by Holly Hart
Dad kisses my cheek and wipes away a tear as we lock eyes. I always expected him to walk me down the aisle, but I always just assumed it would be at St. William’s in Shelby. Not here.
I love you, pumpkin, he mouths as he turns and begins the walk back down to the family section at the front, where he’ll take a seat next to Emilio and Isabella.
Keep it together, Amanda. You can do this.
Dante’s wide eyes roam all over the dress. Judging by that look, he likes it – a lot – and that’s all that matters.
My heart gallops like a runaway bronco in my chest as we clasp hands and look into each other’s eyes.
It’s show time.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
36. DANTE
I want to rip that dress off and make love to her right here and now, in front of the world.
Instead, I take her hands and look into those soft eyes. Every doubt I’ve had over the past two weeks disappears. This is the right thing to do. I know it deep in my core.
The Archbishop of Morova, a man who has scolded me more times than I can remember over the past twenty years, begins to speak in measured, official tones. I’ve often wondered if he can in a manner that doesn’t sound like he’s giving a lecture.
He drones on about hallowed this and purest that, and that something was ordained for the mutual society. I don’t listen to any of it. I only want to hear my own heartbeat and see Amanda’s face.
He asks if there if anyone has any just cause, and an image of Chancellor Huber’s fat face suddenly flashes through my mind. As I do, I see Amanda bite her bottom lip. The media will have a field day over that, but I don’t care.
The vows are, thankfully, simple tradition: loving, honoring, and cherishing. To have and to hold, from this day forward. The longest part of the whole thing is listing off my endless stream of middle names. Amanda manages to get them all correct.
She says she will.
I say I will.
We exchange rings.
We’re now man and wife. And Amanda Sparks is now an honest-to-God princess.
The archbishop doesn’t tell me I may kiss the bride; royal protocol says we don’t kiss until we reach the balcony that overlooks the gardens and the crowd below.
Fuck royal protocol.
I pull Amanda close and press my lips against hers. I hear her sudden intake of breath, followed by a contented sigh. Behind us, a dozen gasps echo through the cathedral’s 300-foot ceilings. None of them matter.
Suddenly, the sound of Oriana’s giggles reach our ears, and our lips part so we can giggle ourselves.
This is our life now. For better or for worse.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
37. AMANDA
“Are we going to have enough food?” I wonder aloud.
“Who cares?” Dante says, sweeping me into his arms and kissing me deeply. It’s wonderful, but it would be better if there weren’t so many flashes going off.
I suppose that’s life as a princess. Better get used to it.
We disengage and sip a little more champagne as we wait for dinner to be served. The gardens are wall-to-wall people, just as we planned. I knew it was a huge risk inviting so many commoners to the reception, but it seems to be working out. The weather is perfect, everyone is having a good time, and the media coverage has been amazing.
Even Marco finally has something to do, leading a security team through the gardens. They’re dressed so inconspicuously, you’d never know there were more than a hundred highly trained men and women patrolling the grounds.
“Maria and her people have it well in hand, I’m sure,” says Dante. “The reason we pay so many people so much money is so we don’t have to worry about things like that. All you need to think about is looking beautiful for your new subjects. And that will be easy for you.”
“I wish Maria and Carlo were here,” I sigh. “They’re an important part of this.”
He shakes his head. “Believe me, they’re much happier working behind the scenes.”
Dante wraps an arm around my waist as we scan the gardens. There are approximately 15,000 people here – basically a good-sized outdoor concert. The major difference, of course, is that these people are all dressed to the nines, not in cut-off jeans and bikini tops.
And the fact they’re all getting free food and drinks, of course.
“I have to admit, I thought you were crazy at first,” he whispers in my ear. “Inviting half the population of Morova was a huge risk.”
“Mmm, but what better way to distract people from the fact their monarch is marrying an American commoner with less than two weeks’ notice?”
“That dress helps,” he says, scanning the area to see if anyone is looking, then grabbing my ass once more. It sends an electric jolt right between my legs.
Dante’s been risking a major scandal by grabbing my ass through the dress every time the cameras aren’t on us. He’s also risking the wrath of my dad.
Not that we have to worry too much about him. He’s been playing with the twins practically non-stop since the ceremony ended.
“It should be tight enough to squash any pregnancy rumors, anyway,” I say.
“I can’t imagine a shotgun wedding to the daughter of Ike Sparks.”
“You’d have his whole collection pointed at your back.”
In the distance, I see a crew setting up a piano and sound equipment on the stage near the entrance to the palace. A few taptaps ring out as someone tests the microphones.
“I still can’t believe Elton John is playing our wedding reception,” I say. “As if this whole thing could be any more like a dream.”
“He was good friends with my father,” he says. “And you know how he feels about princesses.”
We’ve had a break in the procession of well-wishers for a couple of minutes, but the next wave is coming in. After a while, it just turns into a sea of faces with automatic hand-shaking and smiles. It’s my own fault for inviting so many people.
A pair of well-dressed young women look at us sheepishly after introducing themselves.
“Would it be okay if we got a photo with you two?” one of them, a compact blonde, asks. The hope in her voice is sweet.
“Of course,” I say, positioning them between me and Dante. The girls blush furiously as they set up the shot with a telescoping selfie stick. We each wrap an arm around their shoulders and smile.
A moment later, they’re staring at their screen with their mouths open, starstruck. Over a photo of me. The girl who was buried in a vault in Malta less than a month ago.
“Thank you so much,” one of them breathes. “This is the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”
“Don’t forget hashtag Amandante,” I say.
“She’s so cool!” the other squeals as they scurry away with their prize.
“You’re going to regret that,” Dante says out of the corner of his mouth. “Now everyone will want one.”
“Bring it,” I say with a laugh. “I’m a star today, and I’m going to act like one.”
After what seems like thousands more well-wishers file past, we finally get a chance to steal away to where our family is seated. The twins are eating ice cream from crystal dishes while Isabella chats with a frumpy looking man in formal wear. Emilio’s eyes are the same shade of red they’ve been for the past week or so.
“Any sign of my father?” I ask him.
“He’s over there,” Emilio says, pointing to a small clearing. Dad’s holding court with a couple of people who have cameras on him and another holding a microphone.
I wince. “Has he been doing all right?”
“They love him.” He shrugs, knocking back the last of his drink. “What more could you ask for?”
“Is everything all right, Emilio?” I ask, taking a seat next to him. “You haven’t seemed yourself for a few days.”
He gives me an odd look that I can’t read: a mixture of surprise and… is it embarrassment?
His hand fi
nds mine on the table. “I’m fine, princess,” he says. “Don’t worry about me, especially today, of all days. Go enjoy yourself.”
“Amanda, darling!”
Isabella’s voice cuts through the air from behind me, making me think of Cruella de Vil in 101 Dalmations, for some reason.
“Your Grace,” I say, standing to greet her. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
She gives me a European peck on both cheeks.
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Auntie? We’re family now.”
Dante appears at my side and pulls me close.
“Who was that gentleman you were talking to, Auntie?” he asks.
“Him?” She shakes her head. “Some bore of an undersecretary for the National Council. But better that I take the brunt of the bureaucrats than you two, wouldn’t you say?”
I smile. “I appreciate your efforts, Auntie. Keep up the good work.”
At that moment I hear a groundswell of applause coming from the stage area. A few moments later, the opening keyboard refrain of Crocodile Rock blasts through the air and the crowd goes wild.
The bass line kicks in and suddenly I feel my dad’s big hands on my waist.
“C’mon, pumpkin,” he hoots. “Let’s go show these stiffs how it’s done!”
As the music begins, we find an opening in the crowd and dance to the bopping beat of the song. Despite his size, Dad’s a pretty good dancer, thanks to a few decades of Friday night get-togethers down at the legion hall. I’m not half-bad myself, especially when it’s the oldies.
We hop and step and swing around until the opening of the first chorus before I notice everyone is staring at us.
On the edge of the crowd watching us are the twins, nodding their heads in time to the music. Dad and I both have the idea at the same time, reaching out a hand towards them. They come running into our little circle to joins us, jumping around and shaking their little behinds.
If Dad notices any of the dozens of cameras recording our every move, he doesn’t show it. This is Ike Sparks in his element, cutting a rug with a couple of Buds in him. And if the people around us have a problem with it, they can go pound sand up their asses.
I don’t care what the circumstances were that led up to this: today is my day.
Apparently realizing that royals won’t spontaneously combust if they have fun, Dante joins us. I’m sure he can do the Viennese waltz with the best of them, but his rock ‘n’ roll dancing sucks. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
As the song ends and the crowd roars, I lean into his ear.
“If that doesn’t break the Internet, I don’t know what will. Eat your heart out, Kim Kardashian’s ass.”
The people around us start clapping, some of them still sporting shocked looks on their faces but most of them laughing. As Dad picks up the twins and heads back to the table, Dante reaches behind me and grabs my ass again. This time, he works a finger in there, sparking a live wire in my groin and making me weak in the knees.
“We need to get out of here as soon as we can,” he hisses in my ear as I try to keep my composure. “I’ve been waiting too long to fuck you. I can’t wait any more.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
38. DANTE
I’m almost ready to tear that Andrea Fortuna masterpiece right off of her as the heavy ironwood doors to my quarters slam shut behind us. But I don’t. As much as I don’t want to, I have to take this slow.
“Alone at last,” Amanda says almost shyly. “No one to get between, for as long as we want.”
I nod. “Nothing to stop us anymore.”
She looks around the room for the first time, noticing the line of tall, heavy candles that leads through the parlor into my – our – bedroom. The floor is strewn with rose petals that lead all the way to the bed.
“Oh,” she sighs. Candlelight reflects in the huge antique mirrors around the room. “It’s beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” I say, gliding my fingertips along the exquisite sleeves of her dress.
“Andreas is a genius,” she says.
“I like you better without it,” I say, pulling her to me and taking her face in my hands.
Her lips are as sweet and warm as mulled wine on my tongue. Her hair, so perfectly coiffed, comes loose from her wedding stylings with just a few strategic moves of my hands. Once free, it spills down to its natural place on her shoulders.
We take it slow and easy, despite the raging need inside me. I haven’t been able to stop fantasizing about this moment since we got of the plane from Cannes. I’ve dreamt about it every night since, except for the drunken night of my bachelor party.
Her hands undo the buttons of my uniform’s tunic, letting it slide open. I shrug out of it and drape it over the back of a chair.
“I apologize for the sweat,” I say. “That thing is hot as a brick oven.”
“Then we’d best get you some air,” she says.
She deftly opens my shirt and strips it off, leaving my naked torso gleaming in the candlelight. Her hands find my chest and stroke the hair there. My cock is already straining against the pants of my uniform, even though I’ve barely touched her.
We kiss again, more urgently this time. Even though it’s only been two weeks, it feels like I’ve been waiting an eternity for this.
“Don’t go anywhere,” she says. She keeps her eyes on mine as she slinks behind the antique changing screen just outside the bedroom door. The candles cast a shadow on the fabric of the screen, showing me a perfect silhouette of her body as she glides out of Fortuna’s dress.
My cock is throbbing in time with my heart.
She takes something else off a hanger and slides into it, zipping it up in the back. When she emerges from behind the screen, I swear I almost come on the spot.
An ivory-colored silk negligee hangs from her shoulders by a pair of spaghetti straps. The neckline drops just enough to give me a tempting look at her breasts, and the hemline comes just above her panties.
It’s enough to make a man pass out from desire.
“Do you like it?” she asks nervously. “I found it in a shop in Milan and I thought maybe – ”
The animal in me wants to rip it off and toss it into the candles, but the prince wins out.
“It’s exquisite,” I say. “Come here.”
Amanda does as she’s told and meets me for another lingering kiss. With this one, she undoes the buckle of my belt and lets my pants drop to the floor. I know, I know, the uniform is an heirloom. That’s what the royal dry cleaner is for.
After a few moments, I sweep her up off the floor.
“Oh!” she gasps.
I plant my lips on hers again as I carry her across the threshold of our bedroom. It’s a long way – the room is almost 1,000 square feet – so I enjoy a long, slow kiss.
When we reach the bed, I lay her down on the coverlet. As I kneel beside her, the head of my cock makes an appearance through the fly of my silk boxers.
“Why, hello,” she says, with all the decorum one would express from a princess. “I was wondering when I was going to see you.”
She reaches out and takes hold of it lightly, stroking down until her hand disappears into my boxers. It’s all I can do to keep from losing control.
I can’t let the animal take over. This has to be special. Gentle.
My hands caress the delicate fabric of her negligee, tracing circles around her breasts. I can feel her heartbeat under my fingers. I lean in to run my mouth along her neck.
“My queen,” I whisper. “I am your fool.”
She sighs and lies back, allowing my mouth to explore her ears, then her throat, and finally down the neckline laid bare by the lingerie. The taste of her skin is salty and sweet, her scent floral mixed with her own musk.
Her hands undo the laces under her neckline and the negligee falls open, revealing her belly and the inner sides of her breasts. Below that are a pair of silk panties that barely conceal the junction of her t
highs.
I can’t take much more of this.
As if reading my mind, she brazenly grabs the waistband of my shorts and yanks them down, allowing my cock to bounce free.
“That’s much better,” she purrs as she turns on her side and rises onto all fours. I catch a teasing glimpse of her nipples just as she slides the head of my cock into her mouth.
“Mmmmm,” she moans. Or is it me? I can’t focus, the pleasure is too much.
She’s becoming bolder with each encounter, trying new ways to please me. Her tongue slides up and down the underside, making my knees tremble.
“Please,” I beg. “I have to see you. All of you.”
Her eyes widen and her cheeks flush as she lets go of my shaft and rises to her knees on the bed. She slides off the negligee’s top, finally giving me a full view of her milky skin and shapely breasts. Like my cock, her nipples are at full attention.
I drop my shorts all the way to the floor and kneel beside her on the bed. My hands find the waistline of her panties and my thumbs drag them down, exposing her entrance. She quickly drops onto her back and wriggles the rest of the way out of them.
“Finally,” I breathe, covering her body with mine and closing my mouth onto hers.
Chapter Forty
39. AMANDA
I shudder as the skin of Dante’s torso touches mine. His muscles are like stone underneath.
“I want you,” I breathe in his ear. “I’ve never wanted anything so much.”
Our hands explore each other for a few moments. He caresses my tits as I stroke his cock, both of us moving in time to the other’s motions. Finally, his fingers reach my outer lips.
The sensation of his skin on mine down there is primal, like something beyond thought, a basic bodily need. I can feel myself getting wetter at his touch, in preparation for what’s to come.
Finally.
After several glorious moments of this, Dante lifts me and lays me back down with my head on one of the dozen pillows on his huge bed.
