My Best Friend's Royal Wedding (ARC) Page 16

  When he doesn’t join us for dinner, I’m relieved.

  No, that’s a lie. I’m not relieved. I’m mad.

  I’ve only known the man five days and in that time he’s gotten under my skin in a way no

  other man has before. He’s annoying and arrogant and entitled, and I shouldn’t give him a

  moment’s thought, but I can’t stop thinking about him. I’m not sure I can keep blaming it on

  hormones.

  For the next few days, I hardly see him because Phoenix keeps me busy with royal wedding

  stuff. This wedding is so much more than dress fittings, floral arrangements and seating plans, as this isn’t so much a wedding as a diplomatic event. Phoenix has included elements of all

  Westerwald’s neighboring countries in the ceremony and reception: there are Dutch tulips in the church and in her bouquet, Belgian lace for her veil, a French croquembouche wedding cake, and the party favors for the reception guests are German almond-based marzipan sweets made in the

  shape of Westerwald’s dragon and wrapped in gold chiffon bags.

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  Phoenix lets me sit in on her meetings with the security heads to plan the final motorcade

  route, and with the protocol secretary to discuss seating inside the cathedral. She even insists on personally viewing the royal carriage and meeting the horsemen who will accompany the

  procession. I tag along, but those horses are scary big, so I stay well back.

  We attend the opening of the palace’s merchandise pop-up store, where I hold Phoenix’s

  bag and jacket while she does the official ribbon-cutting and makes a speech (in the local

  Westerwald dialect, which earns her rapturous applause). There are porcelain plates and mugs, tea towels and oven gloves, branded chocolates, flags, collectors’ coins, plush toys, and even baseball caps with Max and Phoenix’s faces emblazoned on them. I’m the shop’s very first customer. I buy a plate for my mother, a set of mugs for Calvin, and a coffee tin for Isaiah - and a set of proper porcelain teacups for myself. When I mentally convert the price back to dollars I experience a momentary qualm, but when Phoenix offers to pay, I insist on paying for them myself. After all, the proceeds go to Westerwald’s biggest children’s home.

  The store manager looks at me like I’ve grown another head. I suppose royal bridesmaids

  aren’t supposed to act like common tourists, buying souvenirs to take back home, but that’s what I am. And my brother is going to have such a laugh drinking out of a mug with their faces on it, considering less than a year ago Phoenix asked him to help her get a divorce from Max. It’s a long story, but needless to say, the divorce never happened and Calvin was very careful to destroy all the evidence.

  We spend half a day at a hair salon owned by a friend of Anton’s, which closes just for us.

  Khara insists I touch up my blue ombre, and I’ll admit I feel more like myself with the vivid color.

  Her own blonde highlights look so natural I swear not even an expert will be able to tell they’re not natural.

  Another day, Phoenix and I take a break from wedding duties to attend the official launch of

  a new adventure park just outside the city. There’s a treetop obstacle course and a zipline

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  (Westerwald’s first), and after yet another ribbon cutting and more posing for the cameras, we actually get to do the course. There are still cameras following our every move, but once we’re in our harnesses and navigating the suspended bridges and rope swings more than fifty feet above the ground, I stop paying them any attention and just have fun with Phoenix, the way we used to in the old days. I wish Adam were here. He’d love this course way more than looking at art.

  Even though Max and Phoenix requested that donations be sent to their favorite charities in

  lieu of wedding gifts, presents have still been steadily pouring into the palace. We spend an entire afternoon sorting through them - what to keep, what to give away to charity or to palace staff, and what to send to the national museum (like the antique black Chantilly lace shawl sent by the pony-breeding Count of Amiens, and a book of hand-written poems from a local primary school). Some

  of the gifts also have to be returned, obvious promotional items that companies are hoping Max or Phoenix will use in public to market their businesses, like the set of branded golf clubs.

  Max is horrified when we tell him over dinner that night. “How can anyone think I play

  golf?!”

  The sun sets late here, later than I’m used to. We eat dinner in the private garden as the

  shadows grow longer, the garden turning softly blue at the edges, then fading slowly into darkness, a slow, creeping sunset with none of the dramatic fire of our Nevada sunsets.

  When Max leaves us to go back to his desk to catch up on work, it’s only just past dark. A

  servant places citronella-scented lamps on the table, and brings us a fresh bottle of the low-alcohol moscato wine I’m developing a taste for.

  “Has Adam gone back to London?” I ask casually.

  Phoenix eyes me, but says nothing. The look in her eyes, as if she can see right through me

  to the desperation underneath, is distinctly uncomfortable.

  “It’s just that I haven’t seen him around these last few days,” I add hurriedly. “I was

  wondering if he plans to give me any more etiquette lessons?”

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  Because I don’t feel anywhere near ready to sit at a formal banquet with hundreds of VIP

  wedding guests.

  Okay, okay, I know I said I don’t lie to myself. I’ll admit it - this has nothing at all to do with napkins or cutlery. I just want to see him. Heaven only knows why.

  “What happened between the two of you?” Phoenix asks at last.

  “Nothing. Less than nothing.”

  “Then why are you avoiding each other?”

  “I’m not! He’s avoiding me.”

  Oops. Too late I realize that was as good as an admission that something did happen, though I’m still not entirely sure what it was. She holds my gaze until I relent. “We were watching this wedding in the chateau grounds, then he asked what he had to do to prove he’s a decent guy, and I told him he should do something worthwhile with his life.”

  “Ah.”

  “What does that ‘ah’ mean?” She made it sound like a revelation.

  “Do you know what Adam has been doing this past week?” she ask at last.

  How could I, since I haven’t seen him? I shake my head.

  “He’s been job shadowing Max.”

  I say nothing, and she raises an eyebrow. “You do know his uncle is the ruling prince of a

  little country called Erdély, and that Adam is a possible candidate to become his heir?”

  “He told me after the polo match.”

  She leans forward, resting her chin in her cupped palm. “He wasn’t even considering saying

  ‘yes’ until you told him to do something worthwhile.”

  He can’t possibly be doing this because of something I said. Could he?

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  I watch a moth beat itself against the glass of the lamp. Phoenix is still watching me as if

  she’s waiting for me to say something. Eventually she huffs out a breath. “His room is just down the corridor from yours.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You’ve been trying to get us together from the moment I landed -

  why? I mean, I know he’s nice to look at…”

  She splutters. “Nice to look at?! He’s hotter than a blowtorch - and if you ever tell Max I

  said that, I’ll deny it.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “But we’re completely unsuited to each other. We come from

  completely different worlds.”

  “Maybe he’s just what you need. And clear
ly you’re exactly what he needs.”

  Goddess save me from happily married women who want to see everyone else around them

  paired up.

  We chat a while longer, until the moscato bottle is empty, and the air grows chill and drives

  us indoors. We part inside, in the grand vestibule with its black-and-white marble floor and

  sweeping staircase. A sleepy security man is on duty where the footman usually stands during the day.

  I give Phoenix a quick hug, then watch as she disappears through the side door that leads to

  the apartment she and Max have shared for nearly a year, even though they’re unmarried as far as the public is concerned. I’m far too wide awake for sleep, but after a quick wave to the security officer, I head upstairs to the guest wing.

  At the top of the stairs, I pause. My own room lies down the corridor to the right. Instead, I turn left. Phoenix told me Adam’s room is at the end of the hall. I hover outside the door, screwing up my courage. Twice, I raise my hand to knock. Twice, I pull it away. I don’t want Adam to think this is a booty call.

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  Third time, I just do it. I wait, wondering if maybe he was already asleep, but then the door

  opens. My breath catches in my throat.

  He’s dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he’s barefoot, the most casual I’ve ever seen

  him. His hair is mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it, and he sports several days’

  worth of scruff. But it’s the black-rimmed glasses that make my pulse do all sorts of crazy things.

  “I didn’t know you wear glasses,” I blurt out.

  He removes them, as if he’d forgotten he was wearing them, and rubs the bridge of his nose.

  “I usually wear contacts.”

  The epitome of pure masculine perfection actually has a flaw. Just when I thought he

  couldn’t get any hotter. I shift my weight from foot to foot. “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

  “You’re not.” He steps back, opening the door wider in invitation. “Come on in. I could do

  with a break.”

  I step inside and look around. The bed is strewn with papers, and the duvet is crumpled

  where he was sitting. He shuts the door behind me, and I suddenly realize I’m alone with him. In his bedroom. Late at night, when everyone else has gone to bed. I wouldn’t blame him for thinking this is a booty call.

  “Wine? Coffee?”

  “Coffee, please.” I don’t want to be tempted to do anything more stupid than I’m already

  doing.

  He moves to the tray in the corner.

  “Hey - you have a coffee press! That’s so unfair! My room only has instant coffee.” And an

  electric kettle, which Phoenix had to teach me how to use.

  Adam grins. “I bought my own, because I can’t stand instant.”

  While he makes the coffee, filling the room with the delicious, rich scent of Italian roast, I move to the bed, perching on the edge to look at the papers spread out there. It’s mostly financial

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  stuff, annual budgets and treasury reports. The numbers are easy enough to read but the words are in a language I don’t recognize. Erdélian, I assume.

  Adam brings two cups of coffee to the bed, and hands me one, then sprawls beside me. I

  take a sip. Milk, no sugar, just the way I like it.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting our lessons,” he says. “The days have just sort of run away

  with me.”

  I wave at the papers. “You’ve had more important things to think about.”

  He smiles. Not his usual arrogant grin, but a softer, warmer smile that melts what little is left of my common sense. “Not more important than you.”

  I have no idea what to say to that. As lines go, that’s a pretty good one. And spoken in that

  intimate, husky rumble, I can see why women fall for him so easily. I’m falling for it too.

  “So what have you been up to?” he asks.

  I tell him all about the treetop adventure course and the zipline, and he laughs at the golf

  clubs. “Anyone who knows Max knows he’s far too much of an adrenalin-junkie for golf.”

  “And what have you been busy with?”

  Careful not to spill his coffee, Adam rolls onto his stomach. I stretch out beside him and

  look at the papers he spreads out for me.

  “Should you be showing me these? Aren’t they top secret, or something?”

  He laughs, a warm, low chuckle. “I got these off the internet. My uncle runs a very

  transparent administration.”

  In the mellow lamplight, we read through the various reports together, occasionally using

  Google Translate when he doesn’t recognize the Erdélian words. The country has a healthy tourism sector, “mostly outdoor activities, like hiking and cycling,” he explains, “but the economy is primarily agricultural. There were copper, iron and manganese mines, but they shut down in the twentieth century. The biggest challenge seems to be that much of the existing infrastructure is

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  ageing and needs maintenance, but the country isn’t bringing in enough revenue to cover the costs.

  There’s no major deficit, and they’d like to keep it that way, but there’s not much room for growth either. The country needs outside investment.”

  I roll on my side to face him. “And you just happen to be an investment banker.”

  “It’s not that simple.” He rubs his head, mussing up his hair even more. I’d love to run my

  fingers through his hair.

  “If Erdély were just a client, I’d have no problem saying yes to my uncle’s offer. Because if

  I get bored, I can hand off the account to one of my juniors. Clients come and go, projects come and go, but Erdély has just always been there. And it will still be there long after I’m gone. I’m not the right person for that kind of responsibility.”

  “You told me I should have faith in myself. Perhaps you should take your own advice.”

  He holds my gaze, and I lose myself in the cool grey-green depths of his eyes. Then slowly

  he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. I have every opportunity to move away, to stop this from happening, but my limbs are too liquid to move. My eyes flutter closed, all my senses focused on the feel of his lips brushing mine. My heart pounds so hard, it deafens me. I open my mouth, inviting him in, but suddenly he’s not there any more.

  I open my eyes, breathless, dazed, and more than a little mortified. Adam rolls off the bed,

  collects our empty coffee mugs, and carries them across the room to the coffee tray.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, his back turned to me. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  I’m not sorry.

  He sets the mugs down and turns to look at me. “This is new for me. I’ve never been just

  friends with a woman before, but I like it, and I don’t want to mess this up.”

  He’s friend-zoning me? To say that I didn’t see that coming is an under-statement. What happened to him trying to seduce me? Involuntarily, I touch my fingers to my lips. That kiss was magical, but what if it wasn’t good for him? What if he’s changed his mind? What if he doesn’t feel

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  this same sudden high which is zinging through my veins? Is that why he’s been avoiding me all week - to spare my feelings?

  Hot humiliation surges up into my cheeks. “It’s getting late,” I say, pushing off the bed.

  “And tomorrow’s going to be another busy day.”

  I walk to the door, and Adam follows. He reaches for the doorknob, but doesn’t turn it.

  “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “Of course. Tomorrow night is the ballet fundraiser we’re all expected to attend.”<
br />
  “Of course.” He still doesn’t turn the knob, effectively blocking me in. My heart races again.

  “So, we’re still friends, then?” he asks.

  I force a bright smile. “Yes, we’re still friends.”

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  Chapter Sixteen

  Khara

  What am I supposed to wear to the ballet? I stare at the open closet, at my meager assortment

  of clothes. The borrowed dresses have all been returned to the stylists, and the closet looks very bare. Aside from the ivory-colored dress I brought for Phoenix, my only other dress is the black skater dress I usually keep for first dates. It’s the same dress I wore the first time I ever met Adam, the same dress I wore to the cocktail party the evening before the polo match. I really don’t want to wear it again. What are the chances I can wear jeans tonight? I certainly have enough of those. Or I could go out shopping. It would mean dipping into my tuition money, but that’s better than asking Phoenix for yet another favor.

  There’s a knock on the door, so I slam the closet door shut and hurry to open it.

  Adam is leaning up against the doorframe, and he’s carrying a garment bag. “I have a gift for

  you.” He grins and holds up the bag.

  Hoping desperately it’s not the school principal’s suit, I unzip the bag, gasping as the dress within is revealed.

  “I can’t accept this!”

  “That’s a pity, because I’m never going to be able to wear it.”

  I frown. “You could return it.”

  He shrugs. “Too much effort. So you might as well take it.”

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  He holds the bag out to me, and I take it, holding it reverently. “Thank you.”

  “See you later.” And he’s gone, leaving me holding the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.

  The taffeta under-dress is plain, with a figure-hugging bodice and full knee-length skirt. But over the top is a gauzy, ankle-length layer of pale grey chiffon, embroidered with multi-colored flowers.