“Because we’re talking about regions who are reared to not trust the monarchy,” Xavier said softly. “Some people just don’t like the prospect of being ruled by a singular family, even if that family has done nothing but right by their nation.”
Edward shot his cousin a look. “You know it goes further than that. Deep into crazy territory.”
Xavier grimaced. “Yeah. But let’s keep it simple.”
“I’m not stupid,” Perry retorted. “I can handle a dive into crazy town.”
Edward snorted, then squeezed her waist. “Back in the nineteenth century, there was a series of uprisings. My family quashed them, and I’ll admit, they were harsh. The punishments for taking part in the mutiny were severe, and a lot of people died as a result.”
“People still talk about it to this day,” George inserted grimly, and she knew from his tone alone that their history still affected the present.
“But surely the people can’t blame you for what your ancestors did?”
Edward shrugged. “Fear and hatred can be as inbred as red hair.”
She frowned. “That makes no sense.”
“You can say that when people are seeking reparations for family members who were slaves back in the day in the States? When inherent dislike of the English had the Scots seeking a referendum to be a separate country?” Xavier shook his head. “Just because it isn’t rational, and just because something is ancient history, doesn’t mean fear can’t pervade everything we do.”
“I know but still… it just seems so extreme when you rule fairly now.”
George shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong. There are a lot of people who love the royal family. Who would never want to be without us, and thankfully, that sentiment is stronger than any anti-royal grudge. But that doesn’t mean the minority doesn’t have a way of making their voices heard.
“Over the years, the affected provinces have tried to secede and become an independent state, separate to the union. Some of those uprisings are more popular than others… hatred and fear are always at the heart of such movements.”
Perry sighed, troubled by their comments. This was her problem now. She was merging into a nation’s heritage, wading through the quagmire and getting caught up in the stink. There was so much to navigate that she feared…
Ugh. What didn’t freak her out about this situation?
As they reached her rooms, their unofficial meeting ground, and she stepped inside, Perry tried to cast off her heavy thoughts—but it was hard. Her only saving grace was the scent of tulips that overwhelmed her and was an instant irritation.
Called the Tulip Room, she’d yet to enter the bedroom without being suffocated by the flowers’ scent. The goddamn waste had always gnawed at her, but now that she was officially being wed into the family, she figured she could start throwing her conservationist weight around.
The room itself was grand, with a huge four poster bed, plenty of Louis Quinze furniture dotted here and there...but the truth was, it was too stately for her tastes.
Which didn’t bode well for the future.
She hadn’t even seen Edward’s quarters yet. They’d always met here, for some reason. In fact, she’d seen more of Xavier’s home than she had of Edward’s apartments. Of which she’d seen his office.
That was it.
Deciding that was going to change out of her dress, she immediately heeled off her shoes the second the door was closed behind her.
Wry, masculine chuckles had her rolling her eyes, but she didn’t turn back to glower at the men. There was no point. They’d endeavor to find her hatred of heels amusing, and she’d endeavor not to use one of said heels as a weapon and one of the guys for target practice.
Discomfited by the knowledge that she’d never seen Edward’s private quarters, unease slithered through her as she strode across her room toward the dressing area, the tight clothing clinging to her in a way that made her cringe.
The walk-in closet was a separate entity to the space where she could change and store all her crap—well, most of the crap had been purchased by George. So it wasn’t hers, per se.
She wasn’t, and never would be, a fan of shopping. Especially not for clothes.
Considering that being a Royal Princess meant looking pretty at least three-quarters of the time, her appearance was as much a part of the job as the huge rock on her ring finger, so she’d left her wardrobe in George’s capable hands.
He had good taste, and was fearless with a checkbook where she would never be, so why not dump the chore in his lap?
Still, the reason for her discomfort was twofold. Her clothes were, as George was wont, far too tight. But more than that, Edward was her principle worry.
He was, and she feared always would be, a closed book.
Just the realization that she’d only ever seen his office before, nothing more, nothing less, made her movements jerky with distress.
He’d proposed to her in his office. He must’ve fucked the sense out of her on his desk, because she’d been crazy enough to say yes and get this whole nutcase of a rigmarole started.
Why hadn’t he invited her back to his suite? Why had she only just realized he was hiding something from her?
His sanctum sanctorum. The place where he escaped from the rest of the world…
Surely she would have to become a part of that haven if this relationship was going to work?
She could barge her way in there, but that was no use, was it? It meant nothing if she wasn’t invited in.
Sighing, Perry glowered at the heels in her hand, which, she’d agree with the guys, did wonderful things to her ass.
Dropping them in front of the chaise for some wonderful member of staff to retrieve, she peered around as she figured out what she wanted to wear.
The closet consisted of three walls of hangers, which were mostly full now, when only days before, they’d been empty. Opposite, there was a chaise lounge and a mirror that tilted this way and that so she could obsess over how chunky her thighs looked in the too-small clothes George insisted on buying her.
Coming to a decision, she reached for a slouchy tee and pair of yoga pants she’d brought with her from the US, then immediately unfastened the zipper that ran down her side. Stepping out of the too-tight, wraparound dress that somehow made her seem more voluptuous than she was, she breathed a sigh of relief at being liberated from all the cling.
She felt like her skin could breathe again when she was naked, and though she doubted the men would complain if she waltzed out in her birthday suit, she figured it was more politic to put something on.
So, glumly, she dressed, but rather than head back to the main room when she was decent once more, she slumped down against the chaise lounge and began to pull out the pins in her hair.
A smiling stylist had appeared this morning, the smile hiding a sadistic streak as she pulled Perry’s wavy, dark chestnut locks into a deceptively simple chignon.
After had come a session in torture as the soon-to-be—insert snort—“royal eyebrows” had been shaped and plucked to within an inch of the stylist’s life; death would have befallen her via tweezer if she had carried on with her plucking much longer. And then, Perry’s face had been made up to look exactly as it did before…
What was the point of the au naturale look when you looked exactly the same after hours of being primped? Perry grumbled to herself and winced with the retrieval of the pins.
Stacking each pin in a line on the seat beside her, Perry bit her matte nude-tinted lip as she recalled the day of the engagement.
It certainly wasn’t something she’d forget this lifetime.
The man hadn’t given her a proposal worthy of the storybooks, but memorable? He had that down pat.
Edward’s voice had been hoarse from his climax, his breathing ragged, his skin sweat-slicked as he loomed over her.
Ever debonair and constantly dressed to impress, it had floored her to see him look less than pristine. But that “floored” sen
sation had disappeared into astonishment when he’d proposed.
He’d seen her, all of her. Had even seen the pained look on her face as she came, had heard the caterwauls that were her screams of delight as she climaxed… that the man still wanted her after all that was more than she’d been able to process.
But want her he had, because the sincerity in his tone, in his eyes, had been half of the reason that she’d said yes at all.
That had been four weeks ago, and the truth was, she’d been reeling ever since.
The moment she’d said yes, everything had changed. Everything. And she feared nothing would ever be the same again.
When the pins were out and her hair was allowed to fall around her shoulders once more, she stared at them for a second. Absentmindedly fiddling with one, she thought about the conversation she’d need to have with her parents soon.
Was it weird she hadn’t called them? Hadn’t told them she was going to be a princess? A queen, one day?
Her lips twitched as she decided that no, it wasn’t weird. They wouldn’t have believed her.
When she’d moved from home, moved up north, they hadn’t exactly abandoned her to her fate, but they’d been displeased.
They hadn’t wanted her to go anywhere. Had wanted her to stay close, marry a local boy, have local kids, and play housewife for the rest of her life.
They were simple, country folk. Nothing wrong in that. And had she not been born with the brain of a scientist, one that was ever curious and ever seeking answers, she was sure such a life would have satisfied her.
But it hadn’t. Her insatiable need for answers had taken her to Harvard where, ultimately, she’d met George.
Which had led to this point in her life.
She blew out a breath. The unease of moments before was transforming into a feeling of being overwhelmed.
If her own parents wouldn’t believe she was going to marry a prince without a press release to back it up, how was the rest of the world supposed to believe it?
Marianne was queen now, but only as long as Philippe—Edward and George’s father—was king. There’d come a day when she, Perry, would be queen instead.
Not just queen of the lab, but of a country.
An honest to God country.
Gulping, she decided that ducking her head between her legs was the only way to go. Otherwise, she’d hyperventilate.
The minute her head was between her knees, she heard the door open. A heavy sigh came next, then footsteps followed. She recognized George’s scent, and knew his touch as he pressed a hand to the back of her neck.
Warmth flooded her and she sighed, relief filling her at his presence.
“Overwhelmed again?” he asked softly, and she nodded.
This was the third time he’d found her this way, and that was mostly, she figured, because he was the one who spent the most time with her. Not because he had some kind of Perry radar that told him when she was feeling totally mind blown by the situation she found herself in. Although, experience told her he had a smidgen of that, too.
“It’s okay,” he told her, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “Everything will be fine.”
“How can it be?” she asked, after sucking down a large gulp of air. “I can’t be queen, George. You know it, and I know it.”
“You don’t know that. I certainly don’t.”
“I do! I can barely hold my own in the lab without being undermined,” she said on a thick swallow, hating her own words for the truth buried within them. “You know Stanford and Harley always bully me. How can I be a queen?”
“You don’t have to be a queen. It isn’t an adjective, Perry,” he retorted. “Edward doesn’t need that, do you, Edward?”
Perry blinked, then jolted upright as the sight of her fiancé’s polished leather-clad toes appeared in her peripheral vision.
He approached on her left, his hand resting top of her spine, then falling down the curve of her back as he cupped her there, relaxing her with his touch before he took a seat.
“It’s okay, Perry. You’re bound to be a little scared, but there’s no need. I had a wife who was born to be a princess, and the people loathed her.” Well, that was reassuring. Not. “You’re one of them, Perry. That’s what they want now. But more than that, I want you.”
She blinked at him, her lashes fluttering as she processed what he’d said. “But I’m… not suitable. Even your mother doesn’t think so.”
“Aunt Marianne likes you,” Xavier countered, and she saw him leaning against the doorjamb, staring in. She didn’t like how on the outside he seemed, so she held out her hand, silently beckoning him closer.
A small smile curved his lips as he neared her, then squatted down in front of her. One of his hands came up to entwine with hers, while the other touched the ground in front of him for balance.
Surrounded to the left, right and front with gorgeous men dressed in suits that cost more than a few months’ rent in her tiny apartment in Boston, she cut them each a look. When she did, she had to shake her head in disbelief.
What the hell did they see in her?
Not just Edward, who would be king one day. But his brother, and their cousin, a duke.
One of them, okay, she could snag—her tits alone would snare one of them, she thought wryly. But all three?
She let out a shaky breath at the knowledge that she was at the center of their world, then whispered, “I can do this, can’t I?”
Xavier was right. Marianne didn’t hate her. Hadn’t she smiled yesterday when she’d shown Perry today’s schedule with the press? And Philippe usually just shook his head and smothered a laugh the many times she almost tripped over her own feet… if her future in-laws didn’t loathe her commoner self, then that was all that mattered, right?
They, and these men here, believed she had it in her.
She sucked down a breath, taking comfort from that. Because if anyone’s opinion really counted, it was her men’s.
Not only that, but Edward wanted her. Her, not some perfect potential princess and future queen. She felt the tug of that connection in her soul, and responded to it like the lifeline it was.
George’s smile was reassuring, as was the way he gently pinched the back of her neck, rubbing the tense muscles there. “You’ve got this.”
“You really do,” Xavier assured her.
“And even if you falter, we’ll be here to make sure you don’t fall,” Edward told her, and that, more than anything, eased her terror.
Because he was right.
Hadn’t he stopped her from falling flat on her face in front of the country’s press? Hadn’t he supported her, kept her upright and stopped her from making a fool of herself when she’d tripped over nothing but fresh air?
Yes, this situation belonged in one of the romance novels she loved reading. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t live it and love it, too.
With a crown on her head, no less.
“Yeah. You’re right.” She smiled, sucking in a deep breath to unsettle the cobwebs of anxiety still dusting her psyche. “We’ve got this.”
George pressed a kiss to her temple as he curved an arm around her waist and nestled her into his side. “You ready to go?”
She hadn’t been, but she was now. “Yeah. I am.”
Xavier grumbled, “Why you arranged these meetings so close together, I don’t know, George.”
She said nothing because she also wished they weren’t traveling to one of the dams in the northwest of the country for infrastructure checks. That was why she’d dressed for comfort rather than to impress. It was a whistle-stop tour. An hour’s ride in a helicopter, and she’d be dealing with some of the engineers in charge of maintaining the second-largest dam in the nation.
After the one in Isdena, it was suffering the largest losses. She needed hands-on information to pass on to Veronia’s Environmental Agency, which was resisting the idea of building new dams to combat their national and dire drought.
Moro
ns.
“It wasn’t like I had a choice,” came the immediate retort. “Getting the three engineers on-site at the same time was like herding a dozen cats.”
Edward sighed. “Stop arguing, you two. These meetings were arranged weeks ago. And now that Perry has a vested interest in Veronia’s future, it’s only for the good of us all that she’s seen to be caring for the nation’s water supply.”
“Who says conservation can’t be sexy?” she said wryly.
“When it comes Perry-shaped, no one would be stupid enough to think it isn’t,” Xavier teased, and that, as well as their belief in her, did more than dust away the cobwebs.
It freakin’ eradicated them. With a goddamn flame-thrower.
Because whatever she thought, whatever she saw in herself, they saw something else. They saw a Perry who could kick ass while wearing a crown, too. And if that wasn’t something to live up to, she didn’t know what was.
Chapter Two
With a headache brewing, Xavier wriggled his shoulders as he scrawled notes onto his work pad.
His PA tried to get him to use a Dictaphone, saying it would be easier to transcribe his voice notes rather than his scrawl, but no matter what he tried, he never got the same feel as pencil and paper.
Maybe it was because it reminded him of science class back in school; the nostalgia alone gave him the feels, and it was hard to break a habit that was so many years in the making.
He drew a rough mock-up of the leaf he was studying at the moment. It was a rare plant, unique to a certain area in the Ansian mountain range—a part of his territory.
It had a similar flavor profile to basil, so it was often substituted in cooking, but it also had homeopathic properties that he was studying in his spare time.
The elda plant was a renowned anti-emetic. Relieving morning sickness woes for newly pregnant women, or being the hair of the dog after a hangover, and generally being the best thing since sliced bread when it came down to anything vomit-related… it was also giving him a migraine. The distinctive smell was pleasant, but with the amount he was growing, it was overpowering. Cue headache.
A pharmaceutical company, based in the US, had approached the Veronian government with a request for a research and development facility to be constructed here, with the express purpose of further investigating the root.
Her Highness, Princess Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 2) Page 2
