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Was it useful? Did I learn something new?
I did. Quite a few things, actually. But the matter of how useful they are is up for debate.
After grabbing a quick lunch, Louis, Angie, Rudy, and I drive to the ornate Parliament building, a radical opposite to MESS in every way. There, in the smallest official ceremony hall, Louis and I slide wedding bands on each other’s finger. We sign the papers that a clerk pushes in front of us. Angie and Rudy sign as our witnesses.
None of Louis’s family is present. Apparently, the Princesses Gertrude, Felicia, and Eugénie wanted to attend, but Louis asked them not to. The prime minister pronounces us husband and wife. We smile and say thank you. No one kisses and no one claps. The PM does his best to act as if this level of dispassion at a civil marriage ceremony—a marquess’s at that—is normal and not suspicious at all. We leave the room.
Back in the palace after that nonevent, we halt in front of the suite.
“I’m having a nasty migraine,” Angie declares.
It’s true, she’s been looking unwell today.
“Do you need a doctor?” Louis asks.
“No, but I need darkness and quiet.” She heads to her room. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
Rudy calls to Louis, “See you in five!” before jogging to his room.
Are they planning to go out on the town?
Louis and I enter the suite.
He removes his coat and his fine wool jacket. It strikes me that this is the first time since I met him that I’m seeing him like this—no jacket or sweater over his shirt. Normally, well-made outerwear makes men look manlier. But on Louis, the opposite is true. By design or not, his outer garments tame his masculinity, making it more suave than rugged. But now that the bulk of his shoulders is covered with a simple button-down shirt, my thoughts are muddled.
I spin around and unzip my down coat. Ever the gentleman, he helps me out of it. To avoid looking at him again, I rummage for an imaginary object in my purse.
Louis grabs the sports bag on the bench in the entryway. “Rudy and I will hit Theo’s private fitness room on the ground floor.”
“Are you allowed? Seeing as it’s private…”
“We’re welcome to use it,” he says with a smile. “Will you put on something light and stretchy, and come down in about an hour?”
I gawk at him. “Whatever for?”
“A quick practice before tomorrow.”
It takes a moment for the penny to drop. The Annual Christmas Wife-Carrying Contest!
Louis gives me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, no barbells or push-ups for you! We’ll just try a few carry styles and pick the one that works best.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
After he leaves, I head to my walk-in closet and peruse the clothes. Most of them are recent buys, chosen by Louis, packed by Marianne back in Falcon’s Nest, and then unpacked and hung by a chambermaid here.
Do I own any sportswear?
In my old life I had a pair of ancient stained joggers that I wore at home. I can’t find them. Instead, I discover a neat pile of pristine white T-shirts and two fleece-lined hoodies in cotton that feels like silk. In addition, I now own a pair of yoga pants, some leggings and two pairs of joggers. I change into a T-shirt, pull on a hoodie, and pick the joggers with the loosest fit.
Someone knocks on my door.
Expecting to see Angie who can’t sleep or Louis who left something behind, I open the door. A familiar woman with a bodyguard hovering behind her stands in front of me. Someone I’ve seen on TV but never in real life until yesterday… Someone who belongs in this palace, but I never expected her to pay me a visit.
Princess Felicia.
CHAPTER12
CAMILLE
