How do I even respond? And what’s her reason for telling me all of this? In the hopes I’ll walk away? I’m not sure what’s more shocking — the words she says or the tone in which she utters them, as if reporting on the latest polo match, not telling her grandson’s fiancée to more or less take a hike.
“Rest assured, you will still be provided for. Upon a positive paternity test, of course.”
“Paternity test?” I repeat, unsure I heard her correctly.
“The royal family takes its obligations seriously. As long as the child is, in fact, Gabriel’s, we will ensure you’re both taken care of for the rest of your lives.” She narrows her gaze. “Unless you’d prefer to explore…other options.”
My jaw drops, her suggestion churning my stomach. I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, Anderson told me his father’s head of household did the same thing. It still stings to think this woman would propose it, and to her own flesh and blood.
Then again, these people don’t have children because they want to share their love with another human. They do so out of duty, to continue the monarchy.
Nothing more.
“There is no other option,” I say coldly.
“Very well. We just need to confirm paternity before we discuss any sort of financial arrangement.”
“That’s not what I meant.” My voice comes out hard and biting, not a hint of hesitation.
Placing my hands on the table, I slowly rise to my feet. I’m about to break every etiquette rule in the book, but that’s the last thing on my mind right now. My chest tightens as disgust bubbles in my stomach, spreading through my veins.
“Under no circumstances will I agree to your little…proposition. You don’t want to hear this, but I love Anderson. And he loves me. Our love isn’t a burden. It’s a goddamn blessing.”
Her eyes widen, confirming my suspicion that she’s not used to people standing up to her.
“You know what’s funny?” I straighten, crossing my arms over my chest. Judging by the look of horror on her face, it’s not proper etiquette to stand in such a way in the presence of royalty. “Like all little girls, I once dreamed I’d meet a prince and be a princess. Whenever I caught glimpses of them on TV, I actually envied the royal family. I actually envied you. I remember seeing clips of you with your children. Thought you were the type of mother I wish I had. Lord knows, mine left a lot to be desired. But now…” I shake my head and look away, collecting my thoughts. Then I turn my icy gaze on hers. “I don’t envy you. I pity you. I may not have been surrounded by much love growing up, but I didn’t give up on finding love. Instead, I fought to find it. Fought for Anderson. I have since I met him.” With each word I speak, my passion and determination mounts. “And I will continue to do so every day of my goddamn life. So, with all due respect, you can take your proposal and shove it up your ass.”
I whirl around, storming off, my heart pounding so furiously I’m confident it’s about to burst through the walls of my chest. I clench and unclench my fists, grinding my teeth…hard.
As I approach the gated arch at the entrance to the rose garden, I stop and turn to face Queen Veronica once more, her eyes still wide in utter dismay.
With a trite smile, I curtsey, my motions more pronounced than necessary. “Your Majesty.” I hold my position for a beat, finding pleasure in her shellshocked expression. Then I continue out of the garden, my entire body vibrating with fury.
And perhaps a hint of regret.
As I stomp toward the palace, my chief protection officer, Lieutenant O’Kelly, appears out of nowhere. If I were in a better mood, I’d ask if they’re all wizards, like in Harry Potter, and have learned how to apparate.
“If I do say so, ma’am,” he begins once we’re a safe distance away, “that was a bloody brilliant show.”
I laugh under my breath, adrenaline still pumping through me. I can’t believe I just told Anderson’s grandmother, the queen mother, to shove it up her ass. It’s completely out of character for me. Then again, all bets are off when it comes to Anderson.
When we approach the doors to the palace, Lieutenant O’Kelly touches my shoulder, and I stop. He narrows his eyes on me.
“I hope you’re prepared, though.”
“For what?”
“You just made an enemy out of the queen mother. Rest assured, she’s not going to make your life all that easy going forward.”
Great.
Chapter Fifteen
Anderson
I can barely keep my eyes open as Creed drives along the road leading to my estate. I’d forgotten how draining days like today can be. A ribbon-cutting ceremony. A speech at a charity where my father’s a patron. Then heading to the palace for a meeting with my father and some ambassador before being rushed fifty miles in the opposite direction to attend the memorial service of one of our country’s last surviving WWII veterans.
As much as I’d hoped to ease back into things, the royal household had different plans. Sadly, this referendum has more support than it ever has in the past, and part of it has to do with my MS diagnosis. I never considered the possible consequences of going public with my diagnosis this past winter. Either did my father when he encouraged me to do so. Perhaps we should have because, not even a week later, a well-known group of anti-royalists started collecting signatures in order to bring the referendum to a vote, using my diagnosis as proof that the monarchy isn’t as strong as it once was. So the more I show I’m willing and capable of fulfilling all the duties of king, the more confident voters will be in my abilities, the less likely they’ll vote in favor of turning the monarch into a purely ceremonial position.
But after a week of constant appearances and meetings, not to mention preparing for a wedding in seven weeks, I’m drained. Every night I’ve come home and barely made it to bed before collapsing, I tell myself the next day will be better. That it won’t be so exhausting once I’m back in the swing of things. That I’ve simply been away from all of this for too long.
But it hasn’t gotten better yet.
Worse, I’ve hardly seen Nora, apart from a few minutes every morning for breakfast when our private secretaries run through our busy schedules for the day, which haven’t intersected for a single joint public appearance. By the time I get home late at night, she’s already asleep.
“We’re here, sir.” Creed’s voice cuts through my thoughts as the car comes to a stop in front of my residence.
“Thanks, Creed,” I respond, my exhaustion evident.
He jumps out and runs to open my door. I step down from the SUV, but when my feet hit the pavement, my legs give out beneath me. Creed reacts quickly, wrapping an arm around my waist and keeping me upright.
“You okay, mate?” he asks in concern, switching from my chief protection officer to my closest friend.
“I’m fine.” I attempt to push away from him, not wanting to make a big deal of it. “My leg must have fallen asleep on the drive home.”
He loosens his hold, yet doesn’t let go. “Are you sure?”
I shrug him off, taking a few cautious steps. Once I’m confident my legs won’t fail me again, I continue toward the house, hiding any hint of uncertainty in my expression.