My Best Friend's Royal Wedding (ARC) Page 17

  A few hours later, I’m finally dressed, with my hair carefully straightened and tied up in an

  intricate bun courtesy of a YouTube tutorial. The blue has mostly faded, so I no longer need to hide it. I’m adding the finishing touches to my make-up, hoping I’ve achieved the subtle, barely-there look that Adam’s make-up artist gave me, when he’s back at the door.

  “You look stunning.”

  Hard as I try, I can’t stop the blush that heats my cheeks. He looks pretty darn stunning

  himself. Last night’s scruff has been shaved off, and he looks very debonair in black and white evening dress. And he smells even better.

  I drag my gaze away and do a little twirl to show off the dress. “Oh, this old thing. I just threw it on. Only took me about five…hours.”

  “That sounds like a quote.”

  “It is. From the funniest RomCom ever. Now can we please get to this fundraiser so we can

  get it over with?”

  “Don’t you enjoy the ballet?”

  “Ask me again in another couple of hours.”

  He gives me an amused glance, but wisely holds his tongue. He offers me his arm, and we

  head down the hall to the staircase. “By the way, I love the shoes.”

  Another blush. I’m wearing the same strappy sandals I wore for our walk in the gardens.

  The drive to the theater is nothing like our casual road trip in Max’s SUV. There are two black luxury sedans pulled up at the palace entrance, each with a chauffeur and a personal protection officer up front. Adam and I go in the front car, and Max and Phoenix in the other. The security officer holds the door open for me. It’s one of those fancy cars where the door opens backwards,

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  which I’ve only ever seen on TV.

  “Looking good tonight, Khara.” He flashes me a smile and a wink.

  “Thanks, Lukas.”

  I slide into the long leather bench seat, and Adam slides in beside me. “On a first name basis with the bodyguard?” he asks in a low voice.

  I flash him an annoyed look. “Don’t be such a snob. Lukas has been driving with us all week.

  Of course I know his name.”

  “I’m not a snob, and it’s not his name that worries me,” he mutters.

  The look I give him now definitely isn’t annoyed, it’s amused, and maybe a little hopeful.

  “You’re not jealous, are you? Because friends aren’t supposed to get jealous.”

  “I am not jealous!”

  Could have fooled me. Against my better judgment, that makes me feel all mushy and aglow

  on the inside.

  There’s an entire reception committee waiting in line in the theater’s foyer to greet us. I

  concentrate on doing everything Adam taught me, standing up straight without fidgeting, smiling politely, making small talk, but the butterflies in my stomach are throwing a rave. As soon as we can, Adam and I slip away up the grand staircase to the ‘retiring room’, a waiting room outside the royal box with white walls decorated with gold-painted plaster moldings, and midnight-blue velvet sofas. I collapse down on one of the sofas, relieved to take the pressure off my feet. When I get back to Vegas, I’m never wearing high heels again.

  “Take this.” Adam pours two glasses of champagne from the ice bucket set ready for us. “It’ll

  settle your nerves.”

  I don’t expect the alcohol to calm me, but surprisingly it does, without dulling my senses. Is that why it’s the drink of choice at these fancy events?

  “This theater was built in the 1850s,” he says, “to replace the original theater which has now been converted into a restaurant. This was one of the first public buildings in Neustadt to be fitted

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  with electric light.”

  I hide my smile. I already read all about the building in my guidebook, but it’s sweet of him to have made the effort.

  When Max and Phoenix finally join us, we enjoy a few moments’ peace in the privacy of the

  retiring room while the rest of the audience fills the auditorium. Then the orchestra starts to tune up.

  “That’s our cue.” Max holds out his hand to Phoenix, and leads her out into the royal box, as

  the orchestra plays the opening bars of Westerwald’s national anthem. I grab us a few bottles of water from the table and follow them out.

  The auditorium is breathtaking, all royal blue and gold, and an enormous chandelier hangs

  overhead from the gilded ceiling. The place is packed, with row upon row of seating both below us and around the walls, and the audience is on its feet, clapping, every head turned in our direction. I suck in a breath. They’re not looking at you, I remind myself.

  Adam and I wait at the back of the box as Max and Phoenix pose at the front, waving to the

  crowd while camera flashes pop. At last they take their seats, and Adam and I sit in the stiff, high-backed chairs just behind them.

  The lights dim, the music swell, and the curtain rises. Tonight’s performance is Giselle, one of the classical ballets. I’m entranced by the costumes and the music and the dancing, so drawn into the story that when the curtain falls, I’m in tears at the death of Giselle. I hope I haven’t smudged my make-up.

  “Is that it?” I ask Adam as we head into the ballroom where drinks have been laid out for the

  VIP guests.

  He chuckles, helping himself to two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. “That was

  just the first act.”

  I accept the glass he holds out to me, even though I don’t plan to drink it. Better than letting him drink both glasses the way he did at the palace dinner party. Though I flush when I remember he wasn’t the one who got drunk that night.

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  “How can there be a second act when the title character’s dead?”

  “She comes back as a spirit to save Duke Albrecht from the vengeful spirits of other betrayed

  maidens.”

  “Why would she do that? He’s a liar and a cheat. He deserves to be punished. She would have

  been much better off with the simple gamekeeper.”

  “But the heart wants what the heart wants,” a woman’s voice says behind me. I turn to see an

  older woman in a black and white evening gown, with her fair hair artfully tousled and laughter lines around her eyes. It’s the eyes that tell me who she is. They’re Adam’s eyes.

  “Hello, Mum.” Adam steps forward to kiss her cheek.

  For a moment, I’m paralysed, trying to remember how I’m supposed to address a princess. I

  should have known she’d be here. Didn’t Adam tell me his mother was a patron of the ballet? I

  should’ve practiced curtseying in these damned heels this afternoon.

  “Mother, this is Georgiana’s friend, Khara Thomas.” It takes me a moment to remember he

  means Phoenix. Georgiana is her birth name, but she hates it and prefers the nickname her parents gave her, though I don’t suppose it’s very royal-sounding.

  He turns to me. “And this is my mother, Her Royal Highness Princess Krisztyna Eszterháza

  de Erdély Hatton.”

  She sends him an arch look that makes me want to laugh. Instead, I curtsey, relieved when I

  don’t fall over and make an idiot of myself.

  “Oh don’t bother with all of that.” She waves her hand. “Just call me Krisztyna.”

  I don’t think so.

  Her direct gaze sweeps over me, but her smile is reassuring. It reaches all the way up to her

  eyes, making them crinkle, and she doesn’t look at me as if she knows my underwear is from

  Walmart. Those etiquette lessons must have paid off.

  “Are you the reason Adam has stayed here in Westerwald so long?” she asks.

  I choke. “Hardly. He’s been working with Max.”

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  That cool green gaze turns on Adam. I never thought I’d see him squirm, but he does now.

  “You did make me promise I would give serious consideration to Lajos’ offer,” he says defensively.

  “I did indeed.” She turns back to me. “Are you enjoying the performance?”

  Though my tongue still feels stiff, and my mind is blank, I remember just enough not to give a one word answer. “I love it! And it’s much less stuffy that I thought.”

  “Oh?” she raises an elegant eyebrow.

  “I mean, the audience gets so involved, clapping whenever the dancers do something

  amazing.”

  She nods. “Yes, we like to show our appreciation. Are you enjoying your stay in

  Westerwald?”

  I can do this. I’m having a conversation with a real live princess (Max doesn’t count as

  royalty, as far as I’m concerned) and I’m not face-planting. “Oh yes! Europe is just incredible. And Adam has been so helpful, taking me to see museums and art galleries.”

  She glances at her son. “Has he?” Then she smiles, another warm smile that makes me feel

  less gauche and awkward. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Khara. You should get my reprobate son to take you to visit Erdély sometime soon too.” The arch look she sends him suggests the

  invitation is aimed more at him than at me.

  Then she gives him a quick hug, looking for a moment more like a mother than a princess,

  and moves off through the crowd, to do whatever it is that princesses do. I let out a long breath.

  “That wasn’t so scary, was it?” Adam teases.

  “It was terrifying.”

  #

  After the second half of the ballet, I’m still convinced Giselle would have been better off

  with the gamekeeper who loved her than with the fickle aristocrat who was engaged to another

  woman.

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  There’s a party in the ballroom after the show, the dancers coming in to mingle with the

  wealthy guests who’ve paid a fortune to be here tonight. A bar has been set up at one end of the room, and a small orchestra plays. There are quite a few people I recognize from the dinner party and the polo match, and Adam was right, now that they know my connection to Phoenix, everyone

  wants to be my friend. It’s flattering and tiring in equal measure.

  Adam doesn’t stay glued to my side, and I suppose that’s for the best. I certainly don’t want

  to appear on those society pages for the wrong reasons, but it means I have to fend for myself with the Elenas of the world. And yes, Elena is here, much friendlier tonight than the last time we met.

  “Is that dress Valentino or Zuhair Murad?” she gushes, air kissing my cheeks. “It’s

  gorgeous.”

  “I don’t have a clue,” I confess.

  I’m rescued by Adam’s mother, who invites me to meet the ballet dancers. Elena makes a

  big show of being an old friend of the princess’, but there’s a look in the older woman’s eyes, a stiffness in her shoulders, that makes me think she finds the conversation tedious. It’s the same look Adam gets in polite company.

  The princess certainly doesn’t look bored when she talks to the dancers. She chats

  animatedly, sweeping me along with her, and it’s clear she’s passionate about the ballet. I wonder if that’s how Adam would look when he’s excited, and I realize I’ve never seen him truly passionate about anything. Nothing ever burns through that slightly amused, slightly bored façade.

  With their royal duties done, Max and Phoenix take to the dance floor alongside a few other

  couples, twirling around in the kind of dance I’ve only ever seen on Dancing with the Stars. Then Adam joins them, dancing with a blonde who looks as groomed and as indistinguishable as that trio he was with in Vegas. But boy can they move. Where did he learn to dance like that?

  He sweeps her around the floor and they look so perfect together, I feel almost ill. It’s no

  wonder he thought kissing me last night was a mistake - I can’t hope to compete with that.

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  Politely excusing myself from the dancers and the princess, I head for the bar. Just this once, I could really use a drink.

  “A negroni, please,” I say to the bartender. He mixes the cinzano, vermouth and gin, then

  adds flamed orange peel. I wrinkle my nose, tempted to show him how to make it properly without the burnt orange off-setting the delicate botanicals, and have to hold myself back. That would definitely make me look like a Giselle in a world of Albrechts.

  “You don’t like the drink?” Adam appears at my side just as I take my first tentative sips.

  I shrug. “The barman was definitely chosen for his looks rather than his cocktail-making

  abilities.”

  Then I turn to face him, urgently in need of an answer to something that’s been bugging me

  all evening. “You’re not engaged, are you? You don’t have a marriage of convenience planned to some titled heiress?” Like Albrecht.

  He laughs. “I most certainly do not.”

  I’ve barely had two sips of this drink, so I can’t blame this sudden tightness in my chest on

  alcohol. “If you’re going to be the Fürst of Erdély one day, you’ll need to marry and have heirs.”

  Judging from the look of horror on his face, I’m guessing that thought hadn’t yet occurred to

  him. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to make my sister my heir. Sorted.”

  “Is the idea of settling down with just one woman so repugnant to you?”

  “You’ve met the women I know. Would you want to marry any of them?”

  I laugh. “There must be at least one half-decent woman who’ll have you.”

  “Phoenix is already taken, and I’m guessing you’d turn me down.”

  “Damn right I would.”

  He removes the glass from my hand, takes a long sip, and pulls a face. “You’re right. It

  doesn’t taste quite right. Would you like to dance?”

  “No thanks. I can’t dance.”

  “Everyone can dance.”

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  “Sure, bouncing around in a nightclub, but not like that.” I wave at the dance floor where Max and Phoenix are now partnered with Giselle and Albrecht. “I thought this kind of dancing only

  existed in movies.”

  “We’ll need to remedy that, since there’ll be ‘this kind’ of dancing at the wedding reception.”

  He holds his hand out to me in invitation, and I take a step back, out of his reach.

  “No way! I am not going out there and making a fool of myself in public.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Do you even have to ask?”

  He looks pained. “Okay, I’ll let you off the hook for tonight, but I want you in the palace

  ballroom at nine o’clock tomorrow morning for your first ballroom dance lesson. And I’m not

  taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

  “Fine.” I know I sound like a moody teenager, but dancing might just be even scarier than

  learning to make small talk. At least conversation doesn’t require bodily contact.

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  Chapter Seventeen

  Khara

  Life slows down in the palace on weekends. Since this is their last weekend before the arrival of Max’s relatives and the madness of the wedding, Phoenix and Max take off for the castle upriver at Waldburg, to visit with Claus and Rebekah, and ride their bikes in the countryside. They deserve time alone after the hectic few weeks they’ve had, but I wish I was going with them. Anything

  would be better than dance lessons with a man who should come with a health warning: liable to cause heart flutters and irrational thinking.

&
nbsp; Nevertheless, I ask the maid who brings me breakfast to show me to the ballroom, where

  Adam is ready and waiting. On the plus side, we’re left completely alone, so no one is around to witness how often I get breathless when I’m in his arms. Or how often I step on his feet, or move in the wrong direction.

  “I clearly don’t know what I’m doing,” I moan. I must have inherited my dance ability from

  my father rather than my mother, whose first job in Vegas was as a showgirl before she fell

  pregnant with Calvin.

  “You need to trust me!” Adam throws up his hands in exasperation. “Stop trying to plan the

  steps ahead of time, and let me lead.”

  “Let me dance barefoot, at least,” I beg.

  He shakes his head. “You can’t take off your shoes at every ball you attend.”

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  “It’s only one ball. Are you sure I have to do this?”

  He pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket, and I see it’s another of the palace’s typed

  schedules, but this time, it’s a list of dances. Geez, even the wedding reception is scheduled down to the last minute.

  After Phoenix and Max have their first dance, they’re supposed to dance with their parents.

  Since both of Phoenix’s parents are dead, she’ll dance with his grandfather, and he’ll dance with his mother. That’s when Adam and I are supposed to join them. Then I’m supposed to dance with

  Max’s grandfather, while Adam partners his mother. I scrunch up my nose. We’re going to be on

  that dance floor for at least ten minutes with only two other couples, and an audience of over 300

  invited guests. Please remind me why I agreed to be Phoenix’s bridesmaid?

  Adam holds out his hand to me again, and when I place mine in it, he pulls me up against

  him. He settles one hand on my lower back and holds my other hand.