by Jillian Dodd
“Yes, we do,” Lizzie says. “Because, after today, all will be right in our worlds.”
“My mother would have loved to come,” Daniel says softly. “But, since she couldn’t, Grandma Spear decided she needed to be here in her place.”
“Are you serious?”
“He’s serious,” Grandma Spear says, making a grand entrance. “When a young woman gets married, it’s very important a wise old woman is present—you know, in case she has questions regarding her first night as man and wife.”
Daniel and Lizzie stifle giggles, and I laugh through my tears.
“All right,” Blair says with a clap, “we’ve got to get Huntley ready. Ladies, you are welcome to join us.”
“What about me?” Daniel asks.
“We suggest that you join Lorenzo in his quarters,” Grandmother Spear says. “We can’t have a fox in the henhouse.”
As soon as Daniel exits the room, Lorenzo’s mother snaps a finger, causing a team of waiters to appear, handing out flutes of champagne.
“I’d like to make a toast to my future daughter-in-law,” the queen says, raising her glass in the air. “To Huntley. May the sun shine upon your days. May the stars brighten your nights. May the ocean breeze caress you kindly. And may the sea match the depths of your love.”
After the toast, a door at the back of the queen’s study is opened, revealing a massive dressing room. In the center of it is my dress in all its wondrous glory.
“Oh my gosh, Huntley,” Allie says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful dress.” She slings her arm through my elbow as we circle it together. “Look at all those flowers running down the skirt and spilling onto the train. And don’t even get me started on all the crystals. Although the top is surprisingly sheer and slightly risqué.”
“I’m glad you like it,” I say with a huge grin on my face.
“Like it?” Blair says, “Huntley, that dress is going to make history today. It really hasn’t sunk in yet, has it?”
“Yes, it has. I can’t wait to marry Lorenzo.”
“I’m talking about the fact that you are marrying the king of one of the wealthiest countries in the world,” Blair explains. “Today is the day you will officially become a fashion icon. Your wedding is going to be televised to millions.”
“More like billions,” Grandma Spears corrects.
“Which is something you should remember,” Lorenzo’s mother says. “Everyone is going to have their opinion on your dress. Some will say it is too much. Others will think it’s not enough. Regardless of what people say, this dress will set trends in the bridal industry. It will be one of the most photographed dresses in history. This dress is a combination of untraditional—with its illusion neckline, crystal and rose trimmings—and traditional—with its full sweeping skirt. In recent royal weddings, the trend has favored simplicity. And, while that might have suited the brides, it disappointed those who dream of marrying the handsome prince in an incredible fairy-tale dress. You, my darling, will not disappoint.”
“That is why we mustn’t delay any longer,” the wedding planner says. “Huntley, it’s time to get you ready.”
My hair is done up in a simple and regal chignon with a few tendrils pulled out to frame my face. My makeup features a smoky eye, balanced by soft peach cheeks and lips.
The queen snaps her fingers, and a guard from the royal vault brings in the Arcadian suite of jewels. The tiara is taken out of its velvet box and placed atop my head. The rest to be added after I get dressed.
I try not to cry as I remember Lorenzo dragging me into the vault on the night he proposed. I know that I dreamed of this, but it is even more than I imagined.
Probably because, at that moment, I had no idea what was yet to come. The dire situation Lorenzo and Montrovia would be in. The fact that he would do something so selfless for his country, giving himself the vaccine before allowing his people to take it.
Putting this crown on now means so much more than it would have then.
It means everything I’ve been through was worth it. Every cut and bruise, every dark and scary moment, every time I doubted myself, and even when I doubted Lorenzo’s love.
All. So. Worth. It.
As I put on my dream dress, I truly wonder how in the world an orphaned spy girl from America ended up here.
In this place.
In this dream.
With this incredible love.
“Maybe, someday, you will be a princess,” my mother said as we walked out onto the balcony.
“That sounds boring,” I replied.
“Are you telling me you wouldn’t like to live in a castle like this?”
I glanced around. “It is very beautiful.”
“Oh, look!” our tour guide said excitedly from our perch. “There’s Prince Lorenzo and Her Royal Highness down there in the rose garden.”
“Prince Lorenzo!” my mother yelled out, waving like a lunatic and causing me to cringe.
The prince heard her shouts and turned toward the sound of his name.
When he did, our eyes met, and we held our gaze. I couldn’t take my eyes off him; he was so beautiful. Even at this distance, I could tell there was warmth and kindness in his eyes. I was rooted in my spot, too mesmerized to be embarrassed. After a few seconds, he broke our connection, waved to our group, and then continued with his mother into an area of the garden that was hidden from our view.
I never imagined I would see Lorenzo again, but the universe apparently had other plans.
I’m not going to question them.
And I know that would have made my mother very happy.
Once the tiara is firmly on my head, I’m helped into my dress. The way I look makes me want to sing with joy, but when they bring in the veil, I can’t help but cry.
This veil means everything.
As I sit in the parade car, waiting for the okay to start the processional, I slip back into ingrained habits, thinking about what I would do if tasked with the role of protecting myself. There is no way I’d allow myself to ride in a convertible down the main street of the capital city.
It would be a tactical nightmare.
You’d have to have snipers on the rooftops—which there are—drones overhead—yep, those, too—a large security detail both in uniform and plain clothes—out in full force—as well as help from the military and local authorities. I know that they probably couldn’t stop a well-placed bullet shot by a trained assassin, but when two men I explicitly trust come to stand on either side of the car, I stop thinking.
“We are in charge of the plan to protect you,” The Priest says to me. “It helps to have the element of surprise on our side, but the car has been personally checked by me. We have snipers—”
“On the roofs,” I say. “I already saw them. Thank you.”
“No, actually, thank you, Huntley,” he says, taking my hand and squeezing it. “My son and I owe you our lives. Did Lorenzo tell you that he has offered us asylum?”
“And are you going to accept it?”
“Not that I have much choice.” He chuckles but then looks down, overcome with emotion. “My son loves you both. Huntley, the way you took him in. Cared for him. After what I did to your mother.”
“Does that mean Chauncey is here?”
“Oh, yes. He was asked to be one of the children in your wedding party. But don’t tell him I told you. He is very excited to surprise you at the church.”
“He’s an incredible child. So smart. And that pout, I can’t even.”
“Tell me about it. Did I mention that I’m also quite enamored with his nanny?”
“What? Really?” I screech. “Does she like you back?”
“I think so. She’s put in notice at work, and she will be joining us here in Montrovia in a few weeks. Lorenzo has hired us as part-time security consultants.”
I turn to The Bartender. “Us? As in both of you?”
“Yes, he did,” The Bartender says. “Same deal. Only
this time, I’m not opening a bar. I’ll be spending my free time fishing.”
“That’s incredible.”
“It’s because Lorenzo is so incredibly in love with you,” The Priest says, giving me a peck on the cheek. “You are very blessed in that regard.”
“Are you ready for this?” The Bartender asks.
I give him a nod, so he speaks into his communications device, officially commencing the start of the parade.
Once we’re moving, I put my training to the back of my mind and focus solely on the fact that the sidewalks and side streets are packed with citizens here to see me. Parade watchers are blowing kisses, tossing roses, and in true Montrovian fashion, raising flutes of bubbly in my honor.
A wide smile is plastered across my face as I try to wave and make eye contact with each and every one of them because I want them to know how grateful I am to be here.
How grateful I am that I succeeded in my mission.
And knowing that some crazy combination of fate, training, and love brought me to this place in time.
I’m not sure what my future holds, but I know that these people, their country, and their king have all woven themselves into places in my heart, and it will be an honor to continue to serve them.
About halfway down the parade route, I spot the owner of the Punk Rocker. She’s waving a banner, wearing a Cure band T-shirt, and had the tips of her purple hair dyed red.
“Stop the car!” I say, causing The Priest to spring into action, covering me with his body. “What are you doing?” I say with a laugh. “I just want to acknowledge someone.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says. “It could be a trap.”
“Stop anyway,” I tell him.
When the car stops, the crowd yells out my name.
I yell to the shop owner, “Miranda!”
She gets a shocked look on her face, and when I wave her over, The Priest hops out of the car and escorts her through the barrier.
“I guess, sometimes, young love does work out, even when the real world interferes,” Miranda says with a grin.
“That it does. I don’t suppose you got invited to the wedding?”
“Me?” She laughs. “Of course not.”
“Lorenzo surprised me with the wedding today, so I didn’t have a say on the guest list. But I’m going to rectify that now. Come with us.”
She looks down at herself. “Dressed like this?”
“I can’t think of anything else I would rather see you in,” I tell her. And I’m serious. “You make me feel like a piece of my mother is here with me.”
“While that is lovely and I would very much like to attend the wedding, particularly if this handsome man will be there,” she says, flirting with The Bartender, “I’m a proper English girl at heart. I absolutely can’t go dressed like this.”
The Bartender gives me a wry grin and says, “I’d be happy to make sure Miss Miranda is allowed entrance to the wedding. The wedding starts in”—he checks his watch—“thirty-seven minutes. Can you be there by then?”
“With bells on!” she yells out as she takes off. “And a hat!”
The parade continues its processional, and before I know it, we’re entering the palace grounds. A few blocks from the chapel, the car stops.
“This is where you’re supposed to get out,” Henri says.
“And walk down the cobblestone streets in these heels?” I ask. “Talk about treacherous.”
“You’re supposed to just stand here and wait,” he says cryptically.
“For what?”
But then I hear a whinny from behind me and turn back toward the palace gates where a man, dressed in a full suit of shining armor with Montrovian colors flailing on both the horse’s armament and the flag he carries, is riding in on a beautiful horse.
The horse gallops up to me and then comes to a halt.
“My fair maiden,” Lorenzo says, lifting the armored mask to reveal part of his face. “Will you have my hand in marriage?”
“You’re giving me the full fairy-tale treatment, aren’t you?” I grin.
“It’s what you requested when I rescued you from boredom with Daniel on my yacht,” he replies, jumping down off the horse.
“I love it,” I say, moving to touch the exposed sliver of skin on his face. “Will you be wearing this mask during the ceremony?”
“No, milady,” he says with a bow. “I am here on orders from His Highness, the king of Montrovia, to deliver a gift to you on this most splendiferous of occasions.”
He holds out a box.
A box I’ve seen before.
A box that once held a pair of shoes that looked like glass slippers. Shoes that were made of Swarovski crystals cut to look like diamonds and set on a base more comfortable for dancing in than glass.
Upon seeing my confusion, he explains, “They were found just outside the rose garden.”
“I thought they were lost forever. I ditched them, so I could run after the kidnapper’s van.”
“I know you did. That’s why I’d like you to wear them today. It is because of you that I am now living a most wondrous life with the woman I love.”
“Clearly, I had an ulterior motive regardless of my mission,” I tease as I lean against the car I came here in and slip off the heels I’m wearing.
He bends down, the metal creaking around his knees, and puts the glass-looking slippers on my feet.
“Perfect,” he says, standing up. “Now, let my eyes feast on the beauty that is you.”
“Do you like the dress?”
“Like is an understatement, my darling,” he says, circling me. “I see why you were so drawn to it. Why you stopped in the middle of an international crisis to purchase it. It is the most stunning creation I have ever seen. Just like you are the most incredible creature I have ever laid eyes on.”
“Did you see the names I added to the veil?” I ask, tears filling my eyes just like they did when I put it on.
He moves closer, examining the pale pastel threads that were hand-embroidered in what appear to be striations from afar, but up close, you can see that the stripes spell out the names of those three hundred and eighteen souls who died from the biological attack on the opening ceremonies before I was able to secure the antidote. The most prominent names are First Lady Amanda Spear and Bella Smith. Alongside them are the others who were senselessly killed by The Echelon: my mother, Charlotte Cassleberry; Chauncey’s mother, Lara Durand; Lorenzo’s uncle, Marcelo Vallenta; President John F. “Jack” Hillford; scientist Dr. Nelson Andersen; and, of course, King Giovanni Vallenta.
“You have my father’s name on here,” he says, his fingers gliding over it, his face looking incredibly touched by the gesture.
“Of course. He was killed by The Echelon, too. Just as you could have been.”
He wipes tears from his eyes and then says, “I’m so very glad you didn’t allow that to happen.”
“Me, too.” I lean up and kiss the metal covering his cheek. “I didn’t know we would get married so soon, but I called the designer after our night in the turret and suggested the additions. I wanted them all to be remembered. To be here with us today.”
“They are, my love,” he says. “And we will showcase the veil at my father’s memorial in their honor.” He takes my hand in his and kisses it. “I regret that I must bid you adieu now, my fair lady, for I have a wedding to attend.”
“As a matter of fact, so do I.”
After he rides off, I turn around and pick up the hem of the veil. Hidden at the very bottom is the name Anna as well as the letters of the alphabet, minus the S and the X. A way to honor Anna, the girl who was killed while I was locked in a cage in the basement of The Moneyman’s home, and to remember the students and instructors from Blackwood Academy.
A few minutes later, I’m making my way to the entrance off the church, recalling the conversation Lorenzo’s mother and I had just the other day about wedding tradition in Montrovia and realizing
now why we had it.
I know that the groom will be standing at the altar with his best man, who I am assuming is Kresten, the crown prince of Denmark. And I know that my wedding party will consist of ten children ranging from ages two to eight, chosen from an assortment of prominent Montrovian family friends.
The children are waiting outside and look adorable—the girls in pastel floral silk dresses and the boys in navy cotton slacks, starched white shirts with Peter Pan collars trimmed in navy piping, and matching floral cummerbunds.
“Huntley!” Chauncey yells out the second he sees me. “I’m going to be in your wedding! My daddy and I moved here, and we’re going to see each other all the time!”
He rushes toward me, and I scoop him up into my arms, giving him a hug.
“I’m so happy that you are. I’ve missed you terribly.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” he says, chattering on, “but I got to meet real superheroes, and that was really fun. And I love your house. I learned to bowl and shoot baskets and got to see my daddy and eat meatloaf. And guess what!”
“What?”
“My nanny is moving here, too. I think Daddy fancies her.” He snickers. “Maybe they will get married.”
“What do you think about my marrying Lorenzo?”
He looks down, little tears filling his big eyes.
“Does it make you sad?”
“No,” he says, sticking his bottom lip out. “It makes me happy. Can I come to the palace for Pamcakes tomorrow morning?”
“Lorenzo and I will be on our honeymoon, but we’ll be sure to have his cook in London come here soon, so we can all have them together.”
“Yay!” he says as I set him back down.
“It’s time for the children to enter the church,” the wedding planner says, leading them inside and allowing Blake, Ares, and my brother to join me outside.
“You look beautiful,” Blake says, his eyes welling up with tears.
