Royal Disaster: The Complete Series

by Casey, Ember

  He shakes his head. “I look like a doofus next to you. And I’m never going to pull off the fourteen fork thing. And…” He turns toward me, sliding his arms around my waist. “How am I supposed to keep my hands off you during dinner? That’s a rule, right?”

  “What my father doesn’t see won’t hurt him.” I wink.

  “Ooh, another challenge.” He grins. “I like it.”

  “Good. Then you should escort me to dinner.” I hold out my hand for him to take.

  And he does, sliding it around his elbow exactly as Monsieur Bonnaire showed him earlier.

  “How much time do we have left?”

  I glance over at the clock. “Only about thirty seconds.”

  “Damn.” He rubs his chin. “Not that I’m not up for that particular challenge, but I’d at least want you to have the chance to enjoy yourself, too. Thirty seconds probably isn’t enough time.”

  “You can make it up to me later.” I look up at him. “Now, would you please escort me to dinner?”

  “It would be my honor, Your Highness.” He grins down at me. “I said that right, right? I call you ‘Your Highness,’ don’t I?”

  “Yes.” I look toward the door, not really wanting to make eye contact. I still can’t help but think how unfair all this is—that I still outrank him and that he still has to address me as royalty, at least in front of my family.

  “All right, Your Highness, let us stroll to your family’s meal.”

  “Very elegant.” I smile up at him. “You’re going to do fine.”

  “We’ll see about that, Princess. We’ll see.”

  Pax

  I don’t know how anyone does anything in these stupid suits. This thing is so stiff I can hardly use my elbows or knees. The little buttons jingle as I walk, and the sides of the collar scratch my neck, chaffing me. There’s an itch in the middle of my back, too, but there’s no way I can twist my arm far enough to reach it.

  I try to keep my mood up, but it’s hard, especially since I’m forced to suppress my urge to tell jokes.

  This is going to be the longest dinner of my fucking life. It was already going to be bad enough, but even when I was imagining the worst-case scenario I pictured myself having full use of my arms and legs in my attempt to flee the scene. This was already going to be socially uncomfortable. Now it’s going to be physically uncomfortable, too.

  When we arrive at the dining room, most of the rest of the family is already there. William sends a smile our way, that bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing when he gave Sophia that list of names. He’s on my shit list now.

  Andrew glares at me. So does Nicholas. Fuck me, I’m walking right into a nest of vipers. And the king isn’t even here yet. I start to rub my neck, but the stiff cut of this stupid dinner jacket keeps me from reaching that far. The itch in the middle of my back has gotten even worse, and I glance around the room, wondering if there’s anything I could use as a makeshift back-scratcher. Or maybe I’ll just rub up against that column in the corner the way a bear scratches its back against a tree. How many points will that cost me with the royals?

  William comes over to us. “You look very appropriate, Pax.”

  “Not on purpose,” I reply lightly, taking his outstretched hand. “I guess you people are rubbing off on me.”

  “He’s trying,” Sophia adds. “Aren’t you, Pax?”

  “Yes,” I say through my best fake smile. “I’m trying.”

  William looks like he’s on the verge of laughter. “Just wait until Leo sees you. He’s going to love this.”

  “Great,” I mumble under my breath, still holding my smile. I’m like a sideshow to these people—something to laugh at. I’d rather they think I was an asshole than laugh at me.

  As if on cue, Sophia’s brother Leo enters next with his wife—Elle, wasn’t it?—on his arm. He takes one look at me and bursts out laughing.

  “Whoa, look at this guy,” he says through his laughter. “He looks like one of us.”

  “Doesn’t he?” William says, his grin widening.

  “Looks like you’re doing a good job training this one, Sister,” Leo says to Sophia.

  My hands clench at my sides. “No one is training anyone. I just agreed to wear a stupid suit for dinner. All of you are wearing the same damn thing.”

  Sophia’s hand tightens on my arm. “Language,” she whispers under her breath. Neither William nor Leo seems to care about my language, but her other brothers are still glaring at me. I straighten my shoulders, pretending I don’t care.

  What a load of fuckwads, the whole bunch. But I know I need to control my temper, especially once the king gets here.

  Sophia nudges me toward the long, ornate table.

  “My father will sit at that end,” she points out. “So you’ll sit in that seat, there.”

  Worst seat in the house. But I smile and say, “Sounds great.”

  “You’ll do fine,” William says on my other side. “Just smile and nod and try not to bring up that sex tape.”

  Leo guffaws, and I shoot them both glares before I can stop myself. I’m about to give them a piece of my mind when the king and queen walk through the door.

  Immediately, the room goes quiet. Even Leo stops laughing. All of the children and stop and look toward their royal parents, and I have to admit I’m a little impressed—I consider myself and my sisters to be pretty close to our mom, but even we don’t all go silent with respect when she enters a room. It’s a little creepy, actually.

  The king’s eyes find me immediately, narrowing slightly. He looks me up and down, studying my suit, and he must approve because he doesn’t say anything as he sweeps further into the room. The queen catches my eye, giving me an encouraging smile, but it’s not really that comforting.

  The king strides over to his seat, and the others follow, moving to their places around the table. Sophia nudges me closer to the chair on the king’s right, and she stands behind the one to my right. I start to sit down, but she grabs my wrist, stopping me.

  Oh, that’s right. No one else is allowed to sit before the king does. I remember that much from my lesson this afternoon.

  The king noticed that I almost fucked up. He keeps his eyes on me as he sits, stiff-backed, in the ornate chair at the head of the table. After he’s seated, no one else moves until the queen does, and then everyone takes their places together.

  This is definitely creepy, I think. And for some reason I agreed to be a part of this.

  When I glance at my wife, though, I remember why. This is for Sophia. I just need to keep repeating that to myself over and over and over again.

  The king raises his hand, and instantly, servants appear with trays of food. I swear, it’s like they popped right out of the walls. They descend on the table, placing covered dishes in front of each of us. A silver platter full of fruit and another of fresh bread are placed in the center of the table.

  I guess this isn’t all bad, I think, inhaling the delicious scent of whatever is hidden beneath my platter. I literally get to eat like a king tonight. I just need to keep my mouth shut, and maybe this thing won’t be a complete disaster.

  Once everyone’s been served, the servants come by and lift the lids off the dishes in front of us. Underneath is an entire chicken—I think—on top of a fancy-looking, creamy grain of some sort. A few steamed leafy greens are curled along the edge of the plate.

  It smells fucking amazing. I almost grab my fork and dig right in, but then I remember that no one is allowed to touch their fork until the king does.

  I’m pretty sure he knows exactly how hungry I am because he takes his sweet time reaching for his silverware. I swear, it takes him a full five minutes to take his napkin, flutter it, lay it gently across his lap, then reach for his fork. His fingers drift over the line of forks, as if he can’t decide which he wants to pick up, and I manage to bite my tongue before I can crack a joke about how even he can’t seem to keep all the silverware straight.

  After what
feels like an eternity, he finally begins to eat. I grab my fork so fast I nearly knock it off the table, and Sophia glances at me out of the corner of her eye.

  I’ve got to be more careful. I start to dig in, but just as I do, a servant leans over me with a bottle of wine. It’s only sheer luck that keeps me from knocking the bottle right out of his hand as he pours me a glass. Frowning, I sit back in my chair, back straight, and wait for him to finish so I can start eating.

  Finally, he moves on to Sophia. Thank God. I lean forward again, scooping up a big bite of chicken, and it’s halfway to my mouth before the king speaks.

  “How were your travels, Mr. Donovan?” he says. “Uneventful, I presume?”

  With a silent curse, I lower my fork. I can’t eat when His Royal Snootiness wants to make small talk.

  “Great,” I say. “Completely uneventful.” Satisfied with myself, I raise my fork again. This time I make it sixty percent of the way before the king speaks.

  “I trust your accommodations are up to your standards?” he asks me, his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s.

  “They’re great,” I say, lowering my fork again. “The best accommodations I’ve ever had.”

  See? I tell myself. I can do this. Easy peasy.

  “And I see my daughter has found you some appropriate clothing,” the kings says.

  Fuck, this dude is never going to let me eat. My stomach is starting to grumble audibly.

  “She did,” I reply with a forced smile. I can’t wait to get out of this fucking suit.

  The king picks at his food with his fork, and I see my chance. I quickly raise my fork and shove the huge bite of chicken into my mouth.

  “Tell me a little about your family,” the king says, the moment the food is stuffed in my mouth.

  Are you fucking serious? I start to chew, but the piece of chicken is too big to swallow quickly. Meanwhile, the king is staring at me, those sharp eyes judging me silently, watching me try to choke down my food.

  “Father,” Sophia pipes up, “You already know about Pax’s family.”

  “Not from his own lips,” the king replies, his eyes still on me.

  I quickly swallow the rest of my bite, and it slides heavily down my throat. “My family is great. My mom lives just outside Joshua Tree National Park in California. And I’ve got three younger sisters, all grown.”

  I think that satisfies the king, at least for now. He drops his eyes to his plate for the moment, taking another bite, and I’m relieved to get the chance to eat a little more. I glance at the rest of the table, and I’m surprised to find several of Sophia’s brother’s watching me. William and Leo are both grinning. Ol’ Andy looks just as stern as always. Only Nicholas is looking down at his plate, but I’m sure he has plenty of opinions, too.

  Let them judge me. I’ve got this.

  But little do I know the king’s challenge is only just beginning.

  Sophia

  It’s clear that the more flustered Pax becomes, the more of the etiquette lessons he forgets.

  Pax shoves another huge forkful of food into his mouth.

  I lean over, trying to be as nonchalant as I can. I whisper into his ear. “Small bites.”

  “Whispering is never allowed at the table, Sophia.”

  The way my father scolds me makes me feel like a child again, and I’m sure my cheeks flush a bright red.

  It isn’t even a second later that my father turns his attention back to my husband. “What sorts of things did you enjoy doing as a boy?”

  “Hm?” Pax is trying to force down the bite, chewing as quickly as possible. He takes a long drink from his goblet, gulping down both the wine and food in a single swallow. “As a boy?”

  “Yes, as a boy.” The expression on my father’s face is unreadable, as usual. “What activities did you participate in?”

  I’m not sure where this conversation is headed, but I’ve no doubt it’s a test of some sort.

  I open my mouth to speak—to at least get the attention off Pax for a moment—but he answers my father before I can respond.

  “Lots of things. I played baseball and football, same as most of the kids at my school.” He shrugs. “I was pretty good. My mom made me quit when I was in middle school. She thought I was going to get my head bashed in. She was probably right—”

  He’s interrupted with the clearing of William’s throat. “I’m sure you must have done things other than sports, didn’t you?”

  My father shoots William a glare that could melt ice.

  “Oh. Right. No sports talk at the table.” Pax forces a smile. “Well, I learned to play the guitar when I was about twelve. Taught myself, mostly.”

  “Ah, that’s right. I seem to always forget you’re a musician.” The way my father says the word makes it clear exactly how he feels about Pax’s profession. “Our Sophia was also quite a musician. She could have easily been a professional flutist.”

  “I sincerely doubt that, Father.” I take a small sip of my wine, almost afraid to put anything else in my mouth for fear of not being able to interrupt this interrogation if I need to.

  “Oh, you’re too modest, Daughter.” He turns to my mother. “Isn’t she, Penelope? She was one of the finest musicians I’ve had the pleasure of hearing in my life.”

  Something flickers in my mother’s eyes, but she also doesn’t challenge my father. “She was certainly talented.” She nods in my direction. “And she’s always been modest about her many talents.”

  “Haven’t we all?” Leo snickers from the other side of the table.

  Elle shoots him a look from beside him that quiets him immediately.

  “Sophia was gifted at many things. She was also quite gifted in the art of forensics. Something she should have pursued in college.” My father looks at me, though I still can’t read his expression or tell what it is he means to accomplish with this line of questioning. “You could still attend graduate school. Wouldn’t you agree, Sophia?”

  Pax grins over at me. “Forensics? I never would have taken you for the crime scene investigator type.”

  Leo must have been taking a sip from his glass because water shoots across the table as he snorts.

  The way he winces a second later makes me believe Elle has slammed her foot down on his under the table.

  “What my father means is that Sophia was very good at…debate. It’s common to mistake the words, especially depending on the usage.” He turns to our mother. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I certainly would.” My mother speaks through gritted teeth. “A very common mistake, Edmund.”

  “Hm.” My father’s brow barely flicks up. “I would think an educated man would—”

  “It’s hardly fair to insinuate my husband is uneducated, Father.” I take a long sip from my glass as I realize I’ve committed the ultimate sin—interrupting my father.

  My father stares at me for a long moment, but ultimately doesn’t acknowledge my transgression. “I suppose there might be many ways to interpret the word educated. Just as there seem to be several ways to interpret the word musician.”

  “Have you listened to any of it, Father?” I give the man my sweetest smile. “Any of Pax’s music?”

  “I can’t say that that particular…music is quite to my taste.” My father takes a bite of his dinner, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. “Though, the music you played was quite appropriate for a member of our family.”

  “His songs make people cry. I don’t think anyone ever cried but me while I was playing the flute.”

  My comment draws another snort from Leo.

  “Did you have something to add, Leopold? I don’t seem to remember your piano lessons going very well.”

  “Leopold had his own gifts. Just as all our children have, Edmund.” My mother isn’t even eating. Her hands remain folded in her lap. “I don’t think it’s particularly fair—”

  “You say you were self-taught?” My father cocks his head in Pax’s direction. “And have you ever had profess
ional training?”

  “I…no.” Pax’s cheeks have stained a deep shade of crimson. “I get by fine, though.”

  “There’s a difference between ‘getting by’ and having a real profession, though, wouldn’t you say?” My father takes another bite of his dinner, pausing while he finishes chewing. “An untrained man can hardly be called a professional at anything.”

  The table is silent for a long moment.

  “Is that true though, Father? In all cases? Surely there have been great artists who were not professionally trained.” William looks like he’s almost as embarrassed as Pax.

  “You have an example, William?”

  Nicholas is the one who answers. “Vincent van Gogh had hardly any training. Henri Rousseau. Paul Gaugin. To name a few.”

  Pax’s eyes widen, and he blinks a few times toward Nicholas.

  “Of course, there’s also Maurice Utrillo. And one should never forget Grandma Moses.”

  My father frowns, his gaze narrowing as he looks down at his plate, spearing another piece of meat on his fork.

  A slow smile spreads over Pax’s face. “Dinner is delicious, Queen Penelope. I never knew chicken could taste this good.”

  Another snort comes from Leo, and William closes his eyes for a moment.

  “I’m delighted you’re enjoying the game hen, Patrick.” She smiles. “Pax. That is your legal name now, isn’t it?”

  Pax stares at her for a moment, nodding slowly. “It is. I had it legally changed a few years ago. It was what everyone was calling me, anyway.”

  My mother smiles at him. “And your mother? How did she feel about the change?”

  He shrugs. “She still calls me Patrick. You can, too. It doesn’t bother me either way.”

  I reach under the table and squeeze his leg. He’s doing better than I ever could have imagined.

  My father looks back over at Pax. “I would think that the utmost disrespect to a parent, wouldn’t you, Penelope?” He tilts his head toward her. “After all the time parents spend choosing the perfect names for their children?”