Her Highness, Princess Perry_Contemporary Reverse Harem

by Serena Akeroyd

  And she wasn’t wrong.

  When the Master of Ceremonies swung open the immense doors and they opened onto the grand ballroom, Edward kept her tucked into his side.

  Marianne had informed her that they needed to stand as two separate entities. That the affection between them had to remain “barely there.” But Edward was of a different mind, it seemed.

  When the Master of Ceremonies bellowed their name into the throng, Edward had his hand possessively placed on her hip, his fingers curving down toward her sex, making her very, very aware of her decision to go panty-less.

  Of course, that was exacerbated by the fact George had brought all of her brain cells down to biological functions earlier.

  As she stood there, overlooking the mob, she was indelibly marked in every guest’s mind as Edward’s.

  And she loved that.

  Hell, screw that. She fucking adored it.

  The ballroom was vast. Underfoot, parquet floor gleamed with the patina of old age, as the room itself had seen a thousand such events over the centuries. The walls were loaded with ancient brackets that had once held logs that blazed with naked flames, but were now tamed with honest-to-God candles. There were thousands of them, and she really felt for the guy who’d had to light them. Hopefully, there was a team of them, because that was a thankless task. The candles added a heat to the room that brought out a kind of hazy sensuality to the formal event.

  Maybe it was because the warmth exacerbated the guests’ natural scents? As this wasn’t Elizabethan England or pre-revolutionary France, everyone showered and tended to wash up prior to these parties; the heady warmth strengthened the perfume and aftershaves people were wearing in a way that wasn’t cloying but was, strangely enough, sensual.

  Or that could just be because she was breathing in Edward’s personal scent, and she was drowning in his pheromones.

  As they stepped down the thirty stairs toward the ballroom, she was amazed by the expansive, frescoed ceiling that seemed to merge into the walls, bringing the cherubs to life in a way that made the shining cream and gold beings dance into the party itself.

  Here, there were only people. Endless reams of them as they awaited her and Edward’s attendance. Next door was where they’d be eating.

  She’d actually already been in there. The dozens of bright red-covered tables with silver linen napkins and central floral displays that further encompassed the DeSauvier colors with touches of royal blue, was a grand banquet she’d never thought to see in her life.

  But, she was doing more than seeing. This was for her.

  All for her.

  The notion was staggering, and as Edward and she alighted into the crowd, they were swarmed upon. Ambushed like thundering wildebeest on a stampede as people bowed and curtsied before her, begging her attention, desiring Edward’s focus.

  Through it all, he kept her clamped to his side. Not in a creepy way, but in a way that declared to one and all that she was his and there would be no parting them.

  Twenty minutes in, the whirl of faces hadn’t let up. She was overwhelmed and resenting the inferno blazing from the candles and the mass of body heat. Edward kept her upright but she almost sagged with relief as George and Xavier appeared like beacons of hope.

  They also came sporting gifts.

  Of the champagne variety.

  She grabbed the flute from Xavier’s outstretched hand with little decorum, and drank half without blinking.

  “Thirsty? Or desperate?” George murmured in her ear, snickering when she whacked him on the arm.

  “Both,” she retorted with a snap.

  He just chuckled, but she growled at him. “How many more people?” she asked Edward, who looked more stoic than ever.

  Had they been following Marianne’s distinct orders and had been separate throughout this torture, she’d have felt out in the cold. But though he looked disinterested, even bored, by the events playing before him, the hand clamping her to him was ferocious.

  Truth was, the way he looked and how he held her was an insight into the man.

  She vowed never to forget this night. Not that that was possible considering the circumstances, but for his touch alone, the evening’s events would remain solidly in her memory bank.

  She realized that just because the man on the outside looked cold and unfeeling, inside, he was a turbulent mass of emotion. Emotion that, for good or ill, he’d decided to focus on her.

  “Almost there,” Xavier informed her kindly, when he seemed to sense Edward wasn’t going to answer.

  He looked over his cousin with a weather eye, and Perry read his concern. She wondered about it, but didn’t ask. Still, when Xavier inadvertently caught her gaze, he just blinked at her and smiled. It was a dismissive smile, though. One that told her, without his meaning to, that something was wrong.

  She studied Edward a second, but he seemed his usual self. Sure, he was stoic, but all the royals were in their own way, weren’t they?

  They had that "bored shitless” air about them, even if they were trying not to.

  As she stood there, bored shitless herself, she figured she’d best find out a way to replicate the look.

  And fast.

  When Edward’s hand released its hard grip on her hip, she was almost surprised at being relinquished. Then, he surprised her further by hugging one of the women who had just approached them.

  “Cassie, it’s wonderful to see you. I had no idea you were in the country!”

  “Oh, Edward. It really has been too long,” the other woman was saying, a bright smile on her face that was, nonetheless, a little teary, too.

  Perry eyed the woman, who was closer to Edward and Xavier’s age than her own. She was dressed in a simple black sheath that, of course, she wore like a million dollars.

  On Perry, it would have looked both funereal and like she was a lumpy sack of potatoes. Cassie, whoever the hell she was, looked slender and lean.

  She was also hugging Edward too intently for her liking.

  Still, jealousy became no one, so she plastered on a bright smile when Edward, after murmuring, “I didn’t expect you here,” pulled back to encompass Perry in the greeting. “Perry, this is Cassandra Whitings. She’s married to an old friend of mine.”

  Cassandra’s married?

  Call her petty, but that amendment made Perry blow out a relieved breath.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cassandra,” she said cheerfully—and meaning it, now that there was no need to be jealous.

  The other woman turned kind eyes on her. “And I you.” She placed her hands on Edward’s shoulders, but the move was, somehow, not proprietary. Perry wasn’t even sure how that was possible, but it wasn’t.

  Cassandra just looked square into Edward’s eyes and declared, “You look happy.”

  At her side, the four women who’d approached them alongside her tittered uncomfortably, while shooting Perry half-jealous, half-false smiles.

  As with the rest of the courtiers, this was standard behavior. The men either ogled her breasts or ignored her totally, and the women just looked at her like she was the luckiest woman on Earth or like they thought Edward had gone blind overnight.

  So, Cassie’s reaction was actually really nice. At least one person around here was genuine, she thought, watching as Edward’s cheeks turned faintly ruddy in response to her declaration.

  “I am happy,” he said a little stiltedly, and Perry couldn’t help it…

  She burst out laughing.

  Cassandra looked at her in surprise, then, with a mischievous grin, joined in.

  Edward pulled a face. “Why are you laughing at me?”

  “Because your mouth was speaking English while your body was speaking French.”

  George, at her side, piped up, “What does that even mean?”

  “It means, big ears,” Cassie retorted, relinquishing her hold on Edward’s shoulder and turning to kiss George’s cheek, “that Edward sounded anything but happy.”

&nb
sp; George grunted. “My ears aren’t even big anymore.”

  “The joys of a nickname,” Cassandra retorted, her tone gleeful. “They never die a death.”

  Xavier laughed. “She’s right, George.” He swept down and tugged Cassandra into a hug too. “It’s great to see you, Cass. I didn’t know you were back here. Thought you were still in New York because of Marcus’s work.”

  A look shuttered over Cassie’s face, one that no one save Perry seemed to pick up on. “He’ll be here shortly. I returned first with the children.” As she approached Perry, she murmured, “Sorry I left you until last, but it’s been an age since I’ve seen the boys.”

  Perry, unable to help it, grinned cheerfully at her. “I understand. They’re too delicious not to hug, aren’t they?”

  Cassie shot her a conspiratorial wink. “You’ve got that right.” As the two women kissed cheeks, she pulled back and said, “I’d really love to catch up sometime. Get to know the woman who snared one of my oldest friends.”

  “If the children are here, does that mean you’re staying in Veronia long term?” Edward asked.

  That odd sadness swept over Cassie once more, and Perry wondered why her men, usually so empathetic, failed to sense it.

  “Yes. We’re back here permanently. I couldn’t stand New York a minute longer.” She reached for Edward’s hand, and shocked Perry by grabbing hers too. “I want to catch up with you both.”

  As she squeezed their fingers, the one voice Perry had been dying to hear since the rigmarole began, called out.

  “Dinner will shortly be served,” the Master of Ceremonies boomed, and en masse, people turned and began to head toward the ante-room where the banquet would be held.

  Cassie’s eyes sparkled as she took in Perry’s relief. In the melee of the crowd’s distraction, she leaned in and murmured, “We need to work on your po face.”

  Perry blinked, then curled her lips inward to hide a smile. “That obvious?”

  “Definitely.” Cass winked at her. “Edward has my number, Perry. Call me. I’d love to go out for coffee sometime.”

  “I’d like that,” she replied, meaning it.

  Cassie smiled, then hooked her elbows through two of the women’s arms, women she recognized from an online blog about court life as Lady Helene de Mastin and the Marchioness of Grasse-Beau.

  Of course, the blog was strictly illegal considering the nation’s privacy laws. But Veronia didn’t believe in outright censorship, especially of the internet, and George had been using the blog to show her some of the cats at court.

  His phrasing, not hers.

  “I like her,” she told Edward as they strode toward the banquet.

  “I’m glad,” was his simple reply, as a path opened up before them, letting them head directly to the other room without being jostled in the crush.

  Sometimes, being a Princess-to-be had its perks.

  Chapter Five

  George stared over at Ferdinand L’Argeneaux and tried not to grimace.

  Of all the men to meet, this was the last one on his list.

  “Your Highness,” Ferdinand said curtly, sounding not in the least gracious.

  George’s smile was tight. “Ferdinand. It’s good to see you.” A lie, but what else could he say?

  Ferdinand didn’t bother with such politesse. Just motioned to the seat opposite George and asked, “May I?”

  Considering he’d half-expected the man just to take a seat without asking, the question was more than a kindness coming from a snake like L’Argeneaux. “Of course.”

  Ferdinand was, what would once upon a time have been called, a kingmaker.

  He knew the right people, held all the cards, and had the bank balance of a Sheikh. He was also Edward’s ex-father-in-law, and had used his daughter as the ultimate pawn by ingratiating her into the royal family.

  For that alone, George would never like the man. Arabella had done nothing other than make Edward miserable throughout their short marriage. A marriage that would never have happened without her father having made the political play.

  It was the Millennium, and yet both her father and Edward’s had arranged the match. Ferdinand with an end game only he knew, Philippe because he’d wanted Ferdinand’s support in Parliament.

  Which was exactly where George was now. For Parliament to open a session, a DeSauvier needed to be there. Philippe could have pawned it off on a lesser DeSauvier, a second cousin or the like, but he took pride in playing a pivotal role in the country’s laws, and eight out of ten times sat in on the session himself. He’d only ducked out of today’s because he and Marianne were due to visit Monaco for a meeting with the Crown Prince there.

  And now George was back, the mantel didn’t always have to fall on Edward.

  Sharing the load sucked, even if it was only fair.

  “How can I help, Ferdinand?” George asked briskly when the man just slouched back in one of the leather club chairs, studying him like a cobra eyeing its charmer and captor.

  It was no use in thinking that he simply wanted to talk. Ferdinand never did anything without a purpose. Life was one huge game of chess to him.

  George loathed the man.

  “I found your presence here interesting today.”

  “Why? I’ve returned home. I have duties to attend.”

  “You didn’t care before.”

  “I was younger, and foolish before.” He cocked a brow as he took a sip of his whiskey.

  Seeing his drink, Ferdinand nodded at a waiter who approached and ordered. “My usual.” The server almost dropped into a dead run to attend the man.

  Life goal, George thought ruefully, make the staff tremble in their shoes by the time I’m fifty.

  Not.

  The DeSauviers had never ruled by fear. It wasn’t their way. Still, to command such clout without so much as a title spoke of Ferdinand’s power plays.

  “That’s an interesting choice of phrasing,” Ferdinand murmured softly, as he sipped at what looked like a gin and tonic that the server returned with surprising speed. “Foolish. Would you say your time abroad has made you a wiser man?”

  “One would hope so,” he retorted. “Otherwise, few life lessons have been learned.”

  Ferdinand’s rare smile made an appearance. At that moment, the familial connection between him and his daughter was so apparent, George had to hide a grimace.

  Arabella had been a celebrated beauty, but she’d always left him cold. Ferdinand had that same way about him. Being in his presence was like sitting next to a freezer with the door open.

  “What did you think of today’s session?” Ferdinand asked after he’d taken another sip.

  To tell the truth or to lie, that is the question, George thought wryly.

  Considering the man made diplomacy look like a game of Monopoly, George thought the truth would rattle him. “I thought it was bullshit.”

  Ferdinand cocked a brow. “How so?”

  George thought back to the pointless one hundred and twenty minutes he’d spent in the DeSauvier seat, watching over proceedings.

  Half-throne, half-chair, he’d lounged opposite the Speaker of the House—the man who maintained order when the bickering between parties grew too loud. On either side of the raised dais upon which their seats were placed were rows of padded, maroon leather. Twelve rows deep, the seats had all been filled, as today there had been important laws under dispute—one of Philippe’s pet causes on prison reform.

  Between him and the Speaker, there were three podiums. One for each party in the House.

  The grand lecterns were tilted at an angle that made it seem as though they were talking directly to the man or woman seated in the DeSauvier throne, but it also angled them at the party opposite, ensuring their argument was heard by all the right people.

  As he’d watched the eight hundred strong members of Parliament in action, he’d asked himself how it came to be that those morons were in charge of running the country.

  And consid
ering Ferdinand was one such man, George’s use of the term “bullshit” took the insult to another level.

  “I thought Philippe would have sat in today, considering this particular reform has his stamp all over it.” Ferdinand’s sneer told George exactly what he thought of Philippe’s “stamp.”

  “If the issue with Monaco hadn’t arisen, I’m certain he would.”

  “Why were today’s proceedings bullshit then? If it wasn’t to do with the topic.”

  “Because you were bickering like spoiled children. Crying and screaming when you dropped your rattles,” was George’s curt reply as he took a sip of his own drink—a Bloody Mary. “We all know the prison reform will happen whether you agree or not.”

  “Because your father wishes it,” Ferdinand snarled disgruntledly.

  “Yes. There is an advantage to being king of your own country,” George said wryly. “That’s a position few of us can aspire to.”

  Ferdinand narrowed his eyes. “And you think it’s fair that because your father wishes it, that makes it so?”

  “I think it’s stupid to question and argue over a status quo that will never be undone in our lifetime.” George sipped at his drink. “Don’t you?”

  “Maybe it’s stupid to believe the DeSauvier line will never end. Few other nations are fit to maintain a monarchy.”

  “That’s because they don’t rule like we do. Say what you will about royalty, you can’t deny that my father’s a good king.”

  “I don’t. I’m just saying, tides can turn.”

  “While he’s alive and my brother, who was raised in his image, is, I’d say we’re safe.”

  Ferdinand didn’t reply to that, merely asked, “And you, George, now that you’re back on home turf, and seemingly so dutiful, is marriage your next step? Or are you leaving that to Edward?” Ferdinand’s mouth pursed. “He called me about his new engagement.”

  “He did?” George cocked a brow. “That was polite of him.”

  “He was a polite son-in-law.”

  Though it was underwhelming, George felt certain that was the highest compliment Ferdinand was capable of bestowing on anyone.

  God help his children.

  It was no wonder Arabella had turned out colder than a frozen ready meal.