“I don’t think many people know.”
“They’ll go apeshit if that’s the case.”
“Then, don’t tell them,” Perry advised. “Cass has already put him under a lot of pressure—and he’s not caving in.”
“They’re having money troubles?”
“No. But Marcus won’t leave New York because he’s waiting on some deal that will give him a great bonus.”
“Idiot,” George grumbled under his breath, making Perry cock a brow. When he saw her surprise, he wriggled his shoulders. “Marcus is Edward’s age, Cass is mine.”
“So, what? She’s more your friend than he is?”
“Yeah.” He grunted. “She used to be, anyway. Before they moved to New York…then, everything changed. Still,” he said, his tone brightening a little, “it sounds like you two are getting close.”
“Maybe.”
“I’m glad. She’s a good friend to have. Very solid, stable, and she gives a crap about life outside of court.”
Perry tilted her head to the side. “I’m glad you approve,” she teased. “Now, what’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Just…” He sighed, then pressed his own head back so he was staring up at the frescoed ceiling. “It’s been a long day.”
“Why?” She hadn’t seen him since that morning at breakfast so wasn’t all that sure what mischief he’d been making.
“Another session at Parliament. God, it bores me shitless.”
She grimaced because she knew how much he loathed politics. “Do you have to do it?”
“No choice. Now that I’m back, I have to take up my responsibilities, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them.” He took another sip of his whiskey, then peered at her, “I spoke with Xavier this afternoon.”
“So? I imagine you do most afternoons.”
“Yes. But he told me what happened two days ago. You kept that to yourself.”
Her cheeks flamed with heat. “Oh.”
He snorted. “Oh? Is that all you have to say?” He sat upright, and she could tell the topic excited him. “Did you enjoy it?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you think?”
“I think you did. More than you thought you would.”
Her nod was stiff. “You realize how smug you sound?”
“I do,” he joked. “Still, I can cope. Would you do it again?”
“Yes.”
“My, you’re a woman of few words at the moment.”
“I just… I’m a little uncomfortable talking about it.”
“Why?”
“Because…” She hesitated—was that why? “I don’t know really.”
He eyed her over the brim of his tumbler. The ice clinked together as he did so, and her mouth watered with the sudden need for a whiskey of her own—that would make this conversation easier, right? “Because I wasn’t involved?”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t have to worry about my being jealous, Perry,” he told her softly. “I’m not. I wish I had been there, of course. I wish I’d seen. But there will be plenty of other times, plenty more fun to be had.” His grin was wide and true. “I just wanted to check in with you… I knew it was strange you hadn’t told me about it.”
She wriggled her shoulders. “I don’t always want to talk about things like that.”
“I know, but you have to. We have to be open with one another, sweetheart. You see that, don’t you?”
“I do, but, that?”
“That more than anything,” he told her wryly, cocking a brow. “The minute you stop enjoying being with us is the moment we have to sit down and reassess everything.”
Because she guessed he was right, she nodded. Slipping from her armchair, she padded over to the sofa where he was. Curling up at his side, she pressed her face into his arm after she’d tucked her feet under her butt.
“I did like it. A lot,” she whispered softly, the heat in her cheeks flaring to life once more. “I want to do it again.”
“I’m glad,” he murmured, not pushing the subject, not asking her for more than she was ready to give as he rested his head once more.
“I love you, George,” she told him, needing to make the affirmation even though there was no reason to fret.
He pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “I love you too, Perry.” He let out a soft, amused laugh. “Even if you are making me help with the wedding arrangements.”
“You know you love it, really.”
He sniffed. “I love you,” he corrected. “And I know you’re not only crap at that kind of thing, but you loathe it and it bores you shitless. For me, I’m bored senseless. You trump my boredom levels. However, expect to wear the sexiest goddamn lingerie as you walk down the aisle as payment.”
She couldn’t withhold the laughter that burst from her lips. “Don’t ever change, George, please?”
He sniggered before he took another sip of his whiskey, and as they fell into silence, both just enjoying being together, the warmth of the early autumnal night surrounding them as well as the soft tunes of Damien Rice’s O album playing in the background, she knew they were both at a peace that was of their own making.
And it was a peace that was a thousand times more powerful because of that.
Chapter Eleven
The sight of future in-laws waiting by the door should inspire terror in anyone. But for Perry, her in-laws-to-be were King and Queen of a nation that commanded the respect of some of the world’s heavyweights. Why?
Because Veronia was hardcore.
They had a military to be reckoned with, a GDP that rubbed elbows with Norway thanks to oil fields in over two-thirds of their territory, and more than that, they were a haven for the super wealthy…
Veronia might be small in stature, but it was one of the big boys on the playground, and its two leaders were standing in her doorway, smiling pleasantly at her.
In the month since the announcement of her engagement, she’d come to distrust that particular smile.
It usually meant they wanted her to do something, and as they were the fucking King and Queen, it wasn’t like she could refuse them.
As a result, she’d had deportment lessons, been trained in the various ways of sitting—because yes, there were hours-long classes on the right way to put your asscheeks on a chair—and had been prodded and poked in ways that even with three men in her bed, she wasn’t accustomed to.
Those smiles meant business, she’d come to realize.
And business wasn’t something she liked.
Sighing at the sight of them, she let her shoulders slump before she remembered that Marianne would smack her hand when she slouched. She quickly straightened up while asking, “Yes?”
They’d also told her off for calling them “Your Highnesses,” but she didn’t feel sufficiently at ease to call them their given names.
Not that they weren’t nice to her.
They were.
They just always wanted her to do shit.
And Perry’s to-do list was ridiculously high without them adding nonsense classes to it. Anything from how to greet POTUS properly—yeah, that visit was going to be in her future at some point, yikes—to the disconcerting number of ways she’d be expected to spearhead charitable campaigns, all while being able to waltz better than a Dancing with the Stars pro.
“Perry, we’ve come to take you to Drake,” Philippe told her cheerfully, that untrustworthy smile still gracing his lips.
Drake was the head of security, and that they were there, not Edward, had to bode poorly for the subsequent hours ahead of her.
Gulping, she asked, “Drake? I didn’t realize I had an appointment with him today.”
“You didn’t, not officially. This is one that Philippe and I arranged. We want to discuss something with you.” Marianne swept out a hand, inviting her out into the hall.
Despite herself, Perry took note of the gesture. The way her mother-in-law was smiling, was still an epic tell—something
unpleasant awaited her. But how Marianne managed to make something an order with a simple sweep of her hand?
Jesus, that was priceless.
She eyed Marianne’s fingers. There were more rings on there than usual, and she was wearing a man’s Rolex. The bulky piece was surprisingly elegant on her slender wrist.
“It was a gift,” Marianne informed her, when she saw where Perry’s gaze was trained.
Blushing, Perry cleared her throat. “I wasn’t looking at your watch.”
Marianne frowned. “Then what were you looking at?”
“Your hand.” She mimicked the pose. “How did you do that?”
Marianne sighed—a sign she was losing patience. It was something Perry was getting used to hearing. “How do I do what?”
“With a wave of your hand, make something compulsory.”
Philippe, though he’d tried to remain stoic from the moment she’d started gawking at his wife’s hand, snorted. He cut Marianne a look, who shot him a disapproving glower, then shrugged. “She’s funny. You can’t deny the girl is humorous.”
Marianne sighed once more. “I don’t. But the future Queen isn’t supposed to be humorous, Philippe.”
The King grunted. “I don’t see why not. This is a different age, Marianne. You and I both know it. The young people don’t want stiff formality. They want someone they can aspire to be.”
Perry blinked. “Nobody is going to aspire to be me, Philippe.”
There was a kind twinkle in his eye. “Now, we both know that’s not true. Harvard is one of the best schools in the world, and you managed to not only study there on scholarship, but worked there for a time before you moved onto MIT… you’re an expert in your field, and you’re going to be royalty soon. You’re a strong, capable woman, Perry. That’s something any parent wants their daughter to emulate.”
Though she was touched by his words, the idea of any small child emulating her made her nauseated.
Still, she smiled through the torment. “I’m glad you think so,” she said, choosing diplomacy over the truth.
A fact Marianne seemed to be aware of if the approving look she sent Perry’s way was anything to go by.
Perry kind of hated herself for perking up at Marianne’s obvious pleasure in her. It made her feel like a six-year-old again, tugging at her father’s jeans as she begged him to teach her how to milk their small herd of Friesian cows.
He’d never been an overly affectionate father—more like one of those men who lived by the earth and died by it. Who knew how to stare at the sky in the morning and configure the weather for the next week. Who could figure, with a few touches here and there, what was going on with a nursing mama whose calf wasn’t faring well. The man had no diplomas, didn’t have a lick of university schooling to his name, and yet he was one of the smartest men she knew.
Because she’d never wanted to be a farmer, she’d felt guilty for most of her childhood. Overcompensating had made her pester her dad, and he hadn’t particularly appreciated it… the same went with Marianne.
So, when she received one lick of approval from the Queen, it always made her stand a little taller. Grimacing, she focused on the royals in front of her. Marianne’s coveted approval was disappearing as Perry lingered in the doorway.
“Well?” she asked softly, but there was steel lining that one word.
She gulped. “Of course.” Closing her bedroom door behind her, she stepped into the hall and found herself being shepherded to a section of the palace she’d never been to before.
Considering Xavier had taken her on a guided tour, she was kind of miffed at being in new territory.
Still, she hadn’t missed much.
These were definitely staff quarters. The hallways were painted gray, and notice boards lined the walls. Each panel was for a different section of staff. Some notes for the groundskeeping staff, others for the kitchen.
She took it all in under the light from a flickering, and irritating, fluorescent bulb. Their heels tapped against the painted concrete as they headed down a long corridor. The door at the bottom, the only aperture in the hallway, was their apparent destination.
If she’d been escorted by police, she’d have felt like she was being guided to a torture chamber for there was something very prison-like about the hall. No windows, dark, grim. And was it her imagination, or did the corridor seem to be growing narrower? Shorter too. Like the door to enter Willy Wonka’s factory or something.
She bit her lip when Philippe strode two steps ahead to open the door for them both.
Perry was pretty happy to see a big, bulky man behind a desk—the bulk was offset by a cheery smile that further relaxed her. The windows at his back revealed a pleasant section of the garden ahead, and the lack of torture devices in the office filled her with relief.
Whatever this was about, it didn’t involve them sticking pins down her nails.
Chiding herself for being fanciful—the Veronian Inquisition, which had happened around the time of the Spanish one, was far in the past—she watched as the King and Queen took a seat in front of the desk, while the man behind it remained standing.
Uncertain of what to do, or where to sit, she stared at the man, head tilting to the side as she studied him.
“Are you Drake?” she asked, unable to hold her tongue when the silence continued.
He nodded. “Heard much about me?”
She grimaced—George had complained, frequently, about Drake’s highhandedness as he rearranged a new security detail about the Prince’s person.
Now, whenever she, Edward, George, and Xavier got together, there was a team of twelve people guarding them.
It was bordering on the ridiculous. She felt like she was on a football team sometimes.
“I take it from that grimace Prince George is still whining?” Drake didn’t sound too displeased by such a prospect, a fact which made her lips curve.
George was one of those people who, with a smile and a word, could wangle almost anything from someone.
He didn’t do it maliciously; it was just a part of his nature. He was one of those sunny people who could charm the birds from the trees.
Most of the time, that ability irritated her. He could switch it on and off depending on his mood. Though she knew it wasn’t intended as a falsehood, knew it was a part of his princely persona, it made her feel like he was playing a role. She never wanted that when she was with him. She wanted him to be himself.
It had taken years for her to break down those walls. And it was why he spent most of his time with her teasing her or being a snark. Because he could. Because she’d worked hard to get him to stop being a prince in her presence.
So, when someone else appreciated that side of his nature too—and she could tell that Drake most definitely did by his satisfaction at George’s grumbling—she found she liked being in similar company.
“He doesn’t understand why they follow him to the pool,” she told him, folding her arms across her chest. “Says they want to perv over his muscles.”
Drake and Philippe chuckled in shared amusement, though Marianne gasped in horror.
“He didn’t imply such a thing?” she declared, making the words half a question and half a statement.
“You know our son, Marianne. What do you think?” Philippe retorted. “The boy’s incorrigible.” He didn’t sound too displeased by that fact, either.
Drake shot her a grin. “Well, I’ll be certain to reassure him that his new guards are, most definitely, married. To females. They’re not interested in his package, or anything else he has to offer.”
“Giles!” Marianne complained.
Drake merely rolled his eyes as he took a seat again, and Perry found herself slightly overwhelmed. Considering that the man was staff, an employee, he certainly behaved casually.
Even with the Guardians of the Keys, women who were supposed to be her friends and allies, Marianne was formal and polite. It always made Perry feel uncomfortable, put her on edge.
But it also helped her understand why it had been so hard to break down George’s walls.
They were ingrained.
Even with people who weren’t necessarily staff, like the Guardians of the Keys who were nobility, hand-picked by the family to work in the most intimate aspects of their lives, the DeSauviers maintained a strict distance…
It was like sharing a house with strangers, and it was one of the reasons why she didn’t want Masonbrook for her first marital residence.
Once he was rocking in his chair, seated behind a desk that was neat to a fault, Giles still managed to tower over the wide surface. He was a tall man anyway, but he was wide at the shoulder, and beneath his jacket, there was the bulge of a holstered weapon.
Considering he rode a desk and didn’t work active duty, the gun seemed unnecessary…but what did she know?
Some people were obsessed with being armed. Her daddy was one of them.
“Perry,” Marianne started, sounding pained. “Drake wants to discuss your situation once you’re wed.”
“What kind of situation?” she asked warily, finding it odd that she was still standing. It reminded her of standing in front of the principal, and most definitely being found wanting.
It was incredibly difficult not to cross her arms over her chest or to fidget.
“Edward has indicated that you wish to live in Grosvenor House?” Drake asked.
She bit her lip. “Yes. Just for a while. Until I find my bearings.” Though she’d taken Xavier’s words to heart, every day she spent here at the palace sucked at her soul. It helped that she and her men were spending more time together, forging the bonds between them whenever they could, but it didn’t chase off the chill that came as part and parcel of this way of life.
It was cold and formal, and though she’d never lived in such luxury, it didn’t bring her peace. In fact, she’d only found that in two places.
One, her office.
Helping to resolve Veronia’s developing ecological crisis was coming to be a means of escape for her. Though she’d always put her all into everything she worked on, now, her time was precious. Over half of it was being wasted on learning the useless crap that would make her a perfect princess.
Her Highness, Princess Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 2) Page 18
