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Undaunted, Louisa continued. “This celebration is extremely important to the queen. In fact, she told me that it going off without a hitch is her top priority for the next few months. If anyone is thinking of undermining this, they should reconsider. I heard her mention stripping members of their royal duties should they choose not to act accordingly.”
Jameson shared an astonished look with Catherine. He’d known this was important to his grandmother. Now he knew how important.
From the slack jaws and raised brows of Julian and Bettina, it was clear they understood, too. They recognized the import of having their duties. And what it would say to them, and the public, if the queen publicly stripped them of their responsibilities.
“Well, I should at least see who’s performing at the concert,” Julian said, putting his cup down and strolling over to where Louisa stood. He repositioned her iPad so he could see it. “Lester Stone, Trebles of Sheltered, Kay Morgan, Carl Page. This is going to be the most boring concert ever. Most of these people are ancient.”
“They were Father’s favorites,” Catherine said. “What did you expect, the Pussycat Dolls?”
“You’re aging yourself,” Bettina slyly inserted.
“Where are the acts we suggested? I thought Mummy wanted some younger ones. Oh, wait... Zoey Tanner, Liam Cooper—”
“He’s mine,” Bettina gushed. “I can’t believe he accepted.”
“You mean because you’ve been trying to seduce him for the past few years?” Catherine asked.
“Fuck you, Cat.”
Catherine arched a brow. “Don’t you mean Liam?”
“Who is Duchess?” Julian asked.
Bettina’s brown eyes, so like Prince John’s, widened. “The rapper?”
That got Catherine’s attention. “A rapper? Who chose her?”
“Prince Jameson,” Louisa responded.
Julian’s head whipped around to face Jameson. “Youpicked her? A rapper? For a concert to honor our father? Yourmentor?”
He practically spat the word.
“And she’s not just any rapper,” Catherine said, horrified, tapping the screen of her phone. A thumping bass blared from the device and she handed it to Julian. “This is her.”
“Speaking of Pussy... cat Dolls.” Julian’s prudish outrage morphed into something resembling intrigue and lust. “I definitely volunteer to be on her welcoming committee.”
Jameson blinked. He’d meant to google his pick the day after Louisa had shown up at the pub. But several more drinks with Rhys and that intention had been lost. He hadn’t given his pick or the concert a second thought.
Judging from Julian’s expression, he liked what he was seeing.
Very much so.
And he wouldn’t hesitate to act on his sudden desire. Whispers had surrounded Julian’s marriage from the beginning. Apparently, the fairy tale had extended only to the wedding, not to the life after it. Post-matrimony, Julian’s taste appeared to run to women who were the complete opposite of his wife. Somehow, a rapper named Duchess seemed to fit into that category.
Which meant Jameson had made a mistake.
“Don’t be vulgar,” Bettina said with disgust.
“Don’t be jealous,” Julian retorted, his eyes still glued to the screen.
“Jealous? Of an American? A rapper?” Her face contorted grotesquely with each descriptor. “You must be joking?”
Julian clapped his hands together, all signs of his previous petulance having miraculously vanished. “I’m now looking forward to this concert very much. Good luck, Jameson. You’re going to need it. I’ll keep my schedule clear in case I’m needed to step in.”
He left with a jollier step than he’d had coming in.
Catherine and Bettina uttered sentiments suggesting their interest in the meeting had waned, and several minutes later, Jameson and Louisa were once again the sole occupants of the room.
