by Jane Porter
“That’s not a very proper royal wedding.”
“We both know I’m not a proper royal bride.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHEN ALEXANDER HAD said that the palace would begin the wedding preparations immediately and that Josephine’s days would quickly become tightly scheduled, he hadn’t been exaggerating. She’d expected some appointments and anticipated some meetings, but her entire life was taken over. She also quickly discovered that future princesses lived anything but private lives.
Within an hour of the engagement being announced, she was surrounded by staff. There were women at her side who were assistants managing her schedule, with others managing her wardrobe, while others had tasks she didn’t yet understand.
It only took a few days of constant companionship to make her miss her tower bedroom, which was far from the bustle of the palace. She missed her view of the sea, which reminded her of Khronos, her father, and the work that had been such a passion for so many years.
She also struggled with the sheer number of women who surrounded her now, women who all had corrections for her. They coached her on how to walk, how to carry herself, how to speak. How to hold her knife and fork. How to lift a glass. How to place a teacup. How to sit. How to rise. How not to cross her legs. How to hold her head. How to smile. How not to smile. And how never, ever to laugh.
The hours of daily instruction were meant to help her. The instruction was meant to help shape her into a proper princess. But all the lessons in etiquette and deportment, all the correction of her grammar, all the jabs at her posture simply made her feel pathetically inadequate. Every moment of her life had become a teachable moment, and for someone who’d been homeschooled and who had done her learning through stacks of books, the very vocal, critical coaching was an excruciating reminder that she was a problem. A mistake.
More than once she overheard her ladies murmuring about the difficulty in shaping her into a lady before the party on Tuesday, where she’d be presented to various members of the aristocracy, family friends, and a selection of Aargau’s Parliament.
In addition to the lessons, there were fittings and more fittings, and she was tired of standing still, being measured and draped and discussed as if she were a headless mannequin.
In the last four days she’d been pricked with more pins than she cared to remember. She noticed there were no trousers for her and nothing remotely slouchy or comfortable being made. Everything was expertly tailored: scooped necklines, snug belts, skirts with demure hemlines. But the fabrics were gorgeous and every finished item was beyond luxurious.
Alexander appeared at her room one afternoon, interrupting a meeting with Lady Adina, who was again going over the guest list for Tuesday’s party with her, ensuring that Josephine was indeed familiar with all the names and the correct titles.
No one had heard him enter, and Josephine didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, observing them at her writing table. “Hello,” she said breathlessly, happy to see him and grateful for the interruption. “Do you need me?”
“No. Not if you’re busy.”
“We’re not that busy,” she said, rising, thinking he looked ridiculously handsome in crisp olive trousers and a starched white shirt, the sleeves rolled up on his bronzed forearms. His shirt hugged his shoulders and molded to his chest and narrow waist. Just looking at him she could see why she’d thrown caution to the wind and fallen for him so hard. “And I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I know, and now I’m heading to Paris but I should be back tomorrow.”
She looked up quickly, hopeful. “Could I go with you? I’ve never been to Paris and I’d love to see something new—”
“I wish you could, but last-minute trips are expensive, even without the additional rooms and security we’d need since we’re not yet married.” He reached for her hand. “Come, walk with me in the picture gallery. I don’t think I’ve taken you there yet, have I?”
“No,” she said quietly, feeling flattened.
His fingers laced more fully with hers. He gave her hand a slight squeeze. They walked silently from the room and down the hall. It wasn’t until they’d reached the staircase and gone up a floor and then entered a long corridor filled with enormous oil paintings that Alexander stopped walking and faced her.
“I am going to Paris to see one of my friends, Phillipe,” he said quietly. “Phillipe was on the yacht with me, and he’s leaving for an extended trip to Buenos Aires and I want to catch him before he goes.”
“He hasn’t tried to see you or reach out to you?”
“He’s close with Damian, my cousin. And the fight on the yacht, it was between Damian and me. I think Phillipe has avoided me to avoid having to take sides.”
She was silent a moment in order to process what he was saying. “The fight on the yacht... It was between you and your cousin?”
“Yes.”
His expression was so grim that she was almost afraid to ask anything else. But she’d been there, on the beach, when he’d gone overboard, and she’d been the one to rescue him. She’d seen the wound on his head. She knew firsthand the damage inflicted. “This is the cousin your father wanted you to be more like.”
“We were raised almost like brothers.”
“But he was the one that hit you?”
“Apparently in self-defense.”
“What? How?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem. I only know what I’ve been told. If only I could remember, but I can’t, and so I’m dependent on the memories of those who were there.”
“Have you asked to see the footage from the security cameras? The ship must have them. Everyone has them—”
“It was the first thing I asked for on returning home. But it seems there were no cameras at that end of the ship. It was one of the few places that lacked surveillance.”
“Strange, don’t you think?”
“From what I’ve learned, I was the aggressor that night. If what is being said is true, my behavior is inexcusable.”
“What are they saying you did?”
He shook his head. “I’d rather not.”
“And I’d rather hear it from you than from someone else.”
“Fair enough.” Alexander moved away from her toward the wall of framed portraits, but he didn’t seem to be looking at any of the canvases. “It’s all rather complicated, as I’m telling you what Gerard told me took place.”
“So Gerard was there? He saw it happen?”
“No, this is what Damian told Gerard.”
“I don’t find that very reassuring.”
Alexander shot her a pensive glance. “According to Damian, he noticed I was missing, and then he noticed Claudia—”
“Who is Claudia?”
“His girlfriend.” Alexander swallowed. “And my ex-girlfriend.”
Josephine’s eyebrows arched but she held her tongue.
“So he went looking for us,” Alexander continued, “and found us on the deck off her room. We were having an argument.” His jaw tightened. “I had my hands on her. I was threatening her, shaking her, choking her. Damian intervened and rescued her, taking Claudia to get medical care and leaving me alone on her deck.”
“How did you go overboard?”
“I don’t know.”
“No one came to confront you? No one came to kick you out of her room?”
“Gerard came to find me. He said her room was empty.”
“Did he then go to your room?”
“Yes, and the door was locked, so he left me alone.” Alexander fell silent. “Everyone assumed I’d gone to bed to sleep it off. But when I didn’t emerge from the cabin by early afternoon the next day, my friends forced open my door to check and discovered I was gone.”
“That’s why they never sounded the alarm.”
“And why no one knew where to look for me. By early afternoon the yacht had covered a great distance.” He drew a breath and forced himself to continue. “What worries me is the fight. The fact that I was shaking her or angry with her. I don’t know why I’d be upset. I’ve never been bothered by her seeing Damian. How could I be? I was the one who ended it with her.”
“You think Damian is making all of this up?”
“But why? What purpose would it serve?”
“So you believe him, then? You shook Claudia and choked her, and then you somehow, all on your own, fell off the yacht?”
“People do stupid things when they drink, and I have been told I was drinking heavily that night.”
“I’m sorry but none of this makes sense. I’ve never seen you drink to excess.”
“I did, when I was younger, back in my university days. And I had a reputation for being a bit of a hothead when I drank, but that was years ago. Ten years ago. I don’t drink like that anymore.”
“Tell me about Claudia.”
He shot Josephine a sharp glance. “Why?”
“I’ve never heard you mention her until now and I find it interesting that your ex-girlfriend was on your bachelor trip.”
“As my cousin’s girlfriend.”
“But wasn’t that awkward?”
“Claudia is also the younger sister of Marc, one of my best friends. She’s been part of my circle forever, which was why I began dating her in the beginning. She knew my world. She understood the rules of my world. She was...convenient.”
Josephine didn’t know whether she was more shocked, angered, or puzzled. Worse, Alexander’s story didn’t line up. It wasn’t logical. “What were Claudia’s injuries?” she asked. “Did the medic on board take photographs? Did she have bruises? Have you spoken to her?”
“Marc, her brother, has told me to stay away from her.”
“Is Marc close friends with Damian, too?”
“We met Marc our first year in the military academy. We’ve been friends with him ever since.”
“And Phillipe?” she asked, suppressing a heavy sigh. “How does he fit in?”
“He was another friend from the academy.”
“You trust them all? Every last one of them?”
Alexander looked away. He said nothing. His silence ate at her.
She pressed her hands together, fingers interlacing. She was afraid for him. Afraid for both of them. “I’m not trying to play Devil’s advocate, Alexander, but something isn’t right. I’m worried you’ve been set up.”
He glanced at her, his expression almost bleak. “But what if I did do it?”
She’d been hurt and angry when she’d first arrived in Aargau and locked in the tower, but deep down, she’d always known who he was and what he was. And that was honorable. “I don’t believe it. And neither should you.”
* * *
Alexander’s trip to Paris was a waste of time and money. When Alexander arrived at Phillipe’s apartment, he discovered Damian was already there. The three of them had dinner together, and on the surface everything was cordial, but conversation was superficial at best. During the meal, they all avoided speaking of the trip. They avoided discussing Alexander’s wedding. They actually only spoke of football and the new exclusive VIP club that had just opened up in Paris.
Alexander regretted the trip. He wished he’d remained in Roche with Josephine, and then it crossed his mind that he didn’t have to stay. He could leave now and return home tonight. He could return now.
Alexander acted on impulse and rose. “Thank you for dinner, but I should get back. Phillipe, enjoy Buenos Aires. It’s a favorite city of mine.” He nodded at Damian. “I expect I’ll see you back in Roche soon.”
“I’ve been waiting for an invitation to the wedding.”
“We’re keeping it small and private.”
“And the party Tuesday? No invitation for that one, either?”
“I was going to give it to you in person when you came to see me at the palace. You haven’t come by. You haven’t phoned.”
“I was waiting on an apology.”
“Ah, I see. Good to know.” Alexander tipped his head and started for the door.
Damian was on his feet and he followed. “You need to get help, Alex, and if you won’t do it on your own, I’ll make sure you do. I’ll speak to your father. I’ll go to Parliament. I’ll take it to the media.”
Alexander turned around. “Why make it public? What do you hope to accomplish?”
“You’ll no longer be able to avoid the truth—that you’re not well, and potentially unfit to rule in your current condition.”
Alexander regarded his cousin a long moment and then nodded. “Good to know.” And then he walked out, grateful for the car waiting for him downstairs and the private jet that could fly him home tonight.
* * *
Josephine hated being at the palace without Alexander. She felt trapped and bullied, although she suspected Alexander wouldn’t understand because he’d grown up here and he’d been raised to conform. But it wasn’t just the constant critical company that wore on her; it was her boring, uninspiring routine. She could only hope that once the wedding was over she’d be given more space, as well as more control over her day. Until then, she’d have to stand at windows, looking out, waiting for Alexander to find her and make her feel safe and wanted again. He was the only reason she was here in Aargau. Her hand went to her belly and she cradled it protectively. Well, Alexander and this one. Her baby.
In the beginning she’d been nervous about the pregnancy, but now she was excited, and determined to be a great mother. Josephine had been raised by a single father, and while he’d loved her, he’d never quite managed to be both mother and father. As a little girl, she’d desperately missed her mother, and that ache for a mother had never gone away. Even now, maybe particularly now due to the pregnancy, Josephine longed for a mother to talk to her, give her advice, and reassure her. Fathers were good at many things, but they didn’t carry the baby, and they didn’t deliver the baby, or nurse, or do any of those other things, and what Jo needed now was a strong maternal figure to help her adjust...or even some knowledgeable girlfriends would do. She hoped that later Queen Serena could maybe become that figure, but until then, Josephine would continue being her own best friend.
* * *
On Sunday afternoon, Alexander walked the castle parapet with the stunning views of Roche’s medieval walled town against the brilliant blue of the sea. Damian’s words haunted him. He’d returned from Paris in the middle of the night, and it had taken him hours to fall asleep, deeply troubled by the tense meal as well as perplexed by Damian’s threats.
This wasn’t the Damian Alexander knew. This Damian was bitter, with a score to settle.
Was it really about Claudia? Or was there something else that had happened, something that Alexander couldn’t remember?
He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, and in his mind’s eye he saw Josephine, lovely, warm, smiling.
He was glad she wasn’t Danielle—sleekly sophisticated and coolly polished—and he didn’t want anyone to try to make her into something she wasn’t, because he liked her the way she was. He liked everything about her. She was the woman he wanted, and she’d be a good queen even if she hadn’t been raised in his world. Maybe she’d be a better queen because she hadn’t.
He wished he’d taken her to Paris yesterday. He wished they had more time together, just the two of them. Maybe he should steal her from the palace and take her for a drive. They could run away for a couple of hours, just the two of them. They could escape in one of his cars, perhaps one of the convertibles, and drive, the wind in their hair, the open road before them.
Alexander stopped pacing, the idea cementing. He knew where he’d take her, too. It would be an hour drive, but it was a beautiful one, across the
middle of the country, through picturesque villages, all the way to the country’s highest point, Mount Bravura. But if they were to do it, he’d need to put the plan in motion now.
Alexander made a call to Julio Costa, the owner of the restaurant, and then went in search of Josephine. His valet was the one who told him to look in the tower guest suite.
When his valet saw his surprise, he smiled faintly. “Miss Robb likes it there,” he said. “Everyone knows it’s her favorite place to go when she needs a break from her ladies.”
This drew Alexander short. “Are her ladies difficult?”
“I think they’re excessively preoccupied with rules and protocol.”
Alexander left the palace for the tower and climbed to the fourth floor. When he entered the tower bedroom he found Josephine standing on a stool before the tall, narrow window. She was barefoot and her chin was propped in her hand, her elbow resting on the thick stone ledge.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
Alexander’s voice caught her by surprise. She jumped a little as she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Nothing much,” she answered.
“Your nothing much is always something.”
The corners of her lips lifted. She turned back to the window and gestured to the horizon. “I was thinking the ocean from here looks more green than blue, and those puffy white clouds, cumulus clouds, are casting moving shadows on the water, making the sea look as if it’s filled with a fleet of ships, all at full sail. I was imagining the adventures those brave voyagers would have.”
“You make me want to be one of those brave voyagers.”
“But then who’d be king? This kingdom has but one heir, which is you.”
A half-dozen different responses came to mind and in the end he chose none of them. “I should have taken you with me last night. I didn’t enjoy Paris without you.”
