by B. E. Baker
When Mom helps me into my dress, I’m almost sad that James isn’t here to zip up the back and help me with my necklace. No locket this time, not with the dress Mom flew out to pick. She wasn’t happy that I didn’t allow her to badger the best designers in Europe, but I wanted something to represent Atlanta, and I didn’t want to look like a swan or a cupcake. Those seem to be the two European options lately.
Instead, I look like a golden statue of a Greek Goddess in Rome. Mom was horrified that my dress isn’t white, and even more horrified that it’s off the rack. But the Zac Posen butterfly-jacquard gown sang to me when I saw it.
And when I tried it on, Mom stopped complaining.
It’s sleeveless, and it hugs my bust line and then bells out at the waist, with a little gold flair on my left hip to offset the added fabric there. And the train is long enough to elongate my figure without being obnoxious. The Egyptian-style filigree neck cuff Mom found accentuates the entire thing so perfectly that I almost don’t recognize myself in the mirror.
“You are simply to die for,” Mom says. “I’m so glad you got my face and your father’s mouth. The best of both.”
I giggle. I can’t help it. She’s not wrong about Dad’s mouth being his best feature. And that mouth is smiling so big when I meet him in the hallway that my heart lifts at the sight. He’s holding a cane in one hand, but he’s ready to lead me down the aisle. With all the candles Mom had set out to line the path, he shouldn’t struggle.
Fiona, our florist, hands me my bouquet. Mom’s white and red roses are exquisite, and the perfect foil to my gold dress. When the orchestra begins to play, I poke my head around the corner looking for James.
“You bad girl,” Geo whispers, walking up behind me. “You’re not supposed to turn that corner until the wedding march starts.”
“I thought that was the wedding march that’s playing.” I smile.
She slaps my arm. “Stop it.”
Mary finally reaches our side, and for all her complaining, the pure white dress she and Geo picked looks amazing on her. Trudy rushes over last, hopping on one foot while she finishes buckling her last strap. I wanted all my bridesmaids in white so that I would stand out in gold. Like an inversion of a typical wedding, which I found fitting, since this is secretly an inversion of a real wedding.
“Why are you late?” Mary asks. “Paul isn’t even here to slow you down, and you’re not pregnant.”
“Actually,” she says, panting a little. “Paul decided at the last minute to come. He didn’t want to abandon me the whole weekend.”
“Wow,” I say. “Has he forgiven James?”
Trudy shrugs. “I don’t know, but he did say he’d never seen a groom who looked more whipped. I’m calling that progress.”
I laugh. James is anything but, since he’s not even in love. Maybe this is James’ last real joke on Paul. Dragging him here for a wedding that isn’t even legit.
“What’s so funny, dear?” my dad asks. “Is there a joke that didn’t translate?”
“Never mind, Dad.”
He pats my arm. “You look like a shining angel. I’m sure that Noel is here watching.”
Noel. He just might be. I hope it’s true. The lights reflect funny when I look upward, hoping to catch a glimpse of a white wing or something. Tears make everything look hazy.
“Waterproof mascara,” Mary observes, “is an excellent thing.”
I wipe my eyes, and then the wedding march starts. The second I round the corner, James comes into view in his black tuxedo, his hair recently cut. I almost wish it was falling in his eyes like it was the night I proposed. His eyes brighten when he sees me, like he’s truly excited. I have to look away. It’s too much.
But after a moment, I’m there, standing in front of him. My dad lets go of my arm, and I step up on the dais next to James. My best friends walk past me and line up to my right. Geo, Mary, and Trudy. I nearly stumble when I realize that James relented. Luke, Trig, and Paul are lined up next to him.
Paul looks like he’s constipated, but he’s there.
When I look back at James, I’m proud of him. He had to let go of a lot to welcome Paul, and Paul did too. For a brief moment, I wish this was different. I wish it wasn’t some kind of deranged deal to beat James’ dad, or earn his grandpa’s billions.
For a moment, I wish he hadn’t frozen when I asked him to marry me. I wish I hadn’t had to explain my reasoning. I wish he had just said yes.
But that’s insane. I hadn’t even seen him for weeks and weeks at that point, and we don’t know each other. Not well enough to marry, not even close. Plus, he’s still a bird of prey.
He’s a handsome one, though, when he’s wearing a tux and smiling so big I can see both dimples. And I can definitely see both dimples when the priest asks, “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
He doesn’t hesitate this time. “I do.”
“And do you, Holly Paisley von und zu Liechtenstein, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
I can’t say it. In that moment, terror grips my heart. I don’t want this to be fake. I don’t want to pledge myself to someone who doesn’t mean it. I can’t say it. I can’t say those two little words.
But then James turns concerned eyes in my direction, eyes that care whether I’m alright. He’s not angry, he’s not upset.
He’s worried about me.
And in that moment, something shifts. “I do,” I say. “I really do.”
The worry in his eyes evaporates, and both dimples return. James doesn’t wait for the priest to tell us to kiss, like we practiced. He grabs my waist and pulls me close, and then he leans over and presses his lips to mine. Just like the first time when I grabbed him at Mary’s wedding, excitement spreads through my entire body, a thrill I’ve never been able to control or explain.
“We really rock the weddings,” he whispers against my cheek. And then he kisses me again. He kisses me right there in front of the altar until I can’t even remember my own name.
In my defense, it’s a really long name.
At some point, the applause turns to cheers and I pull away, my cheeks heating. “James.”
“Can I help it if my bride looks like an angel?” he asks, and it feels like Noel really is there, whispering in James’ ear.
But instead of sobbing, it feels like my heart has taken wing. For the first time since he died, I feel like he’s free. Like he’s better wherever he is, maybe even up in heaven. I hope it’s true. I hope he’s happy and pain free, and I hope that he can see me now, in this dress, standing by the man I love.
I turn then, and look up into James’ face, a face I’ve liked since the moment I first saw it, and I admit it to myself for the first time. I didn’t fly to New York because I’m some kind of saint. I’m not an angel, like Noel said, like my dad said, like James just said. I proposed to this man because I wanted to marry him. He’s flawed, and he’s confused, and he’s rough around the edges. He’s a bad man, in some ways.
And I love him in every one of those ways.
I hope he thinks the tears in my eyes are because I miss my brother. “Noel used to call me his angel.”
James touches my face. “He was spot on. You look absolutely perfect.”
We walk arm in arm down the aisle, and James even stops briefly to shake his father’s hand, and to let his mom hug him. I don’t even mind when she hugs me too.
“A princess in the family.” She sighs, and I realize she has his eyes. James’ eyes. I can love her for that, for giving him his amazing eyes.
“You’ve always had a prince,” I say, and then I tug James along after me toward the dining room.
“You aren’t eating much,” Mom says a few moments later.
“This dress is too tight to eat,” I say with a smile. “And I don’t even mind.”
“Well I do. I can’t have you starving on our wedding day.” James points a fork at my food. “Do you want to go change? Because I’m prett
y sure you can eat whatever you want in yoga pants.”
Mom laughs louder than I’ve ever heard her laugh at a public party. “You Americans have the strangest sense of humor.”
James turns to me then, his head cocked sideways. “You don’t like it when people smash cake on their face.”
I don’t understand. “Huh?”
“At Mary’s wedding.”
“Okay,” I say.
“You told me then that you hate when people smash cake on the other person’s face. But everyone likes that. I didn’t get it. I should have known then that you were European.”
A few moments later, after we cut the second tier of our six tier, rose-covered cake, I pick up the piece we cut, and I shove it right into his mouth, smashing frosting all over his chin. “I can be as American as you,” I say.
His shock is worth any price. But when he picks up the second piece, I whisper my warning. “If you think turnabout is fair play, think again. I’m a princess.”
James’ smile is mischievous, but he holds the cake carefully and politely while I take a bite. “I’d never embarrass you,” he whispers back, “my European princess.”
A few moments later, when it’s time for our first dance, he proves that statement correct. “I was surprised at Mary’s wedding, and I’m surprised again today,” I say.
“About what?” he asks.
“That you can waltz.”
“I took a ballroom class before I got kicked out of Harvard.”
My eyes widen. “Why?”
He smiles. “Lots of girls, not many guys.”
I roll my eyes. “Great.”
“I’ve been in training until now,” he says. “Which is a good thing, because you’re fairly high maintenance.”
I purse my lips.
“For a secretary.”
“Executive assistant,” I say. “I’ve been promoted.”
“Oh, well then.”
James almost looks sad when he passes me off to my father. I do as much leading as Dad, but he manages better than I expected. Of course, the couples around us give us a pretty wide berth. “I’m glad you met him when you did,” Dad says.
“You are?” I ask.
“It feels like I was there for an important part of your relationship,” he says. “When he found out you were a princess. And that was a lot of fun. It’s nice to be involved in your life again.”
“It’s a small world, isn’t it?” I ask. “I mean, what were the odds that he’d be the one to buy the shares in Berg Telecom?”
Dad smiles. “It’s not a coincidence.”
“No?” I ask. “Are you saying you found out he was my boyfriend, and the two of you planned it?” I know that can’t be true.
“Of course not,” he says. “But Providence watches over all of us. It’s no coincidence that my eyesight began to break down, which brought you home. And then I met your someone, and I was able to walk you down the aisle, all before my eyesight disappeared entirely.”
“I’m glad I could get married for you,” I say, somewhat snarkily.
“Oh, God found that man for you,” he says. “Make no mistake on that, but one of his tender mercies was that I was able to see it.”
If my waterproof mascara survives this, it’ll be a miracle. I dab at my eyes. “Well, I’m glad you were here to see it, too.” My dad has been through a lot. Noel’s sickness and death, my departure, and now his health issues. I’m sure he’s struggled with other things he never burdened me with, but he’s always been there for me. He’s always been faithful to my mom and served our people as humbly and as honestly as he possibly could. I don’t give him enough credit. “I love you Daddy.”
“I love you too, dearest. More than you know. You always felt like you were the spare, and I imagine it felt to you that we lamented the loss of the heir.”
My breath catches.
“I’m old, but I hear the jokes. I want to tell you something that Noel knew as well as I do. You were always the perfect person to rule our people. He would have made an excellent prince, but you shine like a beacon. You brighten every room, and you care about every person. If you want me to pursue formally adopting Cole and trying to change the family law so that he can be my heir, I’ll do it. He is every bit my son. But if you decide you want to fight to change the laws of primogeniture so that women are finally fairly treated here, I’ll do that too. You could split time between America and Liechtenstein, and your people will be delighted with whatever time you’re willing to give. Our country has had a lot of rulers who chose to make their home somewhere else, but took care of their people still.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
I dance a few more songs with James afterward, marveling with each one how sure, how elegant, and how confident my new husband is. And then I almost can’t breathe at the thought.
James Fulton the Fourth is my husband.
Eventually, the last song plays, and James rests his hand on my waist. “I think it’s time to turn in.” His breath blows softly on my temple.
The Americans hoot, including Amy, who is up way too late and has no idea why she’s cheering.
“Wait,” Amy says. “She needs to throw the bouquet.”
I pick up my enormous bouquet off the table and toss it to her, nearly knocking her over. “You know I’m not giving that to anyone but you, little miss.”
Her eyes light up. “Thank you Aunt Paisley.”
When James’ hand finds mine and our fingers interlace, my heart races. It’s time to go up two floors to the Rose Suite. I worry my heartbeat is so loud that James can hear it hammering. But James merely waves to the guests, laughs at their winks and knowing grins, and steers me up the stairs. We turn the corner, and I follow his lead down the hall until we’re standing in front of the heavy, carved wooden door. My world has narrowed to the point where his hand meets mine. Nothing else matters, nothing else even makes sense. I haven’t had a single sip of alcohol, but I feel almost drunk.
“Hey.” His hand releases mine, and my entire world shifts. I sway a bit, and he tilts my chin upward so he can see my eyes. “You look nervous, but you shouldn’t. Remember the rules? I haven’t forgotten, and I know ‘cohabitate’ was really just a code.”
I force a smile then. “Right. The rules we made.” I swallow.
“Plus,” he says. “I have a surprise.”
I gulp. What I really want is for him to tear up those rules. I want this to be legit.
He opens the door and practically runs through the doorway. “I badgered Luke for this, so I hope it’s right.”
“For what?” I ask.
He grins like a kid with a fist full of coins, standing in an arcade. “He told me this place is your favorite. And I knew you wouldn’t be able to eat much in that fabulous dress.”
He points at a table. “I had these brought in from a pie shop right by your house back home.”
Four pies on the table. Four pies made and probably packed by Judge Judy. Cherry, pecan, coconut cream. And chocolate silk.
“Hey,” I say. “I told you I don’t like straight up chocolate.”
He shrugs, his boyish grin almost too cute for words on one of the most masculine faces I’ve ever seen. “You can’t eat four pies.”
I shimmy out of my dress in the bathroom and into yoga pants. And then we spend the next two hours eating as much pie as we can and making jokes. I wash off my makeup, and he pulls the pins out of my hair, and when I finally lay down on my wedding night in the enormous bed that rests in the center of the room, my husband lays down behind me.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
I bite my lip. A few hours ago, I was filled to the brim with anxiety. I had so many expectations. Then I realized that I loved James, and they only intensified.
But tonight, tonight he didn’t try anything. He wasn’t smooth. He wasn’t a hawk, out to pounce on a rabbit. Tonight James was my friend, and in its own way, it made me love him even more. “It’s perfect.”
&nbs
p; He wraps his arm around my waist and I go to sleep, feeling safer than I’ve ever felt in my life. And for the first time since Noel died, I don’t feel alone either.
18
James
“James,” Grandfather says. “What are you doing here?”
“I have news,” I say. “A lot of news, actually.” I set my briefcase on the floor of his study and touch Paisley’s shoulder.
She stands up and spins around to face my grandfather. “Hello, sir. I’m Holly Paisley Fulton, but I go by Paisley.”
Grandfather coughs. “Fulton, did you say?”
“It happened quickly,” I say. “I’m sorry I didn’t send out formal invitations.”
“You eloped?” He lifts one eyebrow. “Because that’s one of the stupidest things young people are doing these days.”
“We didn’t,” I say. “We were married in the Garden Palace in Vienna.”
I shouldn’t be as happy as I am to see him splutter. I hand him a small photo album. “Paisley put this together for you.”
He takes the book and walks around to sit at his desk. He flips through the photos one at a time, the smile on his face softening as he does. “This is amazing. You pulled this all together quickly, you say?” He peers at me. “Is she pregnant?”
“Of course not.” I fume.
“My parents were already throwing a party there, one they were calling a winter ball,” she says. “So when I—”
“When I bought Paisley’s ring and we decided to get married, I didn’t want to wait,” I say. “When we told her parents, they were delighted and offered to work with us to do it on the day they already had plans in place.”
Paisley leans her head against my chest and my heart constricts, like it always does when she shows affection. “I didn’t want to wait either.”
“It must have cost a fortune to rent out a palace,” grandfather says. “What did they have planned before?”
“Uh.” Paisley clears her throat. “Well, my parents were celebrating—”
“Her parents own the palace,” I say. “Holly is the Hereditary Princess of Liechtenstein.”
