23. Claire
CLAIRE
“ S houldn’t I be doing something? Isn’t there something… I don’t know… let me help with your hair.”
“No, Mom, really, it’s fine. I’m sure Esme can manage,” Claire said, smiling at her mom, who’d been pacing up and down the apartment for the past half an hour.
“But what’s the mother of the bride supposed to do at a royal wedding? Just look pretty?” came the reply.
Claire shook her head, still smiling, as she returned her attentions to her preparations.
It was the day of the wedding, and the whole of Flandenne was abuzz with excitement at the prospect.
In the distance, Claire could hear the bells of the cathedral ringing out, and she’d already spied the golden state carriage waiting on the forecourt below.
“I think you look beautiful, Miss Bellamy,” Esme said, as she checked Claire’s hair one last time.
The dress was an ivory design, made by a fashion house in Paris.
Claire and the queen had gone together for the fitting, spending a weekend in the French capital, where they’d bought shoes and evening wear in the finest boutiques.
Her necklace and tiara had belonged to Adrien’s grandmother, and she wore an engagement ring the prince had gifted her.
Looking at herself in the mirror, Claire could hardly believe the woman staring back at her.
She was about to marry into one of the great royal houses of Europe — to become the crown princess of Flandenne.
It felt a long way from Detroit, and the backyard of her parents.
“Remind me again where I sit. The rehearsal was all a whirl. I don’t remember anything about it,” Claire’s mom said, turning from the window with an anxious look on her face.
She looked very pretty herself — dressed in a light brown suit and matching fascinator, with an elegant scarf draped over her shoulders. Claire rose to her feet and held out her hands with a smile.
“You don’t have to remember anything. Someone will show you where to sit, when to stand, and when to leave. All that matters is you’re here.”
Claire’s mom nodded. There were tears in her eyes, and if she wasn’t careful, her mascara would run. “Oh… it’s just a little overwhelming, that’s all. I can hardly believe my little girl is getting married. To a prince. We’re a long way from Detroit.”
“I know, Mom. But you’re happy for me, aren’t you?” Claire asked.
Her mom nodded. “Oh, Claire… I couldn’t be happier, because I can see how happy he makes you. All the rest — the pomp and ceremony, the cathedral, the lavishness of it all… none of that really matters. As long as you’re in love.”
Claire smiled. Her mom was right. The rest was all just window dressing.
Love was what counted, and Claire knew Adrien loved her.
He’d proved it. The restaurant was set for its grand opening, and, though Claire knew she’d have to take some time out once the baby was born, the excitement of having her own place, of realizing her dream, was further proof of everything Adrien had done for her.
“We are, and actually, there’s something I want to tell you,” Claire said, glancing at Esme, who already knew the truth about the baby.
Her mom looked at her in surprise, her eyes widening, as though she guessed what Claire was about to say.
“Oh… you mean…” she started, and Claire nodded.
“Yes, but don’t say anything to anyone. It has to look as though it happened… now,” Claire said, blushing as her mom gave a shriek of delight.
“Oh, Claire, how happy I am. Your dad’s going to be made up. Does she know?” she asked, gesturing in the vague direction of the rest of the palace, as though the presence of the queen inhabited its every corner.
“Not yet,” Claire replied. “We’ll tell her in a few weeks. Everything’s moved so quickly it won’t matter too much.”
A knock now came at the apartment door, and Esme opened it, ushering in the escort of liveried footmen who were to accompany Claire on the carriage ride to the cathedral.
“This is it,” her mom said. “And I’m so proud of you. Let’s not keep your dad and brother waiting. They’ll be wondering what to do with themselves.”
Claire smiled. She was ready, and, taking a deep breath, she took her mom’s arm.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”
Claire couldn’t believe the size of the crowds as the carriage left the palace that morning. She was greeted with cheers as she and her parents and brother drove through the square. It felt as though the whole of Flandenne had turned out to greet them, waving flags and cheering.
“I feel like royalty,” Claire’s mom exclaimed.
Her dad laughed. “You practically are,” he said, glancing at Claire and smiling.
It was overwhelming, but Claire kept in mind Adrien’s words — none of it mattered, apart from the love they shared.
“Look at all the soldiers and the uniforms, and… oh, the Archbishop in his finery. He’s wearing more lace than you, Claire,” her mom exclaimed.
Claire smiled as the carriage drew up outside the cathedral.
A guard of honor stood ready to welcome them, and the Archbishop and the clergy in their bright gold chasubles and copes were waiting on the steps.
Claire pictured Adrien waiting for her inside.
He’d be wearing his military uniform — the same as he’d shown her during the rehearsal.
It hadn’t quite fitted, and his mother had made a comment about Claire’s cooking having gained him a few pounds…
“Are you ready?” her dad asked, and Claire nodded.
“As ready as I can be,” she replied.
As the carriage door was opened, the cheers of the crowds grew louder.
Claire stepped out, waving as she’d practiced, and holding up her dress so as not to trip.
Page boys and flower girls rushed to assist, and the train stretched back to the carriage as Claire, on her dad’s arm, made her way up the steps to the great doors of the cathedral, turning, just as the queen had told her to, and waving to the crowd.
“Welcome, Miss Bellamy. This way, please,” the Archbishop said, leading Claire and the others into the cathedral, where hundreds of guests and dignitaries were waiting for them.
The organ thundered into play, and Claire could see Adrien on the steps leading to the high altar.
The procession down the aisle seemed to take forever, and all eyes were on her.
The king and queen were already in their places, and Claire was touched when both Their Majesties acknowledged her with a bow of the head.
As they approached the altar, Adrien turned with a smile on his face.
It was that smiled she’d first fallen for — the smile on the yacht, and the same smile now.
It made her realize just how much she loved him, and was proof of how much he loved her, too.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered, as she slipped her arm into his.
“And you look very handsome,” she replied.
The Archbishop now came to stand before them as the organ music came to an end.
“Beloved in Christ…” he began, introducing the words of the marriage service as silence fell around them.
In their vows, Claire and Adrien promised love and faithfulness to one another for the rest of their lives, promising to honor and cherish one another in good times and bad.
As the Archbishop pronounced them husband and wife, Claire felt a sense of peace — despite the crowds, the televisions cameras, the eyes of the world on them.
None of that mattered. She was marrying Adrien, the man she loved — that was what mattered.
“And may almighty God bless you, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
“Amen,” Claire said, smiling at Adrien, who now leaned forward to kiss her.
It was a perfect moment. It was their moment, and its intimacy was like that of the yacht, when they’d truly been alone. As their lips parted, Adrien smiled at her.
“We did it,” he said, as the procession began to form and the heralds sounded their triumphant proclamation of the royal marriage.
“I still can’t quite believe it. But we did, didn’t we,” Claire replied.
“And I meant every word. I love you, Claire. I love you with my whole heart. You mean everything to me. You and the baby.”
Slipping her arm into his, the two of them turned to face the congregation.
Claire caught her mom’s eye — she was sobbing uncontrollably — while Adrien’s mother maintained a calm composure.
But there was a twinkle in her eye as they passed, and that same nod of acceptance as before.
Claire felt relieved — soon, they’d be away from the glare of publicity, and free to be together.
Mr. Bellagio had offered them the Aurora for their honeymoon, and they were to leave Flandenne that evening on the royal flight for Monaco.
“This way, Your Highnesses,” one of the ushers said, and Claire and Adrien now came to stand in front of the great west door of the cathedral, beyond which Claire could hear the cheers of the crowds.
“Are you ready, Your Highness?” Adrien whispered, winking at her as he spoke.
Claire smiled. “Don’t call me that,” she replied, as the doors were pulled open, revealing the square beyond, with its hordes of well-wishers in a sea of waving flags and applause.
“I never thought I’d be glad to see a crowd like this,” Adrien said, as they stepped out onto the porch of the cathedral.
“I think they’re happy to see us,” Claire replied, and it seemed the wedding had been a triumph, and that the royal couple had proved themselves worthy of the esteem.
The carriage was waiting, but the procession would go, not to the palace, but to the royal theater, where Monsieur Faronne and his brigade of chefs were busy preparing an elaborate banquet to be served in Claire’s very own restaurant.
She’d insisted on it, though the queen had put her foot down at the suggestion of Claire donning her chef’s whites for the service.
“There’ll be enough of that to come,” she’d said, and Claire had agreed, though she was already planning her first menu and the opening night.
“You’ve made me the happiest man in all of Flandenne,” Adrien said, as they sat back in the carriage a few moments later.
“And that makes me the happiest woman, too,” Claire replied, waving to the crowds as the carriage drew off across the square.
“I never thought it would happen. I never thought I’d have what I have now,” he said.
“Neither did I. But that’s the point, isn’t it? We never know what’s coming next. And there’s still more to come, I’m sure.”
“Wait until they hear about the baby,” Adrien said.
Claire laughed. “Be careful of saying that in here. I heard on the news the tabloids have got lip readers watching us. And, apparently there’s been a psychic in Budapest reading our cards — we’re going to have six kids, and one’s going to be an astronaut.”
Adrien shook his head and smiled. “What did I say about not listening to anything the newspapers write about us?”
“Oh, but I think it’s hilarious. If we don’t laugh, we’ll cry. But I think I can laugh about it now. And look at this, isn’t it wonderful?” Claire exclaimed.
The carriage had pulled up outside the restaurant, where yet more uniformed soldiers and liveried footmen were waiting to greet them. The crowds had been pushed back, and the way cleared for their entrance.
“The sign’s up, too,” Adrien said, pointing to where Claire’s name was proudly displayed over the entrance.
Claire felt a surge of pride at the sight of it — the dream come true. Had anyone ever asked her what her dream of marriage would be like, she wouldn’t have said this. Perhaps lots of little girls dream of marrying princes like in a fairytale, but to actually do so…
“I suppose it’s time to face the crowds,” Claire said, glancing at Adrien, who smiled.
“Not for the first time, and not for the last time,” he replied.
“But together,” she said, and, offering him her hand, she nodded to the footman waiting to open the carriage door.
As they stepped down from the carriage, the crowds cheered and a fanfare of trumpets rang out across the square.
Together, Claire and Adrien turned and waved, and, in that moment, Claire couldn’t have felt happier with her husband, the man she loved, standing at her side.
It was really no different to any other wedding.
What mattered was at its heart — the love between two people who, though coming from very different places, had found what was common to them both: love.
“I’m definitely ready for something to eat,” Adrien whispered, as they made their way into the restaurant.
“Then I hope Monsieur Flandenne’s been practicing the recipes I gave him,” Claire replied.
“What’s on the menu? You never told me,” Adrien replied.
Claire smiled and shook her head.
“What do you think? Steamed sponge pudding — your favorite,” she replied.