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I ape him. “You’ll have to remain the Duke of Arrago until the day you die.”
“That’s not what’s going to happen.”
“You’ll abdicate in Father’s favor, then.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll bequeath everything to the Crown. The dukedom of Arrago will cease to exist.”
“Are you being serious right now?”
“I’m dead serious, Louis.” He stares me down. “You will not become a duke. You will not inherit Falcon’s Nest, the duchy, or the money. You may even lose your title of marquess, and the emissary commission that goes with it. You’ll have to shut down the Royal RivieraStudio.”
“But why, Grandpa? Why are you doing this? It’s not like Prince Richard needs Arrago. He’s filthy rich already.”
He shrugs. “Then he’ll be even filthier rich.”
We fall silent.
“You don’t have to sleep with her, obviously,” Grandpa says. “But you can’t sleep around, either. Any dalliance will nullify the contract, and the dukedom will be merged in the Crown.”
Does he still expect me to say yes?
An idea strikes me. “What if she says no? What if she wants nothing to do with a man related to the royal family that her sister hated so? What if she finds me too repulsive even for a sham marriage?”
“You, repulsive?” Grandpa cackles. “Anyway, she doesn’t have to bed you. The detectives I hired won’t bug your bedroom or your separate bedrooms, as the case may be.”
“The…who?”
I realize I’ve been doing more gawking and gaping over the last half hour than in my whole adult life.
“I have paid a detective agency to keep an eye on you,” he says, nonplussed.
“Even in France?” Catching myself, I add quickly, “In the unlikely event that I marry her and she goes with me to Paris.”
“Of course.”
“Is she allowed to leave the country?”
“She will as your wife.”
My wife. Yikes!I have a vague image of her in my mind from a program I saw on TV a while ago and from some stories in the press. Crazy hair, thick-framed glasses, god-awful sweaters layered over god-awful shirts… And my own grandfather, who admittedly loves me, wants me to spend a year playing her doting husband?!
I scramble for something to say that will make him see reason. “But what if the police find a new piece of evidence, and it turns out that shewasin cahoots with her deranged sister? Can you imagine the disgrace that would bring upon our family?”
“Jeannette Mussey wasn’t deranged.”
“What makes you say that?”
His eyes turn shifty again. “Just common sense. She’d had a background check and was vetted by palace security before they hired her as a maid.” He reaches for the bell pull on the wall.
Within seconds, the door opens, and Tate steps in.
“This conversation has fatigued me,” Grandpa says to me. “I must rest before I face off with your parents at dinner.”
That’s my cue to leave. I rise to my feet and stagger to the East Wing where my apartments are. I feel stoned. Betrayed.
Why is Grandpa doing this to me?
CHAPTER4
