Chapter Eight
When Perry spun around and came face-to-face with Murielle Harlington, she jolted in surprise.
“Murielle!” she declared, somewhat breathlessly. “I didn’t expect you to be there.”
Murielle was, Perry supposed, quite good at her job. Even if she was miserable and barely had a nice thing to say about anyone.
But if you wanted efficiency, then she was the girl for the job.
Shame Perry didn’t particularly mind someone who was inefficient. Give her Cass over Murielle any day of the week.
Damn, she really needed to pick some new Guardians of the Keys.
The thought went onto an endless to-do list, but whenever it popped into her mind, she always felt guilty. Marianne’s women had been in their roles for many years, and Perry didn’t want them to think she didn’t like them…
Even if that was the truth.
“I’ve been arranging the flowers in the Ambassador’s suite.”
Perry blinked. “The Ambassador?”
Murielle heaved out an exasperated breath. “Didn’t Rose tell you?”
“Undoubtedly,” Perry retorted. “Whether I listened is another matter entirely.” She really didn’t like her PA. The Dragon was a complete bitch, and she totally eyed up Perry’s outfits, judging them wanting whenever they met. Which was every damn day.
It was like being at school again. But the mean cheerleader was her employee, and hadn’t quite gotten the memo that she was no longer Queen Bee.
Murielle scowled. “That’s very rude, your Highness.”
“Well, I can be rude, can’t I? It’s not like you’re going to tell me off, is it, Murielle?” The older woman blushed, and Perry hid a smile. “Anyway, I’m not being rude. I zone out with the crap Rose tells me on a morning. How’s anyone supposed to remember it all? Isn’t the point of a PA to remember it for you? Or at least, if not remember it, make note.”
“Zone out?” Murielle breathed. “You don’t listen?”
She pulled a face. “Sometimes. Until she starts getting boring.”
“Boring?” Murielle was starting to look green around the edges which, in turn, was starting to piss Perry off.
“Yes. Boring. As in tedious, Murielle.” That was the hardest part of this new job of hers, she was coming to realize. How damn dull some of the everyday stuff could be. “Anyway. Which Ambassador is here?”
“The German one.”
“Why is he here?” She blinked. “Don’t they stay in the embassy?”
“Yes. But it’s to celebrate a trade agreement. The King is attending a party tonight.”
“I’m not though, am I?” Perry asked, needing to have her memory stirred. God, she hoped she wasn’t going anywhere tonight—the shooting hadn’t exactly made her want to be sociable.
“No. The King has postponed all your events.” Murielle pursed her lips. “For the next ten days.”
Huh, she really needed to thank Edward for that. “He did?” Rose definitely hadn’t told her that—what was the point of a PA who blurted lots of boring shit at you but none of the good stuff?
“Yes. He did,” she confirmed, her disapproval evident.
Not one to argue with her good fortune, Perry shot the grim-faced sourpuss a smile. “Where’s Cass?”
“Cassandra is with the children. In daycare.” More disapproval.
“So?”
“…So?” asked Murielle.
“Yes. Why do you sound angry at that fact?”
“Because she should be here. There’s plenty still to do even if your events calendar is on hold.”
Perry frowned at the implication that Cassie was bunking off. “I’m certain she’ll be back the moment she can.”
Murielle sniffed. “Yes, your Majesty.”
Barely managing to stop herself from rolling her eyes, Perry started to head out of her sitting room.
“Where are you going?” Murielle demanded. “We have to talk about the menus for the charity gala.”
“What gala?” Sheesh, she really did need to start listening.
“The Xentel Corporation Gala.”
“Which is when?”
“A fortnight’s time, your Majesty.”
If Murielle had been sucking on a lemon, she couldn’t have looked more sour. “Okay, Murielle. I’ll be back shortly and we can discuss the menu.”
Though the Guardian looked more disapproving than ever, Perry ignored her and slipped out of the sitting room. She knew Murielle would have followed her if Perry hadn’t made it plain that unlike Marianne, she didn’t like having ghostly visitors trailing along behind her wherever she went.
It was, she thought, pretty creepy how Murielle just hovered. All the damn time.
Free from unwanted Guardians, she decided to head to the daycare section in the castle basement.
It seemed a little grim to her—placing the nursery where the dungeons had once been. Of course, they were the jails where naughty nobles had been held, not peasants who’d been thrown in the oubliette… God, she was living in a place where there was a hole people had been thrown down to live or die.
Shuddering at the thought and determined not to ask where it was, she shoved her hands in her pockets and began the traipse down to the basement.
Her base was her private rooms. Marianne had maintained an office on the first floor, but Perry was more comfortable being in her own apartment. As such, their quarters, which were on the fourth floor of the castle, were quite a way away from the nursery.
As she headed down the stairs, she almost tripped on the long hem of her trousers. Though she grumbled, she pulled them up so it wouldn’t happen again. It was beyond weird having to wear fancy clothes when she was at home.
Back in her flat in Boston, the minute she made it through the door, off went the office gear and on came either the PJs or the yoga pants. Here? Yeah, that was a no-no.
To wander the halls of her palace, she wore a pair of rather snazzy cream Dior pants that fit her trim figure to perfection. On top, she had a cerise blouse that was a little baggier over the belly and had made an appearance the other day in her dressing room…clearly, George had gone shopping again.
She hid a smile at the thought because hidden beneath the bright cerise shirt had been a scandalous bra and panties set.
The shirt’s for you, the underwear’s for me, his card had said. His barely legible scrawl made it very clear what was what.
God, she did love not having to shop. George’s willingness to pad out her wardrobe was an endless delight for her.
As she wondered whether he’d do the same when it came to maternity clothes, she finally reached the last set of stairs that led to the first floor of the basement—there were three levels underground.
The moment she made it down to that level, she grimaced. It was gloomy down here, and she always hated being in this part of the palace. Rushing down toward the daycare section, she passed a few footmen who smiled shyly at her and bobbed into quick bows, and felt her guards approaching like ghouls, whispering along in her wake…
That alone was a testament to how quiet this level was.
On the other floors, she never heard them; there was always too much going on.
Even the cleaners, though they must have almost killed themselves being as quiet as possible, were audible when they vacuumed. And there were maids and footmen, as well as the Guardians and Edward’s helpers. At any given time, in the upper parts of the palace, there were over two hundred people….
That number of humans in one place didn’t lend itself to silence.
She liked it that way though—it meant she wasn’t aware that she was being followed.
Before the shooting, the guards had left her alone inside these parts of the castle. But they’d taken to traipsing after her again…Perry knew she’d stand it only for so long before blowing a gasket.
She knew they were there for her benefit, but it made her feel like a prisoner in her own damn home!
The sounds of children playing finally reached her ears and she made an effort to relax a little. She’d never been here before, though she knew of its existence because of Cassie, of course.
There was a long window that ran down the length of the hall to bring in light from the corridor, she assumed. Although, as she peered inside, she saw that there was definitely a lot going on—state of the art facilities with even a soft-area for playing—it wasn’t as big as she’d imagined.
Still, there were only a handful of children in there. Ample for the play area.
She headed for the door, knocked on it. A woman opened it, saw her, then immediately dipped into a curtsey.
Wincing, Perry murmured, “It’s okay. I just wanted to come in and see if my Guardian of the Keys was here.”
It was so formal having to call Cassie that, but George, the least formal of her three men, had already told her she had to start calling the people in her staff by their appropriate names—it was less confusing that way.
Didn’t matter that she damn well hated it.
The woman, older with graying hair, rose from her curtsey, and as she caught Perry’s gaze, murmured, “Yes, your Majesty. She’s here.” She swept her hand back to allow Perry in.
Entering the daycare the Crown provided for its members of staff, as well her friend, who’d yet to hire a nanny the children liked, she peered around and saw that currently, there was finger painting going on. But there was no Cassie.
“Where is she?”
“In the bathroom, your Majesty.” Her voice turned hushed. “Robert had an accident.”
“Oh.” She pulled a face. “Poor kid.”
The staffer nodded, then retreated to the small group of children when one of them called out, “Andrea!”
As Andrea moved off, Perry headed over too. Intent on seeing what was going on, and if the children were having fun. They appeared to be, and it amused her to see the children of maids and footmen mingling with nobility.
Considering she wasn’t an elitist prick, she thought that was exactly how it should be. Cassie and Marcus’s kids should mix and blend—this wasn’t the eighteenth century, after all.
She’d met Jessica, Sebastien, and Robert at her wedding, when, dressed in their sweet tuxedos and a party dress, they’d stumbled into curtseys and bows before her and Edward. They’d been cute as hell—miniature Cassies and Marcuses.
Though her position as Guardian of the Keys had opened up places at schools for them, Cassie hadn’t decided yet on whether to board the children or to keep them at home. Perry, though not the most maternal of women, couldn’t imagine shoving her kids in a boarding school, but it was standard practice here.
In her opinion, standard practice sucked. She thought Cassie felt the same way, and that was why she was deliberating over whether to do it or not.
“Perry, Perry!” Jessica shouted gleefully when she saw her approach.
Laughing, and delighted at the lack of formality, she waved a hand at the little girl who beamed at her as she jumped to her feet. Within seconds, Jessica had her arms around Perry’s legs. Apparently figuring she was fair game, a further five seconds later, her knees were in high demand by the twelve other children—most of whom she’d never met.
Still, she patted heads and rubbed a back or two. Didn’t even wince when a snotty nose—or three—was wiped on her expensive trousers. After all, she’d have to get used to it, wouldn’t she? It wasn’t like her child would be born dispensing antiseptic fluid… even future Kings and Queens took dumps.
Then, she heard Cassie’s, “Oh, my God! Your trousers!”
Perry turned around to her friend. “What about them?”
“They’re covered in paint!”
Peering down the back of her legs, she had to laugh. There were dozens of bright finger marks covering her expensive pants. “I’ll set a trend.”
“Andrea! For God’s sake, you’re supposed to keep them corralled!”
Perry frowned. “Cassie, it’s okay. They were pleased to see me!”
“Those pants are Dior, Perry!”
“So?” She shrugged. “They’ll wash.” Sensing that Cassie’s eye was about to start twitching—the right one always started flickering when she was pissed—Perry laughed again. “Honestly, Cass. It’s okay. It’s not the end of the world.”
Andrea mumbled, “I’m so sorry, your Highness!”
“It’s okay, Andrea. No harm done.” Perry squatted down when Robert approached. “Hi Robert,” she said brightly, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “How are you doing?”
It was always weird saying his name: the intonation was French, and Perry’s French was as bad as her Veronian—non-existent. Yeah, she really needed to do something about that.
“I’m okay,” he said shyly, his accent so gorgeously American that she wanted to scoop him up and squeeze him—God, she missed home at that moment. The pang was more like a damn punch to the solar plexus than a sentimental clutch at her heart.
“I’m glad to hear it.” She peered back at the low plastic table with squat, multicolor legs. “What are you painting?”
“A dog.”
“Want to show me?”
He nodded, the act timid, then reached for her hand. She didn’t mind the dried flecks of paint, but Cassie obviously did—she also had some flecks of blue in her hair—and took a hold of his small starfish pinkies.
“Umming” and “aahing” as the rest of the table showed her their works of art (after Robert had shown her a dog that looked more like a brown hill), she wished them all well and told them they deserved cookies as a treat. They looked pleased but Andrea didn’t.
Still, she waved them on their way and retreated to Cass’s side, amused when the kids immediately forgot about her and went back to what they were doing.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Cassie said on a sigh.
“You have paint in your hair.”
“You have paint everywhere.” She wrinkled her nose as she took in Perry’s once pristine outfit. “You do know how expensive those pants were? They’re ruined. No amount of washing will save them.”
“What are they for if not enjoyment?”
“You wouldn’t be so blasé if you were interested in fashion,” Cassie said drily. “They’re limited edition. Only the best for her Majesty.”
Perry wrinkled her nose. “Do you think George will be mad?”
Cassie stared at her askance. “George?”
Realizing the faux pas she’d made, she murmured quickly, “He helps me buy clothes. Has better taste than I do.”
Cassie laughed. “I swear, the man’s pretty enough to be gay. If I didn’t know of his reputation before…” She wiggled her eyebrows. “He was a very naughty boy.”
Perry snorted—she could easily believe it.
Still, she thought it wiser to stay silent on that particular matter. “Everything okay with Robert?”
“Yes. Just a toilet crisis.” Cassie rubbed her nose. “It’s very unusual for me to have to deal with this.”
She’d had two nannies until recently, and wasn’t taking to life as a hands-on mother as well as she’d hoped. Perry reached over and patted her shoulder. “All will be well.”
Seeming disheartened, she shrugged. Then in a brighter tone, asked, “Am I needed?”
“No. Not really. I just wanted to escape Murielle.”
“Ah, the dreaded Lady Harlington. Can’t blame you. I’d prefer to be stuck down here than up there with her.”
“And yet, you abandoned me to her,” Perry said, aghast. She patted her chest. “I’ll never get over the betrayal.”
Snorting, Cassie elbowed her in the side. “Come on, you. I need a coffee after that.”
“That” being her little interlude with Robert, Perry assumed drily.
Ugh. Coffee. Something she couldn’t have anymore. Being pregnant was already starting to suck.
Still, they were keeping that a secret for the moment, and though she’d
have liked to discuss it with Cassie, knew she wouldn’t be able to until Edward gave the go-ahead.
Curling her arm through Cassie’s, she asked instead, “What’s this gala I’m supposed to know all about?”
The other woman shook her head and laughed. “You’re useless, I swear.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not.”
“You are. I know you can listen; you’re a scientist, for God’s sake.”
The two of them shared a look then started laughing.
Someone might have shot at her two days ago, but hell, laughter was the best medicine, wasn’t it?
The great thing about being a king, Perry supposed, was having a hospital room installed in one’s home.
Philippe’s bedroom was half pomp and ceremony, and half clinical ward.
The technology here were enough to astonish the average man, and though her title was most definitely lofty now, she was at heart quite, quite average.
You could take the girl out of Tennessee, after all, but you can’t take Tennessee out of the girl.
Every day, when she visited her father-in-law, she found herself blinking in astonishment at just how damn much this kind of home healthcare would cost in the States. Veronia had a social welfare system with nationalized healthcare. Coming from her background, she could only laud the Veronian government for such an undertaking.
Not that she’d be treated by the state. More’s the pity because she wasn’t an elitist. What was good enough for Mary Nobody who lived in the center of the city was quite ample for her.
Nobody else seemed to agree however.
The snobs.
Edward had already informed her she’d be seeing a private physician. In fact, three days after the shooting now, she was due with the doctor tomorrow. He was coming to the palace and bringing a whole lot of more medical tech with him. Are sonogram machines portable, she asked herself?
It was totally unnecessary, but if her men had been protective before, that was nothing to now. She was so tightly constricted in their web of security, she was starting to feel like the male Black Widow spider—without the sex beforehand.
Long Live Queen Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 3) Page 15
