My Best Friend's Royal Wedding

by Romy Sommer

  The store manager looks at me like I’ve grown another head. I suppose royal bridesmaids aren’t supposed to act like common tourists, buying souvenirs to take back home, but that’s what I am. And my brother is going to have such a laugh drinking out of a mug with their faces on it, considering less than a year ago Phoenix asked him to help her get a divorce from Max. It’s a long story but, needless to say, the divorce never happened and Calvin was very careful to destroy all the evidence.

  We spend half a day at a hair salon owned by a friend of Anton’s, which closes just for us. Khara insists I touch up my blue ombre, and I’ll admit I feel more like myself with the vivid color. Her own blonde highlights look so natural I swear not even an expert will be able to tell they’re not.

  Another day, Phoenix and I take a break from wedding duties to attend the official launch of a new adventure park just outside the city. There’s a treetop obstacle course and a zip line (Westerwald’s first) and, after yet another ribbon-cutting and more posing for the cameras, we actually get to do the course. There are still cameras following our every move, but once we’re in our harnesses and navigating the suspended bridges and rope swings more than fifty feet above the ground I stop paying them any attention and just have fun with Phoenix, the way we used to in the old days. I wish Adam were here. He’d love this course way more than looking at art.

  Even though Max and Phoenix requested that donations be sent to their favorite charities in lieu of wedding gifts, presents have still been steadily pouring into the palace. We spend an entire afternoon sorting through them – what to keep, what to give away to charity or to palace staff, and what to send to the national museum (like the antique black Chantilly lace shawl sent by the pony-breeding Count of Amiens, and a book of hand-written poems from a local primary school). Some of the gifts also have to be returned, obvious promotional items that companies are hoping Max or Phoenix will use in public to market their businesses, like the set of branded golf clubs.

  Max is horrified when we tell him over dinner that night. “How can anyone think I play golf?”

  The sun sets late here, later than I’m used to. We eat dinner in the private garden as the shadows grow longer, the garden turning softly blue at the edges then fading slowly into darkness, a slow, creeping sunset with none of the dramatic fire of our Nevada sunsets.

  When Max leaves us to go back to his desk to catch up on work, it’s only just past dark. A servant places citronella-scented lamps on the table and brings us a fresh bottle of the low-alcohol Moscato wine I’m developing a taste for.

  “Has Adam gone back to London?” I ask casually.

  Phoenix eyes me, but says nothing. The look in her eyes, as if she can see right through me to the desperation underneath, is distinctly uncomfortable.

  “It’s just that I haven’t seen him around these last few days,” I add hurriedly. “I was wondering if he plans to give me any more etiquette lessons?”

  Because I don’t feel anywhere near ready to sit at a formal banquet with hundreds of VIP wedding guests.

  Okay, okay, I know I said I don’t lie to myself. I’ll admit it – this has nothing at all to do with napkins or cutlery. I just want to see him. Heaven only knows why.

  “What happened between the two of you?” Phoenix asks at last.

  “Nothing. Less than nothing.”

  “Then why are you avoiding each other?”

  “I’m not! He’s avoiding me.”

  Oops. Too late I realize that was as good as an admission that something did happen, though I’m still not entirely sure what it was. She holds my gaze until I relent. “We were watching this wedding in the chateau grounds, then he asked what he had to do to prove he’s a decent guy, and I told him he should do something worthwhile with his life.”

  “Ah.”

  “What does that ‘ah’ mean?” She made it sound like a revelation.

  “Do you know what Adam has been doing this past week?” she asks at last.

  How could I, since I haven’t seen him? I shake my head.

  “He’s been job shadowing Max.”

  I say nothing, and she raises an eyebrow. “You do know his uncle is the ruling prince of a little country called Erdély, and that Adam is a possible candidate to become his heir?”

  “He told me after the polo match.”

  She leans forward, resting her chin in her cupped palm. “He wasn’t even considering saying ‘yes’ until you told him to do something worthwhile.”

  He can’t possibly be doing this because of something I said. Could he?

  I watch a moth beat itself against the glass of the lamp. Phoenix is still watching me as if she’s waiting for me to say something. Eventually she huffs out a breath. “His room is just down the corridor from yours.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You’ve been trying to get us together from the moment I landed – why? I mean, I know he’s nice to look at …”

  She splutters. “Nice to look at?! He’s hotter than a blowtorch – and if you ever tell Max I said that, I’ll deny it.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “But we’re completely unsuited to each other. We come from completely different worlds.”

  “Maybe he’s just what you need. And clearly you’re exactly what he needs.”

  Goddess, save me from happily married women who want to see everyone else around them paired up.

  We chat a while longer, until the Moscato bottle is empty and the air grows chill and drives us indoors. We part inside, in the grand vestibule with its black-and-white marble floor and sweeping staircase. A sleepy security man is on duty where the footman usually stands during the day.

  I give Phoenix a quick hug, then watch as she disappears through the side door that leads to the apartment she and Max have shared for nearly a year, even though they’re unmarried as far as the public is concerned. I’m far too wide awake for sleep, but after a quick wave to the security officer I head upstairs to the guest wing.

  At the top of the stairs, I pause. My own room lies down the corridor to the right. Instead, I turn left. Phoenix told me Adam’s room is at the end of the hall. I hover outside the door, screwing up my courage. Twice, I raise my hand to knock. Twice, I pull it away. I don’t want Adam to think this is a booty call.

  Third time, I just do it. I wait, wondering if maybe he was already asleep, but then the door opens. My breath catches in my throat.

  He’s dressed in sweatpants and a tee-shirt, and he’s barefoot, the most casual I’ve ever seen him. His hair is mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it, and he sports several days’ worth of scruff. But it’s the black-rimmed glasses that make my pulse do all sorts of crazy things.

  “I didn’t know you wear glasses,” I blurt out.

  He removes them, as if he’d forgotten he was wearing them, and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I usually wear contacts.”

  The epitome of pure masculine perfection actually has a flaw. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any hotter. I shift my weight from foot to foot. “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

  “You’re not.” He steps back, opening the door wider in invitation. “Come on in. I could do with a break.”

  I step inside and look around. The bed is strewn with papers, and the duvet is crumpled where he was sitting. He shuts the door behind me and I suddenly realize I’m alone with him. In his bedroom. Late at night, when everyone else has gone to bed. I wouldn’t blame him for thinking this is a booty call.

  “Wine? Coffee?”

  “Coffee, please.” I don’t want to be tempted to do anything more stupid than I’m already doing.

  He moves to the tray in the corner.

  “Hey – you have a coffee press! That’s so unfair! My room only has instant coffee.” And an electric kettle, which Phoenix had to teach me how to use.

  Adam grins. “I bought my own because I can’t stand instant.”

  While he makes the coffee, filling the room with the delicious, rich scent of Italian r
oast, I move to the bed, perching on the edge to look at the papers spread out there. It’s mostly financial stuff, annual budgets and treasury reports. The numbers are easy enough to read but the words are in a language I don’t recognize. Erdélian, I assume.

  Adam brings two cups of coffee to the bed and hands me one, then sprawls beside me. I take a sip. Milk, no sugar, just the way I like it.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting our lessons,” he says. “The days have just sort of run away with me.”

  I wave at the papers. “You’ve had more important things to think about.”

  He smiles. Not his usual arrogant grin, but a softer, warmer smile that melts what little is left of my common sense. “Not more important than you.”

  I have no idea what to say to that. As lines go, that’s a pretty good one. And spoken in that intimate, husky rumble, I can see why women fall for him so easily. I’m falling for it too.

  “So what have you been up to?” he asks.

  I tell him all about the treetop adventure course and the zip line, and he laughs at the golf clubs. “Anyone who knows Max knows he’s far too much of an adrenalin-junkie for golf.”

  “And what have you been busy with?”

  Careful not to spill his coffee, Adam rolls onto his stomach. I stretch out beside him and look at the papers he spreads out for me.

  “Should you be showing me these? Aren’t they top secret, or something?”

  He laughs, a warm, low chuckle. “I got these off the internet. My uncle runs a very transparent administration.”

  In the mellow lamplight, we read through the various reports together, occasionally using Google Translate when he doesn’t recognize the Erdélian words. The country has a healthy tourism sector, “Mostly outdoor activities, like skiing, hiking and cycling,” he explains, “but the economy is primarily agricultural. There were copper, iron and manganese mines, but they shut down in the twentieth century. The biggest challenge seems to be that much of the existing infrastructure is ageing and needs maintenance, but the country isn’t bringing in enough revenue to cover the costs. There’s no major deficit, and they’d like to keep it that way, but there’s not much room for growth either. The country needs outside investment.”

  I roll on my side to face him. “And you just happen to be an investment broker.”

  “It’s not that simple.” He rubs his head, mussing up his hair even more. I’d love to run my fingers through his hair.

  “If Erdély were just a client, I’d have no problem saying yes to my uncle’s offer. Because if I get bored I can hand off the account to one of my juniors. Clients come and go, projects come and go, but Erdély has just always been there. And it will still be there long after I’m gone. I’m not the right person for that kind of responsibility.”

  “You told me I should have faith in myself. Perhaps you should take your own advice.”

  He holds my gaze, and I lose myself in the cool gray-green depths of his eyes. Then slowly he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. I have every opportunity to move away, to stop this from happening, but my limbs are too liquid to move. My eyes flutter closed, all my senses focused on the feel of his lips brushing mine. My heart pounds so hard it deafens me. I open my mouth, inviting him in, but suddenly he’s not there any more.

  I open my eyes, breathless, dazed, and more than a little mortified. Adam rolls off the bed, collects our empty coffee mugs and carries them across the room to the coffee tray.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, his back turned to me. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  I’m not sorry.

  He sets the mugs down and turns to look at me. “This is new for me. I’ve never been just friends with a woman before, but I like it, and I don’t want to mess this up.”

  He’s friend-zoning me? To say that I didn’t see that coming is an understatement. What happened to him trying to seduce me? Involuntarily, I touch my fingers to my lips. That kiss was magical, but what if it wasn’t good for him? What if he’s changed his mind? What if he doesn’t feel this same sudden high which is zinging through my veins? Is that why he’s been avoiding me all week – to spare my feelings?

  Hot humiliation surges up into my cheeks. “It’s getting late,” I say, pushing off the bed. “And tomorrow’s going to be another busy day.”

  I walk to the door, and Adam follows. He reaches for the doorknob, but doesn’t turn it. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “Of course. Tomorrow night is the ballet fundraiser we’re all expected to attend.”

  “Of course.” He still doesn’t turn the knob, effectively blocking me in. My heart races again.

  “So, we’re still friends, then?” he asks.

  I force a bright smile. “Yes, we’re still friends.”

  Chapter 16

  Khara

  What am I supposed to wear to the ballet? I stare at the open closet, at my meager assortment of clothes. The borrowed dresses have all been returned to the stylists, and the closet looks very bare. Aside from the ivory-colored dress I brought for Phoenix, my only other dress is the black skater dress I usually keep for first dates. It’s the same dress I wore the first time I ever met Adam, the same dress I wore to the cocktail party the evening before the polo match. I really don’t want to wear it again. What are the chances I can wear jeans tonight? I certainly have enough of those. Or I could go out shopping. It would mean dipping into my tuition money, but that’s better than asking Phoenix for yet another favor.

  There’s a knock on the door, so I slam the closet door shut and hurry to open it.

  Adam is leaning up against the doorframe, and he’s carrying a garment bag. “I have a gift for you.” He grins and holds up the bag.

  Hoping desperately it’s not the school principal’s suit, I unzip the bag, gasping as the dress within is revealed.

  “I can’t accept this!”

  “That’s a pity, because I’m never going to be able to wear it.”

  I frown. “You could return it.”

  He shrugs. “Too much effort. So you might as well take it.”

  He holds the bag out to me, and I take it, holding it reverently. “Thank you.”

  “See you later.” And he’s gone, leaving me holding the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. The taffeta under-dress is plain, with a figure-hugging bodice and full knee-length skirt. But over the top is a gauzy ankle-length layer of pale grey chiffon, embroidered with multi-colored flowers.

  A few hours later, I’m finally dressed, with my hair carefully straightened and tied up in an intricate bun courtesy of a YouTube tutorial. I’m adding the finishing touches to my make-up, hoping I’ve achieved the subtle, barely-there look that Adam’s make-up artist gave me, when he’s back at the door.

  “You look stunning.”

  Hard as I try, I can’t stop the blush that heats my cheeks. He looks pretty darn stunning himself. Last night’s scruff has been shaved off and he looks very debonair in black and white evening dress. And he smells even better.

  I drag my gaze away and do a little twirl to show off the dress. “Oh, this old thing. I just threw it on. Only took me about five … hours.”

  “That sounds like a quote.”

  “It is. From the funniest romcom ever. Now, can we please get to this fundraiser so we can get it over with?”

  “Don’t you enjoy the ballet?”

  “Ask me again in another couple of hours.”

  He gives me an amused glance, but wisely holds his tongue. He offers me his arm and we head down the hall to the staircase. “By the way, I love the shoes.”

  Another blush. I’m wearing the same strappy sandals I wore for our walk in the gardens.

  The drive to the theater is nothing like our casual road trip in Max’s SUV. There are two black luxury sedans pulled up at the palace entrance, each with a chauffeur and a personal protection officer up front. Adam and I go in the front car, and Max and Phoenix in the other. The security officer holds the door open for me. It’s
one of those fancy cars where the door opens backwards, which I’ve only ever seen on TV.

  “Looking good tonight, Khara.” He flashes me a smile and a wink.

  “Thanks, Lukas.”

  I slide into the long leather bench seat and Adam slides in beside me. “On a first name basis with the bodyguard?” he asks in a low voice.

  I flash him an annoyed look. “Don’t be such a snob. Lukas has been driving with us all week. Of course I know his name.”

  “I’m not a snob, and it’s not his name that worries me,” he mutters.

  The look I give him now definitely isn’t annoyed; it’s amused, and maybe a little hopeful. “You’re not jealous, are you? Because friends aren’t supposed to get jealous.”

  “I am not jealous!”

  Could have fooled me. Against my better judgment, that makes me feel all mushy and aglow on the inside.

  There’s an entire reception committee waiting in line in the theater’s foyer to greet us. I concentrate on doing everything Adam taught me, standing up straight without fidgeting, smiling politely, making small talk, but the butterflies in my stomach are throwing a rave. As soon as we can, Adam and I slip away up the grand staircase to the ‘retiring room’, a waiting room outside the royal box with white walls decorated with gold-painted plaster moldings and midnight-blue velvet sofas. I collapse down on one of the sofas, relieved to take the pressure off my feet. When I get back to Vegas, I’m never wearing high heels again.

  “Take this.” Adam pours two glasses of Champagne from the ice bucket set ready for us. “It’ll settle your nerves.”

  I don’t expect the alcohol to calm me but surprisingly it does, without dulling my senses. Is that why it’s the drink of choice at these fancy events?

  “This theater was built in the 1850s,” he says, “to replace the original theater, which has now been converted into a restaurant. This was one of the first public buildings in Neustadt to be fitted with electric light.”

  I hide my smile. I already read all about the building in my guidebook, but it’s sweet of him to have made the effort.

  When Max and Phoenix finally join us we enjoy a few moments’ peace in the privacy of the retiring room while the rest of the audience fills the auditorium. Then the orchestra starts to tune up.