The Marriage Pact Page 10

  I shrug before glancing down and then away. I’m starting to regret reading those comments. The idea of ignoring them is much easier than actually ignoring them. For once, I could use some music blasting in my ears.

  “Oh, Emelie.” His head cocks to one side as he studies me. “Here.”

  And then he does something completely unexpected.

  He hands me one of his ear pods.

  The wedding planner’s name is Ms. Divine. She’s dressed in head to toe Chanel tweed, has pink lipstick on her teeth, and smells like a bouquet of roses, but they say she’s the best.

  The coffee table in the sitting room is covered with notebooks, magazines, brochures, and portfolios, and one of Ms. Divine’s assistants is setting up several easels and mood boards.

  “I stayed up all night putting these together. Thought we could use a little jumping off point. You can tell me what you like and don’t like and we can get an idea of what you have in mind for your perfect day,” she says. “I can’t wait to hear what you think. But first, I’d like to hear from each of you. Is there anything you simply must have? A certain type of flower, perhaps? A song? A color?”

  Julian and I are seated together on a small sofa, our legs pressed against one another. He reaches for my hand, taking it in his.

  “We’d like a timeless celebration,” he answers. “A wedding for the ages. Unforgettable.”

  “What about you, Ms. Belleseau? What kind of wedding do you have in mind?” she asks.

  I look to Julian then to her before responding. I know Julian wants lavish, but I’m more of a simple girl at heart.

  “It’s okay if you don’t know. Not every bride has been planning her big day since she was five years old,” Ms. Divine says with a polite chuckle. “Why don’t you look through some of these and see if anything jumps out at you and we can go from there?”

  “Ms. Divine,” Julian says. “You said you could make this happen in less than thirty days. Is that still the case?”

  She sucks in a breath through narrow lips. “It’s going to be a challenge, but yes. It’s a dream come true to plan a royal wedding, and I will move heaven and earth to make this happen.”

  Julian squeezes my hand. “Perfect.”

  Chapter 22

  Julian

  “Please tell me you’re not reading the comments again.” I stand in Emelie’s doorway Monday night shortly before going to bed.

  She jolts with a start, nearly dropping her phone. “Of course not.”

  “Good,” I say, though I don’t believe her. “I was just stopping by to let you know I have a speaking engagement in the morning at the historical center downtown. They’re doing a ribbon cutting on an exhibit that features my six-times great-grandfather. I’d love it if you’d join me. It would be a good opportunity for people to get to see you in action and for them to start seeing us together. The more they get used to it, the less vitriol they’ll fling at you.”

  “I’m tough. I can take it.” She offers a sleepy smile.

  “I know you are. But you shouldn’t have to,” I say. “Goodnight, Em.”

  I close her door behind me and head to my room. Changing out of my suit, I place my phone on my dresser, only to realize I have a half dozen unread text messages … all of them from Dayanara.

  I’m sure it kills her that I’ve been ignoring her all day.

  Good.

  I should probably block her number—and I will eventually—but for now this is far too entertaining.

  Chapter 23

  Emelie

  I stand behind and to the left of Julian Tuesday morning as he says a few words before the ribbon-cutting ceremony. The historical society was kind enough to give us a private tour beforehand and I found myself left with a new appreciation for the journey this small kingdom has taken. Born from war and forged in independence, they’ve had quite the past. I can also see why Julian takes such great pride in his ancestors and why he feels obligated to take the future of his nation into his own hands.

  “And so it is with great pride and pleasure that I present to you, on behalf of the Chamont Historical Society, the Alfonse Chamont Exhibit,” Julian says. A woman in a navy pantsuit hands Julian a pair of large scissors and he snips the red ribbon in two.

  The invite-only crowd of maybe two or three hundred erupts into applause. With my clutch under one arm, I clap the way Elisabeth the etiquette coach taught me: fingers tapping lightly against the opposite palm, and I gaze out into the crowd with a kind, genuine smile.

  Julian steps away from the podium and takes the spot next to me, placing his hand on the small of my back.

  “Great job,” I say, playing the role of the supportive spouse-to-be. But I mean it. He did well. He can really command a room. Every eye in the place was on him (when it wasn’t on me …). “You’re a natural.”

  “Thank you,” he says. “One of these days it’ll be you up here.”

  “Prince Julian,” a man with a large camera steps in front of us. “Would you mind posing for a picture?”

  He subtly waves for me to step aside.

  I move away, but Julian pulls me back without saying a word.

  The photographer pauses, hesitating for a second, and then hunches over to take the picture before scurrying off.

  He leans to my ear. “I won’t let them do that to you.”

  “Do what?”

  “Disregard you,” he says. “One day soon, you’re going to rule them all. It’s better they learn to respect you now.”

  “Maybe he hasn’t read the announcement?” I’m half teasing.

  Everyone has read the announcement.

  We passed no less than five electronic billboards on the way here with our engagement photo plastered alongside a congratulatory message. Not to mention, I passed a newspaper rack on the way in. We dominated the headlines.

  “We should head back,” he says. “I’ve got another meeting with the prime minister this afternoon, and I need time to prepare.”

  Julian takes me by the hand and we follow Rafa to our waiting car, only when we get there, we’re greeted with throngs of screaming people—mostly women. Some of them are crying. Some of them are trying to hand us flowers.

  “Prince Julian!” someone screams.

  “Why aren’t you marrying Dayanara?” another woman calls.

  “Is Emelie pregnant?”

  “Shotgun wedding!”

  “There’s nothing special about her!”

  “Uggo!”

  The shouting continues and I try my best to block it out as Rafa gets the door and I disappear into the car, taking shelter behind the blacked-out windows. The door closes and I realize Julian is still outside.

  Is he addressing them?

  What is he doing?

  Rafa stands beside him, maintaining a careful distance between the horde of women and the prince. Though I can only see Julian’s backside, I can tell he’s saying something to them. It’s brief, whatever it is, because he climbs into the car only seconds later and the crowd is at half the volume it was before.

  “What did you say to them?” I ask as he unbuttons his suitcoat.

  The car begins to roll forward a few seconds later.

  “I thanked them for coming and I told them their behavior was unacceptable,” he says, staring straight ahead. “I also told them you were the love of my life, and no amount of heckling was going to change that.”

  I laugh through my nose. “You didn’t have to say that last part.”

  “Yes, I did.” He turns to me. “I had to protect you. They need to know you’re not going anywhere.” He pauses. “You’re doing me an enormous favor, Emelie. And as long as you are my wife, I will never throw you to the wolves.”

  Chapter 24

  Julian

  Someone’s getting fired.

  Someone’s getting fired tonight.

  My staff knows better than to let him in.

  I slam the door to my study, and it takes all the self-control I can muster n
ot to charge at the smug bastard leaning against my desk with his arms crossed over his chest. He has a lot of nerve coming in here and knowing him, his casual manner is a deliberate sign of disrespect.

  Then again, he disrespected me eight years ago.

  And he disrespected me earlier this year by sticking his cock inside my then-girlfriend.

  “You have a lot of nerve showing up here,” I say, maintaining my composure. The second a man loses his cool, he loses control of a situation. I’ve already lost two things to Liam in the past. I will not lose one more.

  “Julian, what is going on?” Liam’s smug face is pinched. “You’re engaged? And to Emelie? You two despise each other. You hated her after what she did. You told me so yourself.”

  Right. I remember exactly what I said.

  I remember exactly how I felt, too.

  It’s a feeling that never quite went away, even after eight years.

  “Have you come here to save her from me? Like some gallant knight?” I ask. “Because I can assure you she’s not in need of saving. She’s here of her own volition. We’re in love and we’re getting married. In fact, we’ve put the past behind us. Perhaps you should do the same?”

  Liam rises from the edge of my desk, straightening his shoulders and walking toward me. “She deserves better than you.”

  I chuff. “And I suppose you’re referring to yourself?”

  He’s silent, and then he shakes his head. “No. She deserves better than both of us.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re still in love with her after all these years?”

  For as long as we’ve been friends, Liam has had a jealous streak a mile wide. He’s always lusted after anything and everything I so much as thought of touching. Our mothers are close friends and our friendship was born from forced proximity. I’d finally accepted that Liam’s jealousy was an inherent personality flaw, just part of who he was, until he had the nerve to go after Emelie the summer we took him along with us to Briar Cove.

  “You still love her too,” Liam says. “I know you do. Which is why you shouldn’t do this to her. This isn’t a game, Liam. She’s not some pawn.”

  Oh, but she is.

  And so much more.

  “Show yourself out, Liam.” I point to the door. “And don’t let me see you here again.”

  Chapter 25

  Emelie

  I remove my pearl earrings and place them in a ceramic tray on the top of my dresser Wednesday evening before changing for bed. They were a gift from Julian this morning. He gave them to me for “no reason,” though I find that hard to believe. There’s a reason for everything with people like him.

  Glancing toward the window beside me, I spot someone exiting from the front door and walking toward a parked car in the palace’s main drive. There’s something familiar in the way he walks, and I’d know that dark red hair anywhere.

  The man turns to face the palace before climbing into the driver’s side of his SUV, confirming my suspicions.

  It’s Liam Prendergast.

  The clock on my nightstand reads a quarter past nine.

  Why would he be stopping by the palace this late?

  Changing into a button-down pajama top and matching bottoms, I leave my room and trek downstairs to make a cup of herbal tea before bed, only before I get to the stairs, I run into Julian.

  “Hi,” I say.

  He’s breathing hard. Or maybe I’m imagining it. These halls are dark at night and it’s been a long day.

  “Hi,” he says, running his hand through his hair and leaving a disheveled path.

  “Was that Liam?” I ask. “I swear I just saw him leaving.”

  “It was.”

  I frown. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here? I haven’t seen him in ages. I’d have loved to say hi.”

  I only knew Liam for part of one summer, but I remember he was nothing but kind to me. In fact, after Julian demolished my heart and left it in a million pieces, it was Liam who picked them up. In retrospect, it only made Julian colder and more distant toward me, but at that point I didn’t care. I was having a great time with Liam.

  It was unfortunate, though, when he had to fly back to Chamont unexpectedly.

  I woke up one morning and he’d already left.

  We didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t have a chance to exchange numbers or email addresses.

  He was just … gone.

  “His visit was unexpected,” he says. “And unwelcome.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We’re not friends. We haven’t been for quite some time,” Julian says. Even in the dark, I see his jaw flex.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “He’s a traitor and not to be trusted,” Julian says.

  “Really? I mean, I only knew him that one summer, but he was so nice. We had a good time together.”

  You know, when you were too busy ignoring me …

  “I’m well aware that the two of you had a good time together,” Julian says, teeth almost gritted.

  “So if you two haven’t been friends in a while, why was he here tonight?” I ask.

  “To offer his well-wishes,” he says in a monotone way that doesn’t convince me in the slightest.

  “Will he be at the wedding?” I ask. I know sometimes people put their differences aside when it comes to major life events.

  “I’m afraid he’s unable to attend.”

  “Then do you have his number? I’d love to meet him sometime for coffee. Do some catching up …”

  “That isn’t a good idea, Emelie.”

  My cordial mood fades with those words. “I realize we have an agreement, Julian, but that agreement does not entail you dictating who I can and can’t be friends with. And I’m sorry if my focus isn’t on you one hundred percent of the time, but there are other people in this world besides you.”

  “It would look bad if anyone were to see you out with another man,” he says. “Especially so soon after the announcement. The tabloids would have a field day with that, and the last thing we need right now is negative publicity. This should be a happy time.”

  My head tilts to one side as I study him.

  He’s really adamant about me not reconnecting with Liam, but I’m too mentally exhausted to push it, especially since Liam was nothing more than an acquaintance at most, someone I knew for half a summer a lifetime ago.

  “All right,” I say, letting it go. I spent hours today with Elisabeth working on etiquette, and afterwards I had a series of newspaper and magazine interviews. Everyone’s dying to get to know me now, and quite frankly, it’s exhausting trying to be interesting.

  Julian brushes past me, his fingertips grazing my arm. “Goodnight, Emelie.”

  “Goodnight.” I stand at the top of the stairs as I watch him disappear into his room and close the door. I can’t help but wonder if he’s jealous. If the two of them had a falling out, sure, that’s between them. But why can’t I have coffee with him? I don’t buy the negative publicity excuse. Not completely. There has to be more to it.

  I chuckle to myself as I head down to the private kitchen to make a cup of tea. It’d be ironic if Julian was jealous, especially because he’s the one who stole my virginity and dropped me like a hot potato the very next day.

  He had me, he let me go, and then there was Liam.

  Chapter 26

  Julian

  I stare at the ceiling Wednesday night before flinging the covers off.

  I can’t get comfortable.

  Can’t relax.

  All I keep thinking about is how excited Emelie got at the prospect of reconnecting with Liam.

  I’ll be damned if I let those two have a single second alone together. He’ll fill her head with poison and lies and ruin everything, and while he’s at it, he’ll probably try to get in her pants. He’s a crafty, charming bastard and ladies fall for it all the time.

  My phone chimes from my nightstand, the screen illuminating the dark. I reach across to
grab it, only to find yet another text from Dayanara.

  It was humorous at first, watching her freak out over being left in the dust and subsequently ignored. I wanted to send a clear message: that she means nothing to me. But now it’s getting old and tired and I’m bored with it.

  DAYANARA: Are you up?

  DAYANARA: Stop ignoring me!!!

  DAYANARA: Can we talk? We need to talk about this before you make the biggest mistake of your life.

  The biggest mistake of my life was wasting all those years with her.

  She caught my attention one semester at university. It was her looks that drew me in first, of course, because you can’t look at Dayanara and not find yourself entranced by her olive skin, wide hazel eyes, and silky black hair. But it was her personality that reeled me in. She was feisty, larger than life. Her presence was commanding without being heavy. Everyone wanted to bask in her colorful aura, and it was nearly impossible to steal a moment alone with her—until I did. And I was a goner after that.

  Looking back, I think I wanted a distraction.

  And I wanted someone who epitomized everything Emelie wasn’t.

  It didn’t matter that Dayanara was the female version of myself or that she wasn’t exactly my type, as I’m typically drawn toward my opposites.

  She was different and novel, but mostly, she made me forget …

  I shut off my phone and drag myself out of bed. If I’m not going to sleep, I might as well do something productive. Leaving my room, I take the stairs down to the private kitchen. I’ll grab a glass of water before heading to the library. Perhaps some reading will quiet my mind and help lull me to sleep.

  But when I get to the kitchen, I find Emelie seated at the island, hands wrapped around a navy-blue tea cup. “Can’t sleep?”

  It had to have been at least an hour since I ran into her in the hallway.

  “I’m on my second cup of chamomile,” she says. “Hasn’t kicked in yet.”