The Marriage Pact Page 14

  I smile. “Yes, Araminta. I’ll be there shortly. Mama, I have to let you go …”

  I end the call and make my way downstairs to the study.

  It’s taken some time, but the palace is finally starting to feel like home and Julian is finally starting to feel like mine.

  I’m optimistic about the future, even if cautiously so.

  Chapter 40

  Julian

  I close my study door Saturday morning and take a seat at my desk. Emelie’s out for her morning jog around the palace grounds, and I’ve opted to take a few phone calls that I’ve been neglecting to return all week.

  I’m listening to the first of a dozen voicemails when another call comes in—Marcel from The Chamontian Chatter website, a popular online tabloid infamous for always getting the inside scoop before anyone else.

  “Marcel,” I answer. He’s always been good to me, always giving me a heads-up. It may have begun back when he was first starting out as a lowly photographer and I agreed to give him a few photos if he left me alone during a rough patch in my and Dayanara’s relationship. Mutual respect grew from that strange little partnership, and as the years passed, I threw him a few proverbial bones, giving him advanced notice on a few outings so he could get first dibs on candid shots.

  He’s now an assistant editor for the operation, and I’m happy to say I still have him in my back pocket.

  “Yeah, hey,” he says, voice low. “I wanted to give you advance notice on a few things.”

  “All right. Go on.”

  “Someone from Princess Dayanara’s camp has been calling in with a few stories.” He pauses, and the sound of a door closing behind him fills the background.

  “What kinds of stories?”

  “Anything and everything. She says you’re a compulsive cheater,” he says.

  I might be a self-serving bastard some days, but I’ve always drawn the line at cheating. After I thought Emelie had cheated on me with Liam, I’d never felt so low and worthless and rejected and foolish, and I vowed I would never make another person feel that way.

  “She’s also claiming that early on in your relationship, she fell pregnant and you insisted she get rid of it. Then she says the stress of that discordance caused her to miscarry.”

  My jaw sets and my hand tightens around the phone. “Lies. Every last bit of it.”

  “I know.”

  “No one’s going to believe this rubbish.”

  “Some will.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling.

  “My editor wants to run these,” Marcel says, an air of apology in his tone.

  “You can’t possibly allow that.”

  “I wish I had more say …” His voice softens. “You’re on every magazine cover right now. Every gossip website. People are getting record numbers off anything and everything Prince Julian. Everyone’s dying to read about the handsome prince and his mystery bride, and the fact that the engagement is coming right off the heels of your split with the princess … these stories practically write and sell themselves.”

  My head throbs. I expected this sort of thing from Dayanara. It’s her way of getting revenge on me for moving on. But it’s still a nuisance and still needs to be dealt with.

  “What’s it going to take for you not to run these?” I ask. Things are going so well with Emelie these days, and I’d like to keep any and all publicity as positive as possible.

  Marcel is quiet, which isn’t a good sign, and then he says, “There isn’t enough money in all of Chamont to make my editor change his mind. Writers are already working on the story and it’s going live tonight. I’m so sorry, Julian. I just called to give you a heads-up…”

  I glance out the window behind me in time to spot Emelie making her way back to the palace in her tight black leggings, hot pink sneakers, and neon purple running tank. She’s flushed and glowing, her blonde hair bobbing in her ponytail.

  “Oh, and Julian?” he asks.

  “Yes?”

  “Supposedly she’s saving something big for next week. Something that will ruin her reputation or the wedding,” he says. “Of course, it’s all rumors at this point, but I just thought you should know what’s coming down the pike.”

  My teeth are clenched, but I force myself to breathe.

  Dayanara can take all the shots she wants at me, but the second she takes aim at Emelie, that’s where I draw the line.

  “All right,” I say. “I’ll handle it.”

  Chapter 41

  Emelie

  I’m lying in bed Saturday night, my cheek pressed against Julian’s warm skin. I listen to his heartbeat in the dark and drag his addictive masculine scent into my lungs.

  In one week, I’ll be Duchess Emelie of Montcroix.

  Princess of Chamont.

  Future queen.

  Sometimes when I think about it for too long, it makes me laugh. It’s comical, really, the way life plucked me from obscurity and turned everything I knew completely upside down when I least expected it.

  For the past week, we’ve been unexpectedly inseparable. Morning jogs. Afternoon tea. Walks in the garden. Daytrips to the cottage for hiking and horseback riding. Date nights. And in between all of that, we can’t seem to keep our hands off each other.

  The delicious soreness between my thighs should be enough to deter me from wanting him again tonight, but I’m half tempted to climb his muscled body once more and make love to him for the third time today.

  “Are you ready for the week ahead?” he asks, his breath warm on the top of my head as our fingers interlace.

  “I am,” I say, my stomach swirling at the thought. I haven’t seen my mother or sisters or friends in almost a month, and they’re all coming to the palace in a few days. “A little nervous, but mostly excited. What about you? Are you nervous too?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “Don’t you ever get anxious standing in front of all those people?” Last Ms. Divine said, the guest list had escalated to over two thousand people. The Chamontian chapel where we’re holding the ceremony can only accommodate seven-hundred and thirty guests, so the others will be in a separate room, watching the ceremony as it’s live-streamed. On top of that, every street will be packed full of locals, all hoping to catch a glimpse as we make our entrances and exit in the very same horse-drawn carriage that held the king and queen on their wedding day nearly thirty years ago.

  “I suppose you could say I’m accustomed to it,” he says. “But even if I weren’t, I still wouldn’t worry.” He kisses my forehead. “Because when I’m with you, everything has a way of fading into the background and you’re the only thing I see.”

  Chapter 42

  Julian

  Let me make this clear.

  I’m not here because I want to be.

  I’m here because it’s the only way.

  “I knew you’d come around.” Dayanara’s heavy perfume fills the foyer of Rothmond Cottage Sunday afternoon, assaulting both my lungs and the air I’m attempting to breathe. After speaking with Marcel yesterday, I decided to reach out to my former flame and demand a private, in-person meeting so we could come to a mutual understanding—and by mutual understanding, I mean that she understands I’ve moved on, I’m marrying Emelie no matter what, and I won’t put up with this childish behavior of hers.

  “What makes you think I’ve come around?” I chuff.

  She’s in full hair and makeup, looking every bit the part of a Kardashian, and beneath her coat, I imagine she’s dressed as if she’s ready to walk a Victoria’s Secret runway at a moment’s notice.

  How my tastes have changed …

  Twirling a dark strand of hair around her manicured fingers, her pink-painted lips pull up at the sides. “Because you asked me to meet you here, silly. In private. Obviously you don’t want Emelie to find out about this …”

  I squint at her, wrapping my head around her selfish stupidity for a second.

  “I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong.
I brought you here to tell you in person that enough is enough. This rumor mill of yours is tired and childish. As are the text messages you refuse to stop sending,” I say. “After tonight, I’m blocking your number. And if you so much as think about trashing Emelie’s name in any public manner, I’ll make damn sure that you’ll live to regret it.”

  Dayanara laughs, rolling her eyes. “You don’t scare me, Julian.”

  She saunters up to me, dragging her pointed fingernail up the center of my shirt.

  “Everyone thinks you’re so serious, so big and bad, but only I know the real you,” she says. “You’re soft inside. And sentimental. That’s why you’re doing this. I hurt you, so you want to hurt me back. And you win, Julian. You win. I hate seeing you with her. The two of you look utterly ridiculous together, by the way. She’s so … small-town American. And you’re so … worldly.” Her hand leaves my chest before resting on her hip and her dark eyes lock onto mine. “Let’s put an end to all of this nonsense and get back on track. It was always supposed to be you and me. Remember all of those plans we had? We were going to lead your country together. We still can.”

  “I had no intentions of marrying you,” I say.

  She scoffs. “If this is because of the whole Liam thing, then—”

  “The whole Liam thing?” I echo her, my words filled with incredulousness.

  “People make mistakes, Julian. No one’s perfect.” Perfect little teardrops stream down her cheeks, but her makeup is so caked on it stays in place without so much as a smudge. “I made a mistake. I’m only human. I had a moment of weakness, and I’d do anything to take it back.”

  “Are you done making excuses for yourself?”

  “You’re the love of my life. You still are.”

  “Leave us alone,” I say, jaw tight. I glance over her shoulder, toward the door where Rafa is standing quietly in the background. “If you so much as feed one more false rumor to the tabloids—”

  “—Julian, I’ve not spoken to the tabloids, I assure you.” She places a hand over her bronzed chest, her full lips agape.

  “Then it’s someone from your camp, which is no different,” I say.

  “I’m not sure where you’re getting this information.” She bats her lashes. “You know I loathe those trashy operations. I’ve always said we’re better off pretending they don’t exist.”

  “I have a reliable source,” I say. “And I’ve been informed that someone from your circle is making phone calls and sharing fabricated and fictitious lies with the intention of causing negative publicity in the days leading up to my wedding. Who else would want to do something like that? Who else would have that sort of motive? To destroy our happiness and our reputations?”

  “Julian, I swear to you it wasn’t me.” Both of her hands lie flat against her chest and her chin is tucked down.

  I don’t believe her for one second.

  “Who else would possibly be this vested in trying to hurt us?” I ask.

  “Maybe it was Liam?” Dayanara shrugs. “He told me he was in love with me. And then he told me it was the second time the two of you had been in love with the same girl at the same time. Maybe he was talking about her? I don’t know.”

  My brows meet as I piece her theory together.

  As much as I want to believe Dayanara’s behind all of this, there’s a very real possibility it isn’t her at all.

  “You should leave now,” I tell her.

  “Wait, what?”

  “We’re through here,” I say, pointing to the door.

  Rafa tries to show her out, but she won’t budge.

  “You’re just going to kick me out, just like that?” Dayanara glares at me, arms crossed tight.

  “There’s nothing more to be said.”

  “Well there is one more thing,” she says, her fingers unfastening the buttons of the empire waisted wool jacket that covers her body.

  A second later, she pushes the lapels aside and rests her hands on her bulging belly.

  I don’t know a thing about pregnancies, but judging by the size of it, she has to be pretty far along.

  “Don’t worry,” she says with a smile, eyes rolling. “It isn’t yours.”

  Thank God.

  “But it can be,” she says.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “She was conceived when you and I were still together.” She takes a step forward. I take two steps back. “No one has to know she’s Liam’s.”

  “If she was conceived when we were together, how do you know she’s Liam’s?”

  “Remember that month you were traipsing around Thailand and Cambodia?”

  “Myanmar and Indonesia, yes,” I correct her.

  “She was conceived then,” she says. There’s something dead in her eyes, like a woman who feels nothing. And the more I think of it, the more I realize in all the years together, not once did I see Dayanara shed a single tear.

  I don’t think she feels a damn thing. Not pain. Not remorse. Not even love.

  She’s dead inside, nothing to live for but her own agenda, and that’s why she’s a deplorable human being.

  “Princess Dayanara.” Rafa takes a few steps toward us. He’s been trained to deescalate situations before I so much as think about saying or doing anything I might come to regret. “Allow me to walk you to your car.”

  “You’re making a huge mistake,” she says as she storms out, her spiked and crystal-encrusted heels clicking and clacking against the terracotta tile floor.

  I follow them out, watching as she climbs into the back of a black Land Rover and her driver carts her off, and then I climb into the back of my car.

  “Where to, Your Royal Highness?” my driver asks.

  “42 Green Pond Way,” I say.

  “Julian.” Liam is dressed in gym shorts and a sweat-soaked t-shirt, and his dark red hair is matted against his forehead. A lacrosse stick leans against the corner behind him. “What are you doing here?”

  I push past him, entering his home and Rafa follows, closing the door behind us.

  First things first.

  “You’re lucky I don’t bash your face in right now,” I say through gritted teeth.

  Liam scoffs, laughing like he finds this humorous.

  “Go ahead. Laugh,” I say. “You probably won’t find any of this so comical when you’re being carted off to a U.S. prison for sexual assault.”

  His expression fades.

  “That’s right,” I continue, moving nearer until I’m in his face, so close I can smell the cheap cologne he uses to cover up the stench of his God-awful personality. “Emelie and I have pieced together a few interesting facts about that summer the three of us shared in North Carolina.”

  Like a coward, he says nothing.

  “We figured out what you did. How you tricked her into sleeping with you.” My fists are balled at my sides to keep from decking him, and I’ve instructed Rafa not to let me get carried away.

  He isn’t worth it.

  He isn’t worth the stale air in this dreary excuse for a flat.

  “You assaulted her,” I spell it out for him. “And when I confronted you about sleeping with her, you lied to me. You said she came onto you. You said she initiated all of it. You said she was in love with you.”

  I’ll never forget the conversation we shared the next day.

  He made it sound like it was all her, and while I knew better than to assign her all the blame, I believed him when he said she wanted it.

  It was then that I demanded my parents send him home.

  His family was out of the country at the time, so it took two full weeks before he was able to return, and it was two full weeks of watching the two of them wandering off together, laughing and enjoying one another’s company, practically inseparable.

  The more I saw them together, the more I hated her.

  The colder I got toward her.

  Eventually I couldn’t stand to be in the same room as her, let alone look at her, and I ma
de damn sure she knew she meant nothing to me.

  No …

  Less than nothing.

  Now I know she didn’t deserve any of it.

  “That was a lifetime ago, mate,” Liam says. “We were kids. Memories can be tricky, and not everyone remembers things the same.”

  “Save it. I’ve got a legal team getting everything in order as we speak. Fortunately for Emelie, there’s no statute of limitations on sexual assault in North Carolina.”

  “It’s her word against mine,” he says, sounding every bit the desperate, pathetic juvenile arsehole that he is.

  “You’ll pay for what you did to her,” I say. “One way or another. I’ll make sure of it. And in the meantime, if you continue to feed these ludicrous and slandering lies to the media regarding myself or my future wife, I swear to you, I’ll make the American prison seem like a holiday.”

  Liam’s lips part as though he’s brave enough to respond, but nothing comes out.

  He knows he’s been caught.

  “And congrats on the little one,” I say with a leer. “The mother of your child is certainly … special. Best of luck with that.”

  I give him one last death stare before showing myself out. I think I’ve made myself clear, and if I haven’t and he does something foolish again, he’ll surely live to regret it by the time I’m through with him.

  Climbing into the back of my car, we leave 42 Green Pond Way and return to the palace, to my future queen, to my beloved.

  Chapter 43

  Emelie

  My wedding dress hangs from a gold-plated mirror in my original bedroom Sunday evening. I unzip the garment bag, peeking behind the thick, opaque plastic and running my fingertips along the lace detailing on the bodice.

  It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever laid eyes on in my entire life, different from anything I’ve ever seen in a magazine or flyer or billboard. It’s part modern, part vintage. Timeless and elegant. More exquisite than anything I could have possibly imagined myself wearing in my lifetime.