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“Wasn’t it a lovely wedding?” she whispered.
Travis laughed. He cried.
“It was perfect,” he said.
&n
bsp; He kissed her. She kissed him back.
Outside, the rain suddenly stopped, revealing the setting sun.
Soon, the moon would rise.
And the lives of Travis and Jennie Wilde would start all over again.
EPILOGUE
THE RESIDENTS OF Wilde’s Crossing disagreed on lots of things.
Politics. Health care. The economy. Soybean futures.
Most of the arguing was genial, but it was still arguing.
People couldn’t agree on everything...
Except on the party General John Hamilton Wilde threw a year later at El Sueño.
It was, they all said, the best party in the best town the state of Texas had ever seen.
A line of barbecue grills a mile long.
Well, maybe a slight exaggeration there but the point was, nobody could recall ever having seen so many grills in one place.
Tables groaning under the weight of salads and slaw, green beans and corn. Grits done a dozen different ways. Fried chicken. Biscuits. Cakes. Pies. Cookies.
More tables loaded with things to drink.
Punch. Wine. Beer. Ale. Good Texas whiskey. Coffee. Tea. Lemonade.
Nobody went thirsty.
A wooden dance floor had been laid behind the house. There was a band to play what Wilde’s Crossing kids called oldies, another to play rock. There was a Mexican mariachi band. And inside the house, in the big, wood-paneled library, a string quartet played whatever it was that string quartets played, for the more sedate guests.
“Something for everyone,” Travis said softly to his wife, as he held her in his arms behind a big cottonwood tree.
She smiled. His heart swelled. She had, without question, the most dazzling smile in the world.
“All I need is you,” she said.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said, smiling back at her.
She sighed. Laid her head against his shoulder.
“You have a wonderful family.”
“It’s your family, too, honey. And you’re right. They’re something special. Even the old man.”
“Emily says he’s changed.”
Travis chuckled. “The understatement of the year.”
“Well, look at all that’s happened in that year,” Jennie said. “Caleb and Sage had a baby.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Jake and Addison are pregnant.”
“Right.”
“And so are we.”
“Exact...” Travis jerked back. “What?”
His wife laughed.
“We’re having a baby,” she said.
She watched the different emotions race through her husband’s eyes. Shock. Joy. And, as she’d expected, a little touch of fear.
“It’s fine,” she said softly.
“You spoke with—”
“I called the doctor this morning. Yes. It’s just the way he said, Travis. The tumor’s completely gone. I’m okay. One hundred percent okay.” She leaned back in his arms and smiled up at him. “So, we’re pregnant. You’re going to be a daddy.”
Travis blinked.
“A daddy. I’m going to be a—”
He laughed. Whooped. Bent his beautiful wife back over his arm and kissed her breathless.
“I love you, Travis Wilde,” she said against his lips.
“And I love you,” he said. “With all my heart. And I always will.”
* * *
Not terribly far away, within hearing distance but, thankfully, obscured by the branches of a giant oak, Emily, Lissa and Jaimie Wilde stood frozen in place.
They’d never intended to spy on their brother and sister-in-law; in fact, they hadn’t even known Travis and Jennie were there.
They’d taken a stroll to get away from the party for a few minutes, to get away from, as Lissa had put it, “the busybody matchmakers.”
“Every female over the age of twelve seems determined to marry us off,” Emily had said, with a shudder.
“They seem to think it’s time, now that the boys are married,” Jaimie had agreed, with a matching shudder.
“Yeah,” Lissa had said, “well, good for them. But I’m not looking for marriage.”
“Not now,” Em had said.
“Maybe not ever,” Jaimie had added.
So, being trapped behind a tree, having to listen to their brother and his wife, had been, well, okay, it had been...
“Sweet,” Lissa offered, as Travis and Jennie finally strolled away.
“We’ll have to remember to look surprised when they announce that they’re having a baby,” Em pointed out.
“Definitely,” Jaimie said. “And, really, I’m glad they’re happy. All of them, you know? But—”
“But,” Lissa said solemnly, “that isn’t what I want.”
“I don’t, either.”
“Same for me.”
The sisters nodded. Then, because they were Wildes, which meant they weren’t just easy on the eyes, they were also smart, Em grinned and raised the bottle of Champagne she’d snatched for liquid sustenance from one of the party tables before they’d set off on their little walk.
Her sisters grinned, too. Lissa lifted her flute and Em’s; Jaimie raised hers.
“To men,” Em said, popping the Champagne cork with a flourish.
“Got to keep them where they belong,” Lissa said, as Em filled the glasses.
“In bed. And around when you need something heavy lifted,” Jaimie said.
“Aside from that,” Em said, “give us the single life!”
The sisters laughed, cheered, slugged back the Champagne.
And thanked whatever gods might be watching for the freedom to be women, and not yet wives.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from Beholden to the Throne by Carol Marinelli
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CHAPTER ONE
‘SHEIKH King Emir has agreed that he will speak with you.’
Amy looked up as Fatima, one of the servants, entered the nursery where Amy was feeding the young Princesses their dinner. ‘Thank you for letting me know. What time—?’
‘He is ready for you now,’ Fatima interrupted, impatience evident in her voice at Amy’s lack of haste, for Amy continued to feed the twins.
‘They’re just having their dinner...’ Amy started, but didn’t bother to continue—after all, what would the King know about his daughters’ routines? Emir barely saw the twins and, quite simply, it was breaking Amy’s heart.
What would he know about how clingy they had become lately and how fussy they were with their food? It was one of the reasons Amy had requested a meeting with him—tomorrow they were to be handed over to the Bedouins. First they would be immersed in the desert oasis and then they would be handed over to strangers for the night. It was a tradition that dated back centuries, Fatima had told her, and it was a tradition that could not be challenged.
Well, Amy would see about that!
The little girls had lost their mother when they were just two weeks old, and since his wife’s death Emir had hardly seen them. It was Amy they relied on. Amy who was with them day in and day out. Amy they trusted. She would not simply hand them over to strangers without a fight on their behalf.
‘I will l
ook after the twins and give them dinner,’ Fatima said. ‘You need to make yourself presentable for your audience with the King.’ She ran disapproving eyes over Amy’s pale blue robe, which was the uniform of the Royal Nanny. It had been fresh on that morning, but now it wore the telltale signs that she had been finger-painting with Clemira and Nakia this afternoon. Surely Emir should not care about the neatness of her robe? He should expect that if the nanny was doing her job properly she would be less than immaculate in appearance. But, again, what would Emir know about the goings-on in the nursery? He hadn’t been in to visit his daughters for weeks.
Amy changed into a fresh robe and retied her shoulder-length blonde hair into a neat ponytail. Then she covered her hair with a length of darker blue silk, arranging the cloth around her neck and leaving the end to trail over her shoulder. She wore no make-up but, as routinely as most women might check their lipstick, Amy checked to see that the scar low on her neck was covered by the silk. She hated how, in any conversation, eyes were often drawn to it, and more than that she hated the inevitable questions that followed.
The accident and its aftermath were something she would far rather forget than discuss.
‘They are too fussy with their food,’ Fatima said as Amy walked back into the nursery.
Amy suppressed a smile as Clemira pulled a face and then grabbed at the spoon Fatima was offering and threw it to the floor.
‘They just need to be cajoled,’ Amy explained. ‘They haven’t eaten this before.’
‘They need to know how to behave!’ Fatima said. ‘There will be eyes on them when they are out in public, and tomorrow they leave to go to the desert—there they must eat only fruit, and the desert people will not be impressed by two spoiled princesses spitting out their food.’ She looked Amy up and down. ‘Remember to bow your head when you enter, and to keep it bowed until the King speaks. And you are to thank him for any suggestions that he makes.’
Thank him!
Amy bit down on a smart retort. It would be wasted on Fatima and, after all, she might do better to save her responses for Emir. As she turned to go, Clemira, only now realising that she was being left with Fatima, called out to Amy.
‘Ummi!’ her little voice wailed. ‘Ummi!’
She called again and Fatima stared in horror as Clemira used the Arabic word for mother.
‘Is this what she calls you?’
