by Kim Karr
I roll my eyes, but inside, I know the old coot is right.
“What is she talking about?” Lia asks.
I turn my bride-to-be around, and when I do, her eyes grow even more full of tears at the sight. “I don’t understand.”
“We’re getting married on live television today,” I announce.
Her gaze happily dances between the sights before her and me, and I inhale the cool breeze as it floats over us feeling so incredibly happy.
Lia’s mother and sister are here, along with the entire crew of The Bachelor, cameras included, and brace yourself for it—Arnie is my best man. Turns out, he’s not so bad of a guy after all.
Hey, grand gestures are really underrated because I feel like a superhero when Lia covers her mouth in amazement. “You did all of this?”
Taking her hands, I kiss the backs of each one. When she doesn’t stop trembling, I clasp her face between my palms and kiss her lips with more restraint than usual, since we have an audience. We are both smiling so hard, I think our faces might crack, and when I pull back, I tell her, “I want the world to see our story and our happy ending.”
Her eyes glimmer with her own happiness. “Me too.”
I decided to allow the network to air the finale, but the catch was they had to air the wedding as well. “I don’t care anymore if people know our story, because it is the reason we are here today.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she says, the words getting caught in her throat as she says them.
Locking my hand around her neck, I drag my mouth to her ear. “Good thing you said yes.”
She laughs loudly.
After kissing her one more time, we start down the pathway. Everyone we pass is wiping their eyes as we do.
Ophelia leans close. “Julius…are you sure this is real?”
Just then, “Something“ by the Beatles starts to play. “Yes, baby, I am.” I smile. “And I’ll show you just how real in about two hours.”
She shakes her head at the innuendo in my voice, but whispers, “I can’t wait.”
The ceremony is short.
The entire time a twinkle appears in Lia’s eyes, as she bites her lip, smiling with contentment at the words spoken.
God, I fucking love her.
The cameras don’t even bother me, and I actually feel this is more than right for us. We didn’t need the huge royal wedding in Wimberly for the world to see us unite. Besides, most of the world will be seeing us get married very soon.
After Lia and I say, “I do,” I lean down and place my hand on the back of her head as I pull her in to meet my lips. “We did it,” I breathe, a second before I kiss her, slow and languorous.
She wraps her arms around my neck. “Yes, we did.”
Reaching behind me for her hands, I bring them to my chest, and curl mine around her small ones. Then I lean my forehead against hers. “I love you.”
“I love you,” she says in that sweet voice of hers that I love so fucking much.
Happy and content, we both close our eyes, the sounds of the camera crew disappearing around us as we just breathe.
Together.
Always and forever.
E-News
The Shocking Final Rose
By Ramona Weber
Bachelor Nation is in a tizzy today.
Prince Julius Monaco’s season is airing, once again, and this time, the final rose ceremony will be aired, along with a special edition episode—a wedding.
Yes, a wedding.
Not just any wedding, but a royal wedding for our two most favorite Bachelor stars ever.
You heard it here first—it looks like these two love birds are back together, and I, for one, couldn’t be more thrilled.
See. I told you—fairytales really do come true.
THE ROYAL END
Look inside my upcoming newsletters for snippets from Lia’s book,
THE NEW CAMELOT
And catch up with what all your favorite Royals have been up to.
Newsletter
The Vespa Isles are a small group of independent islands off the coast of France.
ALEXANDRIA
King Stephen Edward Blanchette is a widower with one daughter, Princess Victoria Caroline Blanchette. He passes away and leaves his daughter the crown, but only if she marries a man of royal blood.
CASANOVIA
King Winston Alfred Montgomery is married to his new, and much younger wife, Queen Genevieve. He has two sons with his first wife—Price Leopold and Prince Maximus Napoleon Montgomery.
EASTWOOD
King Rutherford Laurent rules with an iron fist and not very well-liked. He has three cousins, Adrien, Truman, and Elizabeth, who are all next in line for the throne.
CATALINA
The King and Queen have three natural-born daughters and one adopted son. Prince Spencer Lexington is the youngest and not of royal blood.
WIMBERLY
Queen Helena has a son, Prince Vittore, and he has a son Prince Julius Monaco, whom everyone thinks is more of a playboy than an heir.
MARVELLA
Known as the lost island, it was once ruled by King Archibald and Queen Selena.
The Unknown Royals Series Is Complete!
Have you read them all?
Queen Victoria Blanchette and how she met her King in Washed Up Royal
Prince Maximus Napoleon Montgomery of Casanovia and how he met his true love in Would Be King
Prince Spencer Phillip Lexington reunites with his first love, and it is bittersweet. Find out why in Wannabe Heir
IF YOU HAVEN’T READ Tori, Max, or Spencer’s STORIES YET,
DON’T MISS THEM!
Wannabe Heir
Would Be King
Washed Up Royal
WOULD BE KING: Available Now
Amazon
As soon as I fling the cab door open to slide inside, I feel a wind tunnel of sorts barreling through the vehicle.
I have no choice but to ignore the unsettling fact that the window on the passenger side must be open, and therefore the interior is soaking wet.
I’m quickly bending to get out of the pouring rain when suddenly a very nice leather satchel takes up residence in the space I am meant to occupy.
Whipping my head up, I peer over the top of the cab and can see the mushroom head of a black umbrella collapsing into a pole and sinking inside.
Oh, no way.
Pushing the briefcase towards the middle of the bench seat with my body, I park myself right in its overpriced place and prepare to go to battle. In a sea of over eight million people, of which almost half use the mass transit services, New York is, after all, all about finding your territory, and this is mine.
“Excuse me—” I start to snip when I glance over and see the very wide back of a man closing the other door. As he rights himself, his profile comes into view, and I freeze.
The shock of red hair is the first thing I notice. Having stolen my interest, I continue my assault on him with my wandering eyes instead of my mouth. His build appears strong and the set of his angular jaw is a bit of a turn on. But what makes my heart pound is the slight spackling of freckles on his smooth sun-kissed skin. As soon as I see those sexy dots, I nearly combust because I’m in a cab with Prince Harry.
Prince freaking Harry.
Wait.
No.
It can’t be him, though.
This man is on the phone and is scowling at someone about his car service. There’s no British accent, and besides, now he’s shouting. Royals don’t shout in public. This I know for a fact because my roommate’s sister is the secretary to Queen Victoria of Alexandria.
“Excuse me,” I say again, louder this time.
The most insanely bluish-gray eyes glare over at me, and for a moment I almost forget we’re about to go to battle over this ride. But then the cab driver barks, “Where to?” and brings me back to reality.
“Hold on,” the cab-jacker grunts to the person he’s speaking with
on the phone and sets the device on his enviable piece of Louis Vuitton.
My gaze moves upward and I pretend not to notice the Prince Harry Wanna Be’s perfectly sinful lips when I tell him, “Would you kindly mind getting out of the taxi? I had it first, and I’m going to be late for work.”
There’s mischief in his grin as he lifts his hips to reach for his wallet and says, “Feel free to ride along with me if you’d like, but I’m not getting out.”
Chivalry has officially died.
Now, I know the last thing I should be doing is looking at those muscular thighs. But they are right there, between the flaps of his fancy raincoat, and how can I not notice them, as well as how well-endowed he must be.
Wait.
Did he say ride me, or ride along with me? That part I’m still trying to play back in my head when it should absolutely not be what I’m thinking about.
Work.
I have to get to work.
I cannot be late or I won’t have a job.
Get a grip, Gigi.
“Ride along,” I smart with a huff. “I am not riding along with you, anywhere. You can ride along with me since I was here first but only if you’re paying half.”
“I don’t care who was here first,” the cabbie bellows with his thick New York accent, “just tell me where to?”
I’m rummaging through my purse to toss an extra twenty at him in order to take possession of his vehicle but I can’t find my wallet. It must have fallen from my bag when I pulled my metro card out of it. That whole two things at one time—it doesn’t always work so well. My heart stops when I realize it isn’t anywhere.
No.
No.
No.
The jerk beside me tosses a hundred dollar bill at the driver. “Start heading uptown as fast as you can. I’ll get the exact address to you in a minute. And there’s another one of those if you get me there by noon.”
Like a bat out of hell, the cab driver barrels into the traffic and takes a quick left. I’m twisting and turning like I’m going into anaphylactic shock to see if my wallet is anywhere in the sea of black rain jackets and black umbrellas behind me.
“Pull over,” I shout. “I dropped my wallet on the sidewalk somewhere between my apartment and where you picked me up.”
“Sure you did, lady,” the cabbie hisses, ignoring my demand.
He’s beneath the light when my jerky ride-along snickers, “You don’t seriously think you’re going to find it out there, do you?”
“Out there?” I glare up at him and when our gazes meet for the first time, I’m taken aback by how much he really does look like Prince Harry. The shock of red hair is actually ginger. His eyes are so bluish-gray they look like ice. With the slight amount of facial hair on his jaw, he’s rugged and imperfectly raw. Regal. Royal, even.
“Yes, out there. Do you?” he repeats, and I know he means out there in the concrete jungle.
Sighing, I shake myself out of my daze and glance at my watch. With the rain and traffic, there’s a chance I’m already going to be late, and if I’m late, well, as I’ve told you, I won’t have a job.
New boss.
New rules.
I weigh the two sides in my mind—career or wallet with maxed-out credit cards and two twenty dollar bills (my life’s savings). Besides, he’s right. Someone will have already picked it up and the most I can hope for is they drop it in a mailbox.
Falling back into the scarred leather of the seat, I sigh again. “Probably not. Where did you say you are going?” I ask.
“I didn’t, but somewhere in Midtown,” he smirks.
“Where in Midtown?” I ask, trying to cover my annoyance, after all the concrete jungle is twenty-three square miles of Manhattan glory.
“I still need to get the exact location.”
“Midtown works then. I guess I’ll just ride along with you,” I cajole, eating my words as I speak.
Those two ginger slashes above his eyes raise. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to pay your half.”
I balk. “I just told you I lost my wallet.”
“Well, I don’t normally just provide free transportation to random strangers. However, since you’re a Broadway actress on her way to work, I’ll make an exception. But only because I believe in supporting the arts.”
I look at him in confusion. “Excuse me?”
He draws an outline around my person. “I assume you’re playing a role in It’s Raining Men or some production similar to that with the catastrophe you’re wearing.”
Oh, crap. My yellow, brighter-than-the-sun raincoat. Right. Quickly, I start to unzip the juvenile outerwear. “This,” I laugh. “Isn’t mine. It belongs to my niece. I recently moved and couldn’t find mine.”
Actually, I moved to Manhattan twenty-one days ago, but I haven’t gotten around to unpacking. A fact he doesn’t need to know.
“Hello?” The voice through the phone calls out, and there go my eyes one more time to his thighs.
The Prince Harry Wanna Be holds up a finger and places the phone back to his ear before I can tell him I’m not an actress and I’m not going to Broadway.
“Fire them and send a new service to pick me up,” he barks.
I pull my rubber duckie hood off of my head and my hair tumbles out in long waves around my shoulders. I don’t miss his sharp intake of breath or the way his gaze drops to the short hem of my super cute skirt, where he’s now staring at my thighs.
“I don’t care why they were late,” he tells whoever is on the other end of the phone, and the entire time his cool, iceberg-like eyes are on me, unwavering, watching even. “Just do what I said. Now! And I’m still waiting for that address.”
Geeze, this guy is ruthless. It must be something in the water because the email I got from my new employer listed three behaviors that are immediate grounds for dismissal.
Office fraternization
Tardiness
And gossip
Speaking of my new job, I pull out my small mirror and check my appearance to make sure it’s acceptable.
Hair a bit messy but otherwise style on trend. Check.
Waterproof mascara not running. Check.
Nipples sticking out like steel daggers. Uncheck.
Goose bumps on my bare legs. Uncheck.
Yes, I’m cold and I should have worn tights but that would have been riding the fashion line between summer and fall and I didn’t want to straddle that invisible line my first day on the job, especially since today we’re shooting the feature spread for the magazine’s launch.
As I tuck my compact away, I can feel my cab mate’s scorching gaze on me and try not to squirm in my seat.
He ends the call and opens the lapels of his black Tom Ford raincoat to drop the cell into his suit pocket. The collar goes up all Tom Cruise Risky Business-like and I find myself wetting my lips. This man knows how to dress, and it’s such a turn on.
“Now,” he says, his gaze flashing over me from the top of my head to the tip of my new booties.
This time when I shiver, it isn’t from the cold. It’s from the way he’s looking at me, like he wants to eat me for lunch. I swear if he keeps scanning me with that porn-star stare, I might just have to offer him his first taste, and I am not that kind of girl.
The only thing saving me from ruination is the ringing of my cell phone. It’s my older brother. I have to answer it or he’ll call back a thousand times. He’s protective over me and worries all the time. I hold a finger up. “One second.”
The sexy ginger-haired guy furrows his brows, as if he isn’t used to being told to wait. Seriously, this man needs to chill. At least his arrogance seems to pass quickly because while I say a quick hello to my brother and that I’ll call him later, my ride-along finally stops glaring at me and instead, leans forward to talk to the cabbie.
The lines of his long, lean body seem so prominent, even through the fabric of his waterproof coat and I have to look the other way toward the sidewalks of New York and t
he rain.
“You were saying?” I’m placing my phone back in my purse when I glance over to see his rueful expression, and I swear my breath hitches.
He taps the door handle with his long fingers, and I oddly notice how nicely manicured his short nails are. “I believe before we interrupted we were about to discuss your half of the fare for the ride.”
My eyes pop. “You said it would be free.”
His lips curl at corners. “Those words never left my mouth. What I did say, however, was that if you were a Broadway actress, I wouldn’t mind supporting the arts. Although,” he draws that circle around my body again, “you’ve already admitted to wearing that electively, and therefore it is doubtful you’re an actress, after all.”
Now I’m peeling the yellow plastic off my shoulders as fast as I can as if this is going to make a difference in his opinion of me.
The cabbie is on West Street and just passing Canal. That leaves me more than fifty blocks to go. With less than twenty minutes to get to work, I can’t afford to get kicked out yet. “No, I am not. However, I’ll do just about anything if you’ll please drop me off anywhere near Columbus Circle.”
His lips curl at the corners. “Anything?”
“Sure, within reason. Sing, dance, you name it. You like Broadway, I can be Broadway. But the one thing I can’t be is late.”
For some reason I now have his undivided attention and amusement dances in his eyes.
Stall, all I have to do is stall. New York passes by us as we push our way Uptown and I really will break out in song if it means getting to work on time.
Turning slightly, he crosses one long leg over the other and although this isn’t his luxurious car service he was raising hell about minutes ago, he acts as if it is. “If I wanted to hear your voice, what would you propose singing?”
