“Well, I’ll have you know it’s American English that’s crazy.”
She leapt back, jumped into a boxer’s shuffle, put her fists up in a fighting stance, and grumbled, “That’s fighting talk.”
He grinned at her antics. “You know you look crazy in front of the staff?”
“They had to learn at some point,” she said dismissively, and carried on bouncing. “Come on, defend your language.”
“Is this a duel?” He folded his arms across his chest and cocked a brow at her. “Pistols at dawn?”
Her mobile lips curved into a brash smile. “Screw the pistols.”
“Said no American ever,” he quipped.
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m deadly with my fists.”
“Since when?” He scoffed at the very idea.
“Since now,” she jibed, letting loose with one of her fists and jabbing him in the shoulder.
He rolled his eyes. “Remind me to get Drake to hook you up with some classes.”
She huffed, stopped bobbing from foot to foot. “Well, that’s just mean.”
“No, the lack of force behind your punch is what’s really mean. I told you back in Boston to sign up for some self-defense classes.”
“You mean to tell me that with all these guards, I need to worry about self-defense?” There was a knowledge in her eyes that disturbed him. And though men were from Mars, and women were most definitely from anywhere else but there, at that moment, their minds were as one.
Self-defense lessons hadn’t saved Marianne.
Nothing, no class, no martial art expertise, could save somebody from a sniper’s bullet.
The thought dampened any amusement he might’ve found in the situation, and plunged him into the dark pit he’d been struggling to free himself from since his mother’s murder.
He took a step back, ignored the hand she held out to keep the connection with him. He shook his head. Though he appreciated her for trying, he just needed to be alone.
“I’ll see you later, Perry. At dinner.”
Remorse crossed her features, but she nodded. Her eyes took on a wistfulness that hurt him.
He knew she thought he was pulling away. But he wasn’t, not really. Coming to terms with everything that happened, the way their lives had changed, was more than he was capable of at that moment.
Not only was he dealing with the death of a beloved parent, he was dealing with a change in status.
When the average person lost somebody close to them, somebody they loved, if they fell into depression, that was okay. Well, not okay. But permitted.
People were allowed to crash and burn as they explored their grief. Were allowed to sink to rock bottom as they processed a world without the person they loved in it.
George, Xavier, and Edward weren’t allowed that.
It wasn’t just the Brits who were renowned for their stiff upper lip. Most royal families, by necessity, had to be this way. But that they constantly had to be perfect was more than just tiring. In fact, exhausting wasn’t even the word.
He strode from the small garden where Perry was declaring war on the old, and wasteful, way of life at Masonbrook. Taking one small step away from the past and leading them into the future, he headed for the castle proper. At the moment, he was in neither, and even the present wasn’t as solid as he’d have liked.
Perry watched George trudge away from her, feeling as she had done of late: on shaky ground.
The irony was, of course, that she’d never been more secure. She was married, with two lovers. All three men had made vows to her, even if Edward’s were the only official ones. Her taking the next step in becoming Edward’s wife had also been a promise for more. So much more than most could begin to understand.
So, security wasn’t an issue. Well, not the emotional kind.
It was the physical variety that was the problem.
Marianne was dead, Philippe was still in a coma. The entire world might not have been up in the air, but hers was. As was that of the men she loved.
She’d been in an earthquake before, but not even that compared to just how precarious their situation was.
She’d forced herself out of bed this morning, determined to do some good with her day. She had a to-do list that ran into the hundreds, one that had been compiled by her new social secretary. Because yes, Perry DeSauvier, née Taylor, had a goddamn social secretary.
She sometimes wondered if she’d entered a parallel universe. But Perry wasn’t sure what kind of parallel universe would make sense of her rocketing into this position.
Staring around the courtyard, she felt disheartened. Seeing George had added a gloom to her morning—and that made her feel guilty. He was grieving his mother’s passing, and she longed to help him. To be there for him. Only he wasn’t allowing her to do that.
Her men were being pulled in so many ways, she feared for them. Wished wholeheartedly that she could do something to improve their lot. But she wasn’t Valium. She couldn’t magic up a cure-all that would bring Marianne back to life, restore Philippe’s health, all while taking away the constant threat of danger they were having to live with.
Blowing out a shaky breath, she turned to her new assistant, Rose, and murmured, “Do you have enough information from me to get this project underway?”
Rose was Perry’s age, but there was a sharp gleam in her eyes that made her seem older. Edward had hired Rose without consulting Perry, but she didn’t take offense at that. She knew if the task had been left to her, she’d never have hired anyone. Being served by servants was one thing, and it was one thing she found particularly difficult to come to terms with. Having an assistant? A social secretary? As well as the myriad of retainers that were suddenly following her around?
No. It was far too much.
And it wasn’t even the beginning.
She still had four Guardians of the Keys to select. Speaking of which…
“Yes,” Rose stated, interrupting Perry’s train of thought. “The gardeners know which herbs you want planting. As you’re not bothered about the design, we can leave it in their hands, can’t we?”
Perry nodded. “I don’t care where anything goes, but I want the herbs to take.” In her mind’s eye, she saw the list of produce the kitchens required. “Have them confer with the kitchens over the specifics. In two years’ time, I want to eradicate the need for outside grocers.”
Rose pulled a face. “That will anger a lot of people, Your Majesty.”
“Like who?” Perry scowled at the thought. “Using the gardens as they were intended will reduce our expenses exponentially. As well as being more ecologically friendly. Who could that anger?”
“The people who provide our produce.” She shrugged, and the move jostled her phone against the notepad she had in her arms. “People spend a fortune trying to attain the Royal stamps, and once they get them, they don’t like losing them. It’s good for business. If the Royals use it, then they can advertise it as such. It brings in customers.”
Perry contemplated that a second, weighed it up against her wishes, and decided that capitalism could go fuck itself.
“At this moment in time, Rose, the gardens are a drain. Not only am I concerned about the water—which is still a precious commodity, but they’re an unnecessary expense.” The list of gardeners they had, specialists to boot, bordered on the ridiculous. “I understand we have an image to maintain. That’s why I agreed not to touch the front gardens of the palace. But the back?” She shook her head. “No way. They’re mine.”
“I understand, Your Majesty, but I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t keep you informed of all sides of our position.”
“Don’t mistake me, Rose. I’m not mad at you. I’m grateful. But things are going to change, and if Veronia doesn’t like it, then, well, tough luck.” When Rose winced, Perry huffed. “That might sound really arrogant, but it’s how I have to be if I’m going to force the household to take its carbon footprint seriously. Somebody has to th
ink of the Earth and the environment. Why not the Queen? It’s not like I’m changing all that much,” she reasoned when Rose still didn’t appear convinced. “I’m just implementing things that are vital for the economy and for our environment.”
Though she looked doubtful, Rose asked, “So, we’re starting with this space for the herbs, and the east courtyard for the vegetable garden. That’s right, isn’t it, your Majesty?”
Though she nodded, Perry grumbled, “Rose, do you have to keep calling me ‘your Majesty’? I think I prefer ma’am, and I never imagined I’d say that.”
“It is protocol, your Majesty.”
“Screw protocol. If you haven’t already gathered that I don’t give a damn about crap like that, Rose, there’s no hope for you.”
Though the other woman’s lips twitched, Perry was left with the feeling that Rose’s uncertainty around her would carry on until they’d been working together for a long time.
Though that was hardly out of the ordinary, Perry wished she could fast-forward a few months so that they’d have that ease of people who were used to working together. It would make things so much more comfortable.
Still, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Sucking it up, she murmured, “What time is Cassie Whitings due?”
Rose checked her watch. It was proof alone that being the PA to the Queen paid well — she wore a brand-new Rolex. After working at the palace for like five seconds. Either that or she had rich parents, and undoubtedly, that was why Rose was her new assistant. Edward had probably known her since they were children or something. “Twenty minutes, your Majesty.”
Nodding, Perry stacked her hands on her hips and peered around the yard. She did like roses; it wasn’t as though they were her enemies or anything. They were a drain, however, and that was something she couldn’t abide.
She envisaged a lot for this space. Intended on tilling the entire backyard, and making it work for them. The food bills at Masonbrook were astronomical. She didn’t even want to think about how much waste they produced. But slowly and surely, she fully intended on implementing strict guidelines within the kitchens—where meals were prepared only with produce gathered from their own land. The money didn’t matter—the DeSauviers had so much it was obscene. But Perry wanted them to have a conscience.
The situation with the water drought was, according to statistics she’d uncovered herself, man-made. But it could so easily have been real. Cape Town was running out of water, why not this small nation?
If Veronia was going to change, was going to embrace a more environmentally aware and protective future, it had to start from the top. The people had to see and had to know that the King and Queen lived that way, and so, they should care too.
It was a long-term endeavor. That she knew. But she didn’t intend on going anywhere, so had decided that starting now was the best option.
Perhaps it would seem radical to some, but it was a way of making sure she didn’t lose herself.
This was who Perry was.
With the fancy hair, the crazy new “job” title, and the three lovers, it would be easy to forget who she was, which was the last thing she wanted.
Nodding with satisfaction that phase one was underway, she turned and saw that the gardeners who had been gathered around her had dispersed to different parts of the yard. Though there was undoubtedly protocol to follow, rules which involved them all bowing and scraping and tugging their forelocks—well, not all the time but enough to make her uncomfortable—she cut Rose a look and beckoned her with her pointer finger, intent on disappearing without them having to curtsey her off.
When her PA’s mouth dropped open, and the other woman looked back at the workmen then doubtfully cast a glance back at her, Perry channeled Marianne. Trying to look her regal best when it was pure theater, Perry cocked a brow and used her fingers to once more beckon Rose to her.
Rose’s disapproval of her behavior was quite evident, though Perry figured there had to be some advantages to being Queen. One of them being that she could sneak off whenever the hell she wanted to.
Rose was silent on the short walk back to the palace, but Perry didn’t mind. Especially if Rose wanted to chastise her for failing to follow protocol.
But protocol could be damned.
She was sick and goddamn tired of the word, didn’t know if she could have it shoved down her throat for even one more day. And hell, that was with her being very new to being Queen. She had to start making this work for her or she’d go insane.
It was way too soon after Marianne’s death to be making such large changes, but Perry knew Marianne’s formality would be to her detriment; there was no way she would be able to follow in her mother-in-law’s footsteps. No way, no how. She just wasn’t like that. Wasn’t wired that way.
It was, she thought, better to piss people off now and get them used to her way of doing things from the offset.
She entered Masonbrook via a set of French doors that led into one of the many salons she now had available to her. From a six room apartment, to a six hundred room estate. Her life couldn’t be more different if she tried.
This salon was more comfortable than most. Though they were many and varied, very few of them were actually comfortable. With winter coming, they were even less suitable for relaxation.
The high ceilings were pretty, especially with their antique ornate frescoes painted by masters of the time, but heat flooded out of the rooms like a river whose banks had burst. The fireplaces that serviced the rooms were small, too small for such grand staterooms.
She knew Royals were renowned for being impractical, but there was being impractical and there was being stupid. As far as she’d been able to tell, Edward, George, and Xavier’s relatives were more stupid than anything else.
Still, it wasn’t her place to judge, but to rectify the mistakes of her husband’s ancestors.
As a result, she now used only the smallest of the public salons and reception rooms, as those would waste the least amount of heat.
This particular salon, she’d learned recently, had been popular with Xavier’s mother, Lisetta. The woman had good taste in rooms, if not in furniture. Although, Perry surmised the other woman had been as limited with interior design as she herself was.
If it didn’t have gold decorating at least some part of the piece of furniture, the DeSauviers apparently hadn’t commissioned it.
No wonder the world was running out of gold. It was all in this palace.
Here, parquet floors were arranged like a chessboard, and atop the gleaming antique surfaces were equally ancient items of furniture.
Four wide, gilt armchairs sat around a low coffee table. But this wasn’t a coffee-table worthy of IKEA: there were more curlicues, moldings, and detailing on this single piece than in the whole Swedish store.
Topped with gray marble, there was a tea tray sitting upon it. The tea beckoned, as did one of the armchairs. Padded with red velvet with voluptuous palm tree markings, she took a seat, and decided to be rude and not to wait for Cassie before serving herself.
At her side was a twelve-foot-long mirror. It was one of the panels in a fifteen-foot wall. On either side of the mirror were two loaded down, half chandeliers that were attached to the wall. The mirror itself reflected a dangling chandelier on the ceiling.
What had to be hundreds of lights sparkled and glistened, thanks to the pendulous crystals bobbing merrily overhead.
There was also a large armoire. Chinese, Perry thought, in design. But she’d never been interested in antiques, and figured that would make anybody who did, envy her position terribly.
Though the armchairs weren’t to her taste, they were actually quite comfortable. She sat back with her teacup in hand and took a deep sip.
Like every American, she was a coffee lover, but living here had given her a whole new appreciation of tea. Especially this loose-leaf stuff the castle’s kitchens served.
Glad that Rose had disappeared without being asked to, Pe
rry enjoyed the peace of the moment.
A luxury she’d never appreciated before now.
Being alone was a precious commodity, she was coming to learn, and knew that of the many aspects of her new life, acclimating to this change of pace would be the hardest.
She was a scientist, after all. Accustomed to working by herself on her projects.
Yet another facet of life she was going to have to adapt to, she realized. Wistfully, she thought back to days that had been her own, to worries that had revolved around her poor organizational skills when it came to her apartment.
She no longer had to worry if she left the iron on. She had a whole laundry staff to see to that chore for her.
Okay, so some things were cool.
A knock sounded at the door, jerking her from her thoughts.
George really had soured her mood, she thought on a sigh, making her wish she could ease his pain, do something to stop him from brooding.
“Come in,” she called out. Looking up from her teacup, she was pleased but not surprised to see Cassie standing in the doorway.
Smiling, she waved a hand, beckoning the other woman in. She was coming to know Cassie well—maybe not as well as she’d have appreciated back home, but what she did know of her, she liked.
That Cassie had been friends with Xavier, George, and Edward since childhood, as well as the fact she was married to one of their close friends, helped Perry feel more at ease around her.
Of course, she’d never be able to reveal the full truth about their unusual situation, but she could relax; very little surprised Cassie where Perry’s men were concerned. Cassie and Marcus, her husband, were part of the family.
“You want some tea, Cassie? If you don’t, I can order coffee.”
Cassie wafted in in a cloud of Chanel No. 5. She was the only one who treated Perry as though nothing had happened, as though her status hadn’t changed, as if she wasn’t now the freaking queen of a whole country or something like that... All the more reason to like the older woman.
She bustled over and dipped down to buss Perry on the cheek before floating over to the other armchair and settling down.
Long Live Queen Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 3) Page 5
