by Holly Hart
“Can you join us for lunch?” I ask, prompting a glare from Dante.
“Alas, I have business in the city.” She places a hand on mine. “And while I’m there, I might as well start shopping for your wedding gift.”
With that, she bids says goodbye and sweeps off towards her apartments.
Dante and I look at each other, then at her receding back, then at each other again.
“Did that just happen?” I ask.
“I think it did,” he says. “I can’t believe it, but you’ve won over Isabella. You’re learning the game, Amanda. Well done.”
“Well,” I say, “I have a very good teacher.”
“Having her on our side should definitely help ease any tensions with the stodgier Morovans that Huber was talking about. We may just survive this yet.”
He takes my hand again and we continue our stroll, this time to meet Oriana and Vito at the beach.
It’s time to tell them about how their soon-to-be sort-of stepmother punched out a wicked witch last night and to show them my ring. And to prepare them to meet their soon-to-be sort-of grandpa, who’s a real-life American cowboy.
I swear to God, a screenwriter couldn’t make this shit up.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
26. DANTE
“And the children took the news well?” Emilio asks.
“Oriana was quite angry that Amanda got to punch someone when she can’t hit the girl who always pesters her at her equestrian lessons,” I say. “But other than that, they’re fine.”
“Well, then. I suppose all that’s left is for me to plan your bachelor party.”
Good old Emilio. There was never a situation so dire that he couldn’t make a celebration out of it. We’re sitting on one of the palace terraces overlooking the lake, enjoying the afternoon sunshine and drinking mojitos.
I know, I know, it’s tough to be a prince.
“There’s a little thing called a royal wedding that’s also going on,” I say. “Just something to keep in mind.”
Emilio drains his glass. He’s drinking more than usual today, which is saying something for him. His sunglasses keep me from seeing whether his eyes are red yet.
“Your bachelor party is more for me than it is for you,” he says. “Who’s going to fly around the world and chase girls with me when you’re married?”
“Well, Amanda’s father is single…”
He drops his glasses and peers over them at me. Sure enough, red eyes. He started early today.
“Yes, I can just picture me and John Wayne walking into the Clermont Club in London together. ‘I’ll have a brewski, y’all!’”
“I dare you to make that joke to his face,” I say. Emilio quails and slides his sunglasses back up.
“Is there something wrong, Emilio? You don’t seem yourself.”
“I’m fine,” he grouses. “Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“Well, maybe you should go back to it.”
“So,” he says, ignoring my suggestion. “Amanda. How lucky could you possibly be? And she’s confirmed as… you know?”
As much as I don’t like the subject matter, I suppose I owe him an explanation. I did burden him with my dilemma that night in Monte Carlo.
“Amanda suits the guidelines, if that’s what you’re saying.”
He raises his half-empty glass in a toast.
“Problem solved, then.”
“As to how lucky I am, you’re quite right. In fact, I’d almost go so far as to call it divine intervention.”
“Well, the gods have routinely favored monarchs,” he drawls. “At least when they tell the story.”
I’ve been trying to watch my language the past several days for the sake of Amanda and the twins, but that’s the last straw.
“What the fuck is your problem, Emilio?” I snap. “You sound almost disappointed that I didn’t go along with your idiotic convent suggestion. Can you not just be happy for me? Hell, even your mother gave us her blessing, which was about as likely as winning over Gordon Ramsay with a hot dog.”
That seems to get him. He drops the sunglasses onto the table and runs his hands over his face.
“You’re right, Dante,” he sighs, fixing me with those bleary eyes. “Please forgive me. I’m in a foul mood today, and I didn’t mean anything I said. Except the part about planning your bachelor party. Will you let me give you an epic sendoff?”
That’s better. That’s the cousin who’s always been by my side and had my back.
“Of course,” I say. “Who knows me better? I trust you to line up a night of debauchery that will go down in history. Or at least some cards and cigars.”
“I promise you, it will be a little more elaborate than that. I’ll invite the usual suspects – I hear Harry might be on the continent next week – and we’ll do this right. And, of course, I’ll charge it all to you.”
Only Emilio could take me from angry rant to laughing out loud in ten seconds flat.
“Why not?” I chuckle, raising my glass to him. “This should be one for the books. It’s not every day the Prince of Morova finds his princess.”
“It’ll be one for the books, all right,” he says, draining the last of his drink. “That much I can guarantee.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
27. AMANDA
“Sleeves, darling.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Sleeves, darling.”
I suppose I shouldn’t argue with the hottest dress designer in Italy, especially since he’s agreed to do a rush job just for me. But the idea just seems weird. Not exactly what I expected when I was dreaming about my Disney princess wedding as a little girl.
I look to Maria, who simply shrugs.
“It’s Andreas Fortuna,” she says, as if that’s explanation enough on its own.
It seems like Maria spends a lot of time standing next to me when I’m embarrassed. First with my legs up on Dr. Sabine’s examining table, now standing in my slip while two men with weird hairstyles measure me with long yellow tapes.
One of them measures out the length of my right arm, the other measures my left. Meanwhile, Andreas wanders around me, staring at my body and saying “Hmmmm” a lot.
“I don’t like sleeves,” says Oriana from her seat at the table in Maria’s office.
Andreas seems startled out of his calculations. He turns his bald head to Oriana and smiles, bowing low.
“Your Highness,” he says in his heavy Italian accent. “I’m simply following tradition. Grace Kelly, Princess Diana and Kate Middleton were all commoners, and they all wore sleeves.”
“Tradition is stupid.”
Maria opens her mouth to scold Oriana, but I cut her off.
“Honey, tradition is sort of my job,” I say. “I study all the traditions that are part of royal families like yours. It’s kind of like your uncle’s sword. Do you know why it’s so important?”
“No,” she says. I seem to have her attention, at least. “Why is it so important?”
“Well, your great-great-great-great grandpa carried that sword in a battle against invaders a long time ago. And ever since then, all princes have kept that sword as a tradition, because what your grandfather did was very important to the people of Morova. The sword is a symbol of Morova’s freedom. Do you know what a symbol is?”
“Yes.”
“So you see why it’s important.”
She mulls it over for a bit before nodding.
Maria smiles. “Now that we’ve got that settled – ”
“Why can’t we have new traditions?” Oriana asks.
Everyone in the room stops moving. Even Maria is quiet. I feel like laughing, but that wouldn’t be appropriate.
Andreas stares at Oriana, wide-eyed, and for a brief second I wonder if he’s going to yell at her. That wouldn’t be appropriate either, but who knows with these creative types?
“Your Highness,” he says finally. “That is brilliant.”
Orian
a’s face lights up.
Andreas’s two minions exchange blank looks as their boss races to the table and starts rifling through a book of patterns. Maria and I exchange glances. It’s Andreas Fortuna, that look says.
“She’s absolutely right!” Andreas cries. “Tradition is for people without imagination. Andreas Fortuna has imagination!”
After several minutes, and what seems like hundreds of pages, he stabs a finger at one.
“This,” he says, almost reverently. “This is the one. A new tradition.”
He looks up at us as if just noticing that we’re in the room with him.
“It’s a design I came up with years ago, when I was still an apprentice,” he says. “No one would give it a second look back then. But now…”
He motions for us to come and see. On the page is a stylized sketch of a dress with neckline that plunges about halfway to the navel and leaves about half the shoulder bare. The sleeves are a sheer material, barely visible, circled with same tatted lace as the bodice, and ending at the elbow.
The lower half of the dress hugs the model’s body until the knee, where it flares out and pools on the floor. It’s all capped off with a veil that falls down the open back all the way to the floor.
“It’s… stunning,” I say. Much better than what I was envisioning.
“It’s sexy!” Oriana crows.
Look at her, alarmed. “Do you know what sexy means, honey?”
She grins and wraps her arms around herself. “It’s when people hug and kiss. Mmm-mmm-wa!”
“What do you think, Maria?”
The look on her face suggests she’s not a hundred percent on board with the idea.
“It’s gorgeous, don’t get me wrong,” she says to Andreas. “But Morovans tend to be on the conservative side. I don’t know if this is exactly what they’re looking for in a royal wedding dress.”
“It’s a good thing none of them are marrying Dante, then,” I say. “Look, we don’t have a lot of time for this, and Andreas already has the design done.”
“I can have this complete and ready for final fitting in three days,” he says. “We will work around the clock if we have to.”
His minions share a look, but keep quiet.
“All right,” Maria sighs. “Given everything else that’s non-traditional about this wedding, I don’t suppose this will really make a difference.”
I hold up a hand and Oriana high-fives me. “Yay!” she cries. “New tradition!”
I get dressed as Andreas and his crew pack up their work and head off on their assignment. Once they’re gone, Maria and I sit down next to Oriana at the table.
“Can I help with more of the wedding?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say. “What would you like to do?”
“I’m going to be the flower girl; can I help choose the flowers?”
Maria opens her mouth and I cut her off again.
“Absolutely,” I say. “Maria can send you to the florist we’ve hired, and you can have final say on what they decide.”
Oriana beams as Maria glares at me.
“I can’t wait! I’m going to go tell Vito!”
She jumps up to head for the door but I snag her arm.
“Just don’t go lording it over him that you have a job, all right?”
Her face droops a bit.
“All right,” she sighs and races off.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Maria asks, eyebrow cocked.
“I want to involve the children in the wedding as much as I can,” I say. “It’s important that they feel like they’re part of it, instead of just spectators. Do you know what I mean?”
Her expression softens. “Yes. And I shouldn’t have questioned you. Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, unless it’s you forgiving me.”
“Why do you say that?”
I lay a hand on her arm. “Maria, I know I’m a Johnny-come-lately here in the palace, and especially in the twins’ lives. You’ve been the only mother they’ve ever known, and now here I am out of nowhere, taking that role away from you. I want you to know you’ll always be in their lives.”
Ever since I first met Maria, I’ve wanted to be her. She’s the smartest, most capable woman I’ve ever met. She’s the kind of woman that women like me are supposed to look up to and emulate and post quotes from on Facebook.
So I’m shocked when I see two tears spill down her cheeks.
“You continue to surprise me, Amanda,” she says, pulling a handkerchief from her purse and dabbing at her eyes. “I’ve worked very hard to always appear professional around the children. But they’re a huge part of my world.”
I wrap an arm around her neck and pull her into a hug.
“Anyone with eyes can see how much you love them, and how much they love you,” I whisper. “It’s hard to grow up without a mother – believe me, I know – and you’ve helped fill that void for them.”
She sobs quietly in my ear. I wonder how long she’s been holding onto this, trying to always keep that stiff upper lip for the sake of the monarchy. Another reminder of how bizarre this royal lifestyle can be.
“Thank you,” she says. Her handkerchief is soaked and streaked with mascara now, but at least she stopped crying before I started myself.
She composes herself and takes a deep breath.
“The twins have certainly taken to you,” she says with a brave attempt at a smile. “I’ve never seen them become so attached to anyone so quickly. Or ever, really. You seem to have a natural way with them.”
“That’s because I still haven’t grown up myself,” I say. “I feel like an imposter in this palace, like everyone else can see how much I don’t belong here with the adults.”
Maria frowns. “On the contrary. You’re the most real person within these walls, present company and your fiancé included. I appreciate your candor very much.”
I bite my lip to keep my own tears from flowing. Maybe the craziest part of this whole crazy week has been finding such a wonderful new friend in the last place I expected.
“Well, if you ever want someone to just bring a bottle of wine to your room and binge watch Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix with you, just ask.”
She laughs, hopefully signaling the end of our little cryfest. We’ve still got a lot of work to do. And I need to dive into it to keep myself from something that I didn’t mention to Maria: what happens in a year?
As if things with Dante weren’t complicated enough, I’ve already fallen in love with Oriana and Vito. If things don’t work out, what happens? Will I lose them forever?
I can’t let my mind go down that road. It has to work out, because I can’t lose them. I just can’t.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
28. DANTE
It’s come down to this: the world-renowned Prince Dante, monarch of Morova and executor of the Trentini fortune, is bargaining with a pair of ten-year-olds. Over a Disney movie.
“You can watch it again tomorrow,” I say. “Once is enough for tonight.”
The sun has long since set outside the window of my television room, leaving us in the dark except for the glow of the hundred-inch screen on the wall. The twins are sitting between Amanda and me on the wide, low-backed sofa that serves as our theater seats.
“But Lion King is our favorite,” Oriana whines.
“I’m like Simba!” Vito shouts. “I can’t wait to be king!”
“Then you’re going to be sorely disappointed,” I say, plucking the remote control from his butter-soaked little hand. The popcorn was Amanda’s idea, and it was brilliant.
She’s brilliant.
As if to make my point for me, she grabs Vito around the torso and starts tickling him like mad.
“How many times do we have to tell you?” she hollers as Vito shrieks. “You’ve never going to be king, you little street urchin!”
“Tell me why!” cries Oriana, eager to get in on the fun.
“I told you a hundred times!�
�� I say, gripping her sides and poking my fingers gently into the muscles along her little ribs. “Because I bought you both from the gypsies!”
The storm of giggles goes on and on, until they finally drop onto their backs, breathing heavily. Vito drops his head into Amanda’s lap and looks up at her.
“Are you going to move in here with Uncle after the wedding?” he asks.
“Why yes, I am. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes,” the twins say in unison.
“Which is why Amanda gets to stay while you two go off to your rooms to bed,” I say, dropping Oriana onto the sofa beside her brother.
Vito opens his mouth to complain but I silence him with a raised finger.
“The sun is down, the moon is high,” I say.
They both look at the floor.
“And off to my waiting bed go I,” they recite glumly. It’s a ritual I’ve been sending them to sleep with since they could talk.
“And in the morning, if you’re good,” Amanda chimes in.
The twins look to her with hopeful eyes.
“You can have some breakfast… uh, fud,” she finishes.
They stare at her, uncomprehending.
“Sorry,” Amanda says sheepishly. “Food doesn’t really rhyme with good…”
They roll their eyes comically as they march over to me, each planting a kiss on one cheek.
“Goodnight, Uncle,” they say.
To my surprise and her delight, they do the same to Amanda.
“Goodnight, Amanda.”
A shimmer of tears lights up her eyes in the glow of the television screen as the children head off to their own chambers on the other side of the hall.
I slide next to her on the sofa and wrap an arm around her shoulders. Sometimes I think this all has to be a dream, that it’s impossible for this crazy American cowgirl to have become such a key part of our lives in such a short time.
Then again, Emilio pointed out that the gods seem to be fond of monarchs.
“That was amazing,” Amanda says, swallowing hard.
“I know I’ve been saying this a lot lately, but get used to it. They adore you.”
