The Marriage Pact Read online

  “Helena,” Julian says.

  The woman stands, and she can’t be much taller than five feet, but her presence is commanding.

  “I’d like you to meet Emelie Belleseau,” he says, “my future wife. Emelie, this is Helena Tisdell, Prime Minister of Chamont.”

  Helena’s permanent scowl etches into a smile that softens her face and dials down her intimidation factor enough to put me a little more at ease.

  She walks across the room, making her way to me with an outstretched hand. Inwardly, I panic. Do I curtsy? Shake her hand? Kiss her hand?! I try and think back to what Elisabeth said about how to greet government officials, but it’s too late. She’s standing in front of me, her hand lifted in my direction, tilted to one side.

  I think she wants a handshake.

  I shake her hand the way Elisabeth taught me—gently and more fingers than palm.

  “It’s so lovely to meet you,” she says.

  “And you as well,” I say when she releases my hand.

  “Shall we sit? Get to know one another properly?” Julian extends his hand toward the grouped seating arrangement in the center of the room.

  Helena takes a seat first, and Julian and I take two neighboring cushions on the sofa across from her.

  “So,” Helena says, her green eyes sparkling as they pass from Julian to me and back. “Julian tells me you’re from the United States.”

  “I am. North Carolina,” I say before going into my spiel about how our families summered together and how “wonderful” he was as a child and how I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember.

  I taste bile in the back of my throat with each lie, but I throw in the occasional batting lashes and lovestruck sigh and starstruck gaze and she seems to buy it.

  Fake it ‘til you make it is what my father always used to say.

  “She’s wonderful, isn’t she?” Julian asks after he finishes jawing on about all the reasons he adores me. He places his hand over mine for a second, giving it a squeeze. I’m not sure if he’s trying to reassure me that it’s going well or if it’s a nuanced gesture just for show.

  I imagine we’re going to get pretty good at this faking-it stuff over the coming months and years. And I can’t help but wonder if, at some point, it’ll inadvertently start feeling real.

  Right here, right now, I make a silent vow to myself not to get caught up in any of that.

  Julian is a liar, and my heart is not made for his whimsy.

  Chapter 12

  Julian

  My driver stops outside the front entrance of Grandmire Castle. Emelie’s hands are folded in her lap as she peers out the window, eyes dragging up the length of the front towers. It’s a daunting place on the outside, drab in color thanks to its centuries-old stone exterior, but inside it’s spectacular if I do say so myself.

  My mum and father are waiting for us inside.

  They’ll be shocked to see Emelie in tow.

  They’ll be even more shocked to hear the news.

  “I don’t promise that my father will be on his best behavior,” I tell her as the driver gets the door for us. “I’m afraid he’s a bit of a loose cannon these days.”

  Emelie straightens her dress as she steps out and I extend my arm to escort her inside. Two of the castle staff greet us at the main doors, doing their best not to stare at the guest of honor.

  “Prince Julian,” my father’s aide, Maxwell, approaches us. “Your parents are waiting in the drawing room.” His wide eyes go to Emelie. “And you’ve brought a guest. How lovely. I’ll send for another tea cup.”

  “This way.” I lead Emelie towards the drawing room. Before we so much as step foot inside, I can already hear them bickering, though I can’t make out my mother’s hushed words.

  “Good morning, Mum and Dad,” I say when we reach the threshold.

  My father’s face is pinched and his eyes are squinted. In his older age, he still refuses to accept the fact that he needs glasses. Mum stands slowly, studying the two of us.

  “Mum. Dad. You remember Emelie Belleseau,” I say.

  Emelie offers a curtsy and it’s perfection.

  “My goodness, Julian. Of course we do.” Mum makes her way around the marble top coffee table and welcomes Emelie into her arms. It’s unusual for my mother to greet people this way as royals and Chamontians aren’t big on hugging, but it’s the way she’s always greeted the Belleseaus, so I suppose it’s fitting. “Look at you. I haven’t seen you since …”

  Her voice trails off.

  “Well, anyway,” she says, taking a step back. A warm smile covers her face, though her eyes are filled with intrigue. “This is a lovely surprise.”

  “Dad,” I say. He’s just sitting there like an angry bump on a log. “You remember Emelie, don’t you?”

  He stands, reaching for a mahogany cane with a silver top. He’s so brittle these days. Mum says he refuses to eat. Says everything tastes ‘off’ and tends to storm away with an empty stomach.

  “Had I known you were coming for a visit, I’d have prepared a more formal get-together in your honor,” Mum says to Emelie. “Also, I had no idea the two of you had … reconnected.”

  Mum’s eyes move between us.

  “Likewise,” my father says with a huff. His silver eyebrows are turned down in the middle, nearly covering his pointed glare.

  Slipping my hand into Em’s, I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath. “Emelie and I have been in touch lately and things have taken an interesting turn.” I feel the weight of her stare and spot her sweet smile from the corner of my eyes. “I don’t think anyone could have predicted that things would turn out this way.”

  “Get on with it, Julian. We haven’t all day.” My father grips his cane.

  “Emelie and I have fallen in love,” I say, giving my beloved a warm smile. “We’re getting married.”

  My mother claps a hand over her open mouth, though her eyes are crinkling with joy.

  Father returns to his chair, collapsing with a long sigh. He doesn’t mutter a single word, though I don’t take it he’s happy for us. Nothing makes him happy these days.

  “That’s wonderful news.” My mother wraps Emelie in another embrace before turning her attention to me. Pressing her palm against the side of my cheek, she says, “I’m so happy for you, Julian. You couldn’t have chosen a finer bride. I will say though that this engagement seems rather … abrupt. Any particular reason?”

  Her eyes fall to Emelie’s stomach for a flash of a second.

  “No, Mum,” I say. “I can assure you it’s nothing of that nature.”

  Her lips lift at the sides and her chest caves with relaxation. “Wonderful. The media’s already having a field day with our family. Our country could use a bit of good news, something to celebrate for once.”

  Without saying a word, my father shows himself out.

  “Forgive him, please,” Mum says to Emelie. “He hasn’t been himself lately.”

  “That’s what Julian was saying,” Emelie says.

  “Tell me, how is your mother? Has she heard the news?” Mum asks her.

  “She’s thrilled,” Emelie says. “Couldn’t be happier.”

  “She gave me her blessing,” I add.

  “I’d love to visit with her sometime,” Mum says. “I’m afraid the last time we spoke was at your father’s burial ceremony. It wasn’t exactly an occasion of merriment, and I had my hands full with Lionel.”

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Chamont,” Emelie says.

  “Lovely, please, call me Marguerite.” My mother’s hand lifts to her décolletage. “We’re to be family. There are no formalities amongst us any longer.”

  “Thank you,” Emelie says.

  “Emelie, would you care to join me for a walk in the garden?” Mum asks. “I’d love a moment alone with you. Julian, why don’t you check on your father while I steal her away? We won’t be long.”

  “Yes, Mother.” I watch them leave, intrigued. I can’t possibly imagine why
my mother would need a moment alone with Emelie, but perhaps it’s a woman to woman sort of thing. She loves instilling her wisdom in others, especially young women, so I imagine she might be giving Emelie a bit of advice for her journey as a future royal.

  I feel awful lying to my beautiful mother, but right now it’s for her own good. She hasn’t the slightest idea what Parliament has in store and if she did, she would accidentally let it slip to my father, and no good can come of that. Mum has never been good at keeping secrets. At this point, it’s too big of a risk to let her in on the plan. Also, I can’t say that she would exactly approve. She loves Emelie to pieces and always has, but she is a romantic at heart. She wouldn’t want my first marriage to be based on anything other than love. It would break her heart.

  For that reason alone, she can never know.

  Heading out, I stop in the hall when I run into Maxwell.

  “Have you seen my father?” I ask.

  Maxwell clasps his hands behind his hips. “Your Royal Highness, last I saw he was in his study. The door is closed, however. So please be advised that he may not want a visitor at this time.”

  I chuff. “Thank you, Maxwell.”

  I’m not a visitor.

  I’m his son.

  I head to his study and show myself in—stopping dead in my tracks when I find the place in total disarray. Piles of books and toppled stacks of paper litter his desk and any bit of exposed floor. I can’t take another step. I physically cannot.

  “Father,” I say.

  His shoulders jolt with a start and he peers across the room toward the doorway. “Julian. Don’t you know to knock? What do you need, son?”

  “The ladies are taking a walk in the garden. I thought I’d visit with you for a moment,” I say.

  “Yes, well, I only wish I had the time. A bit busy.” He’s muttering and mumbling under his breath as he sorts through a file in his hand. “I swear Matilda’s been moving my things. I put them somewhere, I come back, they’re gone.”

  “Who’s Matilda?”

  “One of the new maids. I had to replace Evangeline.”

  “What happened to Evangeline?”

  “She was stealing from me, that’s what happened.” He slams the folder down. “Where’s my phone?”

  It’s painful to see him like this—like a stranger.

  This is not the man who raised me.

  This is not the man who flew us to North Carolina every summer, who baited fishing hooks, told silly jokes with his best friend, and showed us American pastimes and traditions, and taught me the histories of the men who led our kingdom before us.

  “Julian, I haven’t time for your nonsense,” he says, lifting piles of papers and looking beneath them. “If you’ve come here to waste my time, you should go.”

  I don’t argue with him because truly, there is no arguing with this man these days.

  Without saying another word, I show myself out. My heart is heavy. I can’t let him go down like this. After I marry Emelie, Parliament will ask him to step down. He’ll say no. He’ll fight it every step of the way. But it will be a private matter. We can spin it as some sort of retirement of sorts to the press and then Emelie and I will step up, my mother can finally unburden herself, and we’ll get this kingdom back in order.

  Chapter 13

  Emelie

  “So Emelie,” the queen says as we walk the garden grounds. It’s maze-like in here, with trimmed hedge walls and rose bushes and stone pathways. It’s exactly the kind of magical garden I’d read about in fairytale books as a young girl. To think, Julian grew up here. “How did the two of you reconnect? Last I recall, you’d had a falling out and went your separate ways many, many years ago.”

  “He called my mother,” I say. “He called to check on her and they got to talking, and she gave him my information and he stopped by for a visit.”

  Basically.

  “Just like that?” she asks, one brow arched.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Was he in the States on business?”

  “I’m not sure?” I wasn’t prepared for these questions.

  “You didn’t ask him why he was in North Carolina?” She laughs, keeping her tone lighthearted, but I have a feeling she’s not going to buy any old answer.

  “I did,” I say. I hate to lie. “But I can’t remember what he said. I was so surprised to see him … I guess I forgot what he said?”

  “I bet it was quite a shock, him showing up,” she says, hands smoothing down the sides of her lavender dress as we walk aimlessly through the garden path. “How long has it been since you saw him last?”

  I hesitate, trying to pretend like I don’t know that answer off the top of my head. “Well, let’s see … seven? No. Eight years? Something like that.”

  “How old are you now? You must be … twenty-four?”

  “Yes.”

  “My, how time flies. I remember when you were just a little girl,” she says. “White blonde hair in those lopsided little pigtails. Dirty knees from playing outside. Sweetest giggle. You were the daughter I never had.”

  She slips her arm around me.

  Marguerite was always kind to me, always thought the world of me. Always saw the best in me. As a child, I took that for granted. As a grown woman, it feels pretty amazing … especially because I thought the world of her as well.

  Her inherent elegance combined with her approachable demeanor and contagious laugh meant she could light even the darkest of rooms.

  “Tell me, Emelie,” she says, a wisp of her jet-black hair falling down the side of her face. “What is it you love most about Julian?”

  I hesitate. Again, another question for which I wasn’t prepared.

  “What’s the first thing that comes to your mind?” she asks.

  “His determination,” I say. “When he wants something, he isn’t afraid to go for it.”

  “Quite an admirable trait,” she says with a chuckle. “But I’d hardly call that romantic. What do you love about him? What do you see when you look at him?”

  Other than the fact that he’s obnoxiously attractive?

  “He’s refined,” I say. “It’s rare to meet a man these days who hasn’t forgotten his manners. And he makes me laugh. He makes me feel like I can be myself. I can tell him exactly how I feel about anything, and he listens.”

  “So glad to hear that someone besides me sees the best in him,” she laughs. I exhale, relieved. “So many women are drawn to his title and his dashing good looks. Thank you for loving who he is on the inside.”

  I don’t know how much more of this I can deliver. Trying to come up with reasons I love Julian on the fly is no easy task, and it only makes me realize how little we actually know each other now.

  “We should return,” she says. “I’m sure Julian is anxious to have you all to himself once more.”

  I’m sure.

  “How was your chat with my mother?” Julian asks when we’re situating ourselves in the back of his car fifteen minutes later.

  “It was fine.”

  “Just fine?” His eyes are on me while mine are fixed on the castle’s exterior as we drive away. We didn’t have time for a tour today. Julian said he’d show me around another time. But from what I saw, it was even grander than Julian’s palace. Ornamental gold, crystal chandeliers by the hundreds, a staff at least triple the size of the one at Knightborne, and hallways so long and so full of doors and secret alleyways and narrow staircases it was almost dizzying.

  “How many rooms does the castle have?” I ask.

  “I beg your pardon?” He laughs through his nose.

  “How many rooms does the castle have?” I repeat my question.

  “One hundred and fifty-four,” he says, “I believe.”

  “And you grew up there?”

  “Right.”

  “I can’t imagine what that must have been like, growing up in a castle.” We pass over a moat. A real moat. With a drawbridge and everything. When the car drives
through two wrought-iron gates, I spot no less than a dozen armed, uniformed royal guards marching along the exterior fence line. “Your mum asked me what I loved most about you.”

  “Ah, did she? She’s quite the romantic. What did you tell her?”

  I turn to Julian. “We’re strangers, you and me. I realized today that I don’t know a thing about you and you don’t know a thing about me. One of these days someone is going to ask a question, and it’s going to be obvious and someone’s going to figure it out. It’s not enough to act the parts.”

  “Fair point.” Julian adjusts the lapels of his suit coat. “This weekend I’ll take you to Rothmond Cottage—my country house. We’ll spend a couple of days together, just you and me, and we’ll get to know one another. Besides, I think we could use one last calm weekend before the storm. The announcement goes public on Monday. Be advised, Emelie, after the press release goes live, life as you know it will never be the same.”

  “Are you trying to talk me out of this?”

  His brows meet. “Not at all. You said you didn’t like surprises. I’m giving you a fair warning.”

  “How noble of you.”

  Julian’s full lips arch into a playful smirk, and I find myself thinking about ways to make these next five years bearable.

  Perhaps I don’t have to like him.

  Perhaps I could simply learn to tolerate him?

  I guess I don’t see the harm in that?

  Chapter 14

  Julian

  The photographer arranges us like two wax mannequins as we stand in front of a curtained window in the great hall.

  He takes a step back before pointing his lens in our direction. A series of clicks follow and he repositions himself.