Kit’s whole face lit up. He dropped the album and put his hands on my cheeks, leaning down for a kiss. I tasted the salt of his tears. The urgency of his relief.
“Thank you.” He kissed me. “Thank you.” He kissed me again, leaning his forehead against mine. “Thank you, Emily.”
I nudged my nose against his. This felt so freaking good. So right. I just prayed I wasn’t setting myself up for heartbreak again. For betrayal.
I just prayed I wasn’t being an idiot by trusting Kit like this.
“So,” Kit said. “What shall we do now that you’re my real girlfriend?”
I blinked, biting back a smile. That sounded nice, hearing Kit call me his girlfriend. His real, honest-to-goodness girlfriend.
I slid my hand under the duvet and reached for him. “I have some ideas.”
“I like these ideas,” Kit said.
I grinned. “Good,” I replied, swirling my thumb over the head of his cock. “I like to make you feel good, Kit.”
Kit sucked in a breath. His eyes went hazy. “I’m about to make you feel even better, love.”
Taking my hand in his, he ducked down and took my nipple in his mouth.
My eyes fluttered shut.
I was so happy.
So stupid happy with this man.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kit
Later That Week
Hampton Court Palace
I paced the length of the Queen’s antechamber. My gaze caught on the enormous tapestries that lined the walls. They were commissioned five hundred years ago by Henry VIII to decorate Hampton Court, his palace of pleasure. Now the Queen spent her weekends here.
Although they were faded with age, the tapestries were still strikingly beautiful. The gold thread medieval weavers had used to embellish swords and haloes glinted in the dull afternoon light. The characters depicted in the tapestries had an almost painterly quality to them. Their expressions and clothing were woven in exquisite detail.
My nervousness retreated when I thought about how much Emily would love the tapestries. I grinned. I couldn’t wait to show them to her. Maybe I’d have one of the Queen’s conservationists give us a private tour of the art here at Hampton Court. I’d never been the biggest fan of the palace. It was cold and stuffy. But I had no doubt Em would have some ideas about breathing new life into the place.
I drew a deep breath and squared my shoulders. I just had to get the current Queen on board with my plan to make my relationship with Em real. I hoped—prayed—it wouldn’t be difficult. She was the Queen of England, yes. But she was also my grandmother. Surely she wanted me to be happy. And I was happy when I was with Emily.
My heart skipped a beat when one of her secretaries emerged from her office and offered me a curt nod.
“Good afternoon, sir.” He held out his arm. “Her Majesty is waiting for you in the garden.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets. The Queen rarely conducted business outside her office. Even when that business was with me, her right hand man and heir.
This was not a good sign. Or maybe it was? She’d been known to take a turn about the gardens with her pack of horribly behaved corgis when the weather was good. And she was always in a jolly mood around her dogs.
I made my way outside. It was chillier here than it was in London. I wished I’d brought my coat. Keeping my hands in my pockets, I headed into the gardens.
I found the Queen in the sculpture garden. She had a grey kerchief on her head and her hands on her hips. She was staring down one of her corgis as he enthusiastically humped a delicate statue of a fairy.
“Stop that naughtiness, Nibbles. Stop it right this very moment!” she scolded.
I bent down and scooped up the panting dog, settling him at my feet. “Naughty indeed. Is he always so…amorous?”
“I’m afraid so. The little bugger mounts anything he sees.”
As if to prove her point, Nibbles started humping my leg.
The Queen tried to smack him away. “That’s quite enough!”
Nibbles, however, persisted in his humping. So I picked him up again and put him back on the fairy.
I straightened and clasped my hands behind my back. It hit me just how nervous I was. And I did not get nervous.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” I began.
She turned her blue eyes on me. They were hard. Icy. Unreadable.
Shit.
“You said it was urgent?” she replied.
I rocked back on my heels. “Yes. I wanted to speak with you about Emily.”
“That girl is playing her part with aplomb. The distraction is working. The people—and the press—can’t get enough of her.” The Queen began to walk down the path. “She was an excellent choice for the role, if I don’t say so myself. Turned out to be quite the actress, hasn’t she?”
My stomach clenched. I didn’t like where this was going.
“Emily has been a wonderful addition to the family, yes. The twins adore her. So does Jane.”
The Queen turned her icy gaze on me again. “You look tired.”
“I’ve been working like mad—our next fundraiser for the School for the Arts is next week. We’re expecting close to five hundred guests.” I looked away. “Emily has agreed to give the keynote speech.”
“Has she?” the Queen arched a brow.
“She was an absolute dream at the gala. Charmed the money right out of everyone’s pockets. We pulled in double what we thought we would.”
“How lovely,” she replied, though by her tone I could tell she didn’t think it was lovely at all.
I took a deep breath.
“I’m in love with her.” My heart beat in my ears. “I am genuinely, completely in love with Emily. I did not see it coming. But it happened. Your Majesty, I would like to ask for your blessing.”
The words slipped out of my mouth. I hadn’t specified what I wanted Her Majesty’s blessing for. But the implication I’d accidentally made was that I sought her blessing for our marriage.
Obviously I hadn’t intended to make that implication. But now that I had, it hit me that maybe I didn’t want to take it back.
Maybe I really wanted to marry Emily Kilpatrick.
No. I did want to marry her. I was thirty-four fucking years old. I knew what I wanted by now. Hearing the words come out of my own mouth confirmed it. I was in love with Emily, and I wanted to make her my wife.
The Queen drew to a stop. I nearly jumped when my grandmother threw back her head and laughed.
“Oh, Christopher, that’s a good one.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “You almost had me there. You boys and your jokes.”
I stiffened. “I mean this with all due respect. But I’m not joking.”
She speared me with a glance. “Yes, Christopher, you are. We’ve already discussed why Emily would be a poor fit for your future wife. Let’s end this conversation before you embarrass yourself.”
Anger shot through me.
“You think I wanted this to happen?” I shot back. “You think I didn’t do everything I could not to fall for this girl?”
“I think you’re displaying an appalling lack of self control. You’re going to be king, Christopher. A king does not take a girl like that as his consort.”
My hands balled into fists. I took a breath, let it out. “Emily is kind. She is clever, and charismatic. The people love her. I love her. She makes me happy, grandmother. What’s wrong with me marrying the woman who makes me happy?”
“What’s wrong?” The Queen turned to me, eyes wide with disbelief. After a beat, she began walking again. “Come. I’ll show you what’s wrong with your little angel.”
I followed her inside the palace. She may have been more than ninety years old, but Her Majesty could really move when she wanted to. I struggled to catch up.
Leading me into her office, she opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a manila folder. She opened the folder, revea
ling a stack of black and white photographs.
“Here.” She handed me the photographs. “Have a look for yourself.”
“What are these?” I asked, a knot of dread forming in my stomach as I flipped through them. The pictures were blurred, grainy. But I could still make out my shape, Rob and Jack’s, too, as my fists flew through the air. My hair and face were wild. Luke was holding up his hands, trying to block the blow.
“Who took these?” I ground out. “Rob said he didn’t catch anyone trying to take pictures or video.”
The Queen rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so naive, Christopher. There are cameras everywhere in this city. You’ve got to assume there are eyes on you at all times. We got these from the pub. They have cameras installed in every corner of the place.”
I swallowed. I’d been an idiot not to think of that myself.
“I assume Emily was involved in this little bar brawl of yours?” the Queen asked.
“It wasn’t her fault. Her ex-husband—”
“Her ex-husband!” The Queen laughed again, a shrill sound. “You might as well stop right there. Kings don’t marry divorcees.”
My hands began to shake. I looked at the Queen. “Says who?”
“I do,” she replied. “Your uncle, too. You know we’ve got to keep him happy now that I’ve passed him over for you.”
“We’re trying to modernize this monarchy,” I shot back. “Make it accessible and relatable. People get divorced and remarried all the time. Is there an actual, legal rule that says I can’t marry someone who’s been divorced?”
The Queen looked away. “Well, no. But you’re not an ordinary person. You’ve got to set an example for the people. What if this ex-husband of Emily’s resurfaces again? This time with a million-dollar advance on a tell-all book? It could do irreparable damage to your reputation. Your influence, too. This family has weathered enough scandals. It’s time for some smooth sailing. You’ve got to be the one to give that to us, Christopher.”
I tugged a hand through my hair.
“So let me get this straight. Jane can screw up. Rob can shag his way through town. Jack can…well, he can just be Jack. But I have to always be perfect?”
The Queen nodded. “It’s not fair, I know.”
I was losing this argument. I knew I was. But I still had to try.
“Emily is by far better suited to the position than any of the women I’ve been with in the past,” I said.
The Queen crossed her arms. “Oh? Does that mean she’s going to shut down her treasured blog and give up the business she loves to aid you in your royal duties?”
I swallowed. “No, she’s not. But she doesn’t need to. We’re making it work—”
“Making it work?” The Queen scoffed. “You’re more naive than I thought if you believe you can make it work with a woman who isn’t one-hundred-percent dedicated to the crown. You’ll fall on your faces, and you know it. What about your mission to raise money? Build this school you’ve been talking about for years? Do the work your parents started? You really think you can do that alone?”
“I think we’d be taking a step in the right direction by having a consort who is admired for more than the clothes she wears or what her hair looks like.”
The Queen shook her head. “You don’t understand it, do you?”
“Understand what?” I snapped.
“You the heir to the throne of England. You don’t get to have the crown and your freedom, too. It’s one or the other. You may think your life with Emily works now. You may think she’s free to keep her old life without sacrificing it for her new one with you. But mark my words, one day you’ll both have to choose. And I don’t want to see you get hurt.” Her eyes softened. “You’ve already been through enough.”
Gripping the back of a nearby chair, I looked away. I blinked back the sudden sting in my eyes. I didn’t want to believe her. I wanted to believe that things were different now. That the rules weren’t as strict as they’d been when my grandmother became Queen more than sixty years ago. Times had changed, hadn’t they? And we’d changed with them.
But there was a niggling uncertainty in my gut that wouldn’t go away. I really did need help with the foundation. Full-time help. After we were done building the school, we had ambitions of tackling more youth-oriented initiatives in underserved communities across the UK. I was working non-stop, and there still weren’t enough hours in the day. I wanted to make an impact. But could I really do that without a consort who was as dedicated to the work as I was?
And what would the public think of Emily running her own business? Emily would never abuse her connection to our family. But how could we counter claims that she was profiting off that connection? No doubt EP Designs would get a nice boost if Emily and I were married. And what about security? She couldn’t just make site visits or meet with clients without a full detail in tow.
If we couldn’t make it work, and she refused to give up her business, then the only way for us to be together would be through my abdication. But then who would be heir to the throne? Rob? My irresponsible, exhibitionist, lush of a brother who had absolutely no interest in the role? Some monarch he’d make. I could imagine his first decree: Here ye, here ye, wine shall run in all the fountains of London, and the fine ladies of the land must dance naked in the streets. Huzzah!
Christ have mercy.
I took a deep breath. I didn’t know how things would shake out. But Emily and I were good at communicating. We were honest.
We would figure something out. I’d be damned if my grandmother tried to figure it out for us.
I cleared my throat. Met the Queen’s eyes. “Do I have your blessing or not?”
Hers were sad. She frowned. “If this is what you really want, then yes, Christopher, you have my blessing. But understand that I don’t see this ending well for either of you. Some rules cannot be bent or broken.”
Chapter Thirty
Kit
One Week Later
Buckingham Palace
I edged the podium a bit further away from the wall and hopped around it, making sure it stood precisely at just the right angle in just the right corner. The room was massive. It was the biggest in the palace, usually reserved for state banquets. A small army of footmen flitted like bees around the tables, making sure the china and the silver were set just so.
It was important that everything be perfect for the fundraiser tonight. If we did as well as I hoped we might, then the School for the Arts project would be fully funded. We could begin construction as early as this summer, and begin on Emily’s plans for the interiors not long after.
My heart burst when I imagined Emily at the podium, smiling as she slayed every donor with her speech. She’d let me read a draft of it yesterday. She’d written it all on her own, without the help of the professional speechwriters I’d offered her. It was funny, brilliant, touching. People were going to love it.
I hadn’t told Emily about my meeting with the Queen. I was still convinced Emily and I could be together in the long run without her giving up EP Designs. More than that, I was convinced we could win the Queen over. I wanted the two of them to meet. One hour with Emily and I knew my grandmother would fall in love with her, just like the rest of the family did. I just had to figure out how to make that meeting happen. I’d broached the subject with her secretaries, and they’d flatly refused. Which meant I had to do everything I could on my own to prove to the Queen that not only was this relationship real, but that it really worked, too.
Emily killing it at this fundraiser tonight would certainly help. I checked my watch. Five hours until our guests arrived. Emily was on a site visit at Lord Pearce’s castle today. We’d texted a few minutes ago, and she’d said she’d be hitting the road back to London in half an hour, giving her plenty of time to get ready and practice her speech.
Maybe we’d have time for a less wholesome activity or two as well. My cock throbbed at the idea of taking Emily against the wall in the shower. It
had been a few hours since we’d done it last.
I smiled. This girl was making an animal out of me.
I had no regrets.
* * *
Emily
Stallings Castle
Aly held the tape measure while I pulled the tape across the paneled room. I had big plans to turn this smallish space into a slick study for Lord Pearce. I was thinking dark blue lacquered walls, lots of texture in the fabrics, and furniture with clean, masculine lines. It was going to be magazine worthy for sure.
Fingers crossed the renovation went smoothly. Our reputation here in the UK depended on it. Stallings Castle was the first project we’d nabbed on our own since bringing EP Designs back from the brink. If all went well, hopefully we’d land other projects like it. As big as this project was, it wasn’t enough to sustain us on its own.
“I think the Jules sofa is going to work.” I double-checked the measurement before I let the tape snap back into Aly’s hand. “I was worried it would be too big, but it’ll be just right.”
Aly jotted down the note in her purple Moleskine. “Perfect. In the leather?”
“Yes. Let’s ask if they can do it with a brass nailhead, too.”
“Very sexy,” Aly said, nodding her approval. She looked at the room, chewing thoughtfully on her pen. Above us, the plumbers were banging on something in their quest to build a new master bathroom. It sounded like some serious work was going on. “Since we’re doing the sofa in leather, why not reupholster some antique wingbacks in a silk velvet and put them there?” She pointed to the fireplace. “Maybe in a blue that plays nicely off the walls. It’ll be a sexy contrast between the roughed up leather and the velvet.”
I pursed my lips, picturing the scheme in my head as I tried to block out the banging. Holy hell, it would be delicious. I shivered; I still couldn’t get over the fact that I’d managed to save EP Designs. Less than two months ago, working on places like Stallings Castle was a pipe dream.
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