Keeping Her

by Holly Hart

  Maria says: “That’s exactly why you need her on your side. She has the ear of the chancellor, and she’s an icon among Morova’s elite society.”

  Amanda shakes her head, as if trying to understand something.

  “Are you all right?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she says. “It’s just that your family is so different from mine. I grew up in Little House on the Prairie.”

  “And I grew up in Game of Thrones,” I say.

  “I guess we shouldn’t put it off any longer,” she says, standing up and smoothing her dress. “Let’s go convince the evil witch that Cinderella will make a good queen.”

  I join her and we walk to the door.

  “Git ‘er done,” I say, dropping Maria a wink.

  Chapter One Hundred Seventy

  25. AMANDA

  Dante takes my hand as we stroll through the breezeway that leads to the north end of the palace, where Isabella’s quarters are.

  “We need to start keeping up appearances,” he says.

  His palm is so warm in mine. I think back to the last boy’s hand I held back in high school – Greg Puckett’s, and it was sooo sweaty – and I have to bite down on my tongue to keepfrom giggling.

  It’s another postcard-perfect summer morning. I could get used to this. In fact, I guess I better get used to it, because it’s going to be my life from now on.

  Or at least for a year. But I don’t want to think about that right now.

  “How are you feeling after all of that?” Dante asks, and for a moment I think he’s somehow read my mind. But I realize he’s talking about the meeting with Maria.

  “I actually feel good,” I say. “I mean, crazy is becoming the new normal for me. What’s a little more, right?”

  “I feel the same,” he says. “And as soon as the wedding is over, things can go back to normal. Or at least as normal as my life can ever be.”

  As we pass the entrance to the palace’s north garden, I see a familiar shock of white hair sweep out from a nearby alcove. It seems Auntie Isabella has found us instead.

  “Dante, darling!” she calls. “And Amanda! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  She greets Dante with a kiss on the cheek, then takes my hands in hers.

  “There’s the bride to be!” She looks me up and down, smiling from ear to ear. “So beautiful. And the ring!”

  She holds up my left hand to get a closer look at the magnificent piece of jewelry on my third finger. I’m still trying to get used to the weight of it.

  “Your mother’s ring,” she says, glancing at Dante with tears in her eyes. “She would have been so happy.”

  Dante smiles and takes my hand again.

  “I take it you’ve seen the news this morning then,” he says. “It was a bit of a crazy evening, to be sure. Not exactly what I had planned.”

  “Oh, please,” she says, waving a hand. “I never cared for that Ranette woman. Too skinny. And her family is full of deadbeats. I won’t even mention the teeth.” She turns to me, beaming. “Not like my Amanda here. Such a natural beauty.”

  I’m flattered by the attention, but it’s a bit overwhelming, too.

  “You’re too kind, Your Grace,” I say.

  “Let’s dispense with the formalities, darling. Isabella or Auntie will do.”

  “Thank you, Auntie. I’m honored.”

  This isn’t what I expected from her, but it’s just another crazy thing to add to the pile today. I suppose it’s not shocking to think she might actually have a heart and care about her nephew’s happiness.

  Dante says: “Can I assume that we have your blessing then, Auntie?”

  “A thousand times over,” she says. “I’m so happy you’re finally settling down, and with such a lovely girl. It’s wonderful news for Morova. Now, have you chosen a date yet?”

  Dante and I exchange a glance. This might be where the other shoe drops.

  “Actually,” I say timidly, “we decided to make Dante’s birthday into the wedding. We thought that, since everyone was coming anyway, why not kill two birds with one stone?”

  Isabella’s eyes go wide. Is that a flash of anger in there? Here it comes. I see Dante wince slightly, bracing for impact.

  “What an absolutely brilliant idea!” she caws. “Royal courtships are overrated. What’s the point in waiting, I say.”

  “Git ‘er done” is out of my mouth before I realize it’s even open.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Sorry,” I say. “Just a saying my father has. It means the sooner the better.”

  “Ah,” she says. “Speaking of your father, Maria tells me he’s on his way here soon. And that he’s an honest-to-God American cowboy. Is it true?”

  “It sure is,” I say.

  “I can’t wait to meet him!”

  The thought of Isabella interacting with Dad is almost enough to send me over the edge into laughter, but I manage to hold it in.

  “We’ll introduce you as soon as we can,” I say.

  “Please do. Now, is there anything I can do to help with the planning?”

  Dante takes her hand.

  “Maria and Amanda are already well into things,” he says. “All we need from you is to be there in the front row.”

  “Thank you for your kind offer,” I say. “Dante doesn’t quite understand just how much work goes into a wedding. I’ll be sure to call on you soon. Your expertise will be invaluable.”

  Isabella smiles and glances at Dante.

  “This one is a keeper,” she says. “You’ve chosen well.”

  “Can you join us for lunch?” I ask, prompting a glare from Dante.

  “Alas, I have business in the city.” She places a hand on mine. “And while I’m there, I might as well start shopping for your wedding gift.”

  With that, she bids says goodbye and sweeps off towards her apartments.

  Dante and I look at each other, then at her receding back, then at each other again.

  “Did that just happen?” I ask.

  “I think it did,” he says. “I can’t believe it, but you’ve won over Isabella. You’re learning the game, Amanda. Well done.”

  “Well,” I say, “I have a very good teacher.”

  “Having her on our side should definitely help ease any tensions with the stodgier Morovans that Huber was talking about. We may just survive this yet.”

  He takes my hand again and we continue our stroll, this time to meet Oriana and Vito at the beach.

  It’s time to tell them about how their soon-to-be sort-of stepmother punched out a wicked witch last night and to show them my ring. And to prepare them to meet their soon-to-be sort-of grandpa, who’s a real-life American cowboy.

  I swear to God, a screenwriter couldn’t make this shit up.

  Chapter One Hundred Seventy-One

  26. DANTE

  “And the children took the news well?” Emilio asks.

  “Oriana was quite angry that Amanda got to punch someone when she can’t hit the girl who always pesters her at her equestrian lessons,” I say. “But other than that, they’re fine.”

  “Well, then. I suppose all that’s left is for me to plan your bachelor party.”

  Good old Emilio. There was never a situation so dire that he couldn’t make a celebration out of it. We’re sitting on one of the palace terraces overlooking the lake, enjoying the afternoon sunshine and drinking mojitos.

  I know, I know, it’s tough to be a prince.

  “There’s a little thing called a royal wedding that’s also going on,” I say. “Just something to keep in mind.”

  Emilio drains his glass. He’s drinking more than usual today, which is saying something for him. His sunglasses keep me from seeing whether his eyes are red yet.

  “Your bachelor party is more for me than it is for you,” he says. “Who’s going to fly around the world and chase girls with me when you’re married?”

  “Well, Amanda’s father is single…”

  He drop
s his glasses and peers over them at me. Sure enough, red eyes. He started early today.

  “Yes, I can just picture me and John Wayne walking into the Clermont Club in London together. ‘I’ll have a brewski, y’all!’”

  “I dare you to make that joke to his face,” I say. Emilio quails and slides his sunglasses back up.

  “Is there something wrong, Emilio? You don’t seem yourself.”

  “I’m fine,” he grouses. “Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

  “Well, maybe you should go back to it.”

  “So,” he says, ignoring my suggestion. “Amanda. How lucky could you possibly be? And she’s confirmed as… you know?”

  As much as I don’t like the subject matter, I suppose I owe him an explanation. I did burden him with my dilemma that night in Monte Carlo.

  “Amanda suits the guidelines, if that’s what you’re saying.”

  He raises his half-empty glass in a toast.

  “Problem solved, then.”

  “As to how lucky I am, you’re quite right. In fact, I’d almost go so far as to call it divine intervention.”

  “Well, the gods have routinely favored monarchs,” he drawls. “At least when they tell the story.”

  I’ve been trying to watch my language the past several days for the sake of Amanda and the twins, but that’s the last straw.

  “What the fuck is your problem, Emilio?” I snap. “You sound almost disappointed that I didn’t go along with your idiotic convent suggestion. Can you not just be happy for me? Hell, even your mother gave us her blessing, which was about as likely as winning over Gordon Ramsay with a hot dog.”

  That seems to get him. He drops the sunglasses onto the table and runs his hands over his face.

  “You’re right, Dante,” he sighs, fixing me with those bleary eyes. “Please forgive me. I’m in a foul mood today, and I didn’t mean anything I said. Except the part about planning your bachelor party. Will you let me give you an epic sendoff?”

  That’s better. That’s the cousin who’s always been by my side and had my back.

  “Of course,” I say. “Who knows me better? I trust you to line up a night of debauchery that will go down in history. Or at least some cards and cigars.”

  “I promise you, it will be a little more elaborate than that. I’ll invite the usual suspects – I hear Harry might be on the continent next week – and we’ll do this right. And, of course, I’ll charge it all to you.”

  Only Emilio could take me from angry rant to laughing out loud in ten seconds flat.

  “Why not?” I chuckle, raising my glass to him. “This should be one for the books. It’s not every day the Prince of Morova finds his princess.”

  “It’ll be one for the books, all right,” he says, draining the last of his drink. “That much I can guarantee.”

  Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Two

  27. AMANDA

  “Sleeves, darling.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Sleeves, darling.”

  I suppose I shouldn’t argue with the hottest dress designer in Italy, especially since he’s agreed to do a rush job just for me. But the idea just seems weird. Not exactly what I expected when I was dreaming about my Disney princess wedding as a little girl.

  I look to Maria, who simply shrugs.

  “It’s Andreas Fortuna,” she says, as if that’s explanation enough on its own.

  It seems like Maria spends a lot of time standing next to me when I’m embarrassed. First with my legs up on Dr. Sabine’s examining table, now standing in my slip while two men with weird hairstyles measure me with long yellow tapes.

  One of them measures out the length of my right arm, the other measures my left. Meanwhile, Andreas wanders around me, staring at my body and saying “Hmmmm” a lot.

  “I don’t like sleeves,” says Oriana from her seat at the table in Maria’s office.

  Andreas seems startled out of his calculations. He turns his bald head to Oriana and smiles, bowing low.

  “Your Highness,” he says in his heavy Italian accent. “I’m simply following tradition. Grace Kelly, Princess Diana and Kate Middleton were all commoners, and they all wore sleeves.”

  “Tradition is stupid.”

  Maria opens her mouth to scold Oriana, but I cut her off.

  “Honey, tradition is sort of my job,” I say. “I study all the traditions that are part of royal families like yours. It’s kind of like your uncle’s sword. Do you know why it’s so important?”

  “No,” she says. I seem to have her attention, at least. “Why is it so important?”

  “Well, your great-great-great-great grandpa carried that sword in a battle against invaders a long time ago. And ever since then, all princes have kept that sword as a tradition, because what your grandfather did was very important to the people of Morova. The sword is a symbol of Morova’s freedom. Do you know what a symbol is?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you see why it’s important.”

  She mulls it over for a bit before nodding.

  Maria smiles. “Now that we’ve got that settled – ”

  “Why can’t we have new traditions?” Oriana asks.

  Everyone in the room stops moving. Even Maria is quiet. I feel like laughing, but that wouldn’t be appropriate.

  Andreas stares at Oriana, wide-eyed, and for a brief second I wonder if he’s going to yell at her. That wouldn’t be appropriate either, but who knows with these creative types?

  “Your Highness,” he says finally. “That is brilliant.”

  Oriana’s face lights up.

  Andreas’s two minions exchange blank looks as their boss races to the table and starts rifling through a book of patterns. Maria and I exchange glances. It’s Andreas Fortuna, that look says.

  “She’s absolutely right!” Andreas cries. “Tradition is for people without imagination. Andreas Fortuna has imagination!”

  After several minutes, and what seems like hundreds of pages, he stabs a finger at one.

  “This,” he says, almost reverently. “This is the one. A new tradition.”

  He looks up at us as if just noticing that we’re in the room with him.

  “It’s a design I came up with years ago, when I was still an apprentice,” he says. “No one would give it a second look back then. But now…”

  He motions for us to come and see. On the page is a stylized sketch of a dress with neckline that plunges about halfway to the navel and leaves about half the shoulder bare. The sleeves are a sheer material, barely visible, circled with same tatted lace as the bodice, and ending at the elbow.

  The lower half of the dress hugs the model’s body until the knee, where it flares out and pools on the floor. It’s all capped off with a veil that falls down the open back all the way to the floor.

  “It’s… stunning,” I say. Much better than what I was envisioning.

  “It’s sexy!” Oriana crows.

  Look at her, alarmed. “Do you know what sexy means, honey?”

  She grins and wraps her arms around herself. “It’s when people hug and kiss. Mmm-mmm-wa!”

  “What do you think, Maria?”

  The look on her face suggests she’s not a hundred percent on board with the idea.

  “It’s gorgeous, don’t get me wrong,” she says to Andreas. “But Morovans tend to be on the conservative side. I don’t know if this is exactly what they’re looking for in a royal wedding dress.”

  “It’s a good thing none of them are marrying Dante, then,” I say. “Look, we don’t have a lot of time for this, and Andreas already has the design done.”

  “I can have this complete and ready for final fitting in three days,” he says. “We will work around the clock if we have to.”

  His minions share a look, but keep quiet.

  “All right,” Maria sighs. “Given everything else that’s non-traditional about this wedding, I don’t suppose this will really make a difference.”

  I hold
up a hand and Oriana high-fives me. “Yay!” she cries. “New tradition!”

  I get dressed as Andreas and his crew pack up their work and head off on their assignment. Once they’re gone, Maria and I sit down next to Oriana at the table.

  “Can I help with more of the wedding?” she asks.

  “Of course,” I say. “What would you like to do?”

  “I’m going to be the flower girl; can I help choose the flowers?”

  Maria opens her mouth and I cut her off again.

  “Absolutely,” I say. “Maria can send you to the florist we’ve hired, and you can have final say on what they decide.”

  Oriana beams as Maria glares at me.

  “I can’t wait! I’m going to go tell Vito!”

  She jumps up to head for the door but I snag her arm.

  “Just don’t go lording it over him that you have a job, all right?”

  Her face droops a bit.

  “All right,” she sighs and races off.

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Maria asks, eyebrow cocked.

  “I want to involve the children in the wedding as much as I can,” I say. “It’s important that they feel like they’re part of it, instead of just spectators. Do you know what I mean?”

  Her expression softens. “Yes. And I shouldn’t have questioned you. Forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, unless it’s you forgiving me.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  I lay a hand on her arm. “Maria, I know I’m a Johnny-come-lately here in the palace, and especially in the twins’ lives. You’ve been the only mother they’ve ever known, and now here I am out of nowhere, taking that role away from you. I want you to know you’ll always be in their lives.”

  Ever since I first met Maria, I’ve wanted to be her. She’s the smartest, most capable woman I’ve ever met. She’s the kind of woman that women like me are supposed to look up to and emulate and post quotes from on Facebook.

  So I’m shocked when I see two tears spill down her cheeks.

  “You continue to surprise me, Amanda,” she says, pulling a handkerchief from her purse and dabbing at her eyes. “I’ve worked very hard to always appear professional around the children. But they’re a huge part of my world.”