“Actually, love, there is an orchestra shell on the west side of the palace. Every Friday evening during the summer, the Belmont National Symphony performs. I’ll take you one of these days, if you’d like.”
“Sure…” My voice is distant as I struggle to wrap my head around this being my life from now on.
When Creed pulls the SUV underneath an awning, I glance out the window at a pair of ornate wooden doors, a red carpet lining the short flight of steps into the building.
Butterflies flit in my stomach as a man approaches. He wears black pants and a black, high-necked jacket with various pins and medals on the left side over his chest. It’s reminiscent of the United States Marine Corps dress uniform, apart from being all black. Two men dressed similarly, but with red jackets, approach both passenger doors.
As if rehearsed, our doors open at the same time, the man outside mine bowing. “My lady.” He offers his arm and helps me out of the SUV.
It’s still a shock to hear people address me so formally. Yesterday, I was Ms. Tremblay or ma’am. I suppose that’s what the king’s approval does. I go from being no one to being someone. More specifically, the crown prince’s fiancée.
Anderson approaches and links his fingers with mine, leading me up the stairs and into the palace. Creed and Bridge follow behind as the man in the black uniform walks in front of us, his steps measured and in time.
Before we make it more than a few feet into the grand foyer dripping in gold and crystal, a familiar woman wearing a navy blue-and-white striped dress walks toward us, her steps graceful, as is everything about her. I breathe a sigh of relief. Sure, Anderson has a calming effect on me, but it’s comforting to see someone else I knew before all of this.
“Nora,” Esme says, her accent more prominent than her brother’s, since she hasn’t spent as much time living in the States.
“Esme,” I respond, ignoring the glare the man escorting us gives me, probably for addressing her so informally.
She takes me in her arms, kissing both cheeks before whispering into my ear, “Breathe. It’ll all be over soon.” When she pulls back, her eyes lock with mine, making sure I heed her advice.
“Thank you.”
She drops her hold on me and faces Anderson. “And fuck you very much, big brother,” she snips without a care for the decorum of our surroundings. “I have to find out you’re engaged from the bloody pappos?”
Anderson chuckles, wrapping his sister in a brief hug, kissing her cheek. “Sorry, Ezzy. I’d planned on telling you in person.” He shrugs as he releases her. “Things didn’t exactly go as planned yesterday.”
“I’d say.” She crosses her arms over her chest, glancing between Anderson and me before looking over his shoulder. When her gaze lands on Creed, her expression falls slightly.
Most people may not notice it, but I’ve gotten to know Esme fairly well. That, and Anderson mentioned his sister and Creed had a thing before he was inducted into the Royal Guard, forbidding him from having any sort of romantic relationship with a member of the royal family.
“Your Highness,” Creed says, bowing.
She pinches her lips together. “Captain Lawson.”
The way she addresses him obviously stings. Regardless of the passing of ten years since their relationship ended, it’s clear neither has gotten over the other. Perhaps that’s why Esme never married.
“I’m having a thing tonight,” she tells Anderson once she tears her eyes from Creed’s.
“Thing?”
“Yeah.” She gives him a knowing look, as if speaking a language only they can understand.
Growing up in this world, I suppose you have to develop a way of communicating only those you trust can understand. And if there’s one person Anderson trusts in this world besides Creed, it’s Esme.
“Nora needs a bit of normalcy in her life. Especially after today. So be there. Eight o’clock. And for fuck’s sake, don’t wear a suit, or I’ll hang you from your bloody tie. Got it?”
He laughs. “Got it.”
“Good.”
“Excuse me,” the older man in the dark uniform interrupts. “His and Her Majesty are ready for you in the private drawing room. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
“Of course. Thank you, Major General Lawson.”
Picking up on the fact that he has the same last name as Creed, I snap my eyes to Anderson. He gives a slight nod, answering my unspoken question. That the man who appears to be in charge of the security of this palace is Creed’s father. Talk about some big shoes to fill.
I glance at Creed, then Major General Lawson, noticing a resemblance. Both are impressive physically. Not just their height, but also their muscular build. Both have dark, impassive eyes. Both strong noses and square jaws. The only difference is their hair. Creed still boasts a full head of dark hair, trimmed but not in military precision, whereas his father is shaved bald.
“I won’t keep you any longer,” Esme says, forcing my attention back to her. “I’ll see you out there anyway.” She wraps me in another hug, squeezing me tighter than normal. “Congratulations, sweetie. And I promise, it’ll be worth it.” She holds my gaze before floating away.
Once she disappears, we follow Major General Lawson up the grand staircase. I try not to gawk at my surroundings. It’s a little surreal to be inside the palace I’ve only read about in history books.
Will I also be in those books one day?
The thought is crazy, especially after living most of my life feeling inadequate.
After walking through a maze of corridors, we come to a stop outside a wall that, upon closer inspection, is actually a concealed door. Another man in a black suit hurries to meet us.
“Your Highness,” he bows at Anderson before looking to Creed’s father. “Major General Lawson.”
“Colonel Winters.”
“My father’s private secretary,” Anderson explains under his breath.
I nod in understanding as Colonel Winters gently presses the hidden door, which automatically opens inward. He strides inside, snapping his heels together.
“Your Majesties,” he says with a bow. “His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel and Ms. Nora Tremblay.”
Panic rises inside me as I glance at Anderson. It’s always nerve-wracking to meet the parents of the man you’ve fallen in love with. But meeting his father and grandmother when they’re royalty is a level of anxiety I never knew existed.
What do I do? What do I say? What’s the protocol? Who do I curtsey to first? Am I supposed to curtsey to Anderson, too?
As if sensing my unease, he leans toward my ear. “Just follow my lead. After greeting them, I’ll introduce you. You need to do a small curtsey when they greet you. Okay?”
I don’t even have a chance to respond before he leads me into the room, leaving Creed and his father in the hallway. I want to tell my feet to stop, to carry me back to a less stressful life, but they won’t listen, automatically following Anderson.
“Your Majesty.” He releases me and bows his head slightly. I watch as an older version of Anderson shakes his hand, the gesture feeling oddly formal and lacking any closeness or affection. As if Anderson’s an employee, not a son.