A Cinderella Twist: A Contemporary Royal Romance Page 16

“Well, I can’t wait to meet her,” I say, sarcasm abounding. “Meanwhile, do you mind if I do the honors and wake our sleeping beauty? I’ve noticed Mo gives the best after nap snuggles.”

  His face changes from the casual smile to a warmer, more intimate expression that reaches his eyes. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

  From here, the flight finds a natural rhythm of interaction between us, including Alexa who finally seems to relax a bit once Lachlan and I stop talking and canoodling and instead opt to watch a movie with Mo, a perfectly fine way to spend a couple of hours but not at all entertaining or interesting for spying purposes.

  Upon landing, I notice it’s already dark out and while Lachlan assures me repeatedly we’re in Linden, we could have landed right back where we started for all I know. Though, I have to admit, even if I can’t see much, I can’t deny the air is crisper and cleaner, and the sky has about a million more stars in it here than it does over the city.

  A navy-blue limo picks us up, complete with security (so much so they need their own cars, one drives ahead and one behind) and a fast-talking little man named Soren. He rides with us.

  Initially, I think he’ll be more of Alexa’s soft spoken, high-strung efforts to please Lachlan’s every whim, but as soon as the doors are shut and the window to the driver is closed, I’m relieved to find nothing could be further from it.

  “Her majesty, the step-monster, has been shitting kittens since she officially heard the news. From your father. Before that, she was just pacing the castle erupting poison on every maid who crossed her path. It was tragic. We lost two to the mental ward just since Alexa sent word you two were making out like horny teenagers holed up in the backseat of your dad’s stolen station wagon.”

  “My dad never stole a station wagon,” Lachlan deadpans.

  “Neither did mine. He doesn’t even have a driver’s license. He’s a New Yorker.” I keep my face just as straight. It’s great fun, having a staff. Between the likes of Alexa and now Soren, I’m learning all sorts of new ways to amuse myself. “Also, what do you mean by sent word? Was she tossing carrier pigeons out of the plane while we were flying? Using Morse code? Activating the bat-signal, what?”

  Soren clears his throat loudly, glaring at me. Then, he turns to Lachlan again. “At least now when her royal evilness interrogates me about the validity of your relationship, I won’t have to lie. Clearly, you’re soulmates.”

  I stifle a laugh. Meanwhile, Lachlan looks like he’s blushing. “She already spoke to you?”

  “Spoke to me. Threatened my life and the lives of my unborn children. I think I have to give her one if I tell a lie. I can’t be sure though. It all happened so fast.” He makes a face.

  This time, I don’t hold back my laughter. Even Mo starts to giggle in her seat, for no reason other than she knows something is funny.

  “Great.” Soren looks less pleased and more outnumbered. “I can see our bro time dwindling down to nothing already.”

  “You two have bro time?” I’m intrigued. Abbas and Chase are the ultimate bros, but I’ve still never heard them refer to themselves as such, or their time together as anything other than just...well, life.

  “We don’t have bro time,” Lachlan says, starting to wave his hand to dismiss the notion when he sees Soren’s displeasure increasing tenfold on his little red face. He really is sort of adorable in a porcelain doll sort of way with his pale skin prone to rosy cheeks, big marble-like blue eyes and perfectly tousled red hair on his head of delicate but distinct features and all sitting atop a fragile looking petite body several inches shorter than mine.

  “Eleven years we’ve been together,” Soren says sourly. “And never did it feel like a job. Until this very moment.” Then he smirks. “Seriously though, where do you two rate on the codependency scale? Is it going to be a plus-one thing every second of every day until the love bubble bursts?”

  “We’re definitely not that kind of couple,” I confirm. This time, I’m completely serious.

  “Because I heard you two were sucking face like you might be,” Soren insists.

  “Can we not call it that?” Lachlan frowns. “We’re not twelve and more importantly, we’re talking about affection I share with my fiancée. It’s not some spin the bottle game at a middle school party.”

  “Fine.” Soren agrees. “I’d rather talk about how quickly there’s going to be a wedding. You do plan on marrying before your father’s birthday? Right?”

  “We hope to get married as soon as possible,” Lachlan says, sounding very rehearsed for a line we’ve never discussed before now.

  “So, that’s a yes.” Soren grins, his fingertips practically dancing over his kneecaps with excitement. “Backup Apsel is going to lose his mind.” He leans in a bit, eyes widening. “He doesn’t know yet. About any of this. He’s been at Carriage Cottage since yesterday afternoon when her majesty, the Maniacal, heard from her network of spies that you couldn’t go through with giving up Princess Monroe. Word is, he’s been celebrating his assumed victory.”

  Most of what I heard in all of that comes down to two words. Princess Monroe. Mo is a princess.

  “Why have you been letting me call your daughter a two letter nickname all this time?” I slug Lachlan in the shoulder. Not hard enough to do damage, a mild slug. To get his attention and convey my outrage.

  But he hardly seems as bothered. He even smiles. “Because I love that you call her Mo.”

  I shake my head. “I need to get so much better at this royal business.”

  Soren shrugs. “You really just need to learn to fake it a few minutes at a time.”

  Lachlan chuckles. “That’s all Soren does.”

  “Dude,” Soren starts to laugh as well, “Sometimes, I think that’s all you do.”

  For a moment, I let myself believe them. Almost hope that it’s true. That Lachlan really is just Chase’s brother behind all the titles and fancy things.

  But then the car stops, and the door is held open, and I watch Lachlan step out, emerging in front of his family’s castle. And he’s every bit a prince, from his perfect smile, to the royal shine I know must burn from the core of his being.

  LACHLAN

  GREER PLACES HER HAND over my arm, allowing me to guide her up the winding stone steps to the main entrance, and it’s the first I’ve ever seen her nervous. I never take for granted the first impression this place makes, with its strong, tall pillars reaching five stories up past balconies and massive mosaic windows, to a tile roof littered with turrets. Most people find it intimidating. I did. For years. And yet, somehow, I didn’t think Greer would.

  “It’s just a really big house,” I whisper, trying to move my mouth as little as possible while we speak. “But it has all the same stuff in it as any other house. Bedrooms. Living rooms. People laughing. People fighting. People changing diapers. People waking up with huge pimples on their chins.”

  She muffles an unexpected laugh with her hand, and I tilt my head down toward hers slightly. “True story.”

  “I don’t know,” she says wistfully, head dropping until her soft curls meet with her back and her eyes stare up at the structure in its entirety. “I feel like there may be things inside these walls I’d never find in any other house I’ve been in.”

  “It’s possible that’s true,” I admit, pausing to listen for Monroe behind me. One of the things I miss most whenever I leave the U.S. and come home, is being the one to do all the basic, simple acts of parenting. Like getting her out of her car seat and walking her up the stairs. Here, it’s not proper for me to bother with such tasks and I’m forced to rely on help from nannies. Tonight, at least, it’s Yvonne. Of all three women who usually care for my daughter, she’s the one I trust the most because she’s the only one who openly smiles at her. And talks with her as if she’s a real person and not some fancy doll only meant for display. Like right now, I can hear her matching my daughter’s bubbly tones as they greet each other after being apart this past week.

 
Greer must notice my efforts to check in on them without letting it show, because she tugs my arm a little closer and whispers, “I like her. I think I’ll trust her with Cheese.”

  I bite the inside of my bottom lip to stop from chuckling. We’re steps from walking inside and any signs of human emotion, especially those of delight, are frowned upon by my stepmother. Of course, the second we step inside, every desire to laugh fades without additional effort on my part.

  “Welcome home, your highness,” Gisela says with a curtsy as she holds the door for us.

  “Thank you, it’s good to be back,” I lie easily, plastering the appropriate amount of a smile on my face as I move past her through the foyer and toward my parents, both of whom seem to have been eagerly awaiting our arrival despite the late hour, if clearly, for vastly different reasons. “Mother,” I say, greeting her with a cordial nod before my father engulfs me in an exuberant hug.

  “I’ve thought of nothing but the moment I could do this since the second you told me the wonderful news,” he says, sounding every bit as excited as he claims. “Congratulations, son. I couldn’t be happier.” I can’t help but feel he’s overcompensating just a tad for the lack in joy my stepmother is likely to express next.

  “Apsel, please,” she hisses at my father under her breath. “Is it really necessary to cause such a scene here in the foyer over news which seems more delayed than celebratory.” She casts her glare in my direction, sweeping past Greer in the process as if she isn’t even here. “After all, your younger brother has been married for two years now. One would hope you could give up your bachelorhood and grow up before you reach your thirties.”

  “You don’t feel fatherhood qualifies as growing up?” Greer says, taking a step in, moving both closer to me as well as my parents, as she does. “Your majesty.” She adds it like it’s an afterthought. And like she intends for it to sound that way.

  My stepmother freezes. Stuck between her burning desire to lash out and remind Greer of her place and remembering Greer’s place as my bride and future queen forbids it, she slowly raises her pointy chin, allowing her snobbish gesture to talk for her before she bites out, “You must be the infamous Greer. Every bit the delight we were expecting you to be.” She folds her hands in front of her waist, confirming she’s reached the end of her efforts to welcome Greer. “Tell me, young lady, do you have a last name to go with the first? Or are you a one name headliner like Madonna. Or Cher.”

  “If you’d give the boy a moment, I’m sure he’d get to proper introductions, Myrna,” my father cuts in gruffly. I almost wish he hadn’t. It only now it occurs to me, I have no idea what Greer’s full name is.

  “Quite alright,” Greer carries on, likely suspecting my ignorance. “I’m perfectly happy to answer Queen Myrna myself.” She smiles sweetly at my father, then adds a level of haughtiness as she faces my stepmother directly. “I can’t deny Greer captures my identity perfectly, and should I ever be a headliner, I’ll certainly consider the one name route if for no other reason than I’d adore being in league with the likes of Cher and Madonna, however,” she pauses where most would for breath, but I know Greer, she can talk at least another forty-five seconds or so without needing an inhale. “As it seems, for now, my life is better suited for the more traditional given name I’m already known for.” She smiles a little wider. “Greer Philladora Deluca.”

  “Philladora,” my father says, lighting up all over again. “What a wonderfully unusual name.”

  “I was named after my grandparents, Phil and Dora. They passed away when my mother was young, long before I was born. It was my father’s idea to honor them this way,” she explains, the pride in her voice impossible to miss as she speaks of her father.

  “It’s a lovely tradition, isn’t it?” my stepmother chimes in again. “Being named after your ancestors. My husband, the king, was named for his father, and his father before that. It’s why we chose to name our son, Apsel as well.”

  “My mother thought it was a stupid tradition. Said she’d waited since she was seven to have a son and name him Lachlan, and she wasn’t being cheated out of it by some dead royal’s liking of the name Apsel hundreds of years ago.” I smirk. Myrna hates this story, even if it is the only reason she was free to name my brother as she did.

  “I’m with your mother on this one.” Greer squeezes my arm, drawing my eyes to meet hers as she smiles. “I mean, Apsel is a perfectly fine name, but you’re so obviously a Lachlan.” She giggles in a way I’ve never heard her do. “I can’t even look at you and imagine calling you Apsel. It just doesn’t suit you.”

  “No,” my stepmother snips. “It does not.”

  “Explain yourself,” a shrill voice demands from the foot of the stairs at the very edge of the foyer. With all my stepmother’s antics, I didn’t even see her come down. Honestly hadn’t expected to see her at this hour.

  “Grandmother, so good to see you.” I release Greer and hurry toward the stairs to greet the matriarch of our family. She’s hardly happy to see me, but she’ll still gripe about it for days to come if I don’t make a proper effort to meet her where she stands. She has every bit the strength and mobility required to make the trip, she simply doesn’t feel she should have to. If she wishes to speak to four people standing across the room, she wishes those four to come to her. Years of being the queen have left a lasting impression of privilege.

  “Don’t try to sweet-talk your way out of this,” my grandmother scolds before I even reach her side, finger wagging threateningly at my face. “How dare you request a hand in marriage when the owner of said hand is a woman no one in your family has ever met, let alone heard of.”

  “It is because of how long she has known my family, and how very much they’ve heard of her and love her, that I knew requesting her hand in marriage was not only the best thing for me, but for all of us. Including Linden,” I say smoothly. I was hoping someone would make this very argument. I was expecting it to be my stepmother, but this is just as well. “You see, it’s only this half of the family she’s meeting for the first time. Please,” I offer her my arm, “allow me to introduce you.”

  She refuses. “I’m not meeting anyone tonight. You’ve been traveling since morning and I want to meet your future wife when she’s at her best. Undoubtedly, after hours on an airplane, she’s not at this time. There’s only one opportunity to make a good first impression, Lachlan, and I don’t intend to deny your fiancée hers. Especially not when all the cards are stacked against her to begin with.” She sniffs. Then she raises her chin in the same haughty fashion I know Myrna must have learned from her and turns to start back up the stairs which I accept as my cue to return to my original spot in the foyer.

  “I better go see to her,” my stepmother fusses, hurrying past me to follow her up the stairs. “I’m sure all of this unsettling news has upset her.”

  My father watches them both until they reach the top and turn off the long hallway leading toward my grandmother’s personal sitting room where they will undoubtedly drink their tea to calm their nerves for sake of sleep, all the while trying to come up with all the worst possible things they could say about Greer and me and our engagement.

  “Don’t mind them,” he says when he’s sure they’re out of earshot. “They’re surrounded by people who follow orders so much they tend to forget those we don’t pay, don’t have to live as they say. Least of all, those we count as family.” He cups a hand over Greer’s arm, smiling in his usual warm way. “And you are counted now, my darling, Greer. You’re family. For better or worse, and as you can see, we have plenty of both.” He winks before turning toward me. “Truly, couldn’t be happier.” Then he hugs me one more time before making his way toward the hall across the foyer leading to the kitchens and beyond that, his den, his favorite space in the castle. He claims it’s because he can always smell some heavenly scent from something baking in the oven, but I suspect it’s more to do with the servants’ quarters lining the hall between the kitchen and h
is den, promising his wife, the queen, never ventures out there to see him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  GREER

  “So that was...interesting,” I mumble under my breath as we walk down the longest hallway I’ve ever walked in my life.

  “I don’t think you’re using the word interesting properly,” he murmurs back.

  “You two can whisper all you want, I can still hear you,” a third voice pipes up from behind us, scaring me half to death.

  “Soren!” I gasp when I turn over my shoulder to find him lurking there, shadowing our steps. “How long have you been following us?”

  He shrugs. “Caught you at the last corner. Was having a quick chat with Bea in the blue library to see if she knew who the reigning queen of terror has chosen to be your personal assistant.”

  So many things trip me up on that answer. “Who is Bea? Why is the library called the blue library? Are there libraries in other colors as well, say perhaps, a purple library, or a green library? What is your deal with all the queen’s evil nicknames, and most importantly, did Bea have the answer you were looking for?”

  I can hear Lachlan chuckle quietly at my side, though he does little else to engage in this bizarre conversation Soren and I are having. While we walk. Down the endless hall. A two headed beast with a one headed shadow. Alexa’s heavy-handed pour on the coffee refills all flight long is doing me no favors now. The only saving grace here, is that I have enough sense to keep the crazy locked inside for once.

  “If you must know, and you seem to think you must, Bea and I used to date,” Soren hisses. Answering my first question in a way that only leaves me more confused.

  “Do all your ex-girlfriends hang around the libraries of the castle?”

  “The ones who manage the royal family’s personal staff, yes,” he returns snidely. “And while we’re on that, there are seven libraries in total, but only one is named for the color of its walls. So no, there is no purple or green library.”