Royal Match

by Parker Swift

  “Mrs. Hale.” Frank nodded, laughing. “Looking lovely, per usual,” he said.

  Dylan stepped behind me and looped his arms around me, resting his hands on my belly. “Frank,” Dylan started, tapping my stomach, “this is why you’re here. I’m in Paris for the day. I’m finishing up a few projects over the next few weeks before the baby comes, and Lydia, as you know, has several obligations in town.”

  “Yes, sir,” Frank replied with seriousness.

  “I’m trusting you with her. If there’s the slightest chance something may be wrong, I want you to take her to St. Mary’s immediately.”

  “Dylan, that’s hardly necessary.” I turned my head back and up to look at him, but his gaze was busy communicating the severity of the situation to Frank. “Dylan!”

  That got his attention, and he finally shifted to look down to me with a shrugging expression that said what? as though he were totally innocent of being an overprotective husband. He held my gaze before returning his attention to my bodyguard.

  “Frank, please take care of her. You know as well as I do that she takes on too much. And the media are already starting to swarm.”

  I rolled my eyes for good measure, and Frank cracked a smile, but he also looked back at Dylan in affirmation. These alpha males were going to be the end of me. In fact, it was starting to piss me off.

  The children ran down the stairs and barreled into Frank’s legs, and while they were taking turns being effectively tossed into the air by their favorite “uncle,” Dylan took the opportunity to turn to face me. He held one hand to my stomach, and used the fingers on his other hand to raise my face to his own. “Look, I know I’m being my worst overprotective self, Lydia. I know it may be a tad much.” I gave him a raised eyebrow, which he returned with a sweet look of pleading. “Indulge me. Please.”

  How did he always know just the thing to disarm me? As soon as I thought I was ready to fight him, to draw a line in the sand, he revealed that he too was vulnerable.

  I sighed, closed my eyes for a moment, and conceded with a nod.

  “Thank you.” Dylan’s back was to the door, blocking Frank’s and the children’s views of me. “And, damsel,” he whispered, barely audible, “be a good girl and wait for me. No coming, understand?”

  I audibly scoff-laughed at his attempt to get dirty in the hallway while our children were literally running circles around us. As if I had time to make myself come during the day. He shrugged and smiled mischievously.

  My moment was interrupted by Aiden, who, looking completely adorable in his pajamas, grabbed Frank’s hand and started to drag him upstairs.

  “And where do you think you’re taking Uncle Frank, young man?” I asked. Meanwhile, Eleanor had cajoled her way into her father’s arms, and she was whispering conspiratorially into his ear.

  “Brush teeth!” Aiden said.

  I threw my hands up in the air. “Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed, disbelieving. Dylan just chuckled, entirely too pleased at my frustration that our son would apparently brush his teeth for anyone but me. It’s like Aiden knew it would just please me too much.

  As Frank and Aiden disappeared up the stairs, I took our coy-looking daughter from Dylan’s arms and quickly put her down when I realized it was truly impossible for me to carry her these days.

  “Be good to Mummy today,” he said, kissing her on the head, and then looked at me. “Also,” he added, “I told her you’d take them to Bertie and Boo today.”

  I rolled my eyes—the kids’ adventure zone and restaurant was one of Eleanor’s favorite places, but I had about a zillion things to do already today. I knew exactly what Dylan was doing—using our children to make sure that at least some point in the day I’d have to sit for a while. “Yeah? Well, I told them you’d take them to Disneyland Paris.” The amusement park, with all of its commercial noise, was Dylan’s idea of a nightmare. He would get all snotty and complain about the lazy architectural design and the subpar food.

  Eleanor leaped in the air with glee and eyes as wide as teacups. She was literally hanging off of Dylan and speaking a mile a minute about every princess she wanted to meet. Dylan was half laughing and half looking like he wanted to kill me.

  I looked at him smugly and blew him a kiss as he walked through the door.

  * * *

  Frank and I spent the day bouncing between meetings, one about seating arrangements at Westminster Abbey, another a consultation with the hair colorist the palace had arranged, and then a drop-off of some samples to a client of mine. And, of course, a couple of hours at Bertie and Boo.

  It was after seven that night, while Eleanor and Aiden were splashing in the bathtub, when Dylan texted.

  Dylan:

  How was the day, damsel? Kids OK?

  I attached a picture of the kids from that moment—Eleanor was holding a plastic toy tiger out of Aiden’s reach, and Aiden was squirting his sister with a hot-pink water gun.

  Me:

  Perfect angels.

  How was your day? On your way home?

  Dylan:

  Sorry, baby. The minister of education was an hour late (don’t get me started). Plane’s on standby, but I won’t be home until after you’re asleep I’m afraid.

  I heard myself sigh. It was never easy for Dylan and me to find time alone together, but between scrambling to get things done before the baby came and now the wedding, it was worse than ever. I missed him.

  Me:

  Why don’t you just spend the night—take the opportunity for a decent night’s sleep while you can.

  Dylan:

  We’ll see. I’ll let you know. I want to get home to you. I’ve got to run, damsel. Be good. XX

  That night as I fell asleep, I still didn’t know if Dylan would be there in the morning.

  Chapter Four

  Fourteen days until the big day

  By the time Saturday arrived, Dylan and I had managed to spend a total of four non-sleeping hours alone together that week. I know because I counted.

  And those hours had been spent reviewing our childcare plans for our new daughter. We each hoped to return to work part-time after the baby came since we knew four months without work would probably drive us both crazy. We also discussed whether we trusted his mother to watch the kids alone for an entire weekend. On that last point, interestingly, I did. He didn’t.

  Nursery school would start up again on Monday, so we’d made sure to spend as much time with Eleanor and Aiden during that week as we could. Between a scattered set of work meetings and a handful of pre-wedding obligations—a few meetings with Hannah about the dress and multiple briefings around the protocols for major events involving the royal family—we’d picnicked in the park, built forts, and destroyed the floor of our living room with some kind of enormous Lego construction.

  We’d also had another doctor’s appointment that week, during which I’d learned that I was fully effaced and two centimeters dilated. Dylan had overtly cringed when the doctor had told us that, but I remembered the cruel reality of pregnancy: you can stay that way for weeks before delivering. I refused to be discouraged.

  At that moment, mid-morning Saturday, the kids were watching Up in our bed on my laptop, and we were getting ready to take them to the zoo. Dylan had sweetly let me sleep in, so I was just now getting into the shower.

  I stood under the steady stream coming from the rainfall showerhead above. I let the warm water loosen my shoulders and leaned forward and braced my folded arms on the wall so I could rest my head there. My belly hung low, and the water gently pummeled my lower back. It felt amazing. A moment later, I heard the bathroom door open. Then I felt more than heard Dylan move into the walk-in shower.

  He came behind me and started rubbing the sorest spots right above my hips. “Oh god, that feels so good.” He rubbed a little harder, just where I needed him to, and he stepped closer against me. “The kids?” I asked.

  “They are so deep in that film, they look like they’ve been hypnotized,”
he said as he started to run the loofah across my entire back and around to my front.

  I chuckled softly. “Yeah, if we were better parents, we’d be worried about that.”

  I felt a light kiss on my back, and Dylan’s hands moved to my breasts. “We can be fast,” he said, and I could feel his smile on my skin.

  His hand moved between my legs, and I arched my back in response. I’d missed him. I wanted this. “Oh god,” I moaned involuntarily. “This feels wrong. They are getting too old for us to try to sneak sex in the next room while they’re awake.” Then I groaned again, because holy hell what he was doing felt good. I stood up and reached my arms back, wrapping them around his neck and giving him more access.

  “Not wrong,” he said as he resumed his ministrations and I felt him harden against my ass. Then we both stopped moving in response to a familiar sound: the loud unmistakable shriek of Aiden reacting to his sister, who had undoubtedly just taunted him in some way.

  I looked back to him and kissed him before I stepped out to grab a towel. In about eighteen seconds I’d diverged from the path of certain orgasm to shouting, “Whatever you’re doing, Eleanor Hale, stop it right now.”

  I turned around to see Dylan’s hands flat against the glass and an expression of exaggerated forlornness on his face, as though he were a prisoner or standing in an airport watching the love of his life depart on a plane to some far-off land.

  I laughed and shrugged. “Later!” I said. If we could find more than two seconds together…

  Chapter Five

  Thirteen days until the big day

  The next day was beautiful—sunny, breezy, cloudless, and warm. But instead of being outside in the park, my whole family was hanging out in Hannah’s studio. We’d been there for an hour, and if it went much longer, I was sure Dylan would take the kids outside. In the meantime, I was standing on a platform in Hannah’s studio draped in what felt like a hundred yards of gauzy netting and silk satin, a belt of some kind pinned above my belly. And Caroline, who was playing with Eleanor, was there with one of the wedding planners to give her approval.

  Hannah stood up and walked around me, slowly, eyeing every pleat. Every seam. Then she nodded decisively and placed the small box of pins on top of my belly, as though it were a literal shelf.

  “Hannah!” I said in disbelief.

  “What?” she asked earnestly, speaking through the pins she held in her mouth. “That belly of yours is keeping me up at night. It might as well be good for something.”

  “You are horrible,” I said, smiling. It was amazing how my relationship with Hannah had changed since that first day I stepped into her offices fresh off the plane, nervous about starting my first real job. Now I was a colleague. A client. A friend. We’d come a long way.

  I looked over and saw Caroline standing on a small stool while Eleanor walked around her, playing designer. My four-year-old daughter tucked scraps of one-hundred-and-fifty-dollars-per-yard silk duchesse satin into the waist of Caroline’s jeans, into her pockets, into her shoes, anywhere she could reach. Aiden was trailing Eleanor, armed with the fabric.

  “You’ve never looked lovelier, Caro,” Dylan said from the chair he was sitting in opposite us, and Caroline gave him a raised eyebrow. “Seriously, I think you should scrap whatever you were going to wear, and let Eleanor have at you.”

  “I’ve never felt more beautiful,” Caroline said, looking down at a beaming Eleanor. Then she looked between me and Dylan. “I can’t believe you’re going to have another one of these,” she said affectionately. Although, honestly, there were days I definitely thought we were crazy for having a third.

  “It was his idea,” I said, pointing at Dylan.

  “Can you blame me? I mean, look at Lydia—when she’s pregnant, she’s—”

  “Stop right there, Dylan,” I interrupted, holding up my hand, but he was already laughing.

  “What?” he asked, feigning innocence.

  “Whatever you were going to say, it wasn’t going to be appropriate.”

  “Gorgeous,” he said matter-of-factly. “All I was going to say is that you are gorgeous.”

  I raised my eyebrow skeptically, and glared down at Hannah when she stabbed me lightly with a pin.

  “Well, stop moving,” she added, slightly exasperated.

  “Lydia, you do look amazing pregnant. Gorgeous when not pregnant too, of course,” Caroline added. “And you two make it look easy.”

  I scoffed as she stepped down from her perch to come and inspect my dress. Caroline was truly stunning. Her blond hair seemed shinier than was humanly possible, and her legs were a mile long. Even in her jeans, flats, and peasant blouse with scraps of fabric poking out every which way she looked like a princess. The rather severe-looking wedding planner joined her at my side—the woman reminded me of a stylish Miss Minchin from A Little Princess, dressed all in black, complete with a high bun.

  “Hannah, this is incredible,” Caroline said, her hands on her hips, where she was tugging a piece of the very same silk that was stretched across my body. “It’s perfect,” she added, circling me. “This is probably weird to say, but I think if I didn’t have to have a gown quite so grand, I would choose something like this. Minus the belly, of course,” she said, smiling. “Although, honestly, Lydia, you do make it look good.”

  I smiled at her in thanks.

  “You know, this is rather fun actually,” Hannah said conspiratorially, as though no one could hear her admit to having fun. “I haven’t designed on the fly this way in years.” When you thought about it, her task was a tall order: design and execute a stylish maternity bridesmaid’s dress worthy of a royal wedding in two weeks. It was no surprise that she looked like she’d already had three lattes that morning and that she’d taken to swearing to herself under her breath.

  I shifted my weight from side to side to relieve some of the pressure—standing for this long at this stage of the game wasn’t exactly fun—and I felt myself wince a bit as the baby moved.

  “Damsel,” Dylan said softly—he was suddenly by my side. I could hear the frustration in his voice. “If you can’t stand for this fitting, will you really be able to stand up at the abbey for an entire service?” He began stroking my lower back through the gathered fabric. “Take a rest.”

  “Dylan,” I said, looking at him sternly—I didn’t want Caroline to feel bad about this. “I’m fine. Plus, I won’t be standing for the entire service.” I said it decisively, but I realized I didn’t actually know for sure. I suddenly felt a little panicked. “There are chairs, aren’t there, Caroline?” I looked from her to Miss Minchin, praying for confirmation.

  “Of course. You’ll be sitting most of the wedding,” Caroline replied. “So will I, thank god. I think my dress weighs eight stone!”

  “Take a rest, Lydia.” Hannah stood and looked at Dylan, like they were in cahoots. “It’s time for another coffee anyway.” As she stepped away, her eye caught on the fabric pinned to my body, and I could literally see the light bulb go off. She bounced over to her studio desk and made notes and edits to the sketch. A sketch I still hadn’t seen, but at this point, I figured my fate was pretty much in her hands.

  Dylan wandered over to take a look at Hannah’s drawing, and I maneuvered myself back to a chaise against the window, careful not to disturb any of the pins. I sat very gingerly and Caroline looked down at me, a slight wrinkle in her brow.

  “Are you all right?” she asked earnestly. I adored Caroline, and I knew it wasn’t her idea to have me in the wedding, but there was a tiny part of me that wanted to raise an eyebrow at her. But of course I didn’t, because a far bigger part of me was excited for my friend.

  “I’m fine,” I said, swallowing the fact that I was actually getting pretty uncomfortable. “Really.”

  She nodded and then looked back towards Miss Minchin and made some gesture indicating she was ready to go. “I have to run and meet up with Zach and his parents at their hotel for final suit fittings for the gents
,” she explained. I tried to stand, knowing that even though we were friends, there was always a part of me that felt I was supposed to stand and be proper. But Dylan came to my side and put a hand on my shoulder—his own reminder that Caroline was more friend than royal, and that in his eyes I came before pomp and circumstance.

  “See you in a few days then,” I said, and watched Dylan walk her towards the door. They lingered there, talking, and I saw her look up at him, frowning slightly, like she was asking something. I could only see Dylan’s back, could only tell he’d replied by the way his shoulders moved when he spoke. I knew she still confided in him—they’d been engaged, of course, but according to Dylan, they’d never really been more than just friends. She reached up and gave him a hug before following Miss Minchin out of Hannah’s studio.

  “What was that about?” I asked after he’d returned to me. The children were now watching something on his phone in the corner of the room.

  “Even princesses feel insecure sometimes,” he said, giving a sympathetic smile. I looked up at him, even more curious. “Apparently Zach’s ex-girlfriend is coming to the wedding.”

  I was about to respond when I heard the door to Hannah’s studio fly open with a dramatic flair that could only belong to one person.

  “Josh!” I exclaimed as he came prancing into the room. Dylan helped pull me to standing to greet my onetime colleague and now good friend. He’d been promoted after Fiona and I had left Hannah’s employ and was now her director of social media…and he was just as exuberant as ever. He was also busier than ever preparing for the media explosion that would come once Hannah’s involvement with the royal wedding was public. He’d been lining up Instagram posts and tweets for weeks.

  “Lydia, you wench,” he said, holding out my arms so he could get a look at me. “You go away for a month and you’ve gotten so fat! What on earth have you been eating?” I couldn’t help but laugh at Josh’s jokes—they may have been off-color, but I never laughed harder than when I was with him. He looked at Dylan, and they exchanged some look as Dylan came to stand by us.