The right of Gemma Mazurke to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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Chapter One
Lights, everywhere.
They flashed, they scorched, they burned into her retinas.
They slipped into everything, sliding between her and Edward DeSauvier like sinuous snakes intent on constricting them to death.
Which, though fanciful, was pretty damn accurate.
Those lights, after all, shielded photographers from them. The bright, unapologetic glares came from the cameras intent on painting a portrait of the soon-to-be Crown Princess of Veronia, a country with one of the last true monarchies in Europe.
At her side, the Crown Prince, Edward DeSauvier, stood tall, ridiculously handsome, and utterly disinterested. He wore a pleasant mask on his face, one that Perry had come to know as being his “public” look. It hid any and all expression from his features, putting a halt to the mobility of his brow and mouth, shielding any opinion, positive or negative, from the intrusive flash of the cameras.
She stood there with a version of her own. One that she hoped was hiding her true boredom as the dozens of men and women stood there taking endless rounds of the same image over and over again.
She wanted to scratch her nose, and the wedgie that hadn’t been a problem earlier, suddenly was.
As those trite and middle-of-the-road thoughts flashed through her mind, she wondered how it was that one day, she could ever be Queen.
She doubted that Arabella, Edward’s dead wife, had thought about wedgies and itchy noses on the day the world learned of her engagement to him.
She doubted that Marianne, Edward’s mother and the current Queen of Veronia, pondered anything other than sensible matters that affected the country at large when face-to-face with a wall of photojournalists.
Yet, here she was, little Miss Hick from Hicksville, USA, wondering why she’d bothered to wear the thong George had laid out for her that morning.
Why hadn’t she worn the panties she’d bought in a fit of pique? The bikini-style underwear wouldn’t have found a home for itself in the crack of her ass. But she’d stupidly gone for the thong, and the only explanation was that she’d been nervous.
“Robotic” was the only word that summed her up this morning as her anxiety levels soared alongside her desperation for caffeine. It had been easier to wear what George had laid out for her—when he got such a kick out of dressing her—than it was to even think about raiding her drawers for the secret stash of Granny Panties she owned.
Delicious white cotton. High bikini cut, with no fear of the gusset slipping up her ass and mining for gold in South Africa…
She wanted to grimace at the thought, but remembered, at the last moment, that she had to wear this mask until their Press Officer declared they’d suffered enough at the hands of the media.
Borrrring.
She’d already had to pose with her hand splayed “just so” for them to catch the whopper of an emerald on her finger. Then had come the sickly-sweet stances where she’d cuddled into Edward’s side, where they’d stared meaningfully into one another’s eyes like they were Kate and Leo at Titanic’s bow. And now this, the last shot, which would fly around the world’s newspapers—her hand on his chest, her face pressed coyly into his arm.
The entire thing couldn’t have been more repetitive or tedious, but then, the process of being engaged to a Crown Prince was exactly that.
There was none of the glitz and glamour anyone would expect. It was downright dull, and already, four weeks into the engagement, she was sick of the classes and the lessons and the goddamn useless information that she’d had to learn verbatim.
Decorum. Etiquette. Even dancing—cue shudder.
And why?
To become the perfect Crown Princess, one that could overcome her Hicksville past and do her birth nation—as well as her new one, because changing citizenship was also a part of becoming Edward’s wife—proud.
On top of that suckiness, it also sucked, in Perry’s humble opinion, that her name wouldn’t become renowned for her work but instead for the fact she was marrying Edward.
Anything else she accomplished would undoubtedly be forgotten.
Sure, she’d make it into some history books somewhere, but not for being an environmental scientist with a mission. For being a walking womb that wore a tiara.
Her natural feminist umbrage wasn’t enough for her to call off the engagement, but it did piss her off. Especially since she wasn’t marrying Edward for his position. If anything, his being Crown Prince put a major dent in her sex life.
Had he been a normal SOB, she could have just had her cake and eaten it too. Instead, she was having to go through this bullshit just to make sure the three men she loved would be a part of her life for the duration of their relationship. Whether that would be for forever or fourteen months. Being Edward’s wife kept her on Veronian soil where her other lovers lived, but it also meant that Edward would no longer have to seek a wife which could, ya know, wreck the little harem she had going down at the moment.
But, all that aside, she’d agreed to marry Edward for one reason and one reason alone: he needed her.
And while it was too soon to even contemplate getting married because they barely knew one another, hadn’t had a chance to really come to terms with the relationship they’d be having in the future…none of that mattered. He needed her, and the girly part of her nature, the one that believed in soulmates amongst other sappy shit, truly felt his soul called to hers.
Ugh. She wanted to cringe at even the thought, but it was the only way she could explain this burning sensation to be with him. Had it been further down, she’d have thought it was a UTI. Instead, it was in the region of her heart.
She’d already ruled out heartburn and indigestion, so, nope, Perry was left with the conclusion that he was her freakin’ lobster.
She felt like every day, Edward was suffering. Like he was dying inside somehow. And yeah, she knew that sounded freakishly melodramatic. He was a future king, after all. He was about to rule his own goddamn kingdom! The watch on his wrist cost close to half a million dollars, and she’d never seen him wearing anything other than hand-tailored clothes. But that didn’t mean he was happy. That didn’t mean he wasn’t suffering out of duty to his country.
It just meant he was suffering while being really well-dressed. ‘Cause, boy, the man did things to a suit and tie that had to be illegal in some parts of the worl
d.
On top of that, the marriage proposal solved a few more complications that had arisen of late. George, Edward’s brother, was her best friend. He was also her lover, partner, and all-around soulmate numero uno.
To be with George at all, with the potential of being with Edward in the future, she had to marry Edward. If she didn’t, then she’d have to return to the US where her job was, and George would have to stay here in Veronia thanks to some crackpot anti-royalists who’d made several death threats to the DeSauvier family.
As Edward’s wife, she was above suspicion. She’d be in the lofty position of the heir to the throne’s princess and though she’d be under public scrutiny, a closer than normal relationship with her husband’s brother, a man known to be her best friend, would be above conjecture.
Of course, the tabloids might chitchat, but they’d never out-and-out declare it. Not with Veronia’s strict privacy laws and the family history of suing any publication that reported poorly on the Crown.
No, she and Edward and George could explore this unusual dynamic without fear of reprisal if she had a ring on her finger. That was why she’d said yes.
And considering she wanted to throw their cousin into the mix too, they all needed to be above reproach.
If shit came to shit and it was a total disaster, they could always get a divorce. But for now, she was happy. A bit bewildered, a lot taken aback by the swiftness of this and the sudden scale her life had taken, but… happy about cut it.
She’d wanted George for years and she was getting him. Something about Xavier had made her fall into his bed after less than two hours of knowing him—and Perry was not the one-night-stand kinda chick. Edward needed her, and she, God help her, was starting to need him too. His somberness called to her in ways she couldn’t define. It was like he reached for her soul whenever their gazes caught and held—he wanted the real her to want the real him.
That was heady stuff for a nobody from Tennessee.
But, more than that, it was easy to feel swept away, caught up in what she knew was the early stages of love.
The thought had her gulping, because no declarations had been made between them. Not even of “liking”— never mind of “loving.” Well, that was only between her and Edward. Xavier and she had talked of “falling for one another.” She and George had said the words. Even if they were both coyer than two lovestruck turtle doves about it.
The brothers had shared for years before Edward’s marriage, and they were slowly coming to terms with her need for their cousin, Xavier. He, like George, was watching them both from the side wall, peering at the photojournalists like they were tigers who’d been parachuted into a donkey sanctuary.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I’m sure you have enough photos now. If you’d like to follow me, I can direct you to…”
Perry ignored the rest of the press officer’s words. She wasn’t interested in what crap they were selling the media about her past, present and future; she was just grateful that soon she’d be able to scratch her nose and pull her panties out of her ass-crack.
As the woman spoke, Edward started to guide her across the room to the side door where her other men were waiting for her.
The gold and gilt panels bore ancient art, and the carpet was so thick, her heels almost caught in the pile with every step. Overhead, a chandelier blazed, and on the exterior wall, a dozen double-breasted sash windows overlooked a scene that belonged in a Netflix movie about Christmas and Princes.
There was no doubting that she was in a palace.
There was no hiding from the fact the man at her side, and the men in front of her, were of royal blood.
And they were hers.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
She gulped, then almost tripped as nerves hit her—but at the last minute, just as the ground started to wield its magnetic pull on her, Perry managed to grab Edward’s arm tighter and cling to him for support.
These goddamn heels.
He reacted with a lightning-swift response. He curled into her, shielding her from the remaining press in the room so they couldn’t see her stumble, then the hand closest to her tightened about her elbow while the other slid around her waist to haul her against him for stability.
When the danger of falling flat on her face passed, she happened to catch George’s eye.
Glaring at him because he was laughing and not hiding it, she pouted. “Why do I have to wear these things again?” she demanded, sotto voce to her fiancé.
Fiancé.
God help her.
“Because they do fine things to your ass,” George inserted softly when she stepped nearer, but he was grinning at her like a proud mother watching her son during school play season. “You did brilliantly, Perry,” he told her, and as they backed off into the corridor, away from any lingering camera hounds, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
Xavier smiled at her, and she was taken aback by the desire in his eyes. “He’s right.”
“About the shoes and my ass or how well I did in there?”
Desire was drowned by amusement—she seemed to have that effect on them a lot, which made zero sense in her eyes. She could be described as...cute. Sexy? Nuh-uh.
“Both. You do look good in heels, Perry,” he assured her.
Her lips twitched, and though she felt she could relax because for a moment, they were alone, she knew she couldn’t.
They were in a public hallway, which meant any of a gazillion helpers/servants/admin/cleaners could come scurrying out of the woodwork.
There were so many, she didn’t even know where they worked.
Truth was, Perry had never even noticed them before. But being at the center of their attention had changed that. Now, it simply wasn’t possible to be unaware of the staff.
Although, she guessed “servants” was the right word here. And damned uncomfortable it made her, too.
The goldfish bowl of this life was something she was finding the most difficult to acclimate to.
It was no wonder Edward needed her.
He had no privacy, and she knew, somehow, that in the chaos that was this existence, she’d have to find the strength to forge a private piece of life for them.
He wouldn’t do it himself. He was too tied up in the notion of duty. Too aware of his responsibilities to maintain some private time for himself.
She could understand now why George thought she’d be good for his brother. She’d done the same for George, hadn’t she?
Back in Boston, when he was overworked, she was the one who reminded him there was life outside of the office. And hell, she was dedicated to her own craft. Science was in her blood, and her cause was something she lived and abided by… but there was a limit.
A line.
Both brothers had been raised with that line blurred. It was her duty to unblur it.
So, though she wished she could kiss the smirk off George’s lips and cling to Xavier’s hand, she didn’t. She stayed with a boa constrictor’s grasp around Edward’s arm as she tried, with a wing and prayer, not to fall over again as they walked down the hall toward the private section of the royal residence.
When she’d first arrived here, she’d only been shown certain areas of Masonbrook. Now that it was going to be her home, she was learning more of it. The more she learned, the more in awe she was and the unhappier she became at the prospect of living here.
This wasn’t a home.
And she refused to believe it was.
It was a conversation for another day, but if Edward thought they were living here after they wed, he had another think coming.
“Where’s Aunt Marianne and Uncle Philippe?” Xavier asked, breaking into her heavy thoughts. “I figured they’d be watching from the sidelines with us.”
“They had another function over in Madela. Unavoidable. They’re in a neighborhood renowned for UnReal sympathizers, and are trying to break the borders down. You know what Mother’s like with the North. Constantly trying to
smooth over troubled waters with a visit and a prayer.”
Perry’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Your parents walked into an area known for anti-royalist sympathies?”
Edward squeezed her hand. “Their security is beyond a joke. It’s an inner-city school they’re visiting.”
She turned to him with a concerned frown. “Shootings can happen in schools,” she reminded him.
“Not here. That’s not going to happen. And Edward’s right, their security is so tight, it’s insane. This isn’t the first time they’ve done it, Perry. Won’t be the last,” George reassured her, his mouth softening as he smiled at her. Perry sensed his pleasure in her caring for his folks, and knew she’d have received a kiss right about now if the walls didn’t have eyes and ears.
Still, no matter which way she swung it, she couldn’t imagine uptight-but-kind Marianne in the middle of an inner-city school, surrounded by kids who were more used to being approached by drug dealers than royalty. Whatever she’d imagined her future parents-in-law to be doing today, it hadn’t been that.
“Whose idea was this? Marianne’s or one of the idiot press officers’?” she asked huskily. Though Perry was nothing but an American commoner who wouldn’t know decorum if it bit her on her still-wedgied ass, Philippe and Marianne had treated her with nothing but kindness and respect.
“Mother’s,” Edward said absently as he read from his phone.
“Marianne’s?” Perry squeaked, astonished.
Xavier chuckled. “Marianne isn’t as delicate as she looks, Perry.”
Apparently so, because he wasn’t taken aback by the news that they’d gone into what was essentially enemy territory. She was the only one flabbergasted by the notion.
“Does it work?” she questioned.
“What? Do royal visits break down borders?” George asked, brow cocked and fingers in the air as he made the quotation. At her nod, he carried on. “Surprisingly, yeah.”
“Then why is UnReal sympathy on the rise?” she asked skeptically.
“Because we’re talking about regions who are reared to not trust the monarchy,” Xavier said softly. “Some people just don’t like the prospect of being ruled by a singular family, even if that family has done nothing but right by their nation.”
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