My Best Friend's Royal Wedding

by Romy Sommer

  Chapter 23

  Adam

  I roll over into a cold patch on the bed, and my eyes slowly open. This isn’t my room. My room is wallpapered with thin blue stripes, not broad green ones. Then the night before – or, rather, the morning before – comes flooding back, and I grin and stretch.

  It’s hard to tell what time it is as the sky outside the tall windows is a leaden grey, heavy, dark and threatening a storm. Not unexpected after the last few days of oppressive heat. But it’s definitely daylight outside the windows and I am still here, in a woman’s bed, and I feel no desire to run.

  The bathroom door opens and, probably still wearing the goofy grin, I turn to look at Khara. Her face is clear of make-up, her hair is pulled back into a bushy ponytail and she’s wearing olive-green jeans and a loose beige pullover with a wide neck that leaves one shoulder bare. Is she aware she has a hickey on her neck?

  “Oh, good, you’re awake.” She fetches a mug from the coffee station and brings it over to the bed. “I made you coffee. It’s only instant, though, since I don’t have a fancy coffee press.”

  I take the coffee she holds out and sip it gingerly. It’s still scalding hot, but it manages to clear a little of the sleep fog in my brain.

  Khara moves to the wardrobe and rummages around until she finds a plaid scarf to wrap around her neck. Clearly she does know.

  Then she turns to me. “You need to leave now.”

  What?

  “It’s morning, and you don’t stay until morning, remember?” she says pointedly.

  Sure, that’s the reason I led us to her room last night and not my own, so that I could make my usual quick exit rather than having to kick her out of my bed in the middle of the night. But instead, I’m the one being kicked out. That’s a first for me, and I don’t think I like it very much.

  Even more of a revelation: I don’t want this to end. Not by a long shot.

  “Maybe I’m changing my mind about mornings.” I lean back against the pillows and pat the bed beside me in invitation. “If I recall correctly, we still have one condom left.”

  She sets her hands on her hips. “The bridesmaid is no longer on the menu.”

  There’s that stir of an echo again, but I still can’t grab onto the memory. Probably because I’m too busy trying to process what’s happening in the here and now. I run my hand through my hair. “So you’ve scratched an itch and now it’s over?”

  Is this how every woman I’ve ever walked out on in the middle of the night feels? No wonder everyone thinks I’m a bastard.

  She smiles. I recognise it as her fake smile, an expression she probably perfected on customers just like me. It may look sweet and innocent, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Last night was fun, but it’s over.”

  That’s usually my line. How the hell did things get so turned around?

  I fling back the sheets and slide off the bed, striding towards her. She holds her ground, keeps her chin high, but I know her ‘tells’ now: that slight hiccup in her breathing, the way her eyes dilate as I draw nearer, the intense way she focuses on my face so her eyes aren’t tempted to drop to my naked body …

  “But that itch is still there, isn’t it?” My voice comes out low and rough, because her nearness is having a similar effect on me.

  She swallows and takes a half step back. Her eyes flicker unconsciously down to my chest then back up again. “I appreciate that you’re trying to be a gentleman this morning to prove something to me, but you really don’t have to.”

  “I’m not trying to prove anything, and I most certainly don’t feel like a gentleman right now.” I reach out to cup her face, and her lips part.

  Then she shakes her head, as if trying to convince herself of something, and steps away, out of my reach. “I’m flattered, but we’re due downstairs for the Champagne breakfast, and you’re leaving in a few hours.”

  “I don’t have to go. I don’t want this to end yet, and I don’t think you want it to either.”

  Her eyes narrow, and her tone is sarcastic. “Oh, look, there’s your privilege showing again. Want, want, want … That’s what life is all about for you, isn’t it? Do what you want, when you want – and who you want – without any thought for anyone else. Well, those of us who live out there in the real world don’t have that privilege. We don’t get to act on every whim because there are real life consequences. You’re supposed to be leaving for Erdély in a few hours. If you break your promise to your family just so you can get laid one more time, you really are a first class douche.”

  For a moment she sounds just like my sister, and then a light bulb pops in my head. Jemmy said something … My sister’s right – I really can be dumb sometimes. “Why does it have to be either/or?” I pause, watching as Khara’s indignation turns to hesitation. “Come with me.”

  She opens her mouth, then shuts it again. “I can’t come with you. You’re going there to work.”

  I shake my head. “My visit can’t be an official one until the formal succession announcement is made.” Uncle Lajos was crystal-clear about that. “I’ll be going as just another tourist. Come play tourist with me.”

  “I’m supposed to be going with Max and Phoenix to Waldburg for the rest of the week.”

  “In its glory days, Erdély was a centre of culture and art. There’ll be more frescoes and churches and history there than in Waldburg.” I close the distance between us again. “Do you really want to be a third wheel on Max and Phoenix’s honeymoon?”

  “But—”

  “Enough with the excuses. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel this attraction.”

  She meets my gaze. “Of course I feel it, but that doesn’t mean I have to act on it. Chemistry doesn’t last.”

  “Nothing lasts. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it while it’s there.”

  She turns away. “I’ll think about it. I’ll let you know my decision after breakfast.”

  ***

  I make the walk of shame back to my room, not bothering to avoid the kitchen porter delivering breakfast trays to one of the rooms, or the housekeeping assistant polishing the gilt portrait frames. I don’t care who sees me coming out of Khara’s room half-dressed in last night’s clothes. I want to shout it from the rooftops like a lovesick teenager. This feeling’s new too, but at least this one I enjoy.

  As soon as I’ve showered and dressed, I head downstairs to the breakfast room. It’s already packed with people: the bride and groom, tired and smiling, Max’s entire family, plus a handful of palace guests.

  Khara is already seated beside Phoenix, with Claus and Rebekah on her other side. She barely acknowledges my entrance, though I know she’s as hyper-aware of me as I am of her. Her back stiffens, as if she’s trying to be on her best behaviour.

  I grin. This is going to be fun.

  There’s a selection of Mimosas and Bellini cocktails on the sideboard, but I can’t face alcohol just yet so I pour myself a cup of proper filter coffee.

  Max joins me, reaching for one of the peach Bellinis. “You left the party early last night,” he says, giving me the side-eye. Did he see me and Khara on the dance floor last night? Probably. He also probably noticed that we both left around the same time.

  “It wasn’t early. It was some time after midnight.”

  “Exactly. Are you all packed up and ready to leave?”

  I haven’t even started packing, and the charter plane János – my uncle’s private secretary – has arranged for me is scheduled to leave in just a couple of hours. But even though I made a commitment to my uncle that I’d travel today, I can’t think about leaving. Not without hearing Khara’s decision. Not without Khara.

  The thought of going anywhere without her, the thought of not seeing her again, of not touching her again, is a physical ache. Yes, I’m behaving like a spoiled brat with a new toy, but I can’t seem to help myself.

  So I simply shrug in answer. Max gives me another side-eye then moves away to take a seat at the t
able. I follow more slowly, pausing behind Khara’s chair, and I lean forward to kiss her neck, right above where I left that hickey.

  She goes still. So does everyone around us.

  As if nothing just happened, I continue moving around the room to the empty seat beside Max.

  “I make that two weeks and four days.” Max looks at his new wife. “You owe me a hundred euros.”

  I splutter. “You took a bet how long it would take us to …?”

  Phoenix grins cheekily. “I have to admit, I was sure Khara would cave much sooner.”

  Khara still hasn’t moved. Then she chokes out a laugh, releasing all the tension in the room. “You were that confident in Adam’s seduction abilities?”

  “No, I just thought you two would be good together. But I didn’t realise you’d be so pig-headed you’d take this long to see it.” Phoenix sighs. “Max called it.”

  Khara shakes her head, as if denying we’re good together, though we both know that’s a lie. We are absolutely bloody marvellous together, and I can’t wait to do it again. Slowly, she raises her gaze to meet mine, and her eyes are hooded and hungry. Yes, we’re good together, and we both want more.

  The hum of conversation starts up again. We’re no longer the centre of attention.

  “Have you decided?” I mouth to Khara.

  She nods, just once, and my heart leaps. Yes!

  “Decided what?” Phoenix asks, and I curse her for reading my lips.

  Khara clears her throat. “I won’t be coming with you to Waldburg.” She doesn’t look at Phoenix. Her gaze is still focused on me. “I’m going to Erdély. With Adam.”

  “You’re leaving us early?” Phoenix asks. Since she’s still looking at me, Khara doesn’t see the look of triumph in her friend’s eyes. I reach under the table to kick Phoenix’s shin, and she looks contrite. “I hear it’s a great place for outdoor activities,” she says conversationally. “Hiking, kayaking, camping.” She glances at Max. “Perhaps we should plan a holiday there sometime.”

  Then she looks at me, her meaning clear. She expects to visit me there when I make it my new home. I shake my head. I’m not committing to anything.

  A footman circles the table, offering fresh drinks, and I take a Mimosa, the sweet-tart taste refreshing. Khara sticks to plain orange juice, I note. Since this is a celebratory breakfast, there’s cake.

  “It’s a Baumkuchen,” Rebekah says as slices are offered around. “A multi-layered honey and almond cake that’s a tradition at German weddings. It’s a gift from my café in Waldburg.”

  The café where Phoenix was working when she met Max. Or at least that’s the official story. But I remember something Khara let slip – she was there when they met. This is her first trip outside the US. Which means that Max and Phoenix met for the first time in the States. In Vegas. Why keep that a secret?

  “Cake for breakfast! I could get used to this.” Phoenix laughs and casts a coy look at her new husband. “Perhaps we should get married more often.”

  It’s that coy look that slots everything into place. What’s the one thing Vegas is best known for after gambling? I glance at Khara for confirmation, but she refuses to meet my eye.

  Bingo! Max and Phoenix were married in Vegas. Which means they were already married before she arrived in Waldburg. Before he became archduke. I laugh out loud, earning a few odd looks.

  They’ve been married for at least a year already.

  ***

  I’m used to using my trust fund to seduce women. Expensive gifts, first class travel, the best Champagne … But since all those things are more likely to remind Khara of the huge disparity between our lives, I can’t pull any of my usual tricks. I cancel the charter plane and instead book us two seats on a regular scheduled flight into Graz, Austria’s second largest city, which is the nearest airport to Erdély. It’s a small plane, and there’s no first class or even business class, so for more than an hour and a half I’m forced to fold myself into a cramped seat.

  We left Neustadt amid a rain storm, but arrive to a Graz that’s bathed in golden evening light. When we finally leave the small airport it’s early evening already, and we’ve missed the last train of the day to Erdély, so we take a taxi to a hotel the taxi driver recommends – an art hotel with minimalist decor which overlooks the river. I’m not sure what I expected of the town, but it’s charming, with cobbled streets and quaint Baroque mixed in with ultra-modern architecture. The hotel is a short walk from the historic city centre, so after we check in we wander hand-in-hand through the streets, taking in the sights on our way to dinner. This city is surprisingly hipster, full of trendy coffee shops and art galleries.

  To reach our restaurant we take a glass-roofed funicular up the side of the Schlossberg, the hilltop fortress overlooking the city. We dine on a romantic cliff-edge terrace, above the rooftops, with the city lights spread out like a carpet beneath us. I only whip out my credit card to pay when Khara slips away to the ladies’ room.

  “That was certainly different from our first lunch together at the Landmark Café,” she says as we walk down the two hundred and sixty steps carved out of the stone cliff to the square below.

  “Yup. This time you didn’t have your nose stuck in a book all the way through the meal.”

  “I was avoiding you,” she admits ruefully.

  I laugh. “I guessed.”

  “And you aren’t trying to impress me with your wealth now.”

  “Nope. I’ve found a much better way to impress you.” I pull her to a stop in the middle of the crowded square, tucking my hands into the back pockets of her jeans to pull her close. Then I kiss her, and the crowd of rowdy tourists and students parts around us, laughing and cheering. Loud music thumps from a nightclub and a distant siren cracks the night, but it’s nothing more than a blur. My whole world is this woman who tastes of caramel and the local blue gin. When she sighs against my mouth I cannot get her back to the privacy of our hotel room soon enough.

  ***

  The train journey between Graz and Erdély is only an hour and a half, winding through lush countryside – mountains and woodland and, once we cross the border into Erdély, a surprising number of vineyards. Khara spends most of the time glued to the view outside the windows while I catch up on work emails. I have to admit, though, that the scenery is stunning.

  It’s only when we reach the quaint station in the main town of Arenberg that I discover the flaw in my plan. By arriving unannounced, we have no transport to the palace. We can hardly hail a taxi and ask the driver to take us to the palace’s front door. I’ll have to phone the palace to send a car for us.

  We step out onto the pavement, where tables from the station’s café spill out into the sunshine, and I look around at the town which could one day be my home, if I say yes to Lajos. It’s certainly picturesque. The buildings clustered around the square in front of us are multicoloured, some part timber-framed, and all painted with intricate folk patterns. It’s also very provincial. There isn’t a single building over three or four storeys high.

  “It’s beautiful,” Khara murmurs, her voice awed.

  I’m less impressed.

  I glance towards the taxi rank, where a queue of cars waits, and notice an Uber pick-up sign. At least some modern-day conveniences have made it past the ring of mountains.

  A car pulls up at the kerb and the driver jumps out, gesticulating towards us. He’s middle-aged, tall and long-limbed, and he speaks in rapid Erdélian, too fast for me to understand, but I catch my name.

  “Yes, I’m Adam Hatton,” I answer. Though Uncle Lajos assured me this is an easygoing place, I have no idea what local sentiment is towards the royal family.

  To my intense relief, he grins and switches into English. “You need a lift to the palace? I’m going that way.”

  I do not plan to jump into a stranger’s car but, before I can politely decline, Khara gives the man a bright smile. “Thank you, that would be lovely.”

  “American?” He
beams back at her. “We don’t get many Americans here. I’m István. I run a bar in town, next to the court house.”

  “Khara.” She shakes the man’s outstretched hand, then I reluctantly help him load our bags into the boot. He insists we sit in the back as if this were a taxi, but since he then spends most of the drive weaving in and out between other cars and pointing out various landmarks, all the while looking over his shoulder to chat to Khara, I wish he hadn’t.

  “That way is the town of Veldes, which was a popular spa during Victorian times.” István takes his hand off the wheel to indicate the way. “Visitors came from all across Europe. There’s a new luxury spa resort. You should visit it while you’re here.”

  We leave the town centre, passing office buildings, a school house and a small hospital. That’s when the palace becomes visible. It stands on a hill overlooking the Arenberg valley, against a backdrop of forested hillside.

  Khara gasps and leans forward in her seat. “Is that it? It’s a real fairy tale castle!”

  Unlike Neustadt’s elegant Baroque palace, this is a nineteenth century Neo-Gothic castle, complete with steep roofs and at least half a dozen turrets. The lower floors are made of stone, the upper floors are timber-framed.

  The road becomes a single lane winding through a residential neighbourhood, with chalet-like houses on one side and meadows of grazing sheep on the other. We pass through tall iron gates that stir a vague memory from my childhood, and sweep up the driveway. István drops us at the foot of the grand stone steps that lead up to the front door and unloads our suitcases. Then he shakes our hands, invites us to stop by his bar and is off down the drive, tooting his horn in farewell. I head up the steps to ring the doorbell. This is so far from Westerwald’s formal dignity that I can’t quite wrap my head around it.

  At least the door is opened by a butler dressed in a formal black suit, who looks like he’d belong just as easily in Hartham Manor. He ushers us into a drawing room, a bright sunny room with French doors that open onto the wide terrace overlooking the meadows separating the palace from the town. When he leaves us alone, I blow out a breath. This was a seriously bad idea. What the hell was I thinking dragging Khara off to this backwater?