There is a flash in the clouds, and I look up just as the small passenger plane begins to descend, red lights on the wings breaking through the stormy haze. My heart patters against my ribcage like the rain against the windows, and my palms begin to sweat. What am I going to say? How are we going to interact? I’ve planned every second of the afternoon with my family, yet I hadn’t stopped to think about what Jane-Ann and I would do when we are alone together.
Before I can come up with anything worthwhile, she steps out of the plane, and my breath catches. Her blond hair is loose and tumbles around her shoulders in thick, shiny waves. She is wearing a pair of tight, high-waisted black trousers with a white shirt tucked in with a classy leather loafer. Watching her be escorted from the plane by two men carrying umbrellas, it is hard to remember that our story is a lie. That she isn’t truly my fiancée. She looks the part.
Except for her face.
Her eyes are wide, and her lips are pressed together so hard I’m afraid they’ll never look normal again. She is tense and nervous, and I can see it from a mile away. So, I jog into the rain, one hand held over my head as if that will do anything to stop the rain that is slowly turning into a deluge.
“Darling,” I call over the storm. “I’m so glad to see you.”
When she sees me, she looks anything but glad. But quickly, she arranges her face into a halfway believable smile and reaches for my hand, allowing me to lead her toward the side of the small building where a limo is waiting.
“Let’s get you out of this rain,” I say, grabbing an umbrella from one of the airport employees, and holding it over her.
Jane-Ann doesn’t respond as we walk to the limo or as I open the back door for her. She remains resolute and silent as I tell the driver we are ready and slide the divider screen into place, offering us a small amount of privacy.
The limo’s windows are deeply tinted, but Jane-Ann stares out them as we drive toward the palace. And I stare at Jane-Ann.
For weeks, I’ve imagined what it would be like to see her again, and it is both exactly and nothing like I pictured. She is just as gorgeous as I remember, looking glamorous and slim despite having just given birth two months before. But there is a coldness I’ve never experienced before. Not even during the conversation when I’d introduced the idea of this entire plan. At least then, she’d been angry with me. Anger was better than nothing.
“Did you have a good flight?” I ask when the silence becomes too much to bear.
Jane-Ann tenses and, after a few seconds, looks away from the window and gives me one solemn nod.
“How is Tyler?” I’m desperate to see him, but since I can’t, hearing more than just a quick daily recap of his activities would be nice. Is he wide-eyed and curious? Does he cry often or is he a happy baby?
“Healthy.” I can tell by the way she looks out the window that this is all the answer I’m going to get right now.
“Good,” I say. “That’s great. Wonderful.”
This is not good, great, or wonderful. This is a disaster. An absolute disaster.
In a few short minutes, our limo will pull through the palace gates, and Prince Christian and Lady Ann will step out of the limo to present themselves in front of the King and Queen Consort of Sigmaran, expected to look every bit the part of a couple madly in love. Yet, Jane-Ann can’t even look at me.
I look over at her, hoping for some change in her demeanor, some sign that she understands the importance of what is to come. But there is nothing. Just stony, resolute silence.
We are so screwed.
When the limo pulls through the gates, I turn to her and toss my dignity to the side.
“Please, Jane-Ann. I’m sorry. For everything. But my parents are going to walk down those steps any second, and I need you to look at me. At least. I can tell them you aren’t feeling well. Or that you’re a nervous flyer. But nothing will excuse this coldness between us. We have to be in love. Or, look like we are in love.”
The car comes to a stop and I hear the driver open and close his door. Jane-Ann does not look at me and says nothing as her door opens and the driver offers her a gloved hand. She takes it, her fingers resting delicately against his palm, and stands.
I hesitate, wondering if it would be better to hop across the divider into the driver’s seat and take off. But after a second, I follow her, praying I can do something to salvage this situation. Something to keep everything from falling apart within the first hour of her arrival.
Mother comes down the steps first, with Jory and Niles not far behind. They are arching their necks around our mother to get a better look at Lady Callister, who is standing next to the limo, hands folded in front of her daintily. My younger brothers see her and then look at one another, eyebrows raised. I don’t pretend to know what the look means. I have bigger issues to deal with.
I take large steps around the back of the car so I can head my mother off before she throws herself at Jane-Ann. Maybe I can delicately allude to the idea that she has to use the restroom. It would buy me a few minutes to talk with her and try to smooth out the rough patches in our relationship.
Before I can get around the car, though, Jane-Ann steps forward and bows her head, dropping down into a flawless curtsy.
“Your Majesty,” she says. “Christian has told me so much about you. I’m thrilled to finally be meeting you.” She smiles up at my mother, and she looks radiant.
It takes me a second to recognize the change in her voice. Rather than the slow Texan drawl she usually has, Jane-Ann’s words are clipped, coming out in a mix of British and American. She sounds like every wealthy American I’ve ever met.
My mother looks at me, a curious kind of amusement in her eyes, completely buying her disguise. “I wish he had told me more about you. It seems he wanted to keep you a secret, though I can’t imagine why. You are lovely.”
Jane-Ann looks over her shoulder at me, her eyes bright and shining. It nearly takes my breath away. I stop walking and just admire her. Somewhere down deep I know it is an act, but it feels so real. I want it to be real. I want Jane-Ann to look at me like this, and I want my family to be as enamored with her as I am.
“I do not pretend to understand the inner workings of Christian’s mind,” Jane-Ann says, reaching out her hand to me.
I place mine in hers and let her pull me to her side.
She continues, “But I’m glad to be here with you all now.”
The double doors open again, and my father steps out between two servants. His suit is crisp, and a Windsor knot is at his neck. He is in his day-to-day work attire, looking usual in every way except one. His smile.
He is beaming at Jane-Ann, radiating a kind of pleasure I can’t recall ever seeing. Even Jane-Ann seems surprised by it and leans back into my arm for a moment as he approaches before realizing what she has done and standing tall. She curtsies again.
“Your Majesty.”
Father looks at me with an expression I almost don’t recognize until I realize it is approval. Jane-Ann addressed him properly, and for a man like my father who is obsessed with his image, that is all he could ever want.
“Lady Ann,” he says, voice booming. “How was your flight?”
“Fine, but not as fine as landing,” she says. “I’m so happy to be here meeting you all.”
She curls her fingers more tightly around mine and presses herself against my side, any sense of coldness between us gone. She is so convincing, I have to remind myself it is a rouse every few seconds.
My two youngest brothers step forward, bowing to her, Jane-Ann curtsying in response, and I introduce them.
“I know who you both are,” Jane-Ann says with a twinkle. “Is Prince Erikson not here?”
Father frowns for a moment and doesn’t turn to the door as he raises his voice. “Erikson, come greet our guest.”
Seconds later, Erik walks through the doors and down the steps. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and he stops just behind Jory and Niles. Wit
h his blond hair pushed to the side and his eyes downcast, he looks like every picture of me when I was his age.
Mother clears her throat, and Erik nods and meets Jane-Ann’s eyes for only a second before looking back down at the ground.
“Your Highness,” Jane-Ann says, bowing.
Color rises in Erik’s cheeks, and I can’t blame him. Jane-Ann is gorgeous. She would have been too much for me to handle as a teenager. No wonder he was trying to hide inside.
“Well, I’m sure you are exhausted from traveling,” Mother says, stepping aside to gesture to the doorway. “Christian can show you to one of the guest rooms, and we’ll see you both for dinner?”
Jane-Ann nods and steps forward, but I grab her hand tightly and hold her in place. “Actually, I thought Lady Ann could stay in my residence. We will be back here for dinner, though.”
I can tell by the thin set of Mother’s mouth that she doesn’t approve, but I know she won’t disagree with me in front of Jane-Ann. The rules of common decency would require Jane-Ann to stay in the palace since we are as yet unmarried, but nothing about my behavior has ever been decent, and this situation is far from common.
Mother just nods and then smiles at us both. It is genuine. “You two make a lovely couple.”
My apartment is just on the other side of the palace grounds, so the drive is short. Jane-Ann makes no effort to talk to me during the drive, and with the window down between us and the driver, I don’t want to risk either of us saying anything that would reveal our deception. So, I watch the familiar scenery of the palace pass outside my window.
When we get to my house, I grab Jane-Ann’s luggage and lead her to the guest room on the first floor. It is just beneath my bedroom and has its own bathroom with a deep jacuzzi tub and a modern glass shower.
“The clothes I had made for you are already here,” I say, pointing to the dark wood double doors that lead to the walk-in closet. “And everything else you may need should be in the bathroom, but don’t hesitate to ask. Unlike the palace, my house is small enough that I’m only a shout away.”
Jane-Ann stands against the door, her hand on the knob, and nods. The ease from a few minutes before is gone, drained out of her like someone pulled a plug in her foot and let it all puddle out on the carpet. She looks exhausted and worn. Still, I can’t stop myself from trying to connect with her. For real, not pretend.
“I meant what I said before. I am sorry about everything, but thank you for—”
Before I can say anything else, the door slams in my face. A moment later, I hear the lock click into place.
Chapter 23
Jane-Ann
The room is beyond gorgeous. Like a resort, but instead of folding your towel into a swan, the shower handle is solid gold and the crystal hand soap dispenser is nice enough that I feel like I need to wash my hands before I touch it, though I’m not sure how that would be possible.
After giving the room a cursory once-over, I plop down on the edge of the bed and try to breathe. For the last half hour, I’ve barely been holding it together. Seeing Christian was worse than I thought it would be. So much worse. I’d hoped that over the two months we were apart, his looks would begin to fade. Maybe male pattern baldness would set in. But based on the King’s full head of hair, that didn’t seem likely.
The King. I’d just met a king. And lied to him. To Christian’s entire family.
Blakely and I spent hours and hours pouring over every piece of information we could find on Christian’s family and royal etiquette. I watched countless videos of women stepping out of cars and walking up stairs. Of them standing before the royal family’s entrance into a room, curtsying to the King and Queen consort, and smoothing down their skirts before sitting down in a chair. I spent the entire eight weeks walking around in heels until I not only didn’t wobble, but it felt strange to slip into my sneakers to take Tyler on his afternoon walk.
Tyler.
My heart aches at the thought of my baby. Along with my boobs. I need to pump.
I was able to pump enough over the last two months to have a healthy store of breastmilk for Blakely and my mom to heat up for Tyler while I’m away, but between the pumping and his usual feedings, my boobs are making milk on overdrive. They’re full almost to bursting.
Thoughts race through my head too fast to separate them into logical threads, and I can feel myself knotting up. So, I lean forward, my aching breasts smashed against my thighs, and take deep, even breaths. I can’t fall apart now.
Things went well when I met his family outside the palace, and I have to keep it up at dinner tonight. I have a few hours to clean up, de-stress, and figure out how I’m going to get through the next two weeks with Christian by my side. Pretending to be his fiancée. Pretending to be in love with him. Or rather, pretending I am only pretending to be in love with him.
I’m angry with him. For coming to Texas and making me want that kind of life with him. For buying me a house and taking care of us before turning around and leaving again. I’m angry with him for being perfect and unattainable. For making me an offer I couldn’t refuse to help him get out of an engagement so he could one day marry another woman. One he could really love.
One that won’t be me.
But I still want him. Or, at least, I want the way I feel with him to be the way I feel all the time. And so far, I haven’t been able to figure out how to get that feeling without him. And it sucks. What if I never find it?
I have Tyler.
I pull out my phone and see my mom’s sent a picture of him. He’s asleep in his swing, his wide lips parted. The wide lips he got from his father.
I miss my baby. Seeing his picture doesn’t help. It just makes me want to drive right back to the airport and go home, but I’m trying to do what is best for him. Going home, getting away from Christian, that would be best for me. But staying and getting the money Christian promised, that will be best for Tyler.
I’ll be able to ensure he gets into any school he wants. I’ll be able to secure a life for us. I won’t be another single mother struggling to pay the bills and keep food on the table. Two weeks of awkward encounters with Christian will ensure I can care for my son for life, and if that isn’t worth it, I don’t know what is.
I take another deep breath and push myself to standing. I need to wash the travel smell off of me. The jacuzzi jets kick on as soon as the water level rises above them, and I hiss with pleasure as I slip into the steaming water. Maybe this trip won’t be all bad.
Chapter 24
Jane-Ann
I can hear Christian moving through the house and walking down the hallway, but I still flinch when he knocks on my bedroom door. I hesitate, hand on the knob, while I straighten my spine and lift my chin. No matter what happens over the next two weeks, I’m going to stand tall. I’m going to be proud of who I am. Of Jane-Ann Callister. No matter what Christian said or what his family thinks, I’m good enough to be here. Fake accent or not.
Feeling more confident, I pull open the door. Christian is dapper in a navy-blue suit that highlights every trim inch of him. The material stretches over his muscular thighs, and I hope my makeup hides the flush that creeps into my cheeks when I remember straddling those same thighs. His hair has been worked back into a perfectly messy coif that makes the squareness of his jaw and the cut of his cheekbones all the more prominent. He is gorgeous, and I hate that it is impossible not to stare.
I’m redeemed, though, when I realize Christian is ogling me, as well. His blue eyes are wide as they roam down the length of me, no doubt observing his own handiwork. As soon as I’d opened the closet, I knew he’d personally selected every item in it. Or he’d given someone very explicit instructions to throw modesty out the window. The dresses were tight with high collars and a plunging back that revealed every inch of my spine or a plunging front that put my breastfeeding boobs on full display.
“Hi,” he manages, the single word coming out tight and strained. He clears his throat and lo
oks away. “I see the clothes fit.”
I glance down at myself. “Barely.”
I chose a navy-blue cocktail dress that hits just below my knee—I would have selected something different had I known Christian and I would arrive to dinner in matching navy outfits. The straps are thin and hold up a heart-shaped neckline that plunges low across my chest. It is the single most elegant thing I’ve ever worn. Underneath it, I’m wearing an obscene amount of spandex, but no one can tell that by looking at me. I know because I essentially did a yoga sequence in front of the mirror in the bathroom to be sure the King and Queen wouldn’t see any undergarment lines.
“I’m producing a lot of milk,” I say in response to a question he didn’t ask but is written all over his face.
“That,” Christian says, his eyes bouncing from one side of my chest to the other, “isn’t why I’m staring.”
I raise an eyebrow, and he smirks. It is a serious blow against the armor I’ve built up to defend myself from his many charms.
“Okay, it’s a little bit why I’m staring,” he admits, lips tipping dangerously upward. But then something in him changes. His brow lowers along with his voice. “You look beautiful, Jane-Ann.”
My stomach flutters, and I smooth down the fabric along my thighs, though it doesn’t need it. The dress fits like a dream.
“That’s Lady Callister to you,” I remind him. And myself.
Christian keeps a safe distance as we leave his house, but as soon as we pull up in front of the palace, he opens my car door and offers me his elbow. I accept, ignoring the way his forearm flexes beneath my fingers and the way his cologne makes my senses fuzzy.
Servants open the doors as we arrive, and Christian barely pays them any mind. It is strange to see him in this setting. In Austin, it was easy to forget his royal status, but here, among the white marble floors, ornate wood trim, and priceless artworks, he looks the part. Christian looks like he belongs.
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