family by bringing the Fin Club out of the woodwork. My fans and haters alike would overwhelm the city if they got even a whisper of my whereabouts. I’d smuggled myself out of London and into Andorra like a pro. Something I’d grown increasingly good at these last few years.
And Aiden’s family didn't need anything extra.
“Of course. Anything we can do, please do not hesitate to ask.” He pointed to the group behind him. “This is my staff, brought in to ensure your stay is perfect. All have signed nondisclosures and understand the severity of breaching security.”
“Oh, we don't require staff—”
“Nonsense, Princess Mary has made certain we understand the expectations for you and your privacy. We are thrilled you’re here.” Of course he was thrilled. His hotel was about to be thrown an ass-ton of free PR and publicity the moment we broke the seal and blasted that we had stayed here. After the funeral. Unless someone leaked it before . . . Alex.
“Here.” He handed Tracy a business card. “If you need anything, my personal numbers are on there.”
“Thank you,” I said again.
“Of course! It’s my pleasure. Now, let’s get you into your suite and settled.” He clapped his hands once and the team scrambled, rushing to take our bags to the luggage trolley and heading for a different elevator than we walked to, our heels clicking amongst the noisy bustle.
“You have use of the private lift. Once inside, it will require your room key. No one but the penthouse staff—and you of course—uses this lift or has access to the floor.” He handed Tracy our room keys. “Guards will be stationed outside the suite at all times, even when you are not there.”
Tracy’s lips toyed with a grin. He knew how much I hated this shit.
Linna was oblivious to it all, already texting and Snapchatting friends. She was technically the asset to the hotel, not me. She would be promoting where we stayed and was now considered one of the biggest social media influencers in the US. It was becoming a full-time job that required photo shoots and an annoying amount of publicity and product placement, which she only did about half of.
Some of the free stuff was amazing, but the glam and glitz of having the world hang on your every word and photo was too much for me. Perhaps because they were never as nice to me as they were to her.
Which was part of the reason I still had no social media. Regardless of Aiden and I breaking up, my Instagram was shut down. Facebook too, though I doubted I’d ever go back on there. And Twitter was strictly forbidden, as was Snapchat, in case someone hacked my phone and stole my pics.
“Did you have a pleasant trip in?” the concierge asked as we stepped into the elevator.
“Yes,” I answered, hoping he caught the “we don't want to talk” vibe Linna was savagely throwing off.
“Excellent.” He nodded awkwardly, possibly cluing in.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened to a stunning suite with the staff bustling around inside, hurrying in from the servants’ entrance with our bags while others spritzed enormous bouquets of flowers with scented water.
The foyer was marble and old-world European-looking, but once inside, it had that distinct Andorran ski-resort ambiance with large log beams and wooden window casings.
It was massive and rustic but modern, in a weirdly perfect combination—homey actually, a rare feeling in penthouse suites. The others we had stayed in always seemed so clean and crisp, resembling a set for a photo shoot. This room was designed to feel close and comfy. Except for the walls of windows which added a nice airy atmosphere.
“Four bedrooms, five bathrooms, four thousand square feet, and all the views you could possibly desire.” He held his hands out, introducing us to the penthouse. “Private room service; this button on the wall here summons your private maid, this one summons the butler, and this the valet who will have a driver and personal car meet you back where you stepped onto the lift. There’s an additional four thousand square feet on the three balconies, one with a private heated pool and another a private spa.” He furrowed his brow. “You Americans say ‘hot tub,’ I believe.”
“Yes.”
“And a cedar sauna.” He was proud of this room the way a father was proud of his children. “All with stunning views of Andorra la Vella!”
“This is beautiful.” I smiled wide at Tracy and him. “Thank you.”
I turned back to avoid watching Tracy tip the man and send him on his way.
“Enjoy your stay,” he said lastly before leaving, ushering out the remaining members of his staff who had unpacked us in record time.
“Damn, Andorra is coming up in the world. This is tight.” Linna started filming. “Jess, you are missing out,” she teased.
“Don't send her that. It’s mean.” I gave her a glare as she filmed me. “Hi, Jess. We miss you. Hope you’re feeling better.”
“Maybe, but it’s the price you pay for not coming. You could’ve had one of the sexy butlers carry you around for the weekend.” She took the phone and wandered out to the decks to get the pool and hot tub in the video.
Poor Jess hadn’t come for two reasons: One, she and Johan were also splitsville. Their relationship had been added to the list of things I’d destroyed in my wake.
Selfish Finl
ey Roze . . .
Two months ago, I was officially labeled the devil and would be blamed for all things to go wrong in Andorra for at least a hundred years. Surely, it had been added to the new constitution.
Drought? Mother Earth was punishing us for giving Fin water when she was thirsty.
Fires in the mountains? God had struck us down for letting Fin into the country.
Man acting up? Fin had cursed all men of Andorra.
Somewhere—probably a hot somewhere involving a rich old man with questionable health—Sheila was laughing her wicked stepmother cackle. She was poolside and reading bad press about me, the only kind I really got, and living her best life.
And reason number two, Jess had broken her ankle. She had returned home to Dad’s to chill with Mr. Stinky and hang out for the last two weeks of August (hopefully not with Aaron) but broke her ankle on a trip down a flight of stairs the second day home. It was rotten luck until the funeral came up, then she was grateful to have a legit excuse not to come. If only I could’ve been so lucky . . .
“Fin, you’re tuning me out,” Tracy’s voice snapped me back.
“What?”
“I said I’ll ensure the guards we’ve hired are outside the suite at all times, relieving the hotel staff,” Tracy announced with a smile as he strode around, locking up and ensuring the staff had all left. “And if you wish to go anywhere, please text me. I will take you. Don't worry about their driver.”