Chapter 8
It took everything in me not to make a face at Renata.
Instead, I plastered on a smile and gave myself a pep talk.
You’re not plain, you’re just not royal-court fancy.
You’re proud to be an American, damnit. USA!
USA! USA! When I told this story to my future grandchildren, this woman was clearly going to be the villain.
“I guess it only makes sense that the two of you would be buddy-buddy, then,” Renata said, looking down her nose at Knox and me as she took a sip of her champagne.
She lowered her voice, leaning toward me.
“Look, Bernadette. I don’t know what you thought would happen coming here, but what I do know is that I am the next queen and I will do anything to make it happen. Do you understand?”
I mimicked her movement, whispering conspiratorially, “You have a bit of strawberry stuck in your teeth.”
Renata’s face turned about ten shades of red as she huffed back and almost ran out of the ballroom.
Suppressing a laugh, I turned back to Knox. “Please tell me the other suitors aren’t as bad as her.”
Knox stared at me, dumbfounded. “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
“What? Really?”
“No one ever stands up to her. They’re all too afraid.” He smiled broadly, one of the first true smiles I had seen from him. My stomach gave a small flip. “I think you’re going to do well here.”
“Oh, that was nothing,” I said, waving my hand. “She’s just a mean girl.”
“That she is. She’s been a pain in my ass ever since I can remember.”
“Has her family always been a part of the court?”
“For centuries. They were pretty much a breeding house for royal suitors, which is why she thinks she’s a shoo-in. Little does she realize, Oliver can’t stand her. He’s nice to her because he has to be, but he has always seen right through her fake smile and pleasantries.”
His words made a small part of me relax a bit. I had gotten the impression in New York that Prince Oliver was more than just a pretty face, but the confirmation that he seemed to be a good judge of character as well was reassuring.
“Any chance you could give me the inside scoop on the family before I meet them?” I asked. “Vince went over a bit of their history with me, but I bet you can tell me more than that since you know them so well.”
Knox observed me as he sipped his drink. I wondered if he was trying to decide how much he could or should divulge; he was protective of his family, I knew that much already.
He cleared his throat. “Well. You’ve met Oliver.
He was second in line behind his brother, Xavier.
When he abdicated, Oliver became the Crown Prince.
So, you know, here we are.” He gestured around us.
“Then there’s Rosalind. She’s eleven and hates these types of events.
People tend to either overlook her since she’s so young, or they baby talk to her and ask asinine questions. ”
“And Xavier abdicated because he didn’t want to settle down?” I asked, clarifying.
Knox had such a stoic look on his face at all times. There were times when emotion would flash across it, but you had to watch because it was always quick to disappear. This was one of those moments. I saw a flash of anger, maybe annoyance, cross his eyes, there and gone within a second.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Hmm.” I took a drink of champagne. “Can you tell me anything about his parents? Typically when I’ve dated someone, I have a little more background about their family and it’s not as formal.
I feel like I’m in over my head here.” I didn’t want to sound desperate, but that was exactly how I was beginning to feel.
“The Courtwrights have sat on the throne for hundreds of years. They take being sovereign very seriously and want someone for Oliver who will take it just as seriously. They love their country and the people they rule and want to make sure Oliver is set up for success.”
“No pressure.”
Knox let a smile roll across his face. “No pressure. They are nice people who care. If you also care and show interest in their country and their son, I think you’ll do just fine.”
“Sounds easy enough.” I hoped that was true.
As the words left my mouth, the string quartet stopped playing. I looked around, searching for the reason why.
Knox leaned down. “Here we go,” he whispered in my ear as he left my side, disappearing across the room.
Guests gathered toward the center of the space, leaving a wide path on either side of the ornately carved golden doors.
Vince walked into my line of sight and nodded his head for me to follow him.
I made my way to where everyone was gathered and took my place between Vince and Bronson.
The quartet began softly playing a song I hadn’t heard before. As I looked around, I saw a few of the guests, including Vince, mouthing words I couldn’t hear. I could only assume this must be their national anthem.
The doors opened, ushering in the royal family of Wexstone. The king and queen entered first, their hands clasped.
King Leroy was a handsome man; I could see where Prince Oliver got his chiseled jaw and light eyes.
His salt-and-pepper hair was more salt than pepper these days, but he pulled it off well.
He was tall and barrel chested, still in great shape for a man in his sixties.
His ramrod-straight spine and precise movements indicated that he had been a military man; he carried himself well and with authority.
Queen Isobel had clearly been a knockout in her youth—hell, she was still a knockout.
Her hair was twisted into an intricate updo upon which sat a glimmering crown.
The sapphires and emeralds glittered against her rich, red hair as her white gown flowed behind her on a phantom wind.
I suddenly understood why people were infatuated with royalty; there truly was an air of something special about them.
The king and queen continued their procession into the room. As they passed, men bowed, and women curtsied. I made a mental note to thank Vince and Bronson (well, maybe just Vince—I wouldn’t want Bronson to let it go to his head) for making me practice my curtsy earlier.
Prince Oliver followed just behind his parents. He looked so prestigious in his tuxedo and royal blue sash hung with at least a dozen different medals. I wondered if they weighed heavily on his shoulders.
There was a man walking beside Prince Oliver who I assumed must be his older brother, Xavier.
I could certainly understand why this man had women and men falling over themselves.
He had a full head of copper hair like his mother’s and a beard that covered the same strong jaw that I saw on his father.
The sash across his chest held more medals than Prince Oliver’s and was a deep green.
But what took me aback were the tattoos covering his hands and neck.
Prince Oliver was the only royal I had seen in person before now, but I didn’t think most would find it acceptable for a prince to have so many visible tattoos.
Xavier carried himself with an air of defiance.
The papers were right: he did look like a rebel.
The royal family moved closer to our end of the line.
My nerves set in as I mentally walked through my curtsy.
My legs started to tingle. Was this normal or was I about to keel over?
It’s just nerves. It’s just nerves. You’re fine, this is fine.
Just bend at the knee. The lower you go, the more respect you’re showing.
Get it together, Birdie, you spent years ice skating competitively. This is simple. You’ve got this.
The procession was now in front of us and Bronson bent at the waist. Forget stuffy and stiff—the man looked like he did yoga five days a week with his swift, flexible bow.
I reached for the sides of my gown, pulling them out so I wouldn’t step or fall on them. I dipped my head, curtsying as low as I could. I needed the royal family and the people of Wexstone to see how much I respected them.
As they passed by, I made eye contact with Prince Oliver and swore that I saw his cheek raise in a slight smile. Dang, was he really that happy that I was here?
Princess Rosalind and Queen Mother Evelyn walked side by side just behind the princes.
Princess Rosalind looked beautiful in champagne tulle and silk.
She held herself so well for her age; you could she had been doing this for her entire life.
The smile pasted on her face didn’t quite reach her eyes, though.
A tap, tap, tap caught my attention, and I raised my eyes a bit to see Queen Mother Evelyn walking by with her cane, on top of which sat a large onyx stone. It caught the light, contrasting with her silver dress.
Just as my curtsy was starting to wane, the guests in the receiving line stood to their full height like a wave at a stadium game. I followed the rest of the guests’ gazes to see that the royal family had taken their places at the head table.
As they sat, the guests transitioned to their own seats.
I followed suit, walking close behind Vince and Bronson as they led us to a table.
I tried not to feel overwhelmed by the fine china and the amount of cutlery laid before me as Vince pulled out my chair.
I thought of the scene in Titanic where Kathy Bates’s character tells Leo DiCaprio’s Jack to “start from the outside and work your way in” with the cutlery and said a quick prayer of thanks for my childhood obsession with that movie.
“Bernadette, may I introduce you to Lord Collins and Lady Laurel of House Lewellen,” Vince motioned to the couple sitting to his right. “They are very involved in the lumber production and conservation here in Wexstone.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” I smiled, inclining my head toward them.
“And you. How are you liking Wexstone so far?” Lord Collins asked.
“It’s absolutely beautiful. I am so happy to be here.”