“I’ll walk you out, Father,” Leo said. “I was just leaving.” Leo grabbed his coat and escorted him out, giving me a clandestine thumbs up, before shutting the door behind them.
“We will appeal this,” Joan said. “I’m a barrister—”
“It’s the church,” I said. “Not a regular court of law. Nothing against you ladies, not trying to be rude, but I need to think. And I need to be alone with Vivian.”
“You’re kicking us out at the wrong time, Maximillian,” Esmeralda said. “We ladies can help. We facilitate, finagle. Good times, or bad—we get things done.”
“I know. But Vivian’s my wife—”
“Apparently not,” Esmeralda said.
I sighed. “Let me talk with her first. I’ll ring and apprise you of the situation.”
“Don’t make me wait too long, cousin.” Esmeralda gathered her coat and scarf. “I’m an impatient girl. Come on, ladies.”
I looked at the letter, wished Archbishop Causesdesperdues to hell, and tucked it into a drawer. I made my way to the bathroom and knocked lightly. “Vivian?”
“Yes.”
“How are you doing in there?”
Her voice cracked. “Not great.”
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I look like shit.”
“I don’t care how you look, love. I need to see you.”
“Fine.”
I slid the door open. She sat on the cold marble floor, tears streaming down her face, which was red and a little puffy.
“I told you I looked like shit.”
“You look pretty good for someone who just had their feet kicked out from underneath them.”
“Thanks. But my mascara’s running and I probably resemble a clown wannabe.”
“Strange.” I sat on the floor next to her and held out my hand. “I’ve always dreamed about marrying a clown wannabe. I’m getting hard just thinking about all the weird clown sex we could have.”
She cracked a hint of a smile.
I took her hand and squeezed it. “I bet you’re excellent with balloon animals. Do you have a clown name?”
“Stop,” she said, her smile growing.
“Not sharing, I see. Okay, I’ll make one up for you.” I stared into the air, pretending to think hard, and tapped a finger on my lips. “I’ve got it. I, Prince Maximillian Rochartè of the royal House of Bellèno dub you… Boom-Boom the Clown.”
“Stop!” She giggled.
I ran my fingers through her hair, moist with tears. I circled one brunette lock around my hand, drew her to me and kissed her salty lips. Fury bubbled up inside me. I couldn’t, wouldn’t let anyone hurt my girl. I traced one finger down her throat. Her skin was so soft, the swell of her breast warm and sexy. My fingers couldn’t resist and found their way under her top.
She inhaled. “No, Max. I can’t fool around right now. I’m too sad.”
“I’ve got just the thing to cheer you up.” I kneaded her breast, her nipple pebbling in the lacy bra under my touch. I kissed the side of her neck, inhaling her scent. Vivian always smelled like hopes and dreams but now pine was sprinkled into the mix. It hit me hard, my heart pounding harder in my chest, that all I wanted for Christmas was right here in front of me – my gorgeous American commoner. My girl. My princess.
I unhooked her bra clasp, fondled her breasts with one hand, and pushed her top up with my other.
“We’re not married,” she said. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“That never ever stopped us in the past.” I tossed her shirt aside. Her breath came more quickly and she hurriedly unbuttoned my shirt.
“Bedroom?” she asked.
I guided one of her hands to my erection that was carving a path out of my jeans. “We’ll never make it. Stand up.”
She did. I scooped her up in my arms, carried her into the living room and deposited her on the couch. “I’m fucking you, here, love. On our couch.”
“Your couch.”
“Our couch. In our living room.”
“Your living room.”
“Everything that’s mine is yours, Vivian. Nothing changes because of a piece of paper.”
“Really?”
“Really.” I unzipped my pants, and pulled the small square, condom package from my back pocket. Yanking off my pants, I straddled her, my erection thick.
“My gorgeous Max.” She circled her hand around my cock, stroking the length of it from base to head, gently at first, then firmly. “So big and hard for me.”
“It’s the clown thing. I can’t stop thinking of you in an orange wig with big floppy shoes. So. Fucking. Hot.”
She giggled harder.
Perfect.
This is how I wanted my Vivian. Happy, laughing, and enjoying life.
I unzipped her jeans and slipped a hand down her pants. “I suspect this is where they keep the extra bells and whistles. What do you think I’ll find down here?”
“I don’ know your Majesty. I guess you’ll have to be brave and find out.”
I helped her wriggle out of her jeans. Then I just stared at her. Perfect. Creamy skin. Groomed curls. I traced my hand down her stomach, slid through those curls, moving further, my hand between her legs. I found wetness, delicious folds. I swirled my fingers over her sex as she wriggled under my touch, and I honed in on her clit. Score. I toyed with her sex until she squirmed with pleasure.
“Max.”
“I love you, Vivian. I will love you if we are single, if we are married. I will love you if one of us is single and the other is married.”
“Please don’t wish another curse on us.”
“I’ll always love you. But right now I need to fuck you, love. Claim you as my own. And then we’re going to try a scarf trick.”
“What?”
“I always wondered how clowns did that kind of magic and by God, we are going to find out the answer to that one today.” We both burst out laughing. I lined up my cock with her wet warmth and gazed into her eyes, rubbing against her sex.
“Good Max. Need you, baby.”
I entered her slowly. She was so tight, moist, warm. A contented sigh escaped her mouth.
“So good,” she said.
I pinned her arms over her head with one hand, my other palming her beautiful breast, pinching her nipple. She sighed. I thrust into her. Easing into her center. She raised her hips to meet me, making me go even deeper. “Vivian.”
“Harder.”
I nailed her gorgeous pussy, hammering her, watching her face go to that place of contented pleasure. Our breath came faster.
“Baby,” I said, easing out of her. “On your knees.”
She turned, her elbows down on the couch, positioning her gorgeous ass high in the air. “Inside me, Max. Deep and hard.”
“My dirty girl.” I smiled.
“Dirty for you, Max. Fuck me, take me, make me come.”
I grasped the top of one hip, and spanked her ass a few times with my hand, as she wriggled under my touch. I eased my cock back inside of her while strumming my fingers over her clit. Her moans increased.
“God. Oh my God.” Her back arched, her head tilting back toward me, her long hair, bouncing off her back, her shoulders. “Coming.”
A tornado of pleasure consumed me and I too skyrocketed, coming in long, spasms.
Our breath heavy, the glow on her skin undoubtedly matched my own.
“That was great,” she said. “But what happened to the scarf trick?”
“Dammit, I forgot!” I eased out of her and kissed her on the lips. “We’ll have to save that for next time.” She giggled and we kissed again as I cradled her in my arms.
I grabbed sandwiches and bottled water from the kitchen, and carried them on a tray into the living room.
Vivian walked back into the great room pulling her top down over her pants. She wore that freshly fucked look: satisfaction, calmness, and the hint of a hickey on her elegant n
eck.
I did that to her. I made my girl smile again. Brought the good color back to her face. I gave myself an imaginary high five and watched her walk back to the couch. Long legs, perfect tits, creamy skin, long, thick brunette hair. Jesus Christ my wife was hot. When it hit me like a twist in my heart – she wasn’t my wife.
A twist of fate. Some stupid clerical error, an outdated law. Or was it something more sinister. Pay attention Max. The Crown Affair can sneak up on you and steal that which you love out from under your nose when you’re not paying attention.
“What’s next former husband?” she asked.
“Always husband. I’m a perennial.” I pointed to the tray. Sustenance. Eat. Drink.”
“Excellent!” She grabbed a sandwich.
“We’ll come up with a plan,” I promised.
My phone pinged with a series of incoming texts.
“Look. I don’t care whose fault this is,” she said, brushing her hair off her shoulders. “I don’t care that Father Roberto was an imposter, or a poser—maybe he had good reason. Perhaps he was protecting a family member, or collecting extra prayers for someone he cared about who was sick. All I want to know is how do we fix this?”
I saw the message and my heart sunk for the second time today.
Karl Battenhouse, RHB Secretary: Prince Maximillian your number’s up.
Karl the royal scheduling secretary had typed.
Maximillian: Not now.
I texted back.
Karl Battenhouse, RHB Secretary: You’ve got to get it in before the end of the year.
Maximillian: I know.
Karl Battenhouse, RHB Secretary: Royal duties. Part of the job.
“The timing couldn’t be worse,” I muttered and put the phone down.
“What?” Vivian asked.
“Guard duty.”
“What are you talking about?”
Chapter 4
MAXIMILLIAN
I stood up. “Karl, the royal scheduling secretary, reminded me that I need to finish my obligatory National Guard duty before year’s end. I could defer my service, but in the wake of our recent weddings, less fortunate Bellèno citizens might perceive that as entitlement. And frankly, I wouldn’t blame them. I’ll only be gone a short while.”
She blinked. “You’re leaving?”
“I am.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. It’s only for ten days. A brief deployment. I know it’s crappy news on top of shitty news. I’m so sorry, Vivian.”
“Where are you going? What are you doing? Oh, Max—is it dangerous?”
“No. Simple Royal Bellèno helicopter rescue missions. I’ll bone up on my paramedic and flying skills. Be reminded how to tie some of those knots. Pop over to Italy, France, Spain for a few brief missions. Whatever the military and palace deem appropriate. Then I’ll be back here with you to add the finishing decorations to the tree. And if we need to get royally wed again in order to make our marriage official, that’s what we’ll do.”
“You’d royally wed me again?”
“I’ll royally wed you as many times as it takes to stick.” I leaned down and kissed her.
The large flat screen TV hanging on the wall over the fireplace blasted out a Christmas carol.
“Why is our TV playing “Deck the Halls?” Vivian asked. “I know it’s the holidays and that I need to get around to that, but right now I’m not sure I can handle it.”
I picked up the remote and aimed it at the seventy-inch flatscreen. “I hooked it up to get Facetime calls. thought I’d surprise you with our new holiday ringtone.”
The screen appeared grayish black, then morphed to a pixelated blue, before crystallizing into a clear image of Royal Nana in the living room of her condo. She was sitting in profile to us, slumped in a blue wingback chair. Hummel figurines were on the coffee table and the fireplace mantel. She rested her chin on her chest, and snored gently. Father Florentine was sitting on a chair next to her. He was very much awake, sipping from a cup of tea. He waved. “Hello.” Nana’s ancient servant, Herr Fingerlachen, filled his teacup and placed a shaky plate of scones on the table.
Lady Esmeralda was standing next to grandma and peered at us through the screen. “Vivian? Max?”
“Yes,” we said.
“Nana was wide awake fifteen seconds ago when I hit send.”
“Let her sleep,” Vivian said. “She’s napping for a reason.”
“I agree. Give her a few minutes. Father Florentine, did you apprise Her Majesty of the situation?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice hushed. “She insists on knowing everything. Nothing changes.”
“Good. I think.” No wonder Nana was napping. Father Florentine had delivered the kind of news that had made a young woman cry and shocked an older one into exhaustion. “So sorry to cut you off earlier, Father. Can you tell us more about the marital situation?”
“Yes,” Vivian said. “When can we get re-married?”
“Unfortunately, getting re-married poses a pinch of a problem.” Father Florentine scratched under his clerical collar with one finger. His neck flushed red.
“What’s the pinch?” I asked.
“To be clear, the pinch isn’t of my making, or that of the New Reformed Church of Bellèno.”
“Whose pinch is it?”
“The older, more traditional Church of Bellèno frowns upon a member of the royal family marrying a person who was previously married.”
“But, according to you Max and I were never wed,” Vivian said.
“Oh, but you were wed, Ms. DeRose. Vows were spoken, paperwork was signed, and the service was officiated by a man whose real name is Milton Mertz, an ordained minister in the Society of Royal Alchemists.”
“Alchemists perform weddings?” I asked.
“Yes. They think they can turn anything into gold. If you wanted to roll the dice I think that the palace and the Reformed Church of Bellèno would turn a benevolent blind eye on the legality of your marriage. But when you have children, should there be a claim to the throne, or a nit-picky royal decides to rise up against you, anyone can find the text in the canons of the Old Church of Bellèno as well as the royal bylaws. Chapter ten, page one hundred and fifteen states…” He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his lapel coat pocket and blinked. “I can’t believe I forgot my readers.”
“Pass it to me, please,” Esmeralda said. She read it aloud. “Any woman who has previously engaged in the holy sacrament of matrimony is not eligible to wed a Prince of Bellèno.
“Apologies, Father,” I said. “I’m confused.”
“This tiny rule marks Vivian as being previously married. Anyone who has been previously wed is not eligible to marry a Prince or Princess of Bellèno,” he said.
Vivian slapped her palm to her forehead and paced back and forth in front of the Christmas tree. “Wait a minute. You’re saying I was never married to Max but then on the other hand you’re saying I was married to Max?”
“Exactly.”
“My head is rotating faster than a salad spinner,” Vivian said.
“Welcome to bureaucracy and the joys of determining royal rules and protocol,” Father Florentine said. “These sticky points can drive one to drink. Not all that fun, is it?”
“This is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.” I clenched my hands.
“Royal Nana needs to hear this.” Esmeralda massaged Royal Nana’s shoulders and she stirred.
“You could go places with those hands, young lady,” Royal Nana said. “You get that from my side of the family you know. Hello Father Florentine. You’re still here?”
“Yes, but I best be going.” He stood up. “Thank you, as always, for all your hospitality.” He bent to kiss her ring but she pulled back her hand and blinked.
“Thank you, but don’t. It’s cold season. Besides, you’re not allowed to leave until we figure out a solution to this dilemma that you’ve dropped like a gigantic turd in our lap.”
“A
pologies, Your Majesty.” He sat back down.
“Nana, turn and look into the phone,” Esmeralda said. “Maximillian and Vivian want to see your face.”
“Why am I supposed to look into the phone?” she asked. “I thought we were calling them.”
“We are calling them,” Esmeralda said. “The new phones work differently.”
She shifted awkwardly in our direction. “Can they still hear us?”
“Yes, we can hear you Nana,” I said. “This is kind of a tricky time. What’s up?”
She stared into the screen so intently I could practically feel her presence in the room. “As angry as I am at Father Florentine, he is simply the messenger. Rotten apple Archbishop Causesdesperdues sent him to deliver bad news to the royal Rochartè family squarely in the middle of the holiday season.”
“I’m so very sorry, Your Majesty,” he said.
“According to you, my grandson and Vivian aren’t ‘really’ married. This does not please me for any number of reasons, including that I bought them a ‘couples’ present. It’s personalized and I can’t take it back.”
“You don’t need to worry about getting me a present,” Vivian said.
“I will not settle for this archaic, religious, mumbo-jumbo, Florentine.” Nana shook her arthritic finger at him. “I know the twisted spider web of political and religious lies better than most of you. I’m not going to sit quietly by and watch my favorite new couple get tangled in fine print and dicked around by bureaucracy.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” he said.
“Good,” she said. “Can we change these antiquated laws?”
“Sadly, that would take years and be very difficult,” the priest said.
“What’s less difficult?” I asked.
“Tracking down the imposter priest and getting a signed affidavit from him that he is not licensed to perform wedding ceremonies,” Father Florentine said.
“But what if he is licensed to perform wedding ceremonies?” I asked.
“Then you need to find a loophole,” Royal Nana said.
“What kind of loophole?” Vivian asked.
His American Princess Page 3
