“How about if I come tomorrow afternoon instead?”
“That would be fine. That way the little ones can still serve you the scones they made this morning.”
“I’ll plan on taking my mid-afternoon meal with you then.”
As I put my phone back into my pocket, I once again wonder why I’ve never told my parents I’m more than the person who writes the checks to keep the lights on at Shepherd’s Home. They know I’m their patron, but they have no idea how much time I spend with the children.
I suppose the truth of the matter is that I like having something in my life that’s just mine. I don’t want my time with the kids viewed as charity work. Reading to them, tossing a ball with them, and helping them with their artwork fulfills me in a way that playing polo and attending social events never could.
Also, maybe it’s because when I do tell them, they don’t believe me.
My mind drifts as I walk across the palace grounds to Fernmore Cottage. The next several days are going to be chockablock full of events celebrating Geoffrey’s upcoming nuptials. I’m assuming now that my brother has chosen his bride, he will be returning to Malquar full time. Even though he was expected home on his thirtieth birthday, our father relaxed his rule at Chéri and Brigitte’s wedding.
That was when our whole family met Claire for the first time. It was obvious to a blind man that my brother was falling in love with her even then. Hence, his reprieve to rejoin royal life at the prescribed time.
Some people will do anything to shirk their royal responsibilities, even fall in love.
While we were all once expected to choose our mates from Malquar society, our little sister married a French woman, and now Geoffrey is marrying an American. It appears the king and queen are modernizing their thinking and opening the borders for us to find our future mates. All of us with the exception of Andrew, that is. As the future king, he’s expected to marry a woman from our country.
As I pass my sister Aubrey’s cottage, I spot her out front filling a basket with freshly-cut roses. “Do you want to drive to the airport with me?” I call out to her.
“Sounds good. I’ll just put these in water, and then I’ll meet you over at your place.” There are four cottages that share the same five-hectare grounds. We’ve created our own little royal village.
Chéri and Brigitte live in Paris with their daughter, Estelle. Our sister, Sophie, was engaged to Baron Harquart, but she called off her wedding when she discovered her intended planned to keep his mistress once they were wed. While I in no way support extramarital activities, who in the world tells their fiancée they don’t intend on being faithful once the vows are said? Is this the Middle Ages?
Aubrey, or Bree as she’s known to the family, lives next door to me and seems to be having as much trouble as I am finding the person she wants to spend her life with. Which just goes to show that jumping through our mother’s hoops and living according to her rules isn’t necessarily the key to happiness.
I have just enough time to shower and get dressed before Bree walks through my front door. “What is it with you people just strolling in here like this is your house?”
Wearing a fetching dark green dress, my sister raises an eyebrow and replies, “You expect me to knock on your door? What are you, a prince or something? If you’re so precious, use your lock.”
That gets a laugh out of me. None of us lock our homes. We’re so secure on the grounds that the only people who can even get to us have to pass through security at the front gate. Once they do that, they need to obtain another pass from the palace to enter our little cottage community.
“Are we caravanning, or can we just drive over on our own?” I ask Bree.
“As long as we’re all there by three, we can make our own way over.” As we head toward my entry hall, she asks, “Has Mother started giving you a hard time about getting married?”
“No more than usual. Her main objective seems to be that I cease having fun immediately. She’s determined to believe everything she reads in the papers,” I grumble before asking, “Is she giving you a hard time?”
“Not even a little bit. Which worries me, actually.”
Opening the passenger side of my vintage Aston Martin DB5—just call me James Bond—I ask incredulously, “You’re worried the queen isn’t pushing you toward the altar? Are you unwell?”
My sister inhales deeply before forcing her breath out in a rush. Once I’m behind the wheel, she answers, “I’m concerned that she doesn’t think I’m marriageable.”
“What are you talking about? You’re as marriageable as the rest of us.”
“Yet I never get asked out by anyone other than royal suck-ups. And, FYI, I’m not in the market for one of those,” she says dejectedly.
“Bree,” I tell her in no uncertain terms, “you never go out where any normal men can meet you. How do you expect to find one to date?”
Taking the twists and turns of the Coast Highway with more speed than needed, my sister clutches the door handle like it’s her lifeline. “Short of signing up for a dating app, I’m at a loss. Do you have any ideas?”
“Do what I do,” I tell her. “Throw parties. Let your guests invite a plus one. Maybe the non-royal worshipping man of your dreams will show up.”
My sister snorts. “If I threw a party and invited my regular group of friends, I can assure you it would be another boring tea party.”
Reaching out, I gently touch her arm. “You should come to my next party. I promise you a much more enlightened kind of event.”
“Mum would lay an egg if I showed up in the papers at one of your events.”
“But you’d meet a slew of new and exciting people. Dare I suggest, some of them don’t even care about our royal status?”
After some hemming and hawing, which once again has me wondering at the image my family has of me, she concedes, “Okay. But so help me, Alistair, this better not hurt my reputation.”
“Ye of little faith. You’ll still be you, just you surrounded by different people.”
While she stews on that, my mind works to conjure an image of what my life could be like if I settled down. I used to think that domesticating was an unpleasant thought, but I’ve done a lot of living in my thirty-two years, and I’m getting bored with the same old-same old.
Also, spending so much time with the kids at the orphanage has gotten me thinking about having a family of my own.
Now all I need to do is find their mother.
Chapter Seven
Sheila
Sheila: We just landed in Malquar! I wish you were here.
Romaine: I do too, Mom, but I have concerts every other night this week. There’s no way I could get there.
Sheila: You’re coming to the wedding though, right?
Romaine: As long as I have enough notice.
Sheila: I’m sure you’ll have at least a year.
Romaine: Then I’ll be there.
Sheila: Now that Claire is getting married, dear, don’t you think it’s time that you settle down as well?
Romaine: I’ve gotta go rehearse, Mom.
Sheila: I mean it, Romaine. You need to quit sowing your wild oats and act your age.
Romaine: Goodbye, Mother.
Lutéce
My mom pulls out a compact and refreshes her lipstick before saying, “We’re finally back in Malquar, Tooty.” Then she smiles at Dad and adds, “You’re going to love it here, hon.”
“Maybe you and Dad should look at houses while you’re here,” I suggest hopefully. My life would be so much easier if they moved far away from me.
“You can’t get away from me that easily, Lu. I’m sure Geoffrey and Claire will have plenty of room for us when we come and visit. Isn’t that right, Geoffrey?”
“Absolutely. In fact, I’m looking forward to showing you all our future home. My sister Aubrey has overseen getting it ready for us to move into, but I’m sure Claire will want to have some say. Maybe you can help, Sheila.”
“I would love that!”
Hurray! In addition to adding her two cents to all the wedding plans, Mom can keep herself busy decorating Claire’s new home. That means I might be able to unclench a little while I’m here. After my last attempt at IVF, my doctor suggested I take a long vacation and do my best to relax. Not that a family trip is any way to do that—especially with my family—but you never know.
After the pilot comes over the intercom to welcome us to Malquar, we all stand to deplane. Mixed emotions flood my thoughts as the strains of music from a live band start to fill the atmosphere around us.
“They’re playing the Malquarian anthem,” Geoffrey explains. “I didn’t come home for my thirtieth birthday, as per my parents’ plan, so I can only assume there might be a bit of a circus out there.”
Stepping back into the cabin, I bend down to look out the window. Yup, there it is, the circus. There must be a fifty-piece band playing on one side of a red carpet. The other side is full of reporters and photographers.
The image of an old ringmaster, full-on with a red coat, tails, and black top hat, pops into my head. He’s holding a bullhorn to his mouth, and I can practically hear him shout, “Will everyone please turn their attention to the center ring. Our prince has returned home with his bride and her illustrious family of yodelers!” Tooty and Mom love to yodel as a means of decompressing. It’s enough to make your ears bleed if you’re not a fan of the genre.
And sometimes, even if you are a fan.
I return to our little exit line and watch while Geoffrey and Claire disembark. They stop and wave as the crowd cheers wildly. Crap, I should have brought some better clothes to change into. The jogging suit I’m currently wearing was chosen for comfort, not to meet the press.
As if reading my mind, my mom turns around and looks me up and down before saying, “Oh dear, maybe you should stay on the plane until the crowd disbands.” Ouch.
Ignoring her, I run my fingers through my auburn hair and pinch my cheeks to bring some color to them. By the time it’s my turn to get off, most of the press is on the tarmac, crowding around my sister and her intended. The rest seem to be vying for Tooty’s attention.
I scan the masses, feeling oddly separated from my body. It’s like I’m watching a scene in a movie. I’m about to step down onto the stairs when my gaze locks with a pair of dark chocolate brown eyes, penetrating eyes that cause me to stop dead in my tracks and gasp audibly.
“Settle down, Lu,” I chastise myself silently for such an absurd reaction to Geoffrey’s brother. Alistair was nothing but a flirtatious annoyance at his sister’s wedding, and I’m not looking forward to more of the same. Yet, even as I try to convince myself of this, my heart beats in double time and perspiration starts to form on my palms.
Great. Not only am I dressed like a college kid returning home for break, but I’m nervously sweating. Which is super fun, as what I’m guessing is the entire national press corps is out there ready to film the scene for posterity.
Before my foot hits the tarmac, all eyes are drawn to the King of Malquar as he announces, “We are so happy to have our son back home where he belongs.” The crowd erupts as Geoffrey opens his arm to pull my sister to his side. “I would like to introduce you all to Geoffrey’s lady friend, Claire…” The engagement won’t be made public until after the official dinner.
His announcement renders me invisible, and even though I prefer that, it still kind of smarts. I could probably walk back up the stairs into the airplane and watch as my whole family drives away without knowing that I’m missing. I realize how immature that sounds, but still, a person likes to be noticed.
When the king introduces Tooty to the crowd, I feel a presence brush up against my arm. Personal space, people, it’s a thing. I instinctively shoot my elbows out like a clucking chicken to send a hint. When the nudge is returned, I turn my head and find myself staring into Alistair’s eyes. “Welcome to Malquar,” he practically purrs.
“Yes… well… thank you.” Really, what else is there to say? For as annoying as the man is, he is also downright gorgeous. I’ve always been a fan of tall, dark, and handsome. Add a squared jaw, masses of dark wavy hair, and soulful brown eyes, and I’m toast.
“Would you like to get out of here?” he asks flirtatiously.
“With you? I’d sooner lie down and roll all the way back to California. I’m perfectly aware the Atlantic Ocean lies between us.” I arch my eyebrow as though challenging him.
Releasing a soft chuckle, he grins broadly. “You could make a faster escape if you came with me.”
The idea suddenly has merit. Crap. “Your parents will let you leave this dog and pony show early?” I demand.
“Watch this,” he whispers close to my ear, resulting in giant goose bumps erupting all over my skin. My gaze follows him as he approaches his mother. He leans down and says something to her which results in her turning around and looking at me with concern.
When Alistair returns, he says, “Mother is sorry you’re feeling poorly and is happy for me to take you home ahead of all the pomp and ceremony.”
A bubble of laughter bursts out of me before I can stop it. “You told her I was sick?”
Shrugging nonchalantly, he offers, “It was that or suffer through another thirty minutes of torture. Which do you prefer?”
“Which car is yours?”
Taking my arm in his, Alistair leads me to a jaw-droppingly elegant silver sports car that I know for a fact is the same kind James Bond drove in Goldfinger. I’m a huge Bond fan.
Before I can get in, Alistair’s sister, Bree, comes running toward us. “Are you leaving me here?” she demands.
“Poor Lutéce has a horrible headache,” Alistair tells her. He further lies, “Mum asked me to take her back to the palace.”
Turning her attention to me, her voice softens. “I’m sorry you’re unwell.”
“You can crowd into the backseat if you want,” Alistair suggests.
Bree rolls her eyes in response before walking away. She stops after a few steps, turns around, and in a warning tone, says, “Remember what mother said, Al.”
I have no idea what she’s referring to, but Alistair practically snorts, “She says so much, it’s hard to keep it all straight.” Then he opens the car door for me.
Once I’m situated, I watch as he gets behind the wheel. Against my better judgment, a ripple of something like anticipation rolls through me. Dear God, it’s the hormones again.
I should not have gotten into this car with this man.
Chapter Eight
The Queen
“Where is Alistair going?” King Alfred whispers into his wife’s ear.
“Claire’s sister was feeling poorly. He’s taking her back to the palace to rest.” The look in her husband’s eyes inspires her to add, “Don’t worry, I’ve already warned him away from her.”
The king smiles down at his wife. “I’m not worried about Alistair. Of all our children, I was the most like him during my youth.”
“I remember,” the queen replies with a note of censure. “The papers were full of your many conquests when I was growing up.”
“Are you jealous?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye.
“Hardly, as I’m the one you married.” She adds, “But if you’re not worried about Alistair, why the look of concern?”
“Something feels off about Claire’s sister.”
“She wasn’t exactly a ball of fun at Chéri’s wedding. I think she might just have a sour disposition.”
“I don’t think it’s that,” the king replies. “I think she’s been hurt and has put up a defensive shield.”
The queen laughs. “If this royal thing doesn’t work out for you, you could become a psychic or a therapist.” She squeezes his arm and whispers, “Front and center, dear, the cameras are catching our little chat and I’m guessing the reporters are starting to speculate.”
The royal couple focuses their attention back on the press as t
hey ask Tooty Jackson a myriad of questions.
Even though the queen outwardly looks interested in the proceedings, her mind is elsewhere. Would Alistair really take Lutéce back to the palace for unselfish reasons? Or does he have ulterior motives?
Alistair
“So, you’ve never been to Malquar before?” I ask Claire’s sister as we drive the coast road back toward the palace.
Shaking her head, my beautiful passenger answers, “No.” That’s it, one word.
“What do you think of our little country?” I’m going to get her to converse with me if it’s the last thing I do. We’ve spent twenty minutes in virtual silence and it’s starting to grate on me.
“I can’t really say. I haven’t seen much of it yet.”
In response, I veer sharply to the right and take the exit I’d practically already passed. “What are you doing?” Lutéce demands sharply.
“I’m going to show you one of the highlights of Malquar,” I tell her.
“I’d prefer that you just take me back to your parents’ place and let me get settled.” Her words sound like a threat. Too bad for her I don’t respond well to threats.
“First, I’m going to show you our white sand beaches.”
“I can see them from here,” she replies petulantly. Call me crazy, but I enjoy getting a reaction out of this woman, even if it is an angry one.
Ignoring her, I find a parking place in one of the public lots. Being that it’s September, the weather has started to cool and many of the hardcore sun worshippers are elsewhere.
As I open the car door to get out, my passenger announces, “I’ll stay here.”
“The whole point of being here is to show you around,” I tell her. “Plus, it will help destress you. There’s nothing like walking through the sand with the Atlantic washing over your toes to calm your soul.”
For some reason, that seems to do the trick because she opens her own car door and gets out.
I take off my sport coat before rolling up my shirtsleeves and pant legs. Then I take off my shoes. “You might want to do the same,” I suggest.
You're So Vain: A Royal Haters to Lovers Romance (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 4) Page 4
