The Crown Jewels Boxed Set (A Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy Series)

by Melanie Summers

  “I don’t know. I’m just wondering.”

  “Why?”

  “Why aren’t you answering the question?” I sit up and tuck the sheet under my armpits.

  “I did answer, which only led to you asking again. My Spidey senses are tingling right now, which means you’ve likely got a hell of a whammy queued up, and I’d rather get out ahead of it, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t have a whammy coming your way. I was just curious.” I have a sip of water, and when I look at him, the expression on his face calls me on my evasiveness. Sighing, I say, “I saw an old photo of you and Brooke today online. It kind of bothered me.”

  He shrugs. “She’s just a friend. You know that.”

  “Yes, but has she always been in the friend zone?”

  “Of course she has, but even if she had been more to me at one point, would it really matter now? You have exes, so do I.”

  “I know it shouldn’t bother me, but—”

  “It does anyway?” He grins at me. “Ms. Sharpe, are you a little bit jealous?”

  Rolling my eyes, I say, “Not jealous. More like needing to have some assurance.”

  Arthur purses his lips for a second, then says, “Explain, please.”

  “We’ve only known each other for seven months. I guess I found myself curious about whether you’ll be…” Oh, shit. How do I say this without saying it?

  He raises one eyebrow. “A cheating bastard?”

  “I was going to say faithful.”

  “I’m really surprised you feel the need to ask that. It’s a little insulting, actually.”

  “I’m not trying to insult you…” What am I trying to do?

  “No, of course not. You’re merely insinuating that you’re not sure if I’ll cheat on you or not.” His smile is gone now.

  “Well, it’s not like we’ve ever discussed the matter of fidelity.”

  “Is it negotiable?”

  My head snaps back. “What? No, of course not.”

  “Why discuss it if it’s not negotiable?”

  My muscles tense up. “People do discuss things that aren’t negotiable. It’s part of getting to know someone. And I’m pretty sure we should really know each other if we’re going to get married. However, the fact that you have found a way to avoid answering the question is honestly a bit alarming.”

  “Avoided the question? I’m simply pointing out the fact that the question itself is unnecessary in hopes of putting to rest any other ridiculous accusations disguised as questions.” He sets his water down on the night table and opens the bag of crisps.

  “I’m not stupid, you know. You can’t use your Jedi mind trickery to make me forget that you still haven’t answered the question.”

  His eyes hardened. “Fine. I won’t cheat on you. Next topic: are you going to murder me in my sleep one day?”

  “What? That’s a horrible thing to ask me!”

  “Oh, you’re avoiding the question. Must mean that you’re thinking of doing it…” He pops a chip into his mouth and maintains eye contact while he chews.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “The smug chewing. Don’t do that. I don’t like it.”

  “Smug chewing?” he asks, looking far too amused for my liking.

  “You knew exactly what you were doing with that crisp.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You know what? I’m not going to sit here being smugly chewed at.” I stand and cross the room, picking up my knickers and sliding them on. I pluck my bra off the lamp shade and stick my arms through the straps furiously.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” I jam my sweater over my head, and I’m now standing in my socks and cardigan, having forgotten my T-shirt and jeans in my desire to flee.

  “It looks to me like you’re getting dressed and quite possibly preparing to leave, which would seem like a very bad idea given the fact that we’re in the middle of an argument and we won’t see each other for three days.”

  “I think it’s a brilliant idea. It’s exactly what you do when you don’t want to be around a complete arse.” I hunt around until I find my T-shirt, then tug my cardigan up over my head, managing to get my arms tangled in the sleeves. I struggle for a minute, my entire body heating up with irritation and embarrassment. Very elegant, Tessa. Come on, arms, really? Don’t do this right now when I’m trying to make a point.

  Just when I’m starting to feel that panic that sets in when you really have to pee and you can’t get your wet swimsuit off, I feel the sweater being gently lifted off me.

  “I’ve got it, thanks,” I snap.

  “Calm down. I’m just trying to help.”

  “You did not just say that.” I cover myself with the cardigan and glare.

  Arthur rolls his eyes. “Christ. What is it with women and being asked to calm down?”

  “First of all, you didn’t ask. You ordered.” I waggle my finger in front of his nose. “And I’m surprised you don’t know this about me yet, but here’s a news flash for you: I don’t exactly take well to being ordered around.”

  “And I don’t like being accused of something I have not and would never do. So, perhaps you’d do well to apologize rather than getting all high and mighty. This really is not the way to get what you want.”

  “Thanks for the advice! Is that what you read in The Art of War?” I spit out. “Or did you learn that bit of wisdom watching The Godfather?”

  “Wow. Tessa, I’m doing my best to stay calm and be logical about this. I would appreciate it if you could do the same.”

  “Sure, it’s easy for you to stay all calm and logical. You’re not the one having to look at photos of women everyone considers to be much more suitable for your fiancée!” I sigh and look down at Dexter, who is now sniffing along the bed in search of the bag of crisps. He looks up at me with his big black eyes, and I swear the look on his face is suggesting that I calm down. “You know what? I’m just gonna go. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  I hop up and down until I finally have my jeans pulled up, then exit the bedroom to find my suede boots. By the time I’m fully dressed, my anger has drained away, and in its place regret fills my body. I turn to see Arthur in just his jeans, leaning against the door jamb, watching me. The look on his face melts me completely. I sigh and let my shoulders drop. “I don’t want to go.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing…I’m just really scared. There’s about five million people who don’t want us to be together, and only two people I know for sure who do. And now there’s the I Hate Tessa Club…”

  His eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”

  “On Twitter. It started the night we got engaged. #BrookeIsBetter.”

  “What? How the fuck did I not hear about this?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve been pretending it’s not happening, which includes not telling you about it.”

  “Oh, Christ. Come here, you.” He holds out his arms to me.

  “Are you sure you want me to?”

  “Very much. I need to hold you until you forget all about those ugly people.”

  I walk to him, and he wraps his arms around me and holds me close to his chest.

  Pressing his lips to my forehead, he holds them there for a long time before saying, “I had no idea you were under this kind of pressure. Is that really the hashtag? Brooke Is Better?”

  “Yes,” I groan.

  Arthur sighs. “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with that. People can be fucking awful.”

  “I suppose I deserve it. I spent years being one of those awful people.”

  “No, you—”

  I look up at him with pursed lips. “It’s okay, Arthur. You can admit it.”

  “Okay, so you were pretty much the most awful of the bunch,” he says with a hint of a smile. “But you more than made up for all of that. Is it too
much to ask for the rest of the nation to forgive and forget it?”

  “I think it may be,” I say. “We’re going to have to accept the fact that a lot of people—in fact, most people—won’t approve of our relationship or understand it. Quite possibly for a very long time.”

  “Which means it’s even more imperative that we believe in us.”

  We hold each other for a deliciously long time. He rubs my back with one hand, and the feeling is so hypnotic, I find myself melting in his arms. “I believe in us, Arthur. I do. I guess I just let them get to me today.”

  “Promise me one thing,” he says.

  “Anything.”

  “That you’ll come to me straightaway if you read, see, or hear anything in the news about us that upsets you.”

  “I promise.”

  Planting a kiss on my head, he says, “Good. It’s the only way we’re going to get through this together.”

  “Okay. Deal. I also promise I’ll never murder you in your sleep.”

  “Aww. Thank you, baby. Same here.”

  SIX

  Twitter Battles are the New Duels

  Arthur

  “Welcome to ABNC’s Royal Wedding Watch. I’m Veronica Platt, reporting live. There’s more news from Valcourt Palace today. Giles Bigly joins us live from just outside the palace gates.”

  “Good morning, Veronica.”

  “It looks chilly out there today, Giles.” Veronica smiles.

  “Yes. Quite.” A bitter expression crosses his face. “I think I’ll just get the reporting done so I can get back inside.”

  “Excellent.”

  “We’ve got a big report today on the upcoming wedding. Prince Arthur has broken his silence on Twitter today about speculation that he and his fiancée, Tessa Sharpe, are expecting. The tweet says, ‘No need to send baby gifts just yet. Absolutely no reason for Tessa and me to marry quickly other than being madly in love.’”

  Veronica nods and gives a thoughtful look into the camera. “Interesting. What do you make of that, Giles?”

  Giles freezes for a moment, then says, “She’s not pregnant.”

  ****

  I hate to admit it, but I’ve done something rather foolish. I’ve let my sense of protectiveness overrule my sense of intelligence and have started my own secret Twitter account with the handle @WeLoveTessa and #TessaIsTops. I know it’s not terribly creative, but I think it should get the point across. The problem is, one can’t just start a Twitter account aimed at demolishing the #BrookeIsBetter movement and then leave it unattended.

  No, once you engage in this form of online fighting, you must be constantly vigilant, ever at the ready with a clever retort and irrefutable evidence to oppose one’s enemy. Unfortunately, in this particular case, my enemy seems to have nothing better to do with his—or, most likely, her—time. Oh, I know you’ll say, ‘That’s a little sexist, Arthur,’ but let’s be really honest. I’m Avonia’s most eligible bachelor, which means there are more than a few ladies in the kingdom whose wishful thinking may have gotten away from them. One of them was bound to overreact and believe she can ‘be the difference’ between me tying the knot or remaining single long enough to find her standing alone in the spring rain and rushing to her to pledge my instant and undying love.

  ‘But Arthur, why would she want to point out that Brooke Beddingfield is better?’

  Because she knows I don’t have any interest in Brooke, so she can use Brooke as a pawn in her little game to get Tessa out of the way. Well, I have news for you, @IHateTessa. It’s not going to work. I’m not going to change my mind even if you tweet every hour, which you seem to do.

  So, now I’m stuck in a ridiculous battle of wits that takes up time I don’t have. And given the fact that I obviously must keep this endeavor a secret from absolutely everyone—so please keep it between us—I cannot enlist the help of Vincent or any of the other staff in this regard. So, I find myself sneaking off with my phone whenever I get a notification that the @IHateTessa person has tweeted something new. Most of the time, I end up using the excuse that I need to use the restroom, which has set off certain alarm amongst my staff, who have more than once in the past three days suggested we call the doctor to examine me. This morning, I found a pamphlet on my desk about prostate issues, which I can assure you I do not have. So, my idiotic plan is not only taking up massive quantities of time I don’t have, it is also quite likely to lead to me bending over and coughing if I’m not careful.

  At the moment, I’m meant to be reading over the fourth draft of a rather contentious trade agreement between Avonia and Spain. However, instead I’m in a three-way Twitter fight with some douche who calls himself @KingSlayer99 and @IHateTessa. I don’t know who will emerge victorious in this little battle, but I can say without hesitation we’re all the losers here.

  A knock at the door interrupts me while I’m thinking up the perfect retort. I quickly set my phone down and pick up my pen, pretending I’ve been working on the agreement this entire time. “Come in.”

  When I look up, I see my father standing in front of me, a bored look on his face. He’s just returned from two weeks in Singapore, so he’s sporting a tan.

  “When did you get back?” I ask.

  “This morning. Heard you got engaged while I was gone.”

  “Yes, I did.” I turn my attention back to the paper—a little power play I learned from him.

  He crosses the room to the drink cart under the window and pours himself a scotch. “You didn’t think you should clear that with me first?”

  “If I had thought that, I would have done it.”

  “I suppose there’s no way to talk you out of this, is there?”

  “No more than I can talk you out of that glass of Oban in your hand.”

  Tipping back the drink, my father has a big swig. “It’s a mistake, you know.”

  “You mean like threatening to cut all ties with Spain and calling their Prime Minister a mealy-mouthed worm?” My phone starts vibrating, and I know it’s one of those #IHateTessa twats. My fingers itch to respond.

  “He’s a bell-end, and you know it.”

  “They’re one of our biggest trading partners, and you’ve really screwed the wool exporters on this one.” I consider bringing up his choice of bodyguard for Tessa, just to let him know I’m onto him, but that would be like admitting I’m threatened by Xavier—which I am not in any way, shape, or form.

  “You’re not smart enough to change the subject on me. We were talking about your completely unsuitable bride-to-be.”

  “She’s in no way unsuitable, and she is not a topic I’m willing to discuss with you, so if there’s nothing else, I’ll get back to trying to sort out your latest faux pas.”

  “She’ll never make it, Arthur. She’s not cut from the right cloth, and you know it. You’re setting yourselves up to fail miserably.”

  “You are not qualified to make that claim. You’ve spent all of one minute with her, and you know nothing about her.”

  “I know everything I need to—she’s cheap, common, and clumsy. Now, it’s time to stop thinking with your pecker and call this off already.”

  I stand, my fists balled up, the blood coursing through my veins so hard, it pounds in my ears. I cross the room in three steps and stand, towering over him, realizing for the first time how much smaller he is. “I have never wanted to punch someone the way I do you right now.”

  “That’s because you know I’m right,” my father scoffs. “She’s not the one you marry. She’s the side action.”

  A knock at the door saves me from what I was about to do. Vincent walks into my office, staring down at a folder he’s holding. “Your Highness, I’ve got those forms for you to sign.”

  He looks up, sees my father with me, and stops. “Sorry, Your Majesty. I had no idea you were in here.”

  “That’s fine. I was just leaving.” Father glares at me for a second, then says, “I trust you’ll do as
I’ve asked.”

  I lower my voice and say, “Then you are mistaken. I think you’d do well to remember I take on the lion’s share of the actual work of running this kingdom. If I stop, you won’t be able to spend most of the year globe-hopping and doing…whatever it is you do while you’re away.”

  My father sneers. “Is that a threat?”

  “Call it a reality check.”

  Shrugging, my father puts the glass down on the cart. “It’ll never work. The sooner you realize it, the less you’ll humiliate yourself.”

  I turn on my heel and walk to my desk. “The draft of the trade agreement is one hundred- and-twelve pages long. It’s taken me all morning to get to page seven.” I pick it up and offer it to him. “I’m sure Vincent will be happy to brief you on what you need to know in order to make the necessary changes.”

  My father glances at the large bundle of pages but makes no move to take it from me.

  Vincent chimes in just at the right moment. “I’d be more than happy to help, Your Majesty. You’ll need to clear your schedule for approximately ninety-two minutes in order for me to walk you through it.”

  “Thank you, no,” he says to Vincent, his eyes staying trained on me. “I shall leave this in the prince’s capable hands.”

  We stare each other down for a moment, then he breaks eye contact first and I know I’ve won. He gives me a slight nod, then walks out of the office, leaving Vincent and me alone. I grin at my assistant. “How did you know?”

  “I’d be no good at my job if I wasn’t able to anticipate likely events.”

  “Have I told you lately I’d be in serious trouble without you?”

  “You don’t have to, Your Highness. It’s enough that you know it.”

  SEVEN

  The Tiny Nasty Man

  Tessa

  I never thought I’d say this, but having a bodyguard is kind of a pain in the arse. Especially when said bodyguard likes to think he’s also being paid to provide morality instructions. Today, for example, he knows I’m blowing off work so I can attend the first of what I’m sure will be many wedding planning sessions at the palace. He happened to be not only driving, but also eavesdropping from the front seat when I phoned Hazel, pretending to be sick. I couldn’t very well ask for permission to take the day off when she’s still ‘not at all upset with me, so don’t worry’ about the fake pregnancy scare.