Chapter 49
forty-nine
PARKER
I grew up in a beautiful country house but was unprepared for the grandeur of the Neandian royal palace. We arrived early that morning, having taken a flight at the asscrack of dawn where Astrid slept practically on top of me, but I got no sleep. She could sleep on any moving form of transportation, but I could barely rest.
A man met us at the door and took our bags. A footman would spirit them away properly, I was confident. We were told the Queen hosted us for breakfast in the family dining room. Astrid took my hand and showed me around. Like any good aristocratic house, portraits of illustrious family members crowded the walls—the more, the better. No thought was given to spacing—just put them on the wall. That was what American television and period dramas got wrong.
The ceilings were so high and the curtains so massive that even I felt half my size standing next to them. The palace faced a public square, currently set up with a festive Christmas market. It was a pretty, if not sleepy little city.
Astrid finally led me to the family dining room, where we were announced. Her sister and brother-in-law stood to greet us. I politely bowed to them while Astrid ran screaming over to her older sister. Astrid nearly took Alexandra out, but they managed to stay up. Tears filled their eyes as they hugged tightly. I couldn’t imagine feeling the same for my sisters.
“Apologies. They’re fucking nuts, Your Grace. Just wait until the little girls wake up,” the Prince Consort said.
“Please, just call me Parker, Your Royal Highness.”
He extended his hand. “Then call me Rick.”
To my surprise, he had an American accent—a strong one at that. I hadn’t noticed him at Buckingham Palace since I had not spoken with him.
I accepted his firm handshake. “Will do. Do they always do this?”
“Always, yes.”
I chuckled. “Well, at least everyone gets along.”
As I said it, Astrid came over, nearly tackling Rick.
“Jesus! Astrid, can you calm down?”
She giggled. “Someone needs to bother you now. Miss me?”
“Depends, Asti.”
“Ah, you did, Prickard!”
I was appalled by their exchange before I realised that this was just their rapport. He was like her older brother.
“Get the fuck out of here, Astrid! I’ve enjoyed my peace.”
She laughed.
“Your Grace, help yourself to food. Astrid will,” Alexandra said.
“Your Majesty, please just?—”
“Lex, call him Parker. He insists,” Rick said.
“Well, then call me Alexandra.”
“There is tea at the end,” Alexandra said. “Asti told us what type you take.”
“Harney’s Earl Grey,” Astrid said, proud of herself.
“You’re dreadfully smug, Astrid.”
“She is,” Alexandra teased.
“I’m adorable. Fuck off, Parker.”
I snickered. “I appreciate it. Thank you all for hosting me. I know it’s unconventional.”
“No matter. However, I shall warn you of an awful thing we must do.”
“No, Alex, please, no,” Astrid said in French.
“We must. Sister, it’s been ages, and we must keep up appearances.”
I was confused.
“Celeste is coming for dinner.”
“Margaux is coming. We must host her before the carol service.”
I knew Celeste was the evil grandmother but had no idea who Margaux was.
“Translation for the uninitiated,” Rick said. “The Queen of the Belgians and her consort Prince Alexander—not to make everything very fucking confusing—will be here soon for the carol service we do. The Belgians sometimes come up. They are close friends. And Celeste is the?—”
“Evil grandmother.” I nodded.
“Oh, he’s brutal. I like him,” Rick said. “She hasn’t seen the baby yet and is coming from the South of France.”
“We sent her there. Alexandra basically deported her.”
Alexandra admonished Astrid. “I did not deport her, but I did move her there. It’s a long story. And she is awful, but… people are calling me cruel, and we’re trying to make it look like…”
She searched for the word.
“Happy families?” I asked.
“Is that a thing?” Rick asked. “We’d just say make nice, I guess?”
“It’s a thing,” Astrid said. “A British thing.”
“Madame,” a footman entered. “The Princess is hungry. Should Madame Orvay bring her in?”
“Yes, please. We’ll manage,” Alexandra said.
“Eat, I’ll handle her,” Rick told his wife.
It took me a moment to realise she meant the baby. There were already too many princesses in this house!
“No, I shall take her!” Astrid declared .
“She’ll want to nurse first, and then I will be glad to cast her off on whatever participants are willing.”
Chubby baby Linnea arrived sporting an adorable red outfit. She was already winding up to have a whinge, immediately demanding her mother. Alexandra ignored almost everything as she attempted to feed the baby. I was dumbfounded to find out the queen was nursing her child. My mother would have expired right there. I tried desperately not to draw attention to myself. Was I supposed to avert my eyes? None of my friends had children. Lord knows British society, women didn’t just whip out a boob! This must have been a continental thing.
“She’s massive,” Astrid said. “I cannot wait to carry her everywhere. If anyone disputes my claim, I will take them out.”
“Ingrid will take you,” Rick acknowledged.
The baby made an abundance of noise while trying to eat. I did not know how anyone could chat over it. I assumed people with babies just tuned it out. Astrid chattered on with her sister, catching up. Then, when little Linnea spotted a croissant, she wanted to move on to greener pastures.
“Let me take her,” Astrid offered.
Alexandra, relieved to hand her child off again, relented and let Astrid carry the baby away. She sat by me, baby in her lap. The child gnawed on a croissant, getting crumbs everywhere. No one cared but me, I supposed. Babies were a messy nightmare, but Astrid only doted. The baby looked up at me, confused, and then smiled. I smiled back. She giggled. It was fucking heart-warming.
“She’s just started solids,” Alexandra said. “And she’s hopelessly addicted to food, as you can see.”
“I don’t disagree with her.” Astrid kissed the baby’s cheek and played with her fat feet. Astrid never struck me as a baby person, but she was an adoring aunt.
Distracted by Astrid and Linny, the sound of the massive doors opening shook me. Before I decided what to do, two more girls crowded around Astrid. They were squealing, jumping, and giggling like idiots. One was taller and more substantial than the other, who I suspected was the family baby. These were the “little girls?” Astrid described them as sweet and innocent. I expected them to be pre-pubescent and in primary school or something. Instead, they were teenagers. I wanted to stand, but they crowded me. I gave up on social graces.
“Parker, this is Odette,” Astrid said of the strawberry-blonde older one before turning to the lighter blond, “And this is Ingrid, the baby of the family.”
“This is the Duke of Westnedge,” Alexandra said.
“You’re dating a duke?” Ingrid asked.
She and Astrid shared the same lack of filter.
Odette, voice low, said, “You don’t know they’re dating. Be cool, Ingy.”
“Oh, we’re dating. It’s fine,” I clarified. “Please, call me Parker.”
“You have a weird name,” Ingrid remarked.
“Ingy, mind yourself,” Alexandra scolded.
I merely chuckled.
“Sorry, but it’s a weird name!” She protested now in French.
“He speaks French,” Astrid warned. “And, unlike Rick, he speaks fluently.”
Rick scowled before chuckling. “My French is abysmal. My wife reminds me daily.”
They looked lovingly at one another while the baby screeched, reaching for a fork and failing to grasp it.
“Should I give it to her?” I asked.
“Are you fucking nuts? No!” Astrid scoffed. “It’s pointy. She’s just going to fuss.”
“I don’t know a thing about babies,” I admitted. “Never had one. Don’t know any.”
“I also had no idea about babies,” Alexandra said. “Rick loves them. I do not.”
Astrid burst into a fit of laughter. I stared, confused.
“How’s that battle going for you, Rikard?”
“Ask your sister. I feel I am losing my mind more daily. However, look at this beautiful child. How could you deny her a sibling?”
Ah, we’d stepped into a marital argument about procreation! Stunningly, they were so open and candid. I didn’t know what to do. My family would never act in this manner. At least the Deschamps family was genuine. Even the baby was cloying as she stared up at me, gumming a napkin and drooling everywhere. It was strangely idyllic. I wanted to know more.