“Are you okay?” he whispered, squeezing her fingers.
“I’m fine,” she said, her words almost exhaled rather than vocalized.
“You look wonderful,” he told her, hoping she knew the truth of that.
A throat cleared behind him, and he looked back at a grinning George.
Unable to do anything other than share in his brother’s joy for him, he grinned back.
Then, with Perry’s hand in his, he guided her to the altar steps and together, they walked toward their future.
Chapter Nineteen
“I now pronounce you, man and wife.
“You may kiss the bride, Your Highness.”
When Edward’s lips caressed hers, she breathed into the kiss, and pressed her hands to his shoulders to hold him closer.
Her fingers were shaking. And though this morning she’d removed her engagement ring and now there was nothing but a ring some ancient queen had worn once upon a time, her hand felt inordinately heavy. The gold was old, tarnished with the years, and Edward could not have picked better for her.
Applause started behind them, and they jumped.
Considering it wasn’t protocol, but a hell of a lot of that was being broken today anyway, they looked around a little wide-eyed, and saw Philippe was joining in. As was usually the way… if the King was okay with it, or had even started it perhaps, the rest of the world was okay with it too.
Both of them grinned around at the congregation, then Edward reached for the Reverend’s hand and shook it in thanks.
For a second, time stood still as she looked upon the man who was now her husband.
It seemed incredible, and yet, it was the truth.
They bound their hands, and together, they moved toward the thrones.
There, she dipped into a curtsey while Edward simply bowed before his parents.
She’d never not find that weird as fuck that he had to supplicate himself before them, but one day, if they had a child, he or she would do the same to them.
But that was a whole other load of terror, and she was still in the middle of this half-dream, half-nightmare.
Truth was, now that she was married, she wanted to be away from here.
She wanted to be on the jet to wherever Edward had cooked up for their honeymoon.
After months of living in a pressure-cooker environment, months of being in the public eye, and months of having goddamn lessons, she needed a break.
Stat.
Greedy?
Maybe. But hell, she was tired. Really, really tired.
It was an odd time for her adrenaline to drop, but she’d been hyped up all morning so maybe it made sense. And the day wasn’t even done.
There was the carriage ride through Madela that would take them past another crowd that numbered in the hundreds of thousands as they were cheered on their way to the reception. There was the meal, the after party…
But, more importantly than that, there was now.
Her coronation.
She watched as Marianne got to her feet, where, immediately, she turned to her right to find a page standing with a soft velvet cushion.
Perry gulped at the sight of it. Not because it was a particularly terrifying thing to behold, but because what it represented was.
Marianne gathered the cushion in her hands and then brought it to Philippe. When his father stood, Edward helped her back down to her knees—sheesh, she was getting tired of the cold stone against her shins—and he began to help lift the headdress from her brow.
As he released it, her hair fell deeper about her shoulders. She could sense his desire to gather it in his hands and sweep it back for her, but he didn’t. Though the fire burning in his eyes meant one thing she was used to seeing, more than just passion for her blazed in those depths.
His love did too.
Before she could fall into that inferno, an inferno she wanted to dive into, Philippe reached for her chin and turned her attention his way.
She peered up at him, a shaky smile on her lips as he reached for the tiara on the cushion Marianne was holding and began to place it atop her forehead.
She saw little other than more emeralds, a silver metal, and an ornate filigree work that patterned the diadem. Then it was on her forehead.
And after, Philippe pressed a hand to her shoulder and in a loud voice, declared, “You may now rise, daughter. Let the nation know, and let the people celebrate, for Veronia is blessed.”
And just when Perry thought her nerves would induce her to faint, Marianne, her voice softer, more genteel, declared to the congregation, “Please stand for Her Highness, Princess Perry of Veronia.”
Chapter Twenty
Edward watched as Perry, snuggled into the limo seats, snored and mumbled in her sleep. He’d been watching her since they’d climbed into the vehicle, and the truth was, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Onboard the jet, she’d changed from her bridal gown, and with that, she’d reverted to the Perry of old.
Out had come the yoga pants and a tee-shirt. Although, Edward had to thank his brother for the fact both were tight-fitting rather than two sizes too large.
And he wasn’t complaining.
Sex on a jet wasn’t the be all and end all, and Perry was as exhausted as he.
He, too, had taken the chance to get out of his uniform and to change into a pair of favored jeans and a simple shirt.
After the day’s pomp and ceremony, wearing something so simple was really wonderful.
Although, he’d never look at his uniform the same way again. Not after Perry had copped a feel of him when they’d had a moment’s privacy between the reception and the carriage ride to the palace.
His lips twitched at the thought.
The day had been…
He smiled. Everything a royal wedding ought to be, he supposed. Except here, there was no artifice. There was love.
He loved her, and she loved him.
The notion was remarkably freeing, he realized. It made the day, so fraught with tension, so overwhelming in its entirety, a wonderful memory that would be with him until the day he died.
He’d watched, prouder than he could admit, as his people embraced their new princess. Roaring and chanting her name as they rode through the streets and back along the coast road to Masonbrook.
He’d watched, honored that she’d tied herself to him, as she danced with his father and hers after the reception breakfast. He’d grasped her hand firmly in his, delighted when, with the other, she’d fed him a sliver of banana cake they’d recently cut to the roar of their guests. As he’d sampled the one true part of the reception that had Perry stamped all over it—the unorthodox cake—he’d rejoiced in the fact she was his.
Together, they’d climbed into the limo and headed for the private jet. She’d been so exhausted by that point, that she’d done little else other than snuggle into him on the ride to the airfield.
Because he understood and was equally as exhausted, he’d just curled her further into his side, loving the intimacy between them.
He knew another man would think him nuts, but those private moments had meant more to him than burning off his raging lust.
The honesty of it all had touched him deeply, and he’d been honored to see that side of her because that day, she’d played a part for him. A role. Now, she could breathe a little easier before the royal charade began once more after their honeymoon.
When, beneath the limo, the sounds of the wheel’s track changed, he curled a stray lock of hair behind her ear and murmured, “Perry, it’s time to wake up.”
She grumbled, and he had to hide a smile. “It’s too early to wake up.”
The mumbling was so sleepy, he barely heard it, but because he could surmise, he managed to make out what she was saying.
“We’re at the house.”
Her eyes opened a little at that, but she still squinted at him. “You ready to tell me where we are yet?”
“Well, that woke some
one up.”
Her laughter was husky. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m infinitely curious.”
He pursed his lips. “Well, I think you’ve shown great restraint.”
“You’re still evading my question,” she slurred, turning her face into his side. “And I’m too tired to investigate.”
“I’m not surprised, considering we’ve passed through a few time zones.”
“We have?” She sat up at that. “Hell, how long were we on the jet?”
“You slept for eight hours,” he teased, unable to hide his amusement. Amusement that only soared when her eyes widened, this time in horror.
“Are you being serious? Why the hell did you let me sleep so long?”
He shrugged. “You were tired. So was I.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “How long did you sleep for?”
“About six or seven. A little less than you.”
The breath she released was relieved. “Oh, that’s okay then.” Her scowl returned. “Where the hell are we? And how come it’s dark?”
“That has to be the oddest question I’ve ever heard,” he teased. “It’s dark because it’s night. And we’re in Dubai.”
“Dubai?”
He nodded. “A gift from one of the Sheikhs. I saw no reason, nor did my parents, not to take him up on the kind offer.”
She blinked. “We’re in Dubai?”
“Yes,” he repeated patiently.
“Where are we staying?”
“One of the palaces, of course.”
Her mouth worked a second, then she blew out a breath.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” she replied, but he heard the false brightness in her tone, and hid a smile at the sound of it.
“They’ll be here shortly.”
Her eyes widened. “They will?”
“Of course.”
“B-But…”
He cocked a brow at her. “What? You thought we’d be without them?”
“But it’s important nobody suspects.”
“And nobody will. Xavier managed to wangle an invitation from one of his old school friends who works here. He’s tagged along.”
“It still looks suspicious. But I don’t care. I’ll take it. What about George?”
“The old school friend’s wife knows him.”
She squinted. “How well?”
Edward laughed. “Not Biblically. She’s a lesbian.”
“Xavier’s visiting a woman?”
“Yes. Why does that stun you?”
“I don’t know. I’m just surprised. Are you even allowed to be gay in Dubai?” she mused.
“I highly doubt they reveal the truth of their relationship. Xavier’s friend, Lucy, runs a laboratory here, and her partner, Jane, is officially her PA.
“Whether it’s allowed or not, they’d always keep it a secret. Funding might mysteriously disappear if details of their relationship were known.”
“That’s sad,” she murmured, “but no different than the secrets we’ll have to keep, I suppose.”
He nodded, but the strain in her voice had him frowning a touch. “Xavier thought you might like to meet them.”
“Why? To compare notes on how to lead a secret life?”
He snorted. “If you want.”
She reared back at that, then after studying him, her mouth gaped. “You mean I can tell them about what we are to each other?”
Edward nodded. “Laura and Jane are attachés to the Veronian court. They’re as tightly bound by non-disclosure agreements as our guards. But more than that, we’ve known each other a hell of a long time.”
She rubbed at her forehead. “How do you know we can trust them?”
“Because we can. Trust in me.”
Perry blinked up at him, and he realized that once more, exhaustion had waved over her.
The past few months had been tough on them all, he knew. But Perry more than most. She’d had a hell of a lot to learn in a very short time.
It was with relief he felt the speed of the limo reduce noticeably, and a few moments later, it came to a halt.
He waited for his guard to open his door and as he slipped out, he reached his hand inside and held it out for her.
When her fingers were clasped in his, he helped her up, then, the minute she was standing, he swept down and lifted her into his arms.
Laughter escaped her, and he hustled her closer so that her cheek could brush his jaw. “What are you giggling at, Mrs. DeSauvier?”
She chuckled harder. “Mrs. DeSauvier?”
“What? That’s your name, isn’t it?”
Perry’s shoulders dropped at that. “Wait a minute. Are you being serious? How come in England they get to be Duchesses, and I’m a Mrs.?”
He snorted as he carried her away from the limo and across a mosaic-tiled courtyard, complete with a fountain in the center of it.
The soft tinkling was a soothing addition to the sounds of insects in the near distance.
Lights shot out from odd angles to illuminate the inner courtyard where modern met antiquity as the two styles embraced.
There were clean lines to the palace that had been recently built, but there were the patterned tiles, the many arched walkways and mezzanine floors—and that was only on the outside—that spoke of the inherent beauty of Arabia.
“You’re a princess, Perry,” he chided her. “That trumps a duchess. But when we’re out and about, as with now, you’re Mrs.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Does that work?”
“What? When I pretend to just be plain old Mr. DeSauvier?”
She nodded.
“Sometimes.” He shrugged. “Depends how well I cover up and where I am. There’s no point in even trying in Veronia. But elsewhere? America, for example? Yes.”
She pursed her lips as she pondered that, then the door opened, a great beast of a thing with raised carvings on it that followed a symmetrical floral pattern in the wood. Above it, there was a domed mosaic that further extended the pattern.
“Welcome to the Palazzo, Your Highnesses.”
Well accustomed to having staff now, Perry didn’t gape, didn’t even blush at being carried over a threshold that wasn’t theirs. “Thank you,” she told the butler brightly. “Now, where’s the bedroom? If I don’t fall asleep within the next ten minutes, I might just die.”
When the man’s eyes widened, Edward had to laugh.
Sometimes, Princess Perry had about as much tact as Princess Peach.
George squinted at Xavier who was busy reading something on his cellphone.
“Did Father ever tell you what was happening at the rehearsal dinner?”
Xavier sighed. “I would have told you if he had. You know what he’s like. He deals with certain things by himself.”
“Certain things…?” George snorted. “Most things. The man needs to learn to delegate. It’s beyond a joke.”
“At least Edward will have us.” Xavier cast George a look. “You do know we’ll both have to step up to the plate. Perry won’t be happy if we don’t all deal with things together if Edward suddenly turns into a workaholic like Uncle Philippe.”
“Xavier,” George said wryly, crossing his feet at the ankle as he slouched back into the sofa with a glass of mint tea in his hand. “I just arranged the royal wedding. If you think there’s nothing I can’t handle now, you’re wrong.”
“Oh, I forgot. Being a wedding planner means you can handle Iranian diplomats and talk to the French when they start sniffing around our borders.” Xavier huffed. “You organized a party, George. Don’t lose perspective.”
George narrowed his eyes. “It might have been a party, but it unified the nation in ways that are priceless. Don’t undermine what I did for us.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying, it doesn’t prepare you for everything,” Xavier retorted patiently, making George grit his teeth with exasperation.
“When do you think we can go over there?”
> “Edward texted an hour ago. She’s still sleeping.”
George had to chuckle at that. “Only Perry could sleep through the first night as man and wife.”
“By the sounds of it, Edward did too.” Xavier frowned. “I wonder if he knows what’s bothering Philippe.”
They’d both picked up on the King’s agitation. It had only increased when Perry and Edward had left the reception, their destination an airfield with a waiting jet.
He’d been testy, on edge. His mother, perpetually calm and impossible to ruffle, had even snapped at his father.
Something was definitely amiss.
“I doubt it,” Xavier said softly. “Philippe wouldn’t want to worry him on his wedding day.”
“I have a bad feeling about this, Xavier,” he pointed out quietly, taking a sip of the sweet mint tea as he closed his eyes—he wasn’t the only one jet-lagged and feeling tired from the past few months’ frenzy.
Truth was, he laughed at Perry’s sleeping her first night as a wife away, but he hadn’t slept long enough himself.
Unlike Edward and Perry, to sneak out of the country, they’d had to fly commercial. And as wonderful as first class was, it didn’t beat private. Private jets came with wonderful luxuries like bedrooms and private bathrooms…
The thought made him laugh at himself.
A few months back in Veronia and already he was back to appreciating the royal way of life.
Luxuries were far too easy to become accustomed to.
In the living room of old friends, they’d found their accommodation for the next few weeks. Jane and Laura were workaholics and hardly ever there, plus they were about as non-judgmental as could be… which meant only the guards would truly know what they were doing when they were at the Palazzo where the newlyweds were sleeping.
The guards would have informed Drake as to their location, but George had a feeling Drake wouldn’t rat them out to his parents.
He hoped not, anyway.
He fully expected an irate call from his mother at some point in the next week, and he highly doubted he or Xavier would be able to stay away for as long as the married couple were on honeymoon, but something was better than nothing.
“I miss her,” he said randomly, the thought popping into his head as he stared at a low leather stool, patterned with the ornate majesty of triangles and stars.
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