“Gabriel.”
Then Anderson turns toward the woman at his father’s side. She’s tall and slender, much like Esme. Her silvery platinum hair is styled in a trendy pixie cut, reminiscent of Jamie Lee Curtis. In fact, everything about her reminds me of the actress, even down to the penetrating gaze that studies and analyzes every inch of me. She certainly doesn’t exhibit any warmth or affection toward me. But as her eyes focus on Anderson, she smiles.
“Gabriel, darling.”
“Grandmother.” He bows. She inclines her head before offering her cheek, which he kisses.
When he returns to me, he straightens his posture, turning into a person I haven’t seen much of since our relationship began. He turns into Prince Gabriel.
“I’d like to introduce you to Ms. Nora Tremblay. Nora.” He smiles down at me. “This is my father, King Gabriel.”
Nerves spiral through me, piercing and deep. All I can do is pray I get the greetings correct and don’t look like an idiot when I curtsey. I haven’t exactly needed to curtsey to anyone in the past, oh…lifetime. Now I wish I’d spent last night learning all these archaic customs and rules instead of wrapped in Anderson’s arms as we made love. Four times, if he’s to be believed.
Doing my best to maintain my balance, I move one foot behind the other, lowering my head slightly as I bend my knees. “Your Majesty.”
My gesture seems to pass muster as he offers me his hand, which I take. “Pleasure, Ms. Tremblay.”
I smile before Anderson turns toward his grandmother.
“Grandmother, I’d like you to meet Ms. Nora Tremblay. Nora, this is my grandmother, Queen Veronica, the queen mother.”
I go through the same motions, even more cognizant of my movements this time. I picture myself losing my balance and stumbling. It would be my luck to do something like that.
When I first met Hunter’s parents, I’d spilled my drink across the table at the restaurant, soaking his mother’s dress. I’d never been so horrified. Thankfully, she laughed it off. I expected her to forbid her son from ever seeing me again because I didn’t measure up. But she didn’t. She embraced me, despite what I viewed as my failings. It made me realize my relationship with my own mother had been incredibly unhealthy.
“We’ll have to work on that, won’t we?” Queen Veronica snips out, her nose upturned.
I open my mouth, unsure how to respond.
“It’s my fault,” Anderson interjects. “I sprang this on her. I have no doubt once Nora begins her instruction, she’ll catch on rather quickly.”
I keep my expression neutral, like I used to whenever my mother criticized me in that passive-aggressive way she always did. Much like it seems Queen Veronica does.
“One hopes so. Thankfully, all she’ll need to do today is stand there and smile.” She turns her annoyed stare toward me. “You can manage that, can’t you?”
“I’ll try not to disappoint,” I counter, doing everything to bite back any snarkiness begging to be set free.
“We should get on with it.” King Gabriel smiles a congenial smile.
I still don’t know what to think about him. He’s a bit of a conundrum. Over time, I’ll probably have a better read on him, but right now, I sense he never learned how to balance being both a king and a father. It’s like he wants to be a father to Anderson right now and celebrate in this moment, but he remembers who he is and the responsibilities placed on his shoulders.
I hope Anderson doesn’t turn out the same way.
“Your Majesties, if you’re ready.” Colonel Winters appears out of thin air.
“We are,” Queen Veronica responds.
“Very well.” He turns on his heels with precision, escorting us out of the drawing room. Creed and Major General Lawson join us for the journey through the corridors. When we approach a large metal door, Major General Lawson punches a code into it and it swings inward. Once we’re all inside, he closes the door, leading us through what feels like an underground network of tunnels.
“These are the palace safe rooms,” Anderson explains. “If it’s ever under attack, the royal family and staff will be evacuated here. It’s pretty much an underground fortress. And is also where the royal vault is located.”
Goosebumps prickle my nape. This all seems like a dream. Secret tunnels. Safe rooms. Royal vault.
For the past year, I’ve kept waiting to wake up in a dingy motel room on Route 66 to learn I dreamed the entire thing. That I imagined Anderson.
But as Major General Lawson unlocks another metal door and leads us into what can only be described as a jewelry vault on steroids, I know I’m not dreaming. No way in a million years would I be able to imagine this.
Thick glass covers the floor-to-ceiling display cases containing priceless jewels. Centuries-old rings. Brilliant earrings. Necklaces of all shapes and sizes. Even dozens of intricate tiaras. You name it, and it’s here, everything marked, as if a historical archive.
“That’s the coronation crown, scepter, and mantle,” Anderson’s grandmother tells me, gesturing to a glass case in the far corner.
I take several slow steps toward it, the sound of my heels on the floor echoing in the vast room. When my gaze falls on a mannequin adorned in a military dress uniform, my pulse increases.
Almost from the beginning, I’ve known Anderson was a prince. I’ve seen photos of him at official events, dressed in his military uniform, always the picture of poise and authority.
But the reality that he’ll one day be king never truly sank in until this moment. Being here, seeing the crown amongst a treasure trove of jewels, makes it all real.
Anderson approaches behind me, his reflection in the glass nearly lining up with that of the crown and mantle.
“You’re going to be king,” I murmur, the words escaping me before I can stop them.
He smiles, placing his hands on my shoulders as I gawk at our reflection — me a nobody, him a remarkable man whose life somehow intersected with mine.
“First time I came down here, I thought the same thing. And right over here…” He touches a hand to the small of my back, leading me toward the glittering tiaras placed on black velvet, “are the family’s tiaras, one of which you’ll wear on our wedding day.”
He stops me in front of one of them, a thick band of diamonds surrounding a large sapphire in the center, the blue color making my eyes pop even more. My jaw goes slack at the reflection of me in a tiara. And not a cheap costume tiara like I donned when I played dress-up as a little girl.
A real tiara worth thousands of dollars.
“We’re running short on time, so if I might suggest we take a look at the rings,” Colonel Winters says in an even tone.
“Certainly, Frederick.” King Gabriel nods in his direction as a man in a suit appears from the shadows. I’m starting to think that being able to blend into the background and appear only when needed is a prerequisite to work here.
The man approaches one of the cases and removes a velvet-lined display, six rings placed in the grooves. He brings it to a nearby table, and Anderson leads me toward it.
“I did my best to choose a selection of rings my lady might prefer, based on your skin tone and the size ring you wear,” the man says.