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For me to reach the box that was on the far end of the table, I had to get up. This time, he let me. I took it and sat back down beside him, untying the bow and opening the lid.
“I do not know if you like jewelry, but you will receive a lot of it. Not just from me but my family. In the past, it was the only thing women could pass down to future generations. I found this in one of my bags. My mother apparently wanted to make sure I knew you were different, too,” he explained as I lifted the bejeweled brooch out of the box.
It was heavy and covered in diamonds, rubies, and gold. It was a shield, a crest of some kind, but all of it was made and forced together by some precious stone or metal—even the words. “Per Deus, cordis et in gladio,” I read slowly.
“By God, heart, and sword,” he translated. “They are the words of the House of Monterey. Two eagles hanging, the red and white checkers are of roses, one pure, one stained with blood and love, the four crosses of God that protect us on all sides, the two stars that are the eyes of justice, and three swords that uphold it. Every member of the House of Monterey has one of these. Mine is a ring. Yours will be this brooch.”
“It’s beautiful.” It was all I could say.
“Then it fits its owner,” he whispered, and I looked back up to him. “The world does not know we are married yet, and as my brother said, we cannot let it be known. However, we are, so this belongs to you now because I know you are Her Royal Highness, the Duchess of Wevellen, Odette Rochelle Wyntor of the House of Monterey.”
It was heavy before, but the brooch felt like it had gotten heavier.
“I thought about this last night,” I said, gently putting the brooch back into the box. “What if your people hate me?”
“They will.”
“Hey!”
He chuckled, taking my hand. “All around the world, they will love and hate the monarchy. We are entertainment to them, mostly. You just have to remember that for everyone who is jeering, there is someone trying to order the same shoes you wear.”
It was easy for him to say that.
“Come on, let’s eat and not dwell on it. In here, in your tower above the sky, I’m just Gale, and you are still Odette, the bossy—”
I shoved my muffin into his mouth, causing him to laugh all over again.
I wouldn’t think about being some duchess. I would only focus on here, right now with him.
“You are cheating.”
“I am not!” she exclaimed.
I looked over the billiard table once more, shaking my head. “You are most definitely cheating! How did this ball get here?”
“It was always there!” she lied boldly to my face like I did not have eyes.
“Odette!” I could not even believe she would be so blatant about this.
“What?” she called out before looking to Wolfgang. “Am I cheating, Wolfgang?”
“No, ma’am, not that I can see,” he replied.
I eyed them both, moving around the table. “Something is off here, but I will let it go,” I said, dusting off the tip of my cue. Leaning over, I eyed the left corner pocket, then twisting to the side, I sank both the purple four and the red seven.
“What are we betting on again?” I smirked, walking around her.
Her mouth looked like it wanted to fall off her face from the way she frowned.
“Oh, right. On my birthday, you will bake a cake for me dressed as an American cheerleader.”
“That is never going to happen. Instead, on Christmas, you will oil up like a firefighter and carry me anywhere I want to go,” she said smugly from the other side of the table.
“So long as you are doing the oiling, I do not mind,” I replied, sinking the green six next. “Why would I mind? You chose the wrong game to bet against me.”
We had spent the last day going to places no one would ever expect to find a prince, seeing as how I was now back in my Clark Kent disguise. We had gone to the Seattle Pinball Museum, hidden in the heart of Chinatown, where she had epically defeated me and two preteen boys, who then told her she was too old to be playing. The look she gave them had crippled me with laughter as they ran away.
We were now in what she called a small dive bar named Sam’s Big Toe on Mayfield Avenue and Mount Pleasant. The place was owned by a woman named Sam, who knew Odette and welcomed her with a nod, along with ten very large, white-bearded biker men. They screamed her name like she was family. And the only explanation she gave for how a rich heiress like her knew people like them—so well that they cheered—was “don’t we all have wild teenage years?”
