Her Secret Prince Page 11
The door was slightly ajar, so Jed knocked and stepped inside in time to see Oscar let go of Laurent’s hand. The private secretary stepped back from the couch, hands clasped behind him, head lowered slightly.
“Jed.” Oscar rose to his feet, surprised. “Come in.”
“I’m sorry.” He’d interrupted.
“No, please.” His father gestured towards an armchair and Jed had to take twelve strides just to reach it. And this was a small room. Crimson carpets spread over the floor, large portraits hung from the walls, and a chandelier graced the center of the ceiling.
Oscar sat again as Laurent excused himself.
“Stay.” Jed sensed the man was more to his father than an advisor. “I could do with your opinion, too.”
With a smiled nod from Oscar, Laurent sat down on the very edge of a third armchair.
Jed cut to the point. The tension squeezing him in half didn’t allow for anything else. “I have a choice to make. But I don’t want to make it.”
His father inhaled, straightening.
“I’ve been here for six hours. I’ve known you for six hours. Even after such a short time, my gut is telling me that I can’t leave again. There’s something—a connection to this place that I didn’t anticipate. And you, Oscar, I want to talk to you. We have a lifetime to catch up on, and doing so across the world doesn’t feel right.”
His father took a moment to close his eyes and breathe, and Jed wondered whether he had braced for bad news.
“I understand this is not simple,” Oscar said. “It is beyond complicated. You have to go with what feels right—even if it doesn’t seem it.”
Jed nodded. He thought of where they were sitting, in the heart of a palace. He thought of who was sitting opposite him, the heart of a nation. “Leaving again would both seem and feel wrong.”
“No one would think any less of you if you did. The burden of responsibility is heavy enough when you have your life to prepare for it.” Regret hung heavy from Oscar’s mouth. “To feel the prospect of that weight unexpectedly, without time to prepare. Well. You would be human to back away.”
And there was that clench of belonging. It fastened him to Leguarday, just as it fastened him to Dee. A home in his blood and a home in his heart. Loyalty and love.
Could he not love and be loyal to both?
Laurent cleared his throat. “This decision can’t be made in a day, nor should it be.”
“No,” Oscar agreed, and looked back at Jed.
“I don’t want to back away,” he said firmly. “That much I know already.”
His father nodded as happiness sprang across his face.
“There’s so much here. I can feel it. I want to stay and discover whether this life is for me. Granted, it might not be, but I want to know for certain. But Dee.” He met the darkness of his father’s eyes. “I can’t lose her and I can’t force her to stay.”
“Ah.” Oscar shifted in his chair, sending Laurent a light grimace. “You seek relationship advice.”
Jed smiled wryly. “How do you two manage it?”
“Quietly,” Laurent murmured. “Leguarday is on the brink of equality, but is not there yet.”
“It can be difficult prioritizing the decisions of a nation over those of my own heart.” Oscar regarded Jed gravely. “But you’re not tied to a nation, not yet. Trust me, the heart is always more important.” He clasped his hands and leaned forward. “So let us figure this out.”
*
Dee’s blue stare found him the moment he walked in the door. It came from the pile of blankets on the bed, a quilted fortress to protect her from the attack she sensed was coming. He hated how he’d left her, tear-streaked and alone, but he swore he’d never leave her that way again.
“I’m about to treat you appallingly,” he said, standing beside the four poster bed.
Sniffing, she sat up. She looked on edge, prepared for the worst. “Do it quickly,” she managed, words catching. “Then I’ve got something to say.”
He sat on the bed and found her hand. Her fingers lay limp in his. “Tell me what you want most. And that’s what we’ll do.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I can’t see the forest for the trees. So you need to tell me what you see when you look at our future, and that’s what’s will happen.”
Shock seemed to sway her.
“I’m forcing this decision on you. I’m sorry. Our future is up to you.”
“Me.”
“Tell me what you want. Do you want to live in Los Angeles, in your apartment? You don’t move around, you told me yourself. If that’s the only place you could call home, then I’ll call it home with you.”
Disbelief hung from her parted lips.
“If you want to stay here with me, while I figure out whether I could ever follow in my father’s footsteps, then I will cherish your hand in mine. And if, after my hesitation earlier, you don’t want to be with me anymore, so be it. But know that there’ll never be a moment where I’m not thinking about you and wishing I hadn’t been so stupid.”
Dee’s breath was loud in the following silence. “You stole my high horse.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Before I answer,” she said weakly. “I want you to tell me something.”
“Anything.”
“If you’d known,” she said, words trembling like the quake in his heart, “that night in your apartment, if you’d known you were about to leave me, what would you have said?”
He didn’t have to think. “I love you.”
Pain burst across her face. “And now?”
And now, if he knew this was the last time he’d ever see her? For all the wealth at his fingertips, he felt rich with nothing but loss. “I love you.”
Finally, her fingers twitched in his hand. Then they squeezed, tight as iron.
“Well, that’s good,” she said. “Because I love you, too. And I’m never going to let you leave me again.”
Jed exhaled as relief punched him square in the stomach. Then he was pulling her into his arms, holding her tight against him. She smelled sweet and toasty warm, and he buried his face in her neck, breathing her in. “Where, Dee? Where do you want to spend our lives?”
Wriggling closer, she murmured, “You’d really give this up for me?”
He pulled back just far enough to meet her eye. “I’ve regretted losing you for a decade. I couldn’t bear that again. I meant it when I said you’re the closest I’ve ever felt to home. And I realized something while sitting with Oscar. The only reason this place feels right is because you’re here beside me. If you go, there’s nothing for me here.”
“And if I stay?”
“There’s everything.”
Delight lit her face, before dimming. “But you’re the son of a European prince. I’m a screenwriter from LA.” She nodded down at herself. “Is Leguarday really ready for this jelly?”
He grinned. “Oscar said Leguarday hasn’t had a royal wedding since his parents were married in 1947.”
“But no,” she said, ending on a dismayed vowel. “I can’t. Royal women wear blazers. And pantsuits! I could never wear a pantsuit.”
“Be a trendsetter.”
“What about your illustrations, your comics?”
“I’ll find time.”
She paused, and her jaw dropped slowly. She pointed a finger at him. “You said wedding.”
He’d said wedding.
Shock masked her face for several long seconds. Then she clasped her hands under her chin and stared at him expectantly. Under her breath, she whispered, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”
Smiling, Jed slid off the bed to kneel. “My darling, Dee. Will you marry me?”
Her delighted laughter brought a grin to his lips. “Um, gosh,” she answered, and there was no mistaking the mischief that suddenly gleamed in her eyes. “I don’t know. It’s all happening so fast. One day I’m travelling to meet my boyfriend’s dad and the next I find out I’m g
oing to become a princess. It’s overwhelming. I really don’t know what to do.”
Jed supposed he deserved that, but only just. “Dee.”
“There are so many things to consider,” she went on. “I’m really confused. You know what? I’ll keep my answer to myself until tomorrow, just to keep you in the dark. But I’ll tell everyone else and have them pretend that they don’t know either. Yes. That’s what I’ll do.”
“Dee,” he said warningly, rising to his feet. He crawled onto the bed, grabbed her by the waist and dragged her beneath him. She squealed as he tugged apart the buttons of her blouse, arching her hips to meet his, gasping as his lips found her breast. “Please tell me.”
She didn’t answer as they stripped each other naked, touching and tangling in her quilted fortress. She stayed silent as he lay over her, kissing her slow and long and deep. He knew that as he moved inside her, pleasure tightening around him like hot wire, her yesses had nothing to do with his proposal. Afterwards, he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and begged, “Dee.”
She laughed, his favorite sound.
“Yes, you beautiful thing. I’ll marry you.”
Epilogue
‡
Their wedding caught the attention of the world. Prince Jebediah was an Australian-born European about to make an American a princess. The fuss was absolute. International press inundated the city alongside citizens and tourists who wouldn’t miss a royal wedding for cake.
And, boy, was there cake. Dee personally organized the distribution of ten thousand cupcakes throughout the city, a token of the bride’s appreciation for those attending, but mainly because, “Everyone should get cake at a wedding.”
The streets were crowded by the curious, the cathedral drowned in dignitaries.
Back at the castle, preparing for the royal luncheon, Dee rushed to her rooms for a costume change. With the formal part over, Oscar had said of course she was free to jazz herself up.
“There are no words for how unreal that ceremony was,” Alexia said, kneeling behind her as she unbuttoned the undercoat of Dee’s dress. “I’m still waiting to wake up.”
“If you do,” she answered, “be a dear and let me keep sleeping.”
“Put these on, Dee.” Ellie was handing her a pair of red-framed glasses. At first, Jed’s mother had struggled to comprehend that her son wanted to be prince, tied to one life, one place, for the rest of his life. Acceptance had taken longer, but finally she had arrived on the castle doorstep with a life-long regret and tear-bound apology. Then it had taken Jed time to forgive her for dictating his life as completely as the crown she’d feared. “And hand me the black ones.”
“Here, sweetheart.” Dee’s mom hurried over on clicking heels. The enchantment hadn’t left her eyes since she’d arrived. “You need more lipstick.”
Lipstick was reapplied, glasses were exchanged, and the bulk of the dress’s skirt removed.
As her very own gaggle of women pulled back, all murmuring over the transformed bride, Dee spun to look in the mirror. The ivory dress both cupped her curves and let them spill, and now that the underskirt halted mid-thigh, her scarlet stockings struck boldly through white lace falling right to her toes. She removed the sheer sleeves of the dress and kicked aside the white heels in favor of Chuck Taylors.
“Veil,” Alexia said, and reached around to unpin the elegant long headdress. Dee’s black hair had been swept back and around, curled and sprayed. The revealed pinup style was finished off with a red bow.
“Ah,” she sighed with a smile. She was herself again.
In the end, she’d worried needlessly about pantsuits. The pocket-sized nation had rejoiced at the news that Prince Oscar II had found a long lost son and welcomed the comic artist and his beloved hipster screenwriter.
Apparently, they gave the House of Montaigne some long-needed style.
Not that it was all roses. Her happiness had been a disaster for creative reputation. Her latest script had actually ended well, which meant the royal bedroom now had its own coffee machine, courtesy of Parker, despite the abundance of staff on-hand all willing to feed her habit.
Downstairs, the luncheon flowed into a night of dancing in the ballroom. Dee mingled with politicians from across the world and shared dances with European royalty. She met Jed’s friends from Melbourne, including the reserved Felix and his friend-date Stevie. As Felix shook Jed’s hand, he murmured, “No more drifting, hey?” and Stevie said, “I’m totally wearing Chucks when I get married.”
When morning light bumped shoulders with the horizon, Jed led her from the dance floor, out of breath but still grinning. “Champagne, my darling?”
“Yes, my prince,” she said, and laughed. The whole thing hadn’t ceased to amuse her. This princess development didn’t even bear thinking about; because, quite frankly, she feared she’d start making friends with household animals and spend her days bursting into song.
Jed handed her a chilled flute, popping with liquid gold.
“To you,” she said, extending her glass. “My husband.”
He edged his flute against hers, clicking lightly. The endlessness of his smile overjoyed her.
“To you,” he said. “My home.”
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Parker Hargreaves is determined to make amends for treating Alexia badly all those years ago. He’s changed and wants her to think better of him. If that means letting her sharpen her sexual moves on him so be it. He’ll do it. His playboy reputation certainly won’t suffer.
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About the Author
Madeline has always lived in Melbourne. She is emotionally allergic to spontaneity, and yet doesn’t mind the weather that drags her into rain when she’s planned for sunshine. She likes to call this her wild side.
She’s a Virgo, vegetarian, and once had a romantic suspense-style dream in which the hero was a shredded lettuce sandwich and the villain was a cherry tomato. The tomato got away. She took the dream as a sign that she’d better stick to writing contemporary romance.
Her stories have spunky heroines, strong heroes, and as much dialogue as she can cram in. As for why she writes romance, she’s in a long-term relationship with the genre and writing such stories makes it happy.
Visit her website at MadelineAsh.net
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