“You’ve met the Pope?” she asked, her voice a squeak. Then she wondered why that came as a surprise.
Veronia was a Catholic country, after all, and Edward was a prince and the future ruler of said nation.
Although, the family wasn’t Catholic. Not practicing, anyway, because they hadn’t had her convert for the marriage ceremony. Unless that was on their to-do list too, she thought glumly.
“Will I have to convert to marry you?” she asked, curiosity urging her to ask as she peered at the knocker. It was a crystal-clear shot, so detailed that she could see the God’s belly, taut with defined stone-muscle.
“That would have been a wiser question to ask nearer to the time I proposed, wouldn’t it?” he retorted, sounding amused.
She stuck out her tongue. “Maybe. It’s not a big deal to me. I just wondered.” Although, he was right. If converting had been necessary, that would have been one of the many lessons on her schedule.
“No. There’s no need to convert. The abbey where we’ll wed is non-denominational, and it won’t be a priest overseeing the ceremony but a kind of…” He pursed his lips. “I’ve never had to explain it before,” he said wryly as he rubbed his chin.
“Like an officiant? In a civil ceremony?”
“I guess,” he murmured, lifting her leg onto his lap until she was as close to him, as nestled, as could be. He ran a hand down her calf and said, “But it’s a religious ceremony, too. We have too many religions here for the royals to align to just one.”
“That’s remarkably forward-thinking,” she joked.
“We’re a remarkably forward-thinking nation,” he teased back. “My ancestors saw how religion created wars and disturbances hundreds of years ago, and rather than add themselves to the fray, they created a haven for all, rather than just one.”
“I like your ancestors more and more.”
He grinned. “I’m sure they’d like you too.”
“I doubt that,” she said brightly. “I’m a commoner.”
“We all were at some point. It just takes one person to slaughter the right man and to take his place.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s cheerful.”
He laughed. “You haven’t been absorbing much in your history lessons if you haven’t learned of the family’s roots.”
“I process, I just don’t absorb. History was never my thing. Plus, there’s so much other crap I have to learn,” she complained. “How to make sure I don’t upset a British royal by sitting them near the French president and other crap.”
“That crap’s important,” he chided, but he was smiling as he leaned into her so he could cup her cheek.
“No, it’s not. There are like, forty event planners here. They all know that shit. Why do I need to know too? It’s called delegation. Your mom needs to get better at it.”
He grimaced. “You’re right. She does.” Then, he eyed her. “You should be grateful for those event planners. George says you’re not as involved as he’d like.”
“Like you are, too,” she retorted, but her cheeks heated. “Anyway, it’s your fault there’s so much pressure. We’re getting married very quickly. I swear, that scene today was because your mom thinks I’m pregnant. She thinks it’s some kind of shotgun wedding.”
A snort escaped him. “She doesn’t think that.” He sent her a wary glance. “Does she?”
“You tell me,” she groused, throwing her hands up. “You know her better than I do.”
He snorted. “If you think that, then you don’t read between the lines.” He reached up and traced a finger down the curve of her cheek. “It’s important to me that if we have children, you play a substantial role.”
She cocked a brow at him. “Well, duh.”
He bit back a laugh. “This isn’t a joke, Perry.”
“I never thought it was,” she told him, deadly serious now. “What made you think it would be? I’m not sure I want kids, but I intend on having a lot of sex in my life… children tend to happen as a consequence.” She shrugged. “Just because I’m not maternal now, doesn’t mean I won’t be when I’m up the duff.”
He sighed, tapped her chin. “You’re one of a kind, you know that?” Before she could answer, his cell buzzed. He reached for it, rolled his eyes at the screen and flashed it to her so she could see the Caller ID. “What’s wrong?”
She snuggled into his side, ready to be amused at whatever George had to say. He answered the phone, and the voice on the other end sounded exasperated.
“Do you have any idea where Perry is? I’ve got four damn cakes and she needs to try them.”
“I don’t need to try anything,” she retorted, loud enough for her voice to travel down the line. “Edward has to try this shit. Here I am, starving myself to get into that freakin’ dress, and you’re trying to stuff me full of cake. Cake that I don’t want—I told you, where’s the banana one?”
“Like you need to lose weight.”
Though she appreciated George’s scoff, she pouted. “You haven’t seen the dress. I’m sure Marianne did it on purpose. It’s tighter than an elephant’s asshole.” And just as horrible, too.
She was not looking forward to walking down the aisle in that monster.
Edward blinked. “Stunning image there, and just as I was starting to look forward to you sashaying down the aisle.”
“Now you’ll look at me and see elephant anus. Brilliant. My work here is done,” she told him cheerfully.
“Bring them to my room, George. I’ll sample them.”
She huffed. “How benevolent of you.”
George didn’t wait to reply, just cut the call—apparently not one to bite the hand that fed. One minute he was there, the second he wasn’t.
“That brother of mine…”
“A liability?” she joked, grinning widely at him. “You want to thank him. He’s the reason the wedding’s happening on schedule.”
Edward tilted his head to the side. “Is that because you don’t really want to get married? Is that why you don’t want to get involved in any of the arrangements?”
She pondered that, saw the roots of hurt begin to spread. “No. You know those girls who have a binder at four and have planned every last inch of their ceremony, down to the last detail?”
“Yeah,” he asked warily. “Not personally, but I’ve heard the stereotype before.”
“Stereotype, my ass,” she pshawed. “There really are women like that. But I’m not one of them. It’s just never been that big of a deal to me.”
“So, let’s say you were marrying George… would you be as disinterested as you are now?”
“Probably more, if I’m being honest, Edward,” she admitted sheepishly. “The vaguest smidgen of interest here is because I don’t want to make an ass out of myself. This is happening on a sphere that still boggles my mind. But I can’t be enraptured by something that bores me shitless.”
Though her response was artless, it seemed to satisfy him. He settled back into the sofa with an ease that pleased her.
“Before George interrupted, we were saying… I know the prenuptial agreement’s terms. I wasn’t happy about it the last time, but she signed it. I didn’t want you to.”
“If I’d known about that clause, I wouldn’t have. I-I just thought it would be about money, I guess. Stupid of me,” she said on a sigh. She rested her chin on his shoulder as she looked over it and beyond to the windows that peered onto the neat yard ahead.
This room could be her new home if she’d let it. If she wasn’t dead-set on not living at Masonbrook for the near future.
Here she was, in a palace, cozying up to a prince, as they discussed children. Kids who wouldn’t just have to worry about college and measuring up; they’d have to worry about a nation and the duties that came with their positions.
Jeez, and she’d thought being thirteen sucked.
Her kids, if she were to have any, would have it a thousand times suckier.
“Naïve,” Edward
corrected gently. “Not stupid. They played on that.”
“I’m surprised they did. I thought they were warming up to me.” Was she hurt that they’d tried to pull that score on her? But… if Perry was trying to protect her own son and grandchildren, wouldn’t she pull dick moves too?
She had to admit she would.
Perry was learning she was a bit of a tigress when it came to the people she loved.
“They are warming up to you,” he told her softly, reaching up to shift a lock of hair that had tumbled over her forehead. “But we’re talking about grandchildren. That changes things.”
She pondered that, then pondered something else he’d said. “Arabella didn’t care if the children stayed with you in the event of a divorce?”
He sighed, shook his head. Taking that as a sign he didn’t want to discuss it, and because she didn’t either, not particularly, she just cuddled closer to him.
He was hurt. Arabella’s decision had wounded hm…
What did that say about the serious man at her side?
One who was so bound in duty, so tied into it, that he barely enjoyed the life he’d been given, yet fretted for the lives that had yet to be born…
She fell a little bit harder in love with him then.
For a man who could be so protective of children he hadn’t even created yet, his character was just as she’d believed it to be.
Her instincts hadn’t failed her when she’d thought he’d needed her. She wouldn’t let him, or any mini-hims, down.
Or mini-Georges, or mini-Xaviers, she guessed, biting her lip.
“How does that work, Edward?” she asked softly. “I mean. George wants this long term, and Xavier seems to as well…”
“You mean children?” When she nodded, her cheeks burning, he just jerked a shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. We’re all DeSauviers.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
He shot her a look. “Really.”
At that moment, she knew she couldn’t contain the words. They spilled from her lips. “I love you, Edward.”
His eyes flared wide, his surprise evident. But he reached for her, his hand grabbing hers. He squeezed tightly, then in an almost angry tone, bit off, “And I love you, Perry. You do know that?”
Before she could say another word, the door opened and George appeared. Four large boxes were in his hands, hiding his torso from view. From his waist to chin-height, he was loaded down with the thick containers.
Though she was singing inside at having finally told Edward her feelings for him, and having heard them returned, she couldn’t find it in herself to be angry at George’s intrusion.
It was wonderful to see him, even if his timing was shitty.
“What are you even doing in here?” George demanded. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Calm down, Bridezilla,” Perry retorted, swinging her legs out from under her and getting to her feet. She strode over to him and helped unload two of the boxes. As she did, she reached up on tiptoe and puckered her lips.
His irritated huff came shortly before a kiss landed on her mouth. She quickly nipped his bottom lip and murmured, “You do realize you’re turning into a TLC special, right?”
He focused a steely eye on her. “Those women were planning small ceremonies. I’m worried about entertaining presidents and other royals!”
She grinned. “First world problems.”
“You forgot the hashtag,” he grouched. “Otherwise it means buttkiss.”
Snorting, she returned to Edward’s side and stacked the boxes between them.
“What did you settle on in the end?”
“The ones that you actually sampled,” George said wryly. “Ten different flavors, and you wouldn’t eat half of them.”
“They were gross,” she retorted. “That fruitcake was like a brick.”
“It’s traditional,” Edward murmured softly, but his lips were twitching as he opened the box. As he stared at the buttercream-coated concoction, he looked up at George. “Shouldn’t Xavier be here for this?”
Perry, God help her, melted a little more at that.
George blinked. “I didn’t think. Stupid,” he said on a sigh as he reached for his cell. When the call connected, he grumbled into the phone, “Dude, get your ass to Edward’s room. There’s cake to try.”
A groan sounded down the line. “Not more fucking cake.”
“Be warned, you’re on speaker,” Perry warbled in a singsong voice.
“I don’t care if I am. You didn’t even try those damn cakes. George and I had to.”
“Jesus, you boys would think I’d dumped the weight of the world on you! It’s just cake. And I totally tried the banana one. Which I want. Which Bridezilla isn’t letting me have because it’s not ‘traditional.’” She imbued as much loathing as she could into that one word.
Damn, it wasn’t even feigned. She was totally sick and fucking tired of tradition.
“You dumped more than just cake on me. You dumped table decorations and bridesmaids’ dresses too!” George declared, his eyes a touch wild. “What the fuck do I know about rose satin?”
She snickered. “More than me. You did a great job with my wardrobe.”
“Only because I picked everything I wanted to strip you out off.”
She reared back at that. “You’re kidding.”
Edward laughed. “Surely you knew that? You didn’t think it was out of the kindness of his heart, did you?”
“Is that why everything’s three sizes too small?”
George’s grin was unrepentant. “Of course. You should pick your own damn clothes if you don’t want me to imagine stripping you to your skin.”
She groaned. “You’ve perverted my entire wardrobe now.”
“Hardly. I wanted to fuck you when you were in ratty yoga pants. At least now I don’t have to wonder if you’re wearing boring white panties underneath them.”
“No, I just have thongs stuck up my ass-crack,” she growled. “I’m sick of the constant wedgie.”
“Buy your own bikini-style panties, then.”
She gaped at him. “How do you even know what they are?”
“Because I read,” he declared, then sheepishly admitted, “And I might have dated a bikini model for a short time when I was younger and all she talked about was bloody underwear.”
“Guys, guys,” Xavier boomed down the line. “We’re digressing here.”
“Only because you’re procrastinating. This is as much your wedding as it is mine,” she said snippily. “Your input is required.”
When none of the men responded to her statement, she glowered at the two in the room with her. “What? What did I say?”
George cleared his throat. “Nothing.”
Though she narrowed her eyes at him, she just murmured, “How long until you can get here, Xav?”
His voice was husky as he murmured, “Ten minutes. I was driving to the palace as you called.”
“Why?” she asked. “Did you have a meeting? You should have told me. I’d have arranged for lunch.”
“It was a spur of the moment decision.”
George grinned. “That means he missed you.”
“Fuck off,” Xavier retorted, but he didn’t deny it.
Pleased, she sat up straighter. “See you in ten.”
“Feel free to start eating all the cake without me,” he grumbled, cutting the call before anyone could say another word.
She grunted. “You guys, I swear. This is the best decision to be making! Cake. Guys love cake.”
“I loved cake,” George said gloomily. “Until I had to figure out what the hell frangipani flowers were.”
She smirked. “Now you know what women have to go through when they get married.”
“It’s a good job this is only happening once in our lives. I’ll never get over it,” he declared gloomily, and she burst out laughing at his shell-shocked face.
“There, there,” she told him, patting hi
s knee in commiseration. “I’ll make it worth your while,” she finished, her tone teasing.
“Oh, I intend on working off my dues on your ass,” he rejoined, sounding remarkably cheerful now. He leaned over and tapped her on the nose. “You’ll like it, I swear.”
What the hell did it say about her that she hadn’t doubted, for one second, that she’d love every goddamn minute of whatever he had in store for her…
Chapter Twelve
“Xavier, did you see the news?”
“Could hardly miss it,” he snapped on a grimace as he stacked his cellphone between his ear and shoulder. “What the fuck’s going on, Edward?”
“I have zero idea.”
“Bull. What’s Drake have to say?”
“Remarkably little.”
Xavier frowned at the plant he was potting. The fern had outgrown its starter planter and needed to be moved so it could flourish. “That doesn’t sound like Drake,” was all he said.
“No. I thought that, too.”
“He’s no idea who the guy is?”
“No. Just that, according to the papers, he’s a top member of the UnReals.”
With the wedding less than four weeks away, the timing of this was beyond a nightmare. Xavier rubbed his hands together to shake off the soil that had gathered there.
Only practice stopped him from running his fingers through his hair to ease some of his agitation.
“We’ve no idea that the papers are right,” he threw out, aware that the solution was weak at best.
“They sold the copy on the fact that the Prime Minister is meeting with a fucking rebel, Xavier. They’re not going to get that wrong. Not when they know we’ll have them in court faster than I can curse out their managing director.
“They know better than to put false information in print.”
“You say that, but the media isn’t something we can always control.”
“You’re wrong,” Edward rejoined, his tone gritty. “And you know it. You’re reaching because you don’t want this to be the truth. But it is the truth, and there’s no evading it.” He blew out a sharp breath. “It’s just a matter of time until we figure out who the man is. Drake’s already ascertained where the image was taken.”
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