Truly Madly Royally

by Debbie Rigaud

  Her gown is simple elegance in a silhouette-hugging design. Her wisps of dark wavy hair are worn in a low bun, and her tiara sparkles yet doesn’t overpower her look. She’s stunning. By the expression on Gideon’s face, he agrees.

  The ceremony takes us through a journey of two cultures. We hear Landerelian chamber music alongside the gospel music of Landerel’s Black community and the jubilant drumming of Sadie’s ancestral home. There’s hushed murmuring from people who don’t seem to approve of these program choices, but that’s to be expected.

  When the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. exit the chapel, they are met with joyful, unabashed African ululations from the women in the garden crowd. It’s such a touching moment that I tear up again.

  I COULD tell that people were curious about me at the wedding, and now that they see me here at the reception, they’re certain I’m the American girlfriend they’ve been hearing about.

  Photographers outside of the chapel snapped a few pics of me alone, a few of me with my mom. It was a surreal experience being asked for a photo by a gaggle of suited and booted paparazzi. Now, in the fancy hall in the castle, Ma is hanging out with her newfound friends from the African delegation, and I find myself staying close to Kelsey. Thankfully, we’re seated at the same table for dinner.

  “Thank you, Kelsey,” I tell her as we sit down at our places. “I didn’t think I’d need a tissue during the ceremony, but I was blubbering all through it.”

  “Glad I could help,” she says without much of a change in expression. But I can tell she means what she says.

  “Owen asked you to sit with me, huh?”

  “Yes, he knows how harsh people in his circle can be.”

  “Apparently, I can be just as harsh, because I misjudged you,” I say.

  “I haven’t exactly made it easy for you to like me,” she says, her shoulders softening a bit.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “You’re the one who told that student journalist about everything.” I finally put my suspicion out into the universe.

  Her mouth pinches. “I may have spoken to him a couple times.” She turns to face me more fully. “But I was never trying to steal Owen for myself. Seriously, he’s my friend. And that’s all.”

  “Just trying to protect him, right?” I say sarcastically.

  “Well … yeah, kind of.” Kelsey picks up her glass, but puts it back down without taking a sip. “Owen has a lot on his plate, and it’s hard to be close to him. It takes a lot of guts.”

  “Which you didn’t think I had.”

  “I didn’t doubt you had guts,” she admits. “But Landerel is … a lot. But you handled the press really well back in New Jersey. And you’ve been doing well at this wedding. I may have misjudged you, too.” She pauses, but then murmurs, “And … you may be a decent match for Owen.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I chuckle. Uncomfortable with the sincere moment, I crack, “We’ll see if you still think so after I try to dance with him in front of all those cameras.”

  “You’ll be fine,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  And right on cue, Lady Lois is at my side. “Zora,” she says, “it’s time for the dance.”

  I look at Kelsey and she shrugs. “Go kill it.”

  Lady Lois walks me over to Owen, who is standing next to the grand piano in one corner of the room, looking fly in his tux.

  “Hi, Zora,” he says, his eyes lighting up at the sight of me.

  “Hi,” I answer.

  “You look beautiful,” he whispers.

  “Thank you. You look good, too.” I feel awkward, like we haven’t truly spoken to each other in ages.

  I turn my attention to the musicians. There’s a DJ, a full band, and a string quartet and piano player. They each take turns providing the sounds, and right now calls for the strings and piano.

  Lady Lois asks us to continue standing shoulder to shoulder until we’re announced. Owen moves his hand closer until the back of his hand grazes mine.

  Our herald—the man who announces us— takes great pride in affecting what I imagine is the traditional Landerelian accent. He’s rolling his “r”s theatrically, and seems to harness everyone’s anticipation in his announcement. He’s mesmerizing. This will be a tough act to follow.

  “Her Majesty the Queen requests your attention as her son Prince Owen performs his Seanghilder dance, accompanied by Ms. Zora Emerson.”

  Owen ushers me to the dance floor. All eyes are on us. We barely have time to talk, but I manage to say it:

  “For Emily.”

  Owen’s breath catches in his chest. “For Emily,” he agrees.

  The strings begin, and we extend our dancing legs without stepping on each other’s toes. I imagine a tiny Jethro sitting on our shoulders, calling out reminders. When I elongate my frame and limbs, Owen responds in kind. We glide, sway, dip, and slay as Jethro intended.

  Cameras are flashing from different corners of the hall. I try not to look at anything or anyone or I may trip myself up. I’m concentrating too hard on my feet to truly appreciate the feel of Owen’s arms around me.

  When the dance is over, the entire banquet hall applauds, and a few people let out whoops. Owen and I pose for some photos before he walks me back to my seat. Just like that, it’s over.

  “No lie, you two looked incredible out there,” Kelsey says.

  Another person walking by our table says the same thing.

  “Actually, it felt pretty amazing,” I say, my adrenaline still pumping.

  “How do you feel, Owen?” Kelsey asks.

  “Brilliant,” he says. “I couldn’t have done it without Zora.” He turns to me. “You are a beautiful person inside and out, and I thank you for being here.”

  We look at each other and smile, shaking our heads about the wild ride we’ve been on.

  The DJ gets on the mic and calls everyone out to the dance floor. The giddy bride and groom start everyone off, and the guests gradually join them.

  “Zora, will you dance with me again?” Owen asks, and I swoon inwardly.

  We do the two-step and, with the cameras occupied elsewhere, manage to talk and dance at the same time. It’s our first private conversation in close to a week.

  “I have some big news,” Owen tells me, and I wait, wondering what he has to say. “I’ve decided to attend Halstead University in the fall,” he says, a big smile crossing his face.

  My heart jumps. For real? “Ohmygod, that’s huge!” I yell, forgetting where we are for a minute.

  “Yes, and my mum does not approve. She’s afraid I’m doing it because of you.”

  “Me?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “Hence her tepid reception, which you may or may not have noticed.” He grimaces.

  “Ah,” I say. “That would explain her efforts to keep us apart these past days.”

  “Yes, that as well,” he says. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much while you’ve been here, Zora. But I promise we’ll make up for lost time when I’m back in the States this fall.”

  I’m still in shock. “You’re really going to live in Jersey, huh?” I ask.

  Owen nods, beaming. “And while I did admit to my mum that you being Stateside is a perk, I am doing this for myself. I loved my time at Halstead this summer. And I really appreciate the privacy it affords me. It’s invaluable.”

  “You call being hounded by the press privacy?” I ask.

  “It doesn’t hold a candle to what I face here,” he says.

  I nod. I can see that.

  “What do you think of it all?” Owen asks me eagerly.

  “I’m so happy,” I admit. “For selfish reasons, of course. But also for you. You’ve made the choice you wanted to make.”

  “Appleton hangouts, here I come.” He smiles and leans in close to start to kiss me.

  A royal official in a tux and a name tag walks over.

  “Prince Owen, the queen is requesting your presence for the tribute.”

  “We’ll be right there,”
says Owen.

  “The queen is requesting only you.”

  Owen frowns. “I’d like Zora to come.”

  The man walks away. He must have convincingly tattled on Owen the way my Walk Me Home kids do to each other, because the queen herself walks up to us.

  Uh-oh.

  “Lovely dance,” the queen says, acknowledging me.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I say. Is that right? I know Lady Lois told me what to call the queen and it’s flown out of my brain under her haughty gaze.

  “Owen, shall we?”

  She gestures to the side exit.

  “Mother, I’d like Zora to attend as well.”

  “You’ll see her when we return, dear,” she says with a tight smile.

  I look like I’m following a volley at a tennis match.

  “Zora is my guest, and I invited her here because she’s special to me,” Owen says firmly. I feel a small thrill at his words. “I’d like to share this moment with her. Emily would have loved her, Mum,” he says quietly. “I know in my heart, she would approve of Zora being there.”

  I hold my breath until the queen finally blinks first, the edges of her mouth softening. She nods at her son and gestures in invitation to the both of us.

  Whoa.

  Owen takes my hand in his, and I give it a squeeze. We follow the queen down a corridor to a tiny chapel dedicated to their family. There is a large painted portrait of the Landerel royals on one wall.

  The rest of the family, including Sadie and Gideon, are gathered in front of a covered column flanked by two tall candles. Once we join them, a chaplain begins the short dedication ceremony. The column is uncovered, revealing a sculpture of Emily, Owen’s sister. It’s a bust, in marble, reminding me of the family’s long European traditions. But she looks so alive, a small smile on her lips, her hair swirling as though in a light breeze. She looks … free.

  Owen’s jaw tightens when he sees the sculpture. The chaplain begins saying a prayer. Owen drops his head as the tears flow down his cheeks. He squeezes my hand back when I reach for it.

  After the prayer is over, Owen and his brothers light one of the candles and his parents light the other.

  Following the contemplative moment, Owen and I make for the gorgeous outdoors. The sun is beginning to set. We head out on the tiled terrace and keep strolling until we’re far enough from the banquet hall entrance. Other couples have nabbed private spots here and there, but we find a tranquil area overlooking a sweet corner of the pond.

  “Thanks for including me in that,” I say, snuggling up next to Owen.

  “Of course,” he says. “Having you here has meant so much to me. And now my mum can see that, too.”

  “Hopefully she’ll come around to the idea of you living in New Jersey,” I say.

  “So you’re about to start senior year. Do you think you’ll be applying to Halstead?” Owen asks. “It’s a great school.”

  “I’m thinking about it,” I admit. “I have a lot to accomplish first, but Halstead might see an application from me. Now that I’ve visited your stomping grounds, I can see why you like the campus,” I say. “For one, the library looks like a castle, so I bet you feel right at home there.”

  Owen nods. “In the future, I’ll make sure to keep out of any private conversation I overhear there,” he chuckles. “Unless it’s yours.”

  I tip my head back and laugh.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I say before we seal that deal with a kiss.

  The next day, Owen rides with me and Ma to the airport. He helps us bring our bags in, and gives Ma a hug good-bye.

  “Wait. Airport selfie!” I say to him. Ma stands off to the side, smiling, to give us a last moment to ourselves.

  “Are you going to post this?” Owen asks as I take out my phone.

  “Of course not. Do you want the Halstead Chronicle tracking me down for the story behind it?”

  Owen and I put our heads together, and I snap our picture.

  “Actually, I might join the Chronicle as a reporter this fall,” he says. He’s not joking. “What do you think?”

  “No comment,” I say with a laugh. Owen holds me close and we both crack up together between kisses.

  “See you in a few weeks,” he says, waving as I walk off to join Ma.

  I give a little cheer as I link arms with Ma and we make our way toward the security screening.

  From the fancy airport lounge, I text our selfie to Skye. I smile with my whole heart when I see what she texts back.

  Cute couple! Two of the most royal people on the .

  This book is a celebration of women who help women. Of triumph after false starts. Of recognition and inclusion. Of open windows and open doors. Thank you, Adrienne Ingrum, for making literary sparks fly from day one. Utmost gratitude to my friend Julia DeVillers for the introductions, invitations, and in-couragement. A special thank-you to Sarah Mlynowski for your superhuman kindness and generosity. Here we go, Laura Dail! You are a game changer, and I’m thrilled to have you as my agent. Thank you to my star editor, Aimee Friedman, for making this storytelling experience so exciting! So many thanks to Olivia Valcarce for editing with heart. Loving hugs to the most special Zora in my life. Merci, family and friends, both living & in spirit, for the love and support. And a soul-deep thank-you to my princess Olivia, my prince Lincoln, and my royal crush Bernard.

  “This effervescent romp bounces between playful fluff, witty humor, and happily ever after sincerity, and romance fans will be gleefully hooked.”

  —Booklist

  What’s better than one deliciously cozy, swoon-worthy holiday story? FOUR of them, from some of today’s bestselling YA authors!

  “Love is in the air and on the airwaves in this sweet romance … West delivers banter with plenty of sparks.”

  —School Library Journal

  DEBBIE RIGAUD grew up in East Orange, New Jersey, and began her writing career covering news and entertainment for magazines like Seventeen, CosmoGIRL!, and Twist. Debbie now lives with her husband and children in Columbus, Ohio. Find out more at debbierigaud.com.

  Copyright © 2019 by Debbie Rigaud

  All rights reserved. Published by Point, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, POINT, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available

  First edition, August 2019

  Cover photographs by Michael Frost, © 2019 Scholastic Inc.

  Cover design by Yaffa Jaskoll

  Cover illustrations by Maeve Norton

  e-ISBN 978-1-338-33273-5

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

 

 

 
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