Inconceivable! (27 page)

I grabbed his chin in my hand and turned his face down to mine. “Let me kiss her name out of your mouth.” Our lips slammed together hungrily.

John brought one hand around to the front of my strapless dress. I wriggled my body closer to his, making it easier for him to reach inside.

A stern voice stopped us: “John.”

John immediately pulled away at the sound of his father’s sharp tone. My fingers curled, digging into my palms. Embarrassment and panic filled me, mixing into dread.

“You can’t let your wife do that.” Leopold narrowed his eyes at us.

“What are you talking about?” John turned, putting himself between me and his father.

The queen was there, too. “Leo, leave them. Let’s go inside.” She stepped closer to us, gesturing toward the doors leading back into the ballroom.

“Hatty, you can’t go on stage in front of our family and friends singing such wildly inappropriate songs if you’re going to marry John. You were practically screaming the lyrics, words like ‘panty snatcher.’ My God.”

The tension in Leopold’s voice warned me of his simmering irritation. It was the same way John sounded when he was trying (and failing) to control his anger. But I didn’t give a crap. My inner Ozarks redneck woke up.

“Let me get this straight. You object to ‘panty snatcher?’ Maybe you find it offensive because it hits too close to home. By the way, where’s Louisa?”

I gasped at my bad manners. Clearly, the liquor had loosened my tongue.

John squeezed my hand hard. I didn’t blink.

The queen lightly touched my arm. “What Leo is trying to say is the public announcement of your engagement puts you in the spotlight. People will be looking at you, judging you, perhaps even expecting you to fail because you’re not from Toulene. Don’t give them a reason to hate you. You’re now a part of our family, and how they feel about you impacts how they feel about us. Be the best possible version of yourself. Now, go enjoy the evening, my dears.”

And with that, the queen took Leo’s arm and pulled him toward the door to the ballroom.

I awoke the next morning in John’s arms. He’d crashed in my bedroom at 3:00 a.m. when we decided to leave the party, even though it was still going strong. John told me it didn’t wind down until 5:00 a.m. and officially ended at seven.

We were scheduled to have a late brunch with John’s family and my parents. I gently shifted John’s arms, wiggled out of his embrace, and crawled out of bed. In the shower, I let the hot water wake me up. I came out of the bathroom wearing only undies and a plush terrycloth robe.

“Good morning, dearest,” John said from the bed. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Good morning, sunshine! I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No. You’re fine. I was already awake when you got out of bed.”

“Why don’t you stay in bed and I’ll join you?” I went over to him and crawled under the covers.

Nervous smiles, then our lips met to exchange tender kisses. John pulled back and placed his finger over my lips. He slid his hand between the folds of my robe and stopped over the spot where my longing concentrated itself into a beautiful ache. He pressed, rubbed, and stroked, applying the right pressure. Bonus: he knew how and when to vary his touch as he manipulated me through the thin fabric of my lacy undies. The harp wasn’t the only instrument from which his fingers extracted thrilling sounds. Under his intense gaze, I moaned in delight and my quick breaths transformed into lustful panting. Reaching under the covers, my hand seized him through his cotton pants. In a matter of moments, his eyes rolled back and his pleasure culminated in my hand. My body gave in, too, and I savored the intensity of the moment. This wasn’t sex but it was already so much better than anything I’d ever experienced with Jack.

Reveling in our newfound intimacy, my body thrilled in the wake of his touch, ready to respond again, if the opportunity, ahem, arose.

“I give that two thumbs up. Way up,” I teased.

“And that was just the trailer. Imagine how earth-shattering the full length feature will be.”

I ran my hand through his hair. It was the first time I’d let myself do it. It felt soft and each section sprang back into its perfectly messy place.

“I’m a little nervous about our families getting together for brunch. My mom should
not
sit near your dad, agreed?”
Feminist and the Beast.

“Agreed. I asked Astrid to take one final look at the placards to make sure they’re not together just before we come downstairs.”

“That’s why I love you. You think of everything.”

The start of our big family brunch was smooth. Mom was at the opposite end and side from John’s father. The queen sat at the head of the table. As things wrapped up, and the staff came around to refill our cups with tea and coffee, the queen spoke.

“Hatty. John. Your parents and I have spoken, and we’ve settled it. You will marry one week from today at St. Joseph’s Cathedral, and we will serve dinner afterward here in the Regent’s Room. Your parents and I are changing our travel plans so we can be here for the happy occasion.”

What the what?

I just stared at her. Speechless. Thank goodness John spoke up.

“Granny, I think that’s a lovely plan. Thank you for making the arrangements so both of our families can participate.”

John sounded a little too practiced. I wondered if he was in on it. I was caught completely off guard.

I looked at my parents. Mom smiled and Dad gave me a thumbs up. Really? They weren’t going to speak up and say this is happening entirely too fast?

John squeezed my hand.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I managed to say.

I had a million questions, none of which I wanted to articulate in front of our families.

After brunch, I didn’t get time alone with John, damn it. Instead, I went to say goodbye to my friends and tell them they’d have a royal wedding to attend next Sunday. Shock and excitement registered on their faces. I told Sara and Tilda I wanted them to be my bridesmaids, along with John’s cousin Pru. The people in Brussels could hear their excited screams. Plato, Sam, and Sara left, but Tilda offered to stay a few more hours to help me plan the details. Even though she kept the royals at arm’s length professionally, Tilda was elated at the prospect of helping map out my wedding.

Astrid led me and Tilda to a cozy study I’d never seen before.

Aunt Elinore was waiting for us. “Ladies. We have much to do. Shall we get started?”

She turned on a large flat screen mounted on the wall, and it displayed what was on her laptop. She’d already done a great deal of work on the schedule for our wedding day. It was presumptuous, but I had to let it go. I’d never get this thing pulled together without her help.

Under Aunt Elinore’s guidance, we worked through the details. The queen had already signed the necessary paperwork to confer on me a title: Duchess of Reines. She chose that city because it’s where I’d lived the last three and a half years. Aunt Elinore said I’d meet with the family’s attorney Friday morning to sign the final legal documents, which would include a renunciation of my U.S. citizenship, the final step in my journey to becoming royalty.
Is this really happening?

“Now, we always use the same florist, caterer, bakery, local tailor, and musicians for events at the palace. These people all have background checks and clearances, so it’s ideal to let them handle the wedding. Agreed?”

“I guess.” I clenched my fists and tapped my foot.

“What’s wrong, Hatty?” Tilda, best friend extraordinaire, didn’t miss anything.

“I’m cramming months of planning into hours. This isn’t how I imagined doing it.”

“Then let’s make the most of the hours we have.” She pulled out her smartphone, maxed out the volume, and played a Mary J. Blige song we both loved.

“Give me that,” Aunt Elinore snapped.

Tilda sheepishly handed over her phone. Aunt Elinore pulled out a cord and connected it to the flat screen. The music blasted through the speakers.

“If you’re going to enjoy Ms. Blige, ladies, you’ve got to ‘pump up the volume.’ Can I interest you in a drink?” She produced a shiny silver flask from a desk drawer.

Warmed by the liquor, we selected champagne and scarlet as my colors. I agreed to carry a bouquet of tulips down the aisle, a nod to the Dutch heritage of some of the country’s population. Given the time of year, though, the tulips would come from northern Africa. At least they’d get processed through the flower market in Aalsmeer, Holland. I’d wear a veil of Belgian lace that would include the pattern from the swath John bought me during our trip to Ghent. Besides having the lace pattern that symbolized fertility draped over me, this was also my way of acknowledging those in Toulene who traced their roots to Belgium.

One playlist, two hours, and three flasks later, we were done.

“When you arrive in Paris tomorrow for your fitting, Monsieur Bonhomme will send his assistant to pick you up at the train station. So, I think you’re set.” Aunt Elinore closed the lid of her laptop. “I suggest we all get some rest.”

John came by my bedroom to tell me goodnight. He wrapped his arms around me and I turned my head away from him.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“What’s wrong? Are you serious? Ask me how I feel about your grandmother setting our effing wedding date one week from today.”

“I don’t think I have to ask.”

“Don’t we have a say? There are so many details to work out, though it seems Aunt Elinore’s happy to take care of most of them on my behalf.”

John pulled me closer. “Aren’t you ready to marry me?”

“Yes, of course. I can’t wait to be your wife. It’s the wedding part that I’d hoped to spend a couple of months planning. Don’t you get that?”

“I do. But here’s the real reason for the short engagement. Granny wants to extend her stay in Thailand until June, and she doesn’t want to make a second trip back to Toulene between now and then. It’s absolutely exhausting for her to travel so far, and when she’s very tired, she’s more vulnerable to getting sick. Aside from Granny’s wishes, I don’t know how much longer I can wait for this.”

John slid his hands below my waist, squeezing my ass and pulling me closer to him. Our lips met in a hungry flurry.

When there was a pause in the action, I pulled back a little, still trying to wrap my head around how we’d get this wedding pulled together in one week. “And I guess all the family and friends you want at the wedding are still here for Winter’s Feast, so they’ll just stick around for another week?”

“That’s right.”

John led me to the little bench at the end of my bed and we sat. “There is one more thing I need to tell you. Granny requests we follow Toulene tradition that requires the bride and groom to stay apart the week before their wedding. The idea is to build anticipation. Even though I’ll miss you, I think it’s terribly romantic.”

“What? You’ve got to be kidding me. This whole thing is crazy, you know.”

“Yes, but I appreciate you being so understanding. We have to be careful about letting Granny get too exhausted. She looks strong, but she’s had some significant health problems in the past couple of years: pneumonia, bronchitis.”