“Thank you so much,” I say as we mount the steps to the large paved patio behind the castle.
Wearing heels was Lizzy’s clever plan to disguise the difference in our height—if I vary the size heel I wear, no one should notice the real Lizzy is shorter. And if they do, the shoes would explain any inconsistency.
But one afternoon in walking-friendly sneakers won’t ruin things. Surely, by the end of the month, Andrew won’t remember how tall I was on the first day.
A month…
I have no idea how I’m going to make it through thirty days of pretending to be engaged. It seems even more intimidating than it did last night when I was lying sleepless in bed, wondering how I was going to put up with Prince Numb Nuts for that long without strangling the bastard with my bare hands.
But actually liking Andrew is so much worse.
And I do like him, even after our unfortunate breakfast.
I like him far too much, a troubling state of affairs that continues two hours later when I open my door to reveal Andrew in jeans that cling to his powerful legs even more delectably than his suit pants, paired with an olive green T-shirt that brings out the golden flecks in his eyes.
One look at him and that sizzling sensation dances across my nerve endings as if the Barfy Breakfast had never happened.
“Ready to adventure?” he asks.
As ready as I’ll ever be. I give him two enthusiastic thumbs-up, and say, “So ready.”
I’ll get through this one day, one hour, one minute at a time, and soon, Lizzy will take my place and all will be right with the world. She hasn’t responded to my text from this morning, but she might not have read it yet. She sets her phone to silent while she’s working, so she won’t be disturbed.
Which reminds me…
“I hate to start asking favors on the first day.” I step into the hall, closing the door to the sumptuously decorated suite behind me. “But I’ve been working from home, and I’d love to continue that after the wedding. Is there a room in the castle with natural light that could be spared for a design studio? I’d appreciate it so much.”
“Of course, that shouldn’t be a problem.” Andrew crosses his arms over his chest, making his muscles bulge deliciously.
Even if I can’t cure him of his terrible table manners, maybe Lizzy won’t care. You only eat three meals a day, but those drool-worthy muscles will be on display twenty-four seven.
“But you don’t have to continue working,” Andrew adds. “Once we’re married and I’m sworn in as king, you’ll have an allowance. There’s no need to feel pressured to earn additional income.”
“That’s nice of you, but—”
“Not really all that nice, I’m afraid.” He cuts me off with a sigh and a wry arch of his brow. “Your work as queen is going to keep you busy. You’ll have meetings with your staff twice a week, state dinners, several charity projects to chair, as well as the queen’s weekly address to the children. That will air on channel one on Saturday mornings.”
My eyes go wide. “Weekly address? You mean, a speech? On TV? To the entire country?”
“Don’t worry,” he hurries to assure me. “You don’t have to write it. I mean, you can if you’d like, but we can absolutely hire someone if that feels like too much. Then all you’ll have to do is read the address off the teleprompter.” He runs a hand through his already perfectly tousled hair. “I’m guessing the crew will want to film on Tuesday or Wednesdays to give them time to get the segment ready to air.” He grins. “You’ll be on right after cartoons, so we’re sure to get some decent numbers. Won’t that be amazing? The new queen’s face on every television in the country?”
I gulp. “Wow. That’s…” I trail off without finishing the thought.
That’s Lizzy’s worst nightmare. That’s what that is.
The thought of appearing on national television makes me a little itchy under the collar, and I love chatting with new people. But making conversation one on one is nothing like a formal, televised address broadcast to two million people, and the mere thought of speaking in public will send Lizzy into convulsions.
She’s never going to be able to pull that off, not for all the free fabric in her favorite silk store.
“It’s going to be brilliant,” Andrew says, as if he genuinely has no concerns about how his stuttering fiancée is going to perform under that kind of pressure. “My grandmother did the children’s chat for twenty years before she passed. She talked about famous Gallantian kids through history, our customs, special holidays—easy, kid-friendly things. It built a lot of good will for the royal family. And for her. The entire nation was devastated when she died.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I murmur, adding as inspiration strikes, “What about your mother? Maybe she should do the weekly address. It would make more sense to learn Gallantian history and customs from someone who’s actually Gallantian by birth, don’t you think?”
“Possibly, but that’s a non-starter, I’m afraid,” he says with a wink. “My mother’s even more of a pain in the ass than I am.”
Despite the stress tightening my shoulders, I smile. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“You don’t think I’m a pain in the ass?” he asks, arching a roguish brow.
“Oh, I’m sure you can be,” I tease. “I’ve seen some things on your social media that absolutely bring your common sense into question.”
“Like what?” he prompts, looking amused. “The cliff diving was completely safe. I watched half a dozen people jump before I took the plunge.”
“What if you’d slipped?”
“I never slip,” he says, his eyes still dancing.
“Everyone slips sometimes.”
“True, but that’s no way to live, even for a prince.” He bites his lip before he adds, “So you’ve been stalking me on social media? That hardly seems fair, Elizabeth, when you’ve given me nothing to stalk at all. The most recent picture of you I could find online was four years old.”
“You’re welcome,” I shoot back.
“For what?” he asks with a laugh.
“For the opportunity to form an opinion of me based on who I really am instead of a curated social media presence.” I motion toward the portraits of noble Gallantians lining the hallway leading to the rear of the castle. “But returning to the subject at hand, your mother seems like a well-spoken and highly accomplished woman. I’m sure she’d do a lovely job with the weekly address.”
“She is highly accomplished,” he agrees. “That’s the problem. She’s a heart surgeon who has zero interest in ruling a country. That’s why she was sworn in as Queen Regent before grandfather passed instead of Queen. She’s just keeping the seat warm until I officially take over. If it were up to her to continue the monarchy, I’m afraid that would be the end of royal rule here.”
My brows shoot up my forehead. “Really?” I chew on the thought for a beat before I ask, “Would that be such a bad thing?”
I’m treading on shaky ground—I don’t know many real royals, but the ones I do would consider abdicating their thrones a fate worse than death. Still, I can’t resist posing the question. The Von Bern royal family deciding to step down wouldn’t solve my family’s money problems, but it would set Lizzy free, which is still priceless in my book.