“But a royal wedding may just distract them,” my father interjects softly.
Dalton whips his head toward him. “Excuse me?”
My father smiles slyly. “You said it yourself when you shared your plan regarding Ms. DeVries. You claimed people love a wedding, especially a royal wedding. That it gives them something to be a part of. We saw how wrapped up the people of this country were during the latest British royal wedding. They filled stadiums to celebrate it. And he married an American, too. If you’re so concerned about this referendum, perhaps that’s an alternative to your…proposal.”
“What is?” I ask.
My father faces me. “That you marry Nora before people go to the polls this November. Preferably before she starts to show.”
“Before she starts to show?”
“She’s six weeks now. I’d suggest marrying her within the next eight weeks at most. We must consider the public perception. The longer you wait to marry her, the more obvious the reason you are marrying her will become.”
“I’m marrying her because I love her. Her pregnancy is just an unexpected blessing. Nothing else.”
“That’s not the way people will see it. If they learn she’s pregnant before you’re married, they’ll think that’s the reason.”
“Won’t people get suspicious anyway?” I argue. “Particularly if we announce we’re getting married in a matter of weeks? When the baby is born, they’re bound to do the math.”
“But by that point, the vote will have already passed and they’ll be too excited about the birth of a royal baby.”
I blink repeatedly, looking into the distance. Heavy drapes frame the tall windows, portraits of important figures in Belmont history hanging on the walls, as if a reminder of my place in this world.
But what about Nora? This is a completely new world for her. We’ve discussed taking the next year to adjust to our new life together and being new parents. Now we don’t have a choice but to rush into marriage just to be together.
“Listen, Anderson,” my father says, turning from the king into my father. “I can give you my approval, and I do so happily. But the second your child is born, I can no longer grant you that approval. If you wait to marry until she’s given birth, you’ll be doing so in direct violation of a royal act. Which will—”
“Automatically remove me from the line of succession.”
“Precisely.”
A year ago, I had every intention of giving up my place in the line of succession just to prevent my father from forcing me out, as I’d assumed he did to my mother after she was diagnosed with MS.
Now I know that wasn’t the case, that the depression she experienced after her diagnosis made her push everyone away. I tried to do the same thing, but Esme wouldn’t let me.
More so, my father wouldn’t, either.
Now I’m actually looking forward to the day I’ll lead this country. Can bring it and the monarchy into the twenty-first century. Can give it the breath of fresh air it needs.
But at what cost to Nora?
“I can’t make this decision without talking to her,” I tell him. “This life is all new to her. The media circus. The spotlight.”
He nods, standing. I do the same. “I can hold off on making a statement to the press for a day or two. That should give you enough time to discuss this with her.”
“In the meantime,” Dalton begins, rising to his feet, as well, “if anyone asks about your status, you tell them—”
“I know. I know. No comment.” I force a smile.
“Precisely.”
I turn my attention toward my grandmother. She’s remained unusually quiet throughout most of this conversation. As I learned from playing chess with her, her being silent is never a good thing. Those long stretches of time when she simply stared at the chess board, mentally playing out all her moves, usually led to her declaring a rather embarrassing victory.
I hope the same isn’t true here.
I bow toward her. “Your Majesty.” Then I face my father, offering him the same sign of respect, before retreating from the conference room.
My father’s private secretary greets me the second I step into the foyer. He bows toward me, then spins, leading me away from the executive wing, as if I’m a visitor, not someone who spent his adolescent years in this building.
Once I’m back in the SUV and the imposing palace walls are far behind me, Creed meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “How did it go?”
I give him a knowing look as I roll my eyes.
“That good?”
I blow out a laugh. “Worse.”
“No matter what, Nora’s a strong woman. She’ll be okay.”
I nod, leaning my head back against the seat, praying he’s right. Sure, I’d told her what life would be like as my wife, the things she’d have to give up.
But that was before she saw it for herself.
Before she experienced it for herself.
Will she still want this? Want to be under a microscope for the rest of her life?
Like she told me earlier today, she wasn’t thrust into this life like I was. She chose it.
But now that she’s had a taste, will she still choose it?
Will she still choose me?
Chapter Nine
Nora
I rest my forearms against the railing of the spacious balcony off Anderson’s private quarters, inhaling the fresh air, hoping it helps me stay awake when I’d love nothing more than to fall asleep. I doubt I’d be able to sleep, though. My mind is far too preoccupied with what could be going on at Anderson’s meeting with his father.
I doubt they’re talking about the latest rugby match or polo game. Or whatever it is royal people from Europe discuss.
They’re talking about me. About whether I’m good enough for Anderson. Whether I’m good enough to be his wife.
To one day be queen.
Years of being made to feel inadequate by my mother bubble to the surface. I fight to push down her biting reminders that I’m not good enough. That I’m a failure. That I’ll never amount to anything.
I close my eyes, practicing my breathing, inhaling only positive energy while pushing out all the negativity.
Or at least try to.
It doesn’t work as well as it once did.
Right now, there’s a lot of negativity in my life.
A pair of warm lips against my shoulder blade takes me by surprise. In a heartbeat, I no longer need my breathing exercises to relax, my body succumbing to Anderson’s soothing caress.
There was once a time when meditating and yoga were the only way I could find peace and quiet my mind.
Now it’s Anderson.
His touch is all I need to erase my worry. As long as he’s here, everything else is just noise.
Tranquility encompasses me as he runs his hands down my arms, then pulls my body into his, my back to his front. I don’t ask how his meeting went. Don’t want to ruin this moment. Instead, I bask in the love radiating from his embrace as we peer at the breathtaking view of the magnificent gardens leading to jagged cliffs, miles of ocean stretching out below them. It’s reminiscent of Hawaii…if Hawaii had more of a European flair.