Royals Saga 3 Crown Me (11 page)

“I know,” I whispered. “But I need you to stay open.”

“I can’t promise you there will be no darkness, Clara.” His face nuzzled against my neck, inhaling deeply. “I am not a perfect man, but you have all of me. Never doubt that.”

“Can I ask you for something?” I said shyly.

He tilted my chin up. “Anything.”

“Take me for coffee.” It was a simple request, but my voice broke as I asked, knowing it was laced with meaning. Coffee was normal. Something we weren’t very good at it, but if we were going to make this work we needed normal.

“You’re soaked and cold.”

“I don’t care,” I whispered.

He leaned forward and rapped on the glass. The partition separating us from Norris descended.

“Coffee?” It was more of a question than an instruction.

Norris’s smile flashed in the rearview mirror. “I know just the place, sir.”

The car edged over a lane before pulling to a stop in front of a small café. A neon sign flashed
24 hours
.

“I have to admit this is a first for me,” Alexander said as he swung open the door.

“Really?” This delighted me. “I’ve never been around for one of your firsts.”

He paused, turning back to me and catching my hand. “You have been all of my firsts.”

As I followed him out of the back seat he slipped his suit coat over my shoulders.

“It’s wet,” he said unapologetically.

“It doesn’t really matter.” I couldn’t possibly be any more drenched. I clutched it shut over my collarbone, breathing in the scent of him.

He shook the rain from his hair, which fell over his forehead in dark gashes, sending rivulets streaming over his face. The drops caught in the lashes that framed his smoldering eyes. He was fire in the rain. Impossible. Magnificent.
Mine.

He crooked his arm. “Can I buy you a coffee?”

“Just one?” I teased.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you up all night.”

“Are you sure about that?” I trailed a finger over the inside of his wrist.

Alexander held up a finger and called to a passing waiter. “A pot of coffee, if you will.”

The waiter nodded, looking a little confused as he headed back to the counter. No doubt he was wondering if his imagination was playing tricks on him.

Alexander and I slid into a booth, our hands finding each other’s across the table. It wasn’t exactly normal, but it was a start.

I
t is an irrefutable fact that the more a girl has on her to-do list, the faster time flies. Apparently that went double for women who were planning weddings. I’d been concerned I’d be bored after I left Peters & Clarkwell, but now I realized I didn’t have time to be bored. Especially not with my mother breathing down my neck about last minute decisions and the hundreds of new etiquette rules I had to follow. It made me wonder exactly why anyone would use the term ‘blessed’ in regards to marriage.

It also provided me with some distraction from the fight Alexander and I had had last weekend. We’d spent the last few days breaking in our new quarters within Clarence House, and somehow I’d found that despite my anxiety over everything, I was happy.

Ducking out of a final meeting with the florist I’d managed to keep off my mother’s radar, my phone rang. I dug it out of my purse, pleased to see it was one of the few people I had not placed on my mental block list.

I slid accept to take my sister’s call. “Are you calling to talk to me or to relay a message?”

“I should be employed as your secretary,” she said, not bothering to hide her annoyance at becoming the communications gopher between me and my parents. “I have about a dozen messages I’m supposed to relay, absolutely none of which are important.”

“When are they ever?” I asked as I slid into the back of the Rolls-Royce that had magically appeared amidst the afternoon traffic.

“She’s going to drive me crazy.
‘Tell your sister that her cousin Elise won’t be able to make it. Tell your sister that Elise just called to say she moved her meetings and is flying in. Tell your sister to remember to offer a gluten-free cake option. Tell your sister it’s too late to change the cake and she hopes no one has an allergy.’
Honestly, the only thing I want to tell you is to run while you have the chance.”

“I’m sorry.” My apology was sincere, although I couldn’t help but be glad she was bearing the brunt of my mother’s last minute panic. There were already enough other people panicking around me.

“I didn’t call to pass on her ramblings,” she said dismissively as though this was all completely normal—and to some extent it was considering our mother’s penchant for drama. “Where and when? And what should I wear? I don’t think I’ve ever needed a night out so badly in my life.”

“We’re meeting at CoCo’s for dinner first. Belle booked a private room and then we’re going dancing, so nothing formal,” I advised, choosing to skim over the number of ridiculous security procedures Alexander had insisted on for the evening. I’d grown used to having a constant shadow, but it didn’t mean I liked it. I also didn’t want to draw any more attention to the presence of security this evening. I wanted to be carefree for once.

“I still think we should have gone away for your hen night.” I could almost see Lola’s pout as she spoke. It looked something like our mother’s without the added weight of years of disappointment. “I can’t believe Alexander was so against it.”

“I’ll see you at six,” I said, bypassing her complaint and hanging up. It was hard to explain to someone who wasn’t in love why it was so difficult for us to be apart. Of course, we were a little more dependent on each other than most people, and we’d spent more time apart than we’d have liked of late, given the increasing responsibilities he’d taken on for the crown. I slid my phone back in my purse and turned my attention to the street.

I missed being able to walk around London. With the number of foreign dignitaries already arriving for the wedding and the number of meetings and rehearsals planned for the next few days, security had increased to the point of suffocation. But as I gazed out the window I caught glimpses of my face—flashing on TV screens in shops, on magazine covers at the corner stand, and, in a surreal twist, plastered all over souvenir items sold by street vendors. I shrank back when I spotted a rather burly man wearing a t-shirt with a poorly photoshopped picture of me clad in a bikini on the front, grateful for the darkly tinted glass of Alexander’s personal vehicle.

This wasn’t my life. It couldn’t be.

Part of me didn’t want it to be.

A familiar mix of dread and elation churned in my stomach. In three days I would marry the man I loved. It was more than I’d ever dreamed. What was difficult to swallow, was that in three days I would officially be granted a title—or so the tabloids claimed—and then promptly given the keys to Clarence House, the personal residence of the Prince of Wales. Because Alexander was the Prince of Wales. How exactly was I supposed to absorb that?

“Norris?” I called to the front seat.

Two alert eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. “Yes, Miss Bishop?”

I suppressed a sigh that he continued to insist on being so formal with me. “Do they give public tours of Clarence House?”

“If they can charge for admission, they’ll give a tour of it,” he said with a laugh.

“Great,” I grumbled, “I’m going to be living in a museum.”

“It could be worse,” he said and though I couldn’t see it, I knew he was smiling.

“How?” I challenged him, a grin tugging at my own lips.

“You could still be living with your parents.”

I shook my head in mock-horror. Maybe Norris wasn’t so formal after all. Maybe I just had a bad habit of being too quick to make assumptions about people. The world wasn’t nearly as worked up about my wedding as I was. Maybe none of this was that big of a deal. I’d almost managed to convince myself I was right when Norris turned the corner near my old flat. I’d almost managed to believe that my life might not be changing as drastically as I fear. Yeah,
almost
. And then I saw the pile of signs and flowers and other tokens piled near the building’s main entrance.

Not only was my entire life about to change, it had infected my past as well. Clara Bishop only existed in the context of Prince Alexander, and even as I clung to who I was, I felt pieces of myself slipping away. Everything about my life—past and present—was an open book. I was to be read and studied and analyzed. It was overwhelming, and one thing was certain: I needed a night out even more than my sister.

Aunt Jane opened her door with a large glass of red wine in hand and held it out, but I waved it away. Between the ride to my old flat and tomorrow’s schedule, my stomach was churning. The last thing I felt like was a drink.

“No thanks.” I groaned and slumped at her kitchen table, instantly feeling at home in the cozy apartment. She’d updated the space to complement the pre-war architecture and then filled it with trinkets and pieces from her travels. The strange mix of elegant and eccentric was as warm as Jane herself. “I think I’m going to throw up. Did you know you can buy a Clara doll with interchangeable fashion items?”

“I won’t tell you the Clara paraphernalia I saw the other day. It would make you blush,” she said conspiratorially, pouring the wine she’d offered me into her own glass.

“Not bloody likely,” I promised her.

“It made me blush,” she said pointedly.

Okay, I had to admit
that
was a feat. It was impossible to imagine ruffling Jane. She’d been game for all of Belle’s hen night plans, including hitting the club. I had to admit that between her messy pixie-cut, black crepe tunic and leather pants, she was going to fit in better than me. Belle had the same knack for fitting seamlessly into any situation. Maybe it was shared genes, but part of me wondered if it was their pedigree. Their family were aristocrats and came from old money—unlike my own. Perhaps that helped them feel more comfortable in their own skin. Or maybe I had just never managed to get comfortable in my own.

“What have I gotten myself into?” I asked in a soft voice.

Jane settled into the chair across from mine and took my hand. Her gray eyes that usually sparkled with mischief grew serious. “Do you love him?”

I nodded, a lump forming in my throat as I considered how much. “I can’t imagine my future without him.”

“Then it doesn’t matter who he is or what people think. Relationships are hard for everyone, even people who don’t live their lives on the front page. They take work and commitment. Are you willing to fight for him?” she asked.

“Yes.” I’d already fought for him, and I wasn’t about to give him up for anything.

“And he’s willing to fight for you?”

Despite the tears threatening to show themselves, I smiled and nodded. I had no doubt Alexander would fight for me, too. We’d overcome so much in our short relationship. I sensed there were more obstacles ahead, but I could face any of them with him at my side.

“If you’re both willing to work and willing to fight for each other, then you’ll stick together even when things get tough. Just remember this: at the end of the day, he’s a man and you’re a woman, and you chose each other. You’re commitment to one another is all that matters. The rest is just background noise.”

She squeezed my hand and I squeezed back.

“Now get upstairs,” she demanded, tossing her head toward the door. “I’m not going out with you if you’re planning on wearing that.”

“And what is wrong with what I’m wearing?” I asked, deliberately baiting her. The navy dress coat, while chic and appropriate for appointments, wasn’t club attire.

“You aren’t the Queen of England yet,” she said flatly. “Tonight you’re just a twenty-something hitting a bar.”

And that was exactly what I needed—to blend in, to get lost in a crowd, to dance mindlessly.

To forget for just a few hours that my whole world was about to change.

“What is this?” I asked suspiciously when Belle tossed a pink shopping bag in my direction.

“A little something sexy,” she said, shrugging innocently. She flopped onto her bed and waved her hand. “Open it.”

“I didn’t expect presents.” Apparently I had a lot to learn about hen nights before it was my turn to plan Belle’s in a few months.

“Of course!” Belle giggled, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder. She looked like she was about to burst with excitement.

Discarding the paper wrapping, I drew out what could best be described as a collection of straps held together by very little fabric. I held the lingerie up. “Oh, they’re panties!”

“Knickers,” Belle corrected me, wrinkling her nose. “Your American is showing.”

It was an innocent reminder, but it set off alarm bells. I inhaled deeply, trying to steady the race of my pulse.

“You look ill,” Belle said. She sat up and patted the bad next to her.

Dropping down next to her, I crossed my legs and unleashed a torrent of anxiety. “I am American. I mean, not
legally
, but let’s face it, I was raised in America. For every person who doesn’t care about that, ten more do, including Alexander’s father. I’m never going to fit in.”

“And that’s why Alexander loves you,” Belle reminded me gently. “And why I love you and Edward loves you. You’re our Clara. We don’t care where you were born.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Although you have to stop saying panties. Promise me.” Belle held up her pinkie.

Rolling my eyes, I hooked my little finger around hers and we shook.

“I think you’re going to be just fine.”