“Everyone calling me ‘my lady’.” She plays up the British in her intonation.
“You won’t have to get used to it for long,” a familiar voice says.
We look toward the doorway off the foyer where my sister stands wearing a pair of ripped, skinny jeans and a billowy blouse. It’s a complete one-eighty from the put-together princess she was earlier today.
“In a few weeks, they’ll be calling you ‘Your Highness’. Then in a few years, it’ll be ‘Your Majesty’.” She approaches, pulling Nora in for a tight hug. “How are you handling everything?” Her concern is clear.
“Good.”
“Good.” Esme smiles, then looks at me, jabbing my chest. “It’s your job to make sure she stays good. Got it?”
“Got it,” I reply with a roll of my eyes, feigning annoyance.
“Because you’ll have me to answer to if you don’t. And you don’t want that.” She winks and offers me her cheek for a kiss. “Come on. We need to introduce Nora to the people who will remind her she’s normal.”
I grab Nora’s hand and follow my sister into the open living area. Five familiar people sit on the various couches and chairs, sipping cocktails and enjoying a lively conversation.
When we enter, they all stop, glancing in our direction.
“It’s about time you got here, you wanker,” a man says, standing and heading toward us.
“Good to see you, too, Marius,” I chuckle as he pulls me in for a quick hug. He’s a tad shorter than me, but still has an impressive physique. After all, he does have Norwegian roots. Most Nords I’ve met are exactly like Marius — tall, blond, and can drink you under the table.
“It’s not like you announced your engagement today or anything.” He winks, then turns to Nora. “This must be your blushing bride-to-be.”
“Marius Erling, this is Nora Tremblay. Nora, this is a dear friend of mine, Marius. And also Esme’s…” I trail off, not sure what to call him. I’m not sure boyfriend is appropriate here. They have an understanding. And when they’re not “understanding” each other, as Esme puts it, they’re simply friends. According to the rest of the country, however, they’re dating. Trying to explain this to an outsider really emphasizes how fucked up my world can be.
“That pretty much covers it. I’m Esme’s. Congratulations on your engagement.” Marius kisses Nora’s cheek in greeting.
If Nora’s surprised by this development, considering she’s more than aware of Creed and Esme’s history, she doesn’t show it.
“Thank you,” she replies.
“Although I should probably be thanking the two of you.”
“Why’s that?” she asks.
“Now we’re off the hook.” He gestures between himself and Esme as she approaches with a few rocks glasses filled with sparkling water, handing them to Nora and me. “Before your…unexpected announcement, your father’s dolt of a head of household and chief council, Dalton Peel, tried to convince us to announce an engagement in the hopes of swaying the vote on the referendum. After all, everyone loves a royal wedding. Now they’ll get a real one, not a sham of one. And people are already eating it up.”
“How do you mean?” Nora inquires.
“The headlines, darling. Granted, not everyone likes you. You’re bound to have a few haters. A lot of twenty-somethings are convinced you’ve stolen their prince from them, even though they never had a chance to begin with.” He looks over his shoulder, addressing one of Esme’s friends lounging on the couch. “Hey, Harri. What did that article you were reading to us say again?”
She smiles as she grabs her mobile and clears her throat before reading. “‘If you ask me, Nora Tremblay from America is exactly what this country needs. She’s a breath of fresh air. Beautiful and poised, she’s the reincarnation of Grace Kelly. Nora gives off the impression of being likable and, dare I say it, one of us. I, for one, am excited about the prospect of an American princess gracing our country with her fresh perspective. In my opinion, any romantic notions that may have existed between Prince Gabriel and Lady Caroline DeVries can’t hold a candle to the love I saw radiating between him and Ms. Tremblay this morning. I have no doubt this passion-filled marriage will breathe new life into a monarchy in desperate need of a facelift.’”
She lowers her phone, her dark eyes meeting ours. “And that’s just one of many. You chose good, Anders.”
I glance down at Nora. “It wasn’t even a choice.” I curve into her, giving her a soft kiss on her lips.
“Well, fuck me sideways. You two really are in love.”
I reluctantly pull away, looking at a blond man, his long legs propped up on the coffee table.
“Of course they’re really in love, you tosser.” The redhead beside him playfully swats his head.
“That’s Jasper and Maggie,” I tell Nora. “Jasper was one of my mates from…before.”
“Before you became a complete pillock.”
“Tosser and pillock?” Nora interjects, crossing her arms over her chest. “I might need a dictionary for some of these words. Or at least a translator. I know wanker, but what’s a tosser and pillock?”
“Idiot,” everyone says at the same time.
“Same as wanker,” I add.
“You have three slang terms for idiot?”
“Actually, we have a few more,” another man states.
I give him a smile and nod. “Cody.”
“Anders.”
“Wait until you find out how many slang terms we have for penis,” the woman at his side says. “I’m Penelope, but you can call me Nellie.”
“That’s because she made the mistake of marrying me. Used to go by Penny, but once she married some bloke with the last name Lane, well…”
As if on cue, everyone breaks out singing the classic Beatles song, myself included.
Nora looks around, appearing as if she just stepped into some third dimension. I can understand why it would surprise her, especially after all the pomp and circumstance of today. Which is precisely why I needed to bring her here. Surround her with people who won’t address her or me using some title. Who knew Esme and me before our lives were forever altered. Through all the changes, they grounded us. Hopefully, being here will help keep Nora grounded, as well.
“So are you going to leave me hanging here or what?” Nora asks once our spontaneous rendition comes to an end.
“About what?” I press.
“These slang terms for penis.”
“Right,” I answer, glancing around the room. “Well, there’s gentleman sausage.”
“Twigs and berries,” Marius adds.
Harriet raises her glass. “Meat and two veg.”
“Knob,” Esme says.
“Dobber,” Cody offers.
“Bell end,” Nellie states.
A brief silence settles as we all share a look. And like the old friends we are, we know precisely what we’re all thinking.
“And John Thomas,” everyone says in chorus.
“John…Thomas?” Nora arches a brow. “Isn’t that the name of the character from Lady Chaterley’s Lover?”