As a result, the time she could spend on her work was a source of comfort to her. In a world where nothing made much sense, where having to learn that one ate asparagus with one’s fingers and never used a knife to cut a bread roll at the table was deemed important, her position as aid was imperative to her very sense of self.
Her other source of comfort was bed.
Well, comfort wasn’t the right word.
The way George, Xavier, and Edward had been of late… she was lucky she could walk at all. Never mind pitter-patter around in the ridiculous heels that were her new uniform.
“That’s fine,” Drake was saying, jolting her from thoughts that had taken on a decided X-rating, “But you are aware you’ll require staff of your own, correct?”
“Edward has enough guards to cover me, surely?” she asked, utterly discomfited by the notion of having even more men hovering around.
The guards had to know what was going on between her and the DeSauvier men, surely?
But when she looked at Giles, his beefy features expressed no disgust or distaste, just a pleasant blandness that she knew was to make her feel she had no say in the matter.
Not by one inch of the twitch of his brow did he indicate there was a means of persuading him otherwise.
She sighed, ceding to him. He did know better than her. But the idea of even more guards hanging around made it seem likelier they’d be found out.
She bit her lip, wondering who’d bust the biggest gut when they discovered she was sleeping with three men—not just the Crown Prince.
“Was there something else?” she asked quietly, feeling her stomach twist at the idea of someone knowing their secret. And because she felt like she was on trial, as the only person standing here, it was hard not to feel like she was being judged.
“Yes. The arrangements have been made for you to fly over in the jet to Tennessee. You are aware you’ll have to remain on the jet and that they will have to be chauffeured to the airfield, correct?”
She bit her lip. “I’m aware. But would it really do any harm for me to go home for the night?”
“Yes. It requires more staff. Staff we can’t afford to send over to the States when all hands-on-deck are needed in the run up to the wedding.” Drake cut her a look. “Edward told me you agreed with all this when he came to me with your request.”
“I did,” she said sullenly. “I-I just felt like visiting home.”
His eyes softened. “I understand, and ordinarily, it wouldn’t be an issue. But they’ll be arriving a few days before the wedding. We’ll be stretched to our limits, and considering the recent circumstances… I don’t want to take any risks.”
“In the future, I’ll be able to visit them?” she asked eagerly, surprising herself with how badly she wanted him to say yes. Ironic, considering she hadn’t been home in four damn years.
“Of course,” he told her, surprise lacing his tone. “Although it would be easier for them to visit Veronia.”
She shook her head. “Their work wouldn’t allow it.” She didn’t mention the fact they were farmers; Marianne always looked on the brink of passing out whenever she happened to mention her folks had a farm.
Her deportment teacher had already informed her that she was supposed to say, “My parents invest heavily in agriculture,” whenever someone asked about her family.
Cue eye-roll.
“Will Edward be coming with me?” she asked. Though Perry knew it was strange not to be asking her fiancé that particular question, some things were out of his hands.
Prince or not, she was coming to realize that their head of security often had more say in their lives than she’d have liked.
Drake shook his head. “You’ll be traveling alone.”
She gnawed at her lip, trying and failing not to be angry about his softly uttered words.
“On another matter of business, Drake has agreed to act as witness on our behalf, Perry,” Philippe murmured softly, after the silence fell and grew so loud that it had a volume all of its own.
She frowned. “Witness to what?”
“A prenuptial agreement.”
Marianne said the term as though she’d just dropped an F-bomb in front of the Pope.
Perry frowned at the tone, but shrugged. “Okay. Where do I sign?” she asked, heading over to the desk, atop which Drake had slid a very, very, very thick file of paper.
She grimaced at its thickness. “Look, I know I should read this. I really know I should, but if we get divorced, I’m not going to end up owing you anything, am I?”
Philippe blinked. “No. Why would you?”
“Don’t you know how prenuptial agreements work, Perry?” Marianne asked kindly.
“Of course I do. I was being facetious,” she said on a huff. “I don’t want anything other than what I’m bringing to the marriage. Which, in comparison to Edward, is buttkiss.” She shrugged again. “I just don’t want to sign and then learn that I’ll owe you my kidney if we split years down the line.”
Philippe’s lips twitched. “No. Your kidneys can remain your own. Although, if at some point down the line we do get ill and are in need of a kidney, I’ll know to knock on your door to see if we’re a blood match.”
She grinned, charmed by this teasing side of Philippe’s nature. He’d always been pretty somber around her. This was the first time she’d seen him laugh freely.
Maybe there was something in her DNA that acted like weed around DeSauvier males. She always seemed to make them chuckle.
Uncertain whether that was an advantage or a disadvantage, she murmured, “Do you have a pen?”
Drake placed one in her hand, and she quickly scanned the sheets, seeking the dotted line. There were many places her signature was required, but just as she poised the pen on the first line, the door burst open.
Startled, she jolted and dropped the pen. Seeing her fiancé standing there like the Angel of Death, she frowned as he burst into a flurry of infuriated Veronian.
It was a funny language. Romantic edges, but with a heart made up of Balkan-like syllables.
Hearing him rail at his parents in such a barrage had her feeling like each word was a poorly aimed bullet, and she was caught up in the spray.
Though he stunned the shit out of her, he also managed to look utterly magnificent. His hair gleamed like bronze in the light from Drake’s garden-view window, and his eyes were like storms as he raged on. In his tailored suit, he was sin personified, and he was hers.
Wonders never ceased, but she was so utterly aware that she was his too.
That was why he was here.
For her.
Now she just needed to figure out why he’d had to bring out the big guns.
“Edward,” she said softly, breaking into his tirade with the gentle utterance of his name.
He jerked to a halt like he’d been slapped, and though he was breathing heavily, his nostrils flared, he stopped railing at his mother and father.
“It’s okay,” she told him with a calm smile. “I don’t want anything from this marriage. You know that. The money means nothing to me.”
Marianne stiffened, Perry noticed from the corner of her eye, but whether the older woman believed her or not didn’t matter. It was the truth, and that was all that counted.
“You don’t know what you’re signing, Perry,” he retorted, shooting his parents a glare. “There will be information in there about any issues we may have. You’re signing away your rights to raise them.”
Issues? She frowned. “I am?”
“Yes,” he exploded. “That’s why I’m so mad. They chose to do this without my being here because they knew I wouldn’t agree to it. My children need their mother,” he snarled at them. Then, so saying, he strode over to the desk where Perry was standing, picked up the prenup, and with his other hand, grabbed hers.
Sliding her fingers through his, she allowed herself to be dragged out of the office and back through the grim tunnel. But before she left Drake’
s quarters, she shot Philippe and Marianne a hurt look.
They hadn’t needed to pull the wool over her eyes like that.
The unfairness of it stung, even though she recognized they were doing their level best to protect not only their son, but any future grandchildren they may have.
When Edward carried on pulling her down the corridor, she dug her wobbly heels in and tugged him to a halt. “Edward! I can’t walk so fast in these stupid shoes.”
In less time than it took for her to inhale a gulp of air, she was flying through the air, and landed solidly over his shoulder.
For a second, she could do nothing more than just gape at the floor.
Had he done what she thought he’d just done?
Was he seriously carrying her? Caveman-style?
The bitch of it was, she knew she should be pissed. Instead, she was impressed. Jesus, she wasn’t exactly light, and the man hadn’t even grunted when he’d taken her weight onto one shoulder then started hauling her ass down the endless tunnel-like corridor.
When her wits returned, she reached down and bit his ass.
“That’s for scaring the crap out of me,” she retorted, feeling her hair fly loose from the clip and start to dance over her face.
He didn’t yelp, just reached up and tapped her butt. “You bite me again,” he warned, “you’ll get a harder smack.”
She grumbled, then grimaced at the bob of her head. “This isn’t comfortable, you know? I could have just taken off the shoes.”
He let out a pained sigh, one that sounded more irritated with her than anything else.
Despite herself, she had to grin.
Talk about making him react!
The man was so fucking perfect all the time, it was nice to see him out of his shell.
Yelling at his mom and dad, then doing this?
Shit.
She was rubbing off on him.
And not just in a sexy way, either. In a way she’d known she would, a way George had known too.
She was lightening him up, lightening his load.
Even though the blood was starting to pound in her head, the very idea made her incredibly happy. Especially when they passed a few members of staff on their way out. Staff who went from chatting and giggling to dead silent as they watched him cart her off down the hall.
She twisted to look up at them, and couldn’t stop the swift grin on her face at the sight of the women’s gaping mouths—similar reactions to her own—and the men’s delight in seeing their Prince and future Princess in obvious disarray.
She grinned at the women, knowing from their looks that they were as caught up in Edward’s swarthy handsomeness as she was.
One of them shot her a cheeky grin back, then gave her the thumbs up. Deciding that she liked her, and recognizing her from one of the many classes Marianne was giving her on event planning, Perry decided she liked the woman more and more.
Ten minutes later, having strode through a public walkway, passing three guards, a Guardian of the Keys—identifiable by the swaying chatelaine’s belt and heavy bunch of keys he wore around his hips—and at least four more staff, they made it to the private section of the palace.
They didn’t stop at her quarters, as she’d expected.
Oh no. They carried on. Down the hall to where she’d never traversed. Past George’s room. Onwards. Onwards. Until they came to a door.
When he opened it, she sucked in a sharp breath.
This was his room.
His goddamn room! Hell, yeah!
She knew she shouldn’t be so giddy about seeing his quarters, but she really was.
She’d been engaged to the man for over two months, and had yet to see his personal space.
Perry wasn’t sure why he was revealing it now, but revealing it he was.
With a grunt, he tugged her over his shoulder, swaying her into his arms before he steadied her hips and helped her stand.
She winced, her head light and her eyes pounding from the prolonged stay upside-down.
Lifting a hand to her forehead, she grumbled, “Caveman.”
With his hold on her hips, he dragged her against his body, and she felt his raging hard-on against her belly. “You loved it,” he whispered, bending down and whispering the words in her ear.
Then, he further surprised her by not starting something. And he had to want something. There was no way his cock wasn’t ready for her.
Her mouth watered at the very idea.
Eyes flaring wide with sudden arousal, she inadvertently took in more of his quarters than intended as he strode off towards a sofa that took up a large space of the room. It was same size as George’s, which meant it was almost two to three times the size of her enormous stateroom, and there were very few antiques in here, just like in his brother’s.
The bed was a solid frame, and obviously old, but that was pretty much it. It had simple dark mink drapes swathed around the posts, and she could easily imagine him closing himself inside the bed like a child would cover her head with the blankets to protect herself from the monsters in the closet.
She sucked in a sharp breath as the thought occurred to her. It hurt to think of him like that. To think of him scared.
But from the little that was available in the press and online searches, and mostly from what Xavier had told her, he’d been snatched straight from his bed by his kidnappers.
What did that do to a person?
To know that during sleep, when one was at one’s most vulnerable, was the moment someone had taken advantage.
When someone had dragged him from his rest, snatched him from his home, and taken him captive.
She gnawed at her lip, hating where her thoughts had gone. Now wasn’t the time. Not when he was acting so deliciously out of character.
He dragged her attention from his bed and back to him by shifting on the sofa. The dark brown leather squeaked as he settled himself deeper into the L-shaped section, and she caught a glimpse of him—knowing he was watching her look at his bedroom.
A desk, less busy than the one in his office, took up a space by a set of French doors. It overlooked the waste of water that was the fountain Masonbrook was named for, she’d learned when she’d tried to get them to shut it down. The spout soared tens of feet into the air and was channeled by water pressure. She didn’t dislike the fountain because it wasted energy… she just thought it was a waste of goddamn water.
And, if she couldn’t shut it off, she intended on diverting the water stream somewhere else.
At some point in the future, at any rate.
The desk was also a fancy affair. Wide and strong, it looked like Edward wasn’t the first DeSauvier to sit behind it.
A music station hovered in another corner, and a quick glance revealed hidden speakers dotted here and there. Considering there was no TV, it must have been his entertainment of choice.
The only music she’d ever heard him listen to was classical—in the car. Then he’d played the violin with Xavier that one magical, crazy-good night.
A treadmill peeked out from behind a screen—ornately carved rosewood, by the looks of it. Indian in design if the many-armed God, Vishnu, was anything to go by.
More curio, dotted here and there, revealed more of the man to her than she’d expected.
Sure, she’d known seeing his space would show her facets of his nature she’d yet to come across, but she was seeing more than she’d hoped.
This, unlike his office, wasn’t uber modern. It was traditional, yes. But there were pieces in here that were selected out of choice.
The screen. A tapestry depicting sunlight falling over an estate she didn’t recognize—thousands of tiny stitches somehow creating an evocative piece that spoke of a beloved place in Edward’s heart.
There were the random pieces of art. Some he had propped against the wall on a console table, others were on the wall. Some hung from large pieces of corded rope because they were so heavy. Portraits, landscapes… the selection was
eclectic. But that was nothing compared to the framed photos.
She was dying to dart around, look within the frames and see what he’d deigned important enough to capture forever and commemorate, but he cleared his throat and she dragged her attention away… away from the other side of this man. A side she’d been dying to see.
How she’d held her patience, Perry wasn’t sure. Only knowing that he’d open up to her eventually had helped.
With a sigh, she slipped out of her heels and strode over a thick, plush rug that felt great against the soles of her feet, and took a seat by his side.
She jolted when he hauled her closer, not stopping until her hands were pressing into his chest for support as she steadied herself, barely refraining from tumbling headfirst into his lap.
Not that she’d have been averse to such a position, but she could tell he wasn’t exactly in the mood for that.
With a whooshed exhalation, she glowered up at him. “Stop dragging me all over the place.”
He stared at her, totally unrepentant. “Can I help it you don’t move fast enough?”
She rolled her eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be charming?”
“I am,” he joked. “Just not Prince Charming.”
She huffed out a peeved breath, then stared past him at a table behind the sofa. Butting up against it, she could see a simple black photo-frame that housed a single image: a hand, reaching up to grab a door knocker that was as ornate as it was ancient.
“That was in Malta. A place called Medina,” he informed her, seeing where her attention was and explaining—for once, without having to pull teeth.
“What’s in Medina?” she asked gently, wanting to reach out to touch the door knocker. From a wolf’s mouth, a God and Goddess hovered, their arms curled into carved stone drapes to support themselves but their feet entwined, their calves, too, as they clung to each other, creating an elongated circle.
The woman’s breasts were bare, her face turned away, gaze lowered. The man’s beard looked like it swayed in a breeze; his glance was more direct as he stared ahead, but it, too, was averted.
Another wolf’s paws crossed over their legs, holding them in place forevermore.
Her Highness, Princess Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 2) Page 19
