He stiffens, as if this is way more intimate than what they did at the lagoon. But then he relaxes, taking her hand in his as he leads her down a charming elevated trail on a wooden walkway adorned with old timey lanterns and hanging garlands. It winds through a flower garden, boasting magnificent specimens of Victoire’s famous orchids, many of which are only found on these islands.
“There is nothing to be embarrassed about. As I said…”
“I know, I know, you’re the soon-to-be-king. You can do whatever you want.”
“Oui,” he answers with a smug tone. “And so may you.”
If only that were true…
Talia cringes, thinking about the conversation they’ll be having Monday morning. After the coronation ball, when her four weeks are officially up.
They walk together in silence, and Talia admires the flowers. If only Papy could see this. He loves flowers, especially orchids, but he’s never had a flower garden of his own because he’s had to use every inch of his farmland for practical purposes. Maybe she’ll get him a plant, or have one sent to him before she leaves. She’ll have to ask Bernard to check the laws around agricultural gifts from island to island.
They stop at a bamboo railing at the end of the path. It looks out over a rocky beach, and the black sky is bright with stars. Their clasped hands hang between them.
Aldrich nods at the flowers. “We will use the same landscapers to decorate the resorts we plan to build on Terre d’Or.”
She tenses, releasing his hand. Because suddenly, this feels less like a walk, and more like a warning of things to come.
“We…” she says, not liking the taste of the word. “I’m familiar with the royal we, but I really don’t think it applies in this case.”
“They do wonderful work with native plants,” he continues, ignoring her. “In fact, the resort plans will put some of the world’s most beautiful gardens on our most precious islands.”
“Yes, they’ll be full of pretty things…” Talia says, caressing the underside of a lily that reaches out to her. “Which the locals won’t be able to see very often, since they’ll be inside working most of the day.”
“I’ve been studying the situation on Terre d’Or. Most of the farmers are either itinerant or struggling. They work very hard for very little in return. Even if the government let them keep their farmland, nearly everyone on the island would continue to live an impoverished life.”
Talia thinks of her meager suppers with Papy. The tin house he lives in, with no indoor plumbing and faulty electricity.
“It is true the older farmers might be forced to do unskilled, poorly paid jobs in the resort complexes,” Al continues. “But building a tourism industry on the island will make it possible for the younger people to thrive, and the census indicates there are a lot of young people.”
“Of course. It’s a farming community, after all,” Talia says automatically.
“Bon. I just want you to know I’ve thought long and hard about the royal construction plan. It is not only for profit. It is for the people, too. And I hope I can help your grandfather come to understand that.”
But Talia gets the feeling this conversation is less about her grandfather, and more about her. It’s Al’s attempt to make her understand his plans for Terre d’Or will continue no matter what.
“I see,” she says. “I don’t expect what happened in the lagoon just now to change your mind about anything regarding Terre d’Or. But I also hope you know I’m on the side of the islanders with this. I’ll continue helping them as best I can, even if I know they can’t win against you.”
He gives her a quizzical look. “Non, Talia. That is not how I want this to go between us. What I am trying to say is—”
“Highness, Highness, there you are!” Bernard calls out, splitting the lush night with his urgent call.
And though still unsettled by their conversation, Talia schools her expression back to a smile to greet Al’s private secretary. “Hey, Bernard!” she says cheerily. “Are you excited for the coronation ball? I can’t believe it’s tomorrow!”
“Nor I,” Bernard answers testily. “There is still so much to do. And Sir, we must rehearse your King’s Gift speech with the band.”
She’s seen Al bat Bernard’s often overly sincere listing of duties off with little more than a wave, but this time he nods gravely. “I understand. Talia, I’ve been meaning to ask…” He touches her arm. “You did so much of the work on this. Would you honor me by coming up on stage when I announce the recipient?”
“Sure,” she says, remembering when she first agreed to help him, and how they started narrowing down the candidates right then and there. Which leads her to recall their original deal. “We’ll celebrate the coronation, and then on Monday we can discuss my return home. Like you promised.”
Aldrich’s eyes dim, but his smile doesn’t falter. “Of course. You have helped me tremendously, and I will uphold my side of the bargain. And with that, I shall bid you, bonne nuit.”
He kisses her on the cheek and accompanies Bernard back to the palace. Not in the direction of his chambers, but towards the main staircase.
And Talia feels certain there must have been an exchange of information between the two men, because while Matthis follows him, Tyson stays behind with her as Talia watches him go.
As if to make sure she doesn’t follow.
Chapter 21
“Incroyable, vraiment vous êtes incroyable,” Sebastian says, looking down at Talia. “If I hadn’t done it myself, I wouldn’t believe how amazing you look.”
“Thanks.” Talia says with a laughing roll of her eyes.
“Non, mais, you’re ravishing,” he insists. “And we haven’t even put the dress on yet.”
He presses his fingers together under his chin.
Talia tries to smile. It’s true that after three hours with Sebastian, Aleeza, and the Beauty Brigade, Talia looks closer to a princess than the freshly imprisoned grad student she was when they first met.
He’s worked a regal braided bun atop her head, her makeup is on point, and the body scrub and polish they did on her décolleté and upper back makes her skin glow like the harvest moon. They have worked wonders. And it feels like the reveal of one last present when Nelly, Aleeza, and Sebastian unwrap a green gown and present it to her.
The gown was custom made by an island designer, Sebastian explains. The style is wholly Victoire: a cultural blend of the African, Polynesian, and European settlers who colonized the island over the centuries.
The gown is sleeveless, with dropped shoulders and a bustier that perfectly cradles her swelling breasts. Aleeza tugs and pulls at the bodice, fitting every seam into place, while Sebastian steps behind her to do up the buttons. The waistline nestles between her bulging belly and bosom, and the skirt is so full that when looking at herself straight on in the mirror, she can hardly see the bump. Is this intentional? But why would they want to hide her pregnancy?
Talia shakes the thought away. It doesn’t matter either way. She’ll be leaving soon. And besides…
The gown is gorgeous! She moves from side to side, unable to believe she gets to wear something so elegant tonight. Talia sighs at herself in the mirror. It’s perfect.
Then Sebastian drapes a jeweled necklace around her neck.
“Gems from Diamant,” he says, clasping the chain at her nape. Talia’s fingers go to the large pendant at the middle, an emerald surrounded by small diamonds. “Queen Yasmin wore it to Georges-Luc’s coronation ball fifty years ago. It is tradition.”
“It’s…beautiful,” Talia says. “But I can’t wear Queen Yasmin’s jewel—
"Non, non, non,” Sebastian says, cutting off her protest. “The queen, she insists upon this. And you do not want to insult her—not good for your future, girl.”
“I suppose…” she says, thinking of the many mid-morning teas she’s had with Queen Yasmin. She couldn’t see herself at tea tomorrow morning, having to explain why she turned down th
e generous loan of Her Majesty’s necklace. “I’ll be sure thank her for this kind gesture.”
“Time to go,” Nelly calls from the doorway with a clap, as if they’re on a schedule Talia’s not privy to.
When she steps out of her suite, leaving her admiring beauty team behind, Talia finds out the reason for her maid’s urgency.
It’s not Pascal waiting for her in the hallway, but Prince Aldrich. And he looks…well, beyond handsome in an elegant 19th-century naval uniform: a double-breasted navy blue tail coat with epaulets, and bands of gold embroidery tracing the high neck and following the line of the brass buttons. The front closures stop at his waist, and slope down to the tails, revealing form fitting white pants and knee-high leather boots.
Talia stops in her tracks, stunned by how princely he looks.
“Oh good, you’re ready,” Aldrich says, glancing up from his speech cards. He looks again, and takes a step back. “You are…beautiful.”
Her heart flutters beneath the diamond and emerald necklace.
“Thank you,” Talia says, dropping her chin. “You look amazing as well. What…is…?”
“Right, we haven’t had much time to talk about the clothes. In Victoire, it is customary for the king and prince to wear full dress French naval uniforms to all formal events once our service has been completed.”
“Well, it’s very…” she raises her eyebrows, truly impressed. Whoa…who knew how good looking a dress uniform would make him? “It’s very distinguished. Ah, shouldn’t you be down at the ball?”
“I wanted to go over my speech one last time,” he answers with a sheepish grin. “Also I hoped we could walk down together.”
“Walk down together,” she repeats. “But, um, isn’t the press down there?”
She thinks of the million plus times Bernard has all but begged her to sign an NDA and continues, “Are you sure you want to be seen walking in with me?”
“Oui,” he answers with no doubt in his voice whatsoever. “I am.”
He then offers his arm, as if the matter has been decided.
When she hesitates, he says, “Talia, I did not think I would need to beg you to walk with me to my own ball. Je t’en prie.”
“Okay, if you’re sure…” Talia hesitantly wraps her hand around his arm with a nod—only to jump a little when she hears a collective sigh behind her. She looks over her shoulder to see her beauty brigade waving at her like maniacs as she walks down the hallway on Aldrich’s arm.
Funny, other than that one time last night, she’s never walked anywhere beside him. And that was more like a walk of shame back to the castle. This, however, is much, much different.
As they stroll together towards the grand staircase, the castle staff members stop and stand at attention. A few guests have wandered upstairs to mill about on the balconies. They bow or curtsy as the beautiful couple pass, murmuring soft compliments in their wake.
“Magnifique.”
At the bottom of the stairs, a heraldry of horns announces their arrival. They are introduced to the guests in impressive, formal French that Talia only half understands.
Then the music starts, and Aldrich suddenly whisks her onto the dance floor.
One hand in the air, he leads her in a medium-tempo waltz, played by a live string quartet seated at the edge of the dance floor. Talia glides into the rhythm of the dance, trusting her body to trust his, and she somehow doesn’t miss a step.
Who’d have thought she could be so graceful when she’s so very pregnant? All eyes on them, Talia and Aldrich twirl and slide around the dance floor, alone under a soft spotlight until they finish the dance with a gentle dip.
Aldrich grins, bringing his face in awfully close to hers, before straightening up again. Talia remains in his arms, her hands on his chest as the royal guests politely applaud.
After a beat, the string quartet starts up again, playing a minuet Talia recognizes from her childhood violin lessons. Aldrich turns to her, offering his hand for the dance, but before they can move again, a middle-aged gentleman in a fine suit appears beside him.
Talia freezes, recognizing the man as Hervé Charles Eric de Bastille Dumont, the Duke of Diamant, and uncle by marriage of Philomena, Aldrich’s would-be bride. Is he upset about Al dancing with another woman so soon after the announcement that his engagement with Philomena had been cancelled?
“I require an audience,” he tells Aldrich without any greeting whatsoever.
“Not now, uncle,” Aldrich laughs. “I am obviously otherwise engaged.”
Hervé barely spares Talia a glance before insisting, “We must speak now. You have been avoiding me long enough.”
Aldrich glances around the room, irritation clear in his expression. But then says, “Talia, forgive me. My uncle is an impatient man. Would you excuse me for just a moment?”
“Of course,” Talia answers, a little surprised he’d even ask for her permission.
But with one last apologetic look, he leaves with his uncle in one direction, and she goes in the other.
Dancing couples make a path for her as she drifts to the side of the dance floor. But she doesn’t have much time to feel awkward standing alone. Almost as soon as she finds a place to wallflower, Yasmin appears in a flurry of double air kisses and expensive perfume. She’s wearing a strapless, pale blue and silver gown that makes her eyes and hair positively glow.
“Queen Yasmin, thank you so much for the emerald!” Talia exclaims.
“Nonsense, my love! You look marvelous,” she declares. “So much happier than I was when I wore it.”
She’s followed by her own bodyguard, and as if by magic, a waiter appears with two flutes: one filled with champagne, the other with a Victoire Temple, made just for Talia.
“But where is Aldrich? Has my terrible son left you all alone?” Yasmin says, taking a clumsy sip of what can’t possibly be her first flute of champagne.
Talia nods, and the older woman follows her gaze to where Aldrich and Hervé are speaking animatedly in the corner of the ballroom.
“I see. Hervé’s gotten to him,” Yasmin says, her face souring. “My dear brother can be a pill. Especially now, because of the broken engagement. His lovely niece won’t be marrying Aldrich, and he’s unhappy since the union would have insured his stake in the Terre d’Or development project. He stood to earn millions from that project, but now that the wedding is off, he’s out. He’ll just have to get by with the millions he already has!”
Yasmin titters as if millions aren’t a big deal at all, but then she sobers. “I’m afraid he still believes everyone should be as unhappily married as we both were, and that establishing the right business connections is much more important than things like compatibility—or heaven forbid—love.”
Yasmin sighs loudly, then gives Talia a sympathetic look. “But do not worry yourself over my brother, ma chérie. He doesn’t yet know that despite Aldrich’s sterility, the future of our kingdom is secure. Thanks to you, we will not have to put up with his interference in our affairs anymore!”
Talia turns sharply. “Excuse me? What did you say?”
“We won’t have to put up with—”
“Pardon, Your Majesty…I meant the part about Aldrich being sterile,” Talia interrupts.
But before the inebriated queen can reply, a hand tugs on her arm.
“Wait, hold on—” she demands. Only to stop when she sees who’s trying to get her attention.
“Papy?!?! What are you doing here?”
“I be askin’ de same ting, girl,” Gaetan answers, looking very uncomfortable in a tuxedo and white bow tie.
Talia shakes her head. The fluttery, dancing heart under the emerald necklace is now flapping around like a trapped bird. What is going on?
“One minute I sittin’ in trankility, keepin’ to meself. Next ting, big white mainlander at de door. Give me fancy costume, say to put it on, come to de ball.”
Talia frowns. “What mainland Vick?” she asks. He seems to be pointin
g at Matthis.
“Well, de Vick don’ chat to me, no. And you know I can’t bother so I say ok. But look ‘pon dis costume! Ah yeah it so nice, but not worth de coin—” he tugs at his jacket. “One day on de farm, de till gwan to tear it right up.”
“I think you look pretty great, Papy,” Talia says, because it’s true. No matter the chaos surrounding her, she can’t deny her Papy cleans up good.
“Stop girl, this no joke. Why you in boy king’s castle and not de big city? But this tell me why you don’ write Papy like you promise, you know? You littles, with yo putain telephone, you no chat with de old folks. But I tink, me Talia? Me baby gran? She gonna write …”
“Papy! Papy, wait,” she says, grabbing his arm. “Why would Matthis come all the way to Terre d’Or to get you? Did he tell you why he wanted you here?”
Her grandfather’s answer is drowned out by a fanfare of trumpets. And they both look up to see Al taking the stage at the head of the ballroom.
“Thank you all for coming to the Coronation Ball! It is such an honor to see so many old friends, and new, together in one place.” Al pauses for polite applause. “Speaking of new friends…Talia, could you join me please?”
All eyes turn to her, and she walks through the silent ballroom with the manner of a confused deer who has found a large freeway where her simple glen used to be.
“As many of you know, this is the moment when we unveil the recipient of the King’s Gift, our traditional donation to an Iles de la Victoire charity or non-profit organization given by the new king when he comes into the throne. And as many of you might also know, I’m the kind of prince, soon to be king, who likes to buck tradition. So instead of giving one King’s Grant this year, I will be giving two.”
Talia looks at him sharply. Another surprise? But the audience, unaware everything’s going sideways, responds again with polite applause.
And it’s her turn. So as not to keep the audience waiting, she muddles through her confusion to say, “The first grant, in the amount of one million Victoire Francs, will go to the Malaria Awareness and Prevention Association of Victoire, or MAPAV.”
His to Princess Page 14
