His American Princess

by Pamela DuMond

  “I’m incredibly happy,” I shouted.

  “Happy enough to marry me again?” she asked, swirling higher into the air.

  “Yes.”

  “Then maybe you should ask a girl. Just saying.”

  I cracked a smile. “Will you marry me, Vivian?”

  “Yes!”

  Chapter 17

  VIVIAN

  Max cradled me in his arms in the back of the Air Vac helicopter as we flew high over the Alps. I felt like I was home.

  “Thank God you’re none the worse for wear.” He kissed my forehead and examined my face, again, for cuts and bruises.

  “Except for a sprained ankle,” the paramedic said, placing the boot he’d sliced off my foot to the side and wrapping my ankle with compression tape.

  “You need to stop going out on a limb to get everything done,” Max said.

  “It wasn’t a limb. It was a log on a cliff. And who knew that tree trunk was rotted out? No one could have predicted that.”

  “Anyone who’s tromped around a forest could have predicted that.”

  “I grew up in Chicago and don’t know a lot about forests.”

  Max arranged for the ski resort to send an ATV to transport them back to the lodge. They could get warmed up while we visited the Cortina d’Ampresszo Urgent Care Facility. This town was a mecca for winter sports, the medical staff had seen more than their fair share of broken bones and sprained ankles, and knew their way around ice packs and an X-ray machine.

  A few hours later I declined the wheelchair, and exited the facility wearing a mid-calf orthopedic boot and walking with the help of my new crutches to the snow-covered parking lot. A driver flashed the lights on a waiting SUV, its engine running. “Where are Leo and the ladies?” I asked.

  “Hanging out at the Aprè Ski Party in town,” Max said. “Do you want to join them?”

  I shook my head, smiled, and limped toward the vehicle. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I suspect you’re only on a brief leave, solider. You’ll have to return to active duty shortly.”

  “True my lady. He placed a protective hand on my waist.

  I paused to shift my balance to maneuver into the back of the SUV. I stared up into his handsome blue eyes rimmed with dark lustrous eyelashes, reached out and traced the cleft in his chin with my index finger. “I’m single now, you know. I was thinking about ways to thank you properly. Does anything come to mind?” I batted my eyelashes and bit my lower lip.

  “Yes.” He pulled me flush against him, and kissed me long and slow, his tongue teasing my lips open, exploring, tempting, claiming. He pulled back, gazed into my eyes, smiled, and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Remember that ring I gave you back at our townhouse in Sauerhausen? The pretty one with the rather large diamond?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I want to slide it on your finger, Vivian.”

  I smiled. “I can live with that.”

  Chapter 18

  MAXIMILLIAN

  Vivian’s room at the chalet had a king-sized bed, a view of the town out one window and the mountains out another. I lay on her bed, naked. She straddled me, facing me, my dick fully inside her, my hands on top of her hips guiding her up and down. Heaven. I was in Vivian Heaven.

  She moaned.

  “Is that a ‘feels so good’ moan or your ankle hurts moan?” I asked.

  “Feels so good. This position suits the ankle just fine, thank you.”

  “Good. Touch yourself, angel. I want to see that ring on your finger as you touch your clit.” I moved my hands onto her ass while I pushed deeper, faster. Harder and harder, waves of pleasure coursed through my body. My dick was ground central, which she rode like a champ. Like she belonged here, my cock deep inside of her, the way the world should be. The way this story was told. She was mine and I was hers and we were together again. Life was good.

  “Play with yourself, Mrs. Rochartè,” I said.

  “I’m not Mrs. Rochartè yet,” she said.

  “Soon,” I said, palming one full breast and twisting a nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

  She squirmed and moaned. “Don’t stop fucking me, Max.”

  “I want to watch you come while I fuck you. I want the image of you coming with me inside you burned into my brain. I claim you. My cock claims you. You are mine, Vivian.”

  “Command me,” she said.

  “I put a ring on it. I command you, Vivian. Make me a happy man.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” She slipped her hand down to the V between her legs, slid it through the neatly groomed hair, and toyed with the base of my dick for a few seconds before her fingers hit her moist sex. She groaned and tilted her head back.

  Damn if that ring I gave her looked even better in the moonlight as her fingers flicked back and forth over her sex.

  “You’re so beautiful, love,” I said, thrusting harder into her.

  “Don’t stop, Max.”

  “I love you.” I fucked Vivian’s gorgeous, tight pussy, looking up into her pretty face, her hair gleaming in the moonlight, bouncing off her shoulders, her tits. Jesus, I had lucked out. This girl was smart, funny, honest, warm-hearted, and kind. I must have done something excellent in a past life to deserve this girl. My American princess. My Vivian.

  “Coming, Max.” She moaned, shuddering against me, her legs quivering against mine. “Oh, God.”

  So. Fucking. Hot.

  I pumped into her harder until I hit the point of no return and lost myself, sweaty, spent, and crazy for this girl. I rocketed inside her, finishing in paroxysms of pleasure that shattered me.

  We took a few moments and caught our breath. After a minute she leaned down and kissed my lips.

  I wrapped a hand around the base of my cock and slowly pulled out of her. I tied off the condom and tossed it in the wastepaper basket. I wrapped both arms around her and pulled her tight to me. “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you back,” she said, burying herself further into my arms, her head on my chest.

  I rubbed her back, tracing circles. My Vivian. My love. Our life back on track. “What if we got married tomorrow instead of when we got back to St. Luce? What if we didn’t wait another day?”

  She propped herself up and looked at me. “Is that what you want?”

  “It is.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  I kissed her. I was locking this down once and for all. Vivian was mine. Let no one come between us.

  Chapter 19

  VIVIAN

  We were married the next evening in a candlelight ceremony on the outdoor deck of the lodge. I wore a long-sleeved, fitted white gown with silver flecked brocade and a faux fur trimmed hood. Gareth Trent had already made it for a winter fashion show. He drove it up the mountain himself and fitted it to me at the last minute.

  It was a small, intimate ceremony. Royal Nana, King Frederick and Queen Cheree flew in in the early afternoon. Considering this was the fourth time I was marrying one of the King’s sons, I suspected His Majesty wanted to bail, but Queen Cheree twisted his arm.

  I put Lady Esmeralda in charge of videoing the event for my pal Lola and my Uncle Florio back in Chicago. I asked Lady Shay to Facetime Lady Beatrice who was still enjoying the holidays in Crete with her family.

  “Do you think you can walk down this aisle?” Joan asked. She dabbed on my lipstick, blotted it, and adjusted my decorative hood over my hair that had been styled to cascade down my shoulders.

  “Yes. Besides, I have to. Royal Nana and Edith decorated my crutches.” Silk ribbons adorned the crutches in the royal Bellèno colors: purple, gold, and white. Lush white rose corsages were discretely attached to the sides.

  “Festive,” Joan said, coughing into her hand.

  I sighed. I’d forgiven Father Florentine for being the bearer of bad news only because Royal Nana had insisted that a church-approved priest conduct the ceremony. He was the only officiant we could procure during the Christmas holidays.

  Now Max and L
eo stood at the far end of the deck, both dressed in black tuxes with white shirts and black bowties. Dear God, they were handsome. Queen Cheree’s Irish twins. I could appreciate Leo. Be friends with Leo. But Max was my love. The man who’d captured my heart for an eternity.

  Mr. Cartwright did the honors and walked me down the very short aisle. Or, should I say, helped me hobble. I knew this marriage would be a keeper. The one that sealed the deal. I looked up into Max’s hazel eyes. The man was impossibly handsome. He beckoned me with his index finger. “You’re mine, Vivian.”

  I smiled at him. “I’m yours, Maximillian.”

  And so, a handsome prince promised an American commoner for the third time to love, honor, protect, and keep her as his wife. I promised as well, and we sealed the deal under a clear winter sky, the stars sparkling in the dark heavens above us. He slid that gorgeous ring on my finger and kissed me.

  “I love you, Vivian,” he said. “Remember that I’ll always love you.”

  I was the luckiest girl in the world. I’d gotten everything I wanted for Christmas. I’d married Max.

  Max and I rang in the New Year back at our new townhouse in St. Luce. Thick snow fell outside the two-story floor –to-ceiling windows as lights twinkled in the city’s background. We toasted at midnight and then he kissed me. His lips full on mine, his tongue sweet inside my mouth. His fingers fisted my hair as we made out and I forgot how to breathe for a few seconds. We came up for air and I stared into his gorgeous hazel eyes.

  “I love you, Mrs. Rochartè,” he said.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Your new husband has a ‘Welcome to your new official home’ surprise present for you in his pants pockets,” he said, biting back a smile. “You have to unwrap it.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “It’s durable and solid and it’s exclusive to you. I hope you love it.”

  “As long as it’s not another silver place setting, I’ll be happy.”

  “You’re going to be very happy.” Max captured my hand in his, raised it to his lips, and kissed it.

  I moved my hand down his firm, broad chest and caressed his stomach. Goosebumps erupted on my arms. He was so hot. The further south I traveled, it wasn’t difficult to figure out the surprise. “I missed the little prince.” I ran my hand lightly over his jeans as HRH saluted and waved the royal Bellèno flag in my honor. “Can he come out and play?”

  “The little prince is sending you a royal edict, Vivian. I missed our new couch. We bought it because it was sturdy, right?” He sat down and slapped his hand on the cushions.

  “You missed the couch?” I lifted an eyebrow.

  “Yes. Our new sofa begs to be re-christened now that we are officially married. In fact, I hear it calling my name.” He put a hand to his ear. “What is that I hear, pudding couch? Oh, you think Vivian should stop worrying about matters that will resolve themselves and we should spend our time and energy breaking in the new place? Yes, I am a good husband. Of course, I will relay that message.”

  My heart cracked open and I realized how very much I loved being with this delicious man. I walked toward him. “Hello.” I unzipped his jeans, reached for his cock, and stroked it. “I don’t think you need these pants. These pants need to disappear.”

  “The pants thought you’d never ask.” He stood up, yanked them off and grabbed a condom from the back pocket. “Take off your clothes, my beautiful. My Vivian.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” I shimmied out of my clothes and tossed them.

  “Don’t cross your arms in front of yourself,” he said, his dick hard, his breath coming quicker as he stroked himself. “It’s a New Year. It’s our year, Vivian. I want to see you, love.”

  I dropped my arms. “What shall you do with me, Your Majesty?” I tossed my hair over my shoulder, smiled, and bit my lip.

  “What do you want me to do with you?” He pulled me toward him and rubbed his cock against the V between my legs that was growing wetter by the second.

  This man. I was shamefully, unabashedly, crazy in love with this man.

  “Anything you, want, Max.” I placed one hand on his thick dick and rubbed it against my sex, guiding his thick erection inside me. “Do anything you want with me.”

  An hour later we were back in pajamas, snuggled up on the couch watching Bellèno Cable News coverage of New Years Eve celebrations around the world. Max was dozing off and I kissed the top of his head. Good God, this man was so lovely. The nightmare was over. We were married.

  There was a loud ‘Knock-Knock-Knock’ on our front door.

  Max sat up, startled. “Who could that be at this time of night?”

  “Morning,” I said. “Are you expecting guests?”

  “No. Ignore that. It’s probably the pizza delivery guy getting my address mixed up with Leo’s again.”

  “Right,” I said, a queasy feeling building in my stomach.

  Three harsh knocks sounded again.

  “Crap!” Max squirmed out from underneath me. He strode to the entrance, wearing only his pajama bottoms and flung the door open. “Hello.”

  “Sorry to barge in like this.” A man dressed in priestly robes with the face of a prune swept into our townhouse like a breath of stale air.

  “Do I know you?” Max asked.

  “Of course you know me,” he sniffed, his lips pursing in a tight “O”. “I was at your baptism.”

  A look of confusion swept across Max’s face. “Uncle Rudy?”

  “No,” the man said. “I baptized you. I’m Archbishop Causesdesperdues.”

  “Aha. Yes, well it’s been a while. So nice of you to visit us,” Max said, and shot me a ‘WTH’ look. “Perhaps you could have called us first.”

  “Or visited at a more appropriate time,” I said, the shitty feeling in my stomach growing worse with every second.

  “I’m not here to say Happy New Years, Prince Maximillian. I’m here on palace business.” He turned to his guards and pointed at Max. “Arrest this man!”

  My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Three thugs in military uniforms surrounded Max and handcuffed him.

  I pushed myself off the couch and ran to him. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Anyone who has sexual relations with the Prince of Bellèno’s wife is subject to arrest and imprisonment,” Archbishop Causesdesperdues said.

  “What the hell are you talking about? I’m married to the Prince of Bellèno, you big, over-baked strudel. Unshackle my husband, immediately!”

  “Indeed, you are married to the Prince of Bellèno,” he said. “According to the paperwork that was filed with the church and the state on December 20 in this year of our Lord, you, Vivian, married HRH Leopold Rochartè the Third, the crown prince of Bellèno. Take this man to the dungeons!”

  “What?” I asked, my heart sinking, numbness flooding my body.

  “What?” Max asked as the guards dragged him away.

  “The paperwork is clear. I even went out of my way to make you a copy. According to the documents filed, you, Vivian Marie DeRose are lawfully married to HRH Leopold Edward George Rochartè the Third. So sorry to disturb you, Duchess,” Archbishop Causesdesperdues said. “Happy New Year.”

  “What the hell? Max asked as they pulled him out of our townhouse. “You’re married to my brother?”

  I ran after him. “It’s not possible.”

  “When did you marry my brother?”

  “I did not marry your brother. I have never married your brother. I haven’t even kissed your brother since over a year and a half ago when –”

  “You kissed my brother?”

  “Of course I kissed your brother. You hired me almost two years ago to ‘babysit’ Leo until Lady Cici could return to Bellèno and marry him.”

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  My heart sank so hard and fast I could practically see it shatter on the floor. “No! Max, I never slept with your brother. You hired me to impersonate Lady Catherine. Of course, w
e kissed. Kissing was allowed. Sex wasn’t. Don’t you remember? It was part of the job! It was a long time ago.”

  “I’m glad I broke this up,” Archbishop Causesdesperdues said. “You’re all depraved. All you royals.”

  “Clearly there’s been a mistake.” Tears trickled down my face. “Max, I married you. I love you. I never married Leo. I like Leo, but, I love you. I married you.” I glared at the Archbishop who was not only raining on my parade, like a fat incontinent pigeon, he was also shitting all over it.

  “You’re wrong about this one.” I slipped around his bulky, uniformed guards and braced myself in the doorway, blocking it. “Max and I have wedding pictures. We put them on Instagram. Facebook.”

  “You can’t trust social media,” Archbishop Causesdesperdues sniffed.

  “All Right Magazine purchased our official photos. The proceeds are donated to charity.”

  “Fake news,” he said, gesticulating with his fat little fingers. “Check the paperwork. It’s all in order.”

  He shoved the papers into my shaking hands. “Step aside, Duchess.”

  “Make me.” Puffs of anger practically blasted out of my nostrils.

  “Guard!” he snapped. “Place the Duchess under house arrest by order of the Royal Church of Bellèno.”

  “Don’t touch her,” Max said, his hands now shackled behind his back. “If you touch her, I’ll kill you.”

  Some lumpy guy in a uniform tried to lift me up and I punched him. I punched his buddy too. I kicked the third guard but by that time they’d managed to pry me away from the door they’d squirreled Max out of our townhouse.

  “Max!” I hollered after him in the cold night air. “What are we going to do?”

  “Call Leo,” he said. “Scratch that. Call Esmeralda. Don’t fight them, Vivian. This is nuts. This guy is certifiable.”

  “Happy New Year!” Archbishop Causesdesperdues pulled his cape tighter over his stumpy body and stomped out of our townhouse.