The Royal Wedding Collection

by Rachel Hauck

  “With pictures and symbols rather than straight-up truth.”

  Regina glanced down at the page and read aloud.

  “Mamá just entered my room tonight by candlelight, grim and grieving. I am to pack my things and prepare to leave, rather flee our beloved Hessenberg. How can this be? . . . The palace is dark and I was admonished not to turn on my light or light a candle. Uncle, she said, signed over all rights and rule to Cousin Nathaniel. He surrendered to Brighton.”

  A reverence fell over her heart. “I changed my mind about the car and the tiara.” Reggie held the journal to her chest. “This is my most treasured possession.”

  “Hear, hear,” Tanner whispered.

  “I’m so glad I followed the light.” Reggie raised the leather bag to peer in one last time. “There’s an envelope.” She pulled it out, handing it to Tanner.

  When he looked inside, he laughed. “My dear Reggie, I’m a believer. I am a believer.”

  “What is it?” She hooked her hand over his, trying to see the contents inside. “What converted you?”

  “Bonds. Lovely, beautiful, bearer bonds.”

  “The bonds. Mentioned in the entail.”

  “Your Majesty,” Tanner said. “You are a very wealthy woman.”

  She peered at him through her tears. “Now I can really restore the kingdom.”

  THIRTY

  She’d found bliss—and true love—between the shores of a small gem of a nation, restored to royal, sovereign perfection. A past she’d never known came to life, roared into her present, and redefined who she was and all her future days.

  As strange as it still felt to be a royal princess, Reggie was confident this was what she’d been born to do—restore Gram’s ancient, beloved Hessenberg to its original, classic beauty.

  And it only took her twenty-nine years to find out. Her heart understood more every day that this was where she belonged.

  For now, however, she was late. For her first official Princess of Hessenberg engagement. October twenty-second, the official signing of the entail and ending Brighton’s hundred-year rule over Hessenberg.

  She only had a few minutes to dress. Reggie hurried to her suite, yanking off her boots, squirming out of her jeans. She was excited to find a crew to extract the Starfire #89 from the stable and have it shipped to Daddy. That chore had consumed her the last few days but the antique gem was on its way.

  Wouldn’t Al be surprised when he returned home from Texas?

  She might just have to fly home for the big reveal. Even Daddy didn’t know exactly what she was shipping him other than, “It’s huge! Big! Unbelievable!”

  Going toward the dressing room, Reggie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

  Mop of red hair, blue eyes, and the curves of the Beswick women . . . all very familiar. But the glint in her eye was new, a symbol of her growing confidence that she was exactly where God wanted her to be.

  The warm drops of oil continued to hit her head, mostly when she was about some royal duty. Like the day she asked Seamus to form a government. He blustered and pontificated, got red-nosed, and accepted her invitation in the end, pledging to drop his plan to charge Reggie as an enemy of the state.

  So, the oil drops? The occasional hand on her head? Odd, but she was convinced it was God’s world breaking into hers. All in all, this was his journey, and she was just holding on for the ride.

  In her dressing room, Serena had selected dresses from three designers who were already sketching ideas that would define Reggie’s style—wide skirts and cowboy boots.

  Choosing the Melinda House silky rich green dress with the front buttons, Reggie slipped it over her head, the fabric flowing down her arms, swishing about her knees. If she’d known dresses like this existed, she might have gone this way long ago.

  Tugging on a pair of cream-colored soft calfskin dress boots—hey, she was just reinforcing her style—she headed out.

  “Miss, you look beautiful. Redneck royal, my blooming eye,” Serena said, coming in the room. “Shall I do your hair? Mr. Burkhardt sent word to wear your tiara.”

  “Wear the tiara? For signing the entail?” She’d embraced the notion she’d have to change some of her ways. Don a fancy dress more often than she’d like. But the tiara and diamond-drop earrings made her feel like a lipstick-wearing, diamond-encrusted poser.

  “But this is a formal ceremony, miss. You’re the royal princess. If ever there was a time to wear your gram’s tiara, ’tis now.” Serena unwrapped the delicate crown from the silk pouch Tanner had commissioned for it.

  “I feel so silly. Like I’m putting on airs.”

  “Come. Sit.” Serena patted the vanity chair. “Let me do your hair and settle on the tiara. You won’t even know it’s there.”

  Reggie hesitated. Couldn’t she just tell Serena no? After all, she was the princess. “Okay, but kind of puff up my hair to hide it.”

  Serena proceeded to do the exact opposite, taming Reggie’s hair and pulling it back into a twist before settling the tiara on her head.

  “Your Majesty, it’s beautiful. You are beautiful.” She met Reggie’s gaze through the mirror. “Like I said, redneck royal, my blooming eye.”

  “Serena, this is not what I asked for.” Reggie winced at her appearance and the lush array of sparkling diamonds on top of her head.

  “But it’s perfect for you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Jarvis’s gentle voice came over the room intercom. “Mr. Burkhardt is here, miss.”

  Reggie stood with a glance at Serena. “I’m trusting you with this updo.”

  “You’re going to pop his eyes out, miss.”

  “Pop his eyes out? Who, Mr. Burkhardt?” Serena caught Reggie kissing Tanner once. Okay, maybe twice. But it was on the cheek both times.

  “Oh, go on.” Serena waved off her comment with a shy giggle. “We all know, miss.”

  “Well, pretend you don’t.” Reggie smiled at her lady’s maid.

  As she came down the stairs, Tanner glanced up, his heart molding his expression. Love.

  He won her all over again.

  With a low whistle, he propped his elbow on the banister, watching her descend, soaking her with his adoration and desire.

  “You know you’re never getting rid of me,” he said, reaching for her when she arrived at the bottom of the staircase.

  “Because I wore this tiara?” She raised her chin and tapped the very tip of the crown with her hand.

  “No.” He kissed her forehead. “Because you wore those boots.”

  She laughed, electric shivers firing through her. So this is love . . .

  “Regina,”—Tanner breathed out, slowly bending to one knee—“I love you and—”

  “Mercy above and all the angels.” Serena bent over the landing banister, eyes like saucers, her mouth dangling open.

  “Serena,” Tanner said, “give us a moment.”

  The lady’s maid shook the palace with her fleeing footsteps.

  “Tanner, what are you doing?” Reggie sat on the bottom step, facing him.

  “I thought about it all night. Why wait when we know we love each other?”

  “But I’m a new princess and you’re a new dad.”

  “And we’re going to need each other to learn our jobs. For support.”

  She brushed her hand over his cheek, his blue eyes intense with a determined spark.

  “It’s going to be complicated.”

  “Yes, but it’s going to get fun too.” He wiggled his eyebrows, making her laugh.

  “So,” she said, looking down and fluffing her skirt, “what exactly are you asking me, Tanner Burkhardt?”

  “Regina Alice Beswick Augustine-Saxon, will you—”

  “You forgot to say princess.”

  “Pardon me, Your Majesty. Princess Regina Alice Beswick Augustine-Saxon, will you—”

  “Tanner,”—she pressed her hand over his heart—“all teasing aside, ask me from here.”

 
He smiled, raised up off his knee, and scooted onto the step next to her. “Reggie, I’ve loved you since you crawled out from under a Corvette with leaves in your hair and oil on your face. I want to share my life with you. I want you to share yours with me. I can’t imagine another day going by without you promising to marry me. Will you do me the honor of being my wife? Please.” He dug into his pocket and produced a diamond solitaire in a simple platinum band.

  Tears welled in her eyes. He knew her well. “Oh, Tanner, it’s perfect.” She cupped her hand over his and met his gaze. “I think I fell for you when you told me who I really was . . . the long-lost princess of Hessenberg. I’ve loved you more every day, and I can’t imagine my life without you. So yes, Tanner Burkhardt, I will marry you.”

  He slipped the cool, smooth ring onto her finger and gathered her in his arms, sealing their pledge with a kiss. And then she knew. Regina Beswick was finally all the way home.

  THIRTY-ONE

  One Year Later

  At one o’clock in the afternoon, the cathedral bells pealed, chiming glorious sounds through the streets of Hessenberg.

  Tell the whole world! Princess Regina Alice Beswick Augustine-Saxon has married Tanner Wingate Burkhardt.

  And next month, after the honeymoon, she’d press on to the coronation, becoming Princess Regina, Grand Duchess of Hessenberg.

  As she walked the long aisle of St. John’s nave with Tanner in a fitted white gown wearing Gram’s tiara and jewels, Reggie never felt more like a princess.

  Love had a way of crowning every woman’s heart.

  Tanner whispered, “Happy?”

  “More than.”

  Bridesmaids Carrie, who married Rafe last year, and Bella and Britta wore cream dresses with burgundy sashes. The twins were beautiful, fun, exasperating, and fully taking up residence in Reggie’s heart.

  Emerging from the church into the October sunshine, she and Tanner stepped into the thunderous cheers and shouts of the Hessenberg people.

  “I can barely hear myself think,” she shouted toward him, waving to the crowd, leaning against her man.

  At the bottom of the steps, Reggie caught the eye of Hessenberg’s stately Prime Minister Seamus Fitzsimmons, without his pipe between his teeth, looking dapper in a top hat and tails.

  “Reggie, look.” Tanner pointed to the Brightonian World War I biplanes flying over, releasing a rainbow shower of confetti.

  The throng oohed and aahed, trying to collect the colorful paper marked with Princess Regina’s cipher and the wedding date.

  Moments later, a World War II fighter plane passed over, waving its wings and followed by the raucous, stupendous roar of United States F18s flying in formation. A gift to Her Royal Highness from the United States on her wedding day.

  Reggie tipped back her head, letting loose her own rebel yell. Such a thrilling sight and sound.

  “That’s fantastic,” Tanner yelled.

  A row of trumpeters in red knee pants, braided blue coats, and tri-fold hats raised their instruments and blasted a royal declaration.

  Taking hold of her hand, Tanner ran Reggie down the steps toward their waiting carriage. But when the security team parted, she found a gleaming red, restored Starfire #89 pulling the carriage instead of matched white horses.

  And their chauffeur? Al, standing by the car in his Marine uniform, straight and proud.

  “Al!” Forgetting decorum, Reggie broke from Tanner and ran into the man’s embrace. “You came, you came.”

  “Ha-ha, my girl, you done good. I hated lying, telling you Miriam and I couldn’t come, but we wanted to surprise you.”

  Today was full of joy. And for tears.

  On the other side of the car, Bella and Britta gathered with Daddy, who beamed, all sharp and handsome in his tuxedo. “We surprised you, Reg.”

  “You sure did, Daddy.”

  Sadie wept, wiping her eyes, wearing one of the craziest hats Reggie had ever seen. But she was already Mimi to the twins and Mum to Tanner.

  Archbishop and Mrs. Burkhardt beamed standing next to Sadie. Tanner finally came to understand how much his dad loved him and had a standing lunch with him every Thursday.

  It had been a busy but incredible year.

  “This is unbelievable.” Reggie stepped back to inspect the car while Carrie gathered the hem of her gown to keep it from dragging on the ground. “Does it run?”

  “Girl, don’t be talking smack to me when I came all the way over here to drive you on your wedding day.” Chuckling, Al motioned to Tanner. “It was his idea to use the car. He made sure we got it done on time. Helped us find parts, experts, labor, you name it.”

  “Happy wedding day.” Tanner slipped his arm around her, kissing her cheek.

  “This is the best day ever!” She shot her arms in the air over her head. Come on, now, she couldn’t completely give up her Southern roots.

  Tanner helped Reggie into the carriage as Al fired up the Starfire #89. The engine rumbled as the ancient car moved through the cheering crowd, the noise level rising and rising, never letting up.

  Photographers raced alongside of the carriage, aiming to capture the photo of the century—a royal Hessenberg wedding.

  Reggie slipped her hand into Tanner’s. “Thank you for all of this, Mr. Burkhardt.”

  “Couldn’t have done it without you, Mrs. Burkhardt.” He slipped his arm around her and lowered his lips to hers, kissing her long and sweet.

  Reggie Beswick found love by saying yes to her destiny and began her very own once upon a time and happily ever after.

  How to Catch a Prince

  To Daisy Hutton and Becky Philpott

  ONE

  With each passing day, she remembered she had a secret. She’d lived in the fog of death until six months ago, when she crawled out, reaching for the first glimpse of life and light she’d encountered in five years. It came in the form of a simple telephone call. A refreshing-breeze offer.

  But clearing the fog meant the memories surfaced. Ones she’d long since regarded as lost. Now they rattled around the empty corridors of her heart.

  And recently, in the faintest ting or ping, like when elevator doors opened just outside her office, Corina remembered how she loved the glorious, rolling chimes of cathedral bells pealing through a crisp Cathedral City dawn.

  And she ached. Deep in her soul. With a longing she couldn’t reach nor remove.

  With an exhale, she slumped in her chair and closed the news video she’d been watching. Two of the Beaumont Post’s staff writers entered the bull pen with a nod toward her, a late lunch of McDonald’s swinging from their hands.

  Corina’s gaze followed them as they crossed the wide, boxy room, cutting through the muted afternoon sunlight that spilled through the dirty, rain-splattered windows.

  She should go to lunch herself. It was nearly two. But she was waiting for her boss, Gigi Beaumont, to return from lunch. Corina had a proposition for the founder of the online mega newspaper, the Beaumont Post. A bold move, even for her, but she felt confident in her idea.

  In the meantime, she had work to do. Corina sorted through her e-mail inbox, organizing stories that came in from the Post staff writers and stringers from around the world. Gigi’s journalism-tabloid-media fingers had a very long reach.

  Opening a story that had just come in though it was due last week, Corina started reading but lost her concentration after the first sentence.

  What bothered her? June. Of course. It was the third of June. Being out from under the fog, dates and days had meaning again.

  Okay. Fine. It was June third. Just recognize the day had once been significant and move on. But dealing with everything she’d buried more than five years ago proved challenging.

  “Corina, hey . . .” Melissa O’Brien perched on the edge of Corina’s desk, angling toward the computer screen. “What has you so engrossed? A story by Chip Allen?” She curled her lip.

  “Yeah, um . . . it’s good.” Corina cleared her throat, sat up s
traight, and gathered herself into business mode—despite her rambling thoughts and rumbling stomach. “He’s got a great piece on Hollywood and violence.”

  “Did you talk to Gigi yet?”

  “Not yet.” Corina peered down the long, wide center aisle of the bull pen, which ended at Gigi’s office. Through the glass panel beside the closed door, she saw her boss pacing, cell phone to her ear. “I thought she was still at lunch.”

  “Nope, she’s back in her office. With that appendage she calls a cell phone. It’s going to kill her brain cells.”

  Corina laughed low. “They’d never have the nerve to die on her.”

  Gigi Beaumont, who crawled her way out from the poverty of the Blue Ridge Mountains to become a pioneer in the online journalism world, was a force to be reckoned with. No death, sickness, mayhem, corporate lawyers, hostile takeovers, sloppy reporters, lazy editors—nor husbands one through five—could conquer her.

  “Are you saying you don’t have the nerve?” Melissa let her purse slide from her shoulder to Corina’s desk. “We need an editorial director. You’ve been doing the job since Carly left four months ago. And you’re the new girl yet. Come on, be brave.”

  Brave? Courage wasn’t the issue. It was timing. All about the timing. “Gigi’s a mentor and friend, and I’m here because of her. But if she wants me for the job, why hasn’t she asked?”

  “It’s Gigi.” Melissa shrugged with a pffftt. “It’s a miracle she offered you a job at all. Usually folks have to come begging.”

  “True.” Corina stood, squaring her shoulders and shoving her chair under the desk.

  “She’s on her feet, ladies and gentlemen.” Melissa hissed a faux crowd noise. “I think she’s going in.”

  But Corina didn’t move. When Gigi, a long-time family friend of the Del Reys and Corina’s first employer after college, called after Thanksgiving last year with a, “Come on down to Florida and work for me,” Corina began to wake up from the stupor of grief.