AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But romance? Emotional intimacy? No. Even she couldn’t be so stupid as to make the same mistake twice and fall for a man who would never be capable of loving her. It was absurd to even contemplate the power-wielding, strict prince as having anything approaching romantic feelings for anyone. The few affairs he’d conducted when she’d first worked for him had seemed transactional, cold, businesslike. She’d booked enough dinner reservations and sent calendar invites to his paramours via email to know the man didn’t approach relationships with romantic intent.
He may have been the best lover she’d ever been with—although she only had the one to compare with, and that wasn’t saying much—but sex and love were two very different things.
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and bit back a sigh. Not exactly the dress she’d envisioned a member of royalty wearing. She’d picked a cream-colored sheath dress with long sleeves. Simple, elegant, a far cry from the full-skirted gown Temperance Clemont had insisted she wear. Clara had wanted so badly to have a relationship with Miles’s mother that she’d gone along with her future mother-in-law. The tulle of the underskirt had made her itch, and she hadn’t been able to eat a bite of the lemon lobster fettucine because she’d been terrified of dropping food on the five-figure dress.
Still...she’d always thought that if she got married again, she would make sure it was in a dress she wanted.
Her eyes drifted to her window and the rooftops of the buildings of Eira, the city she’d come to call home. When she’d first started, Daxon’s frequent appearances in the international tabloids had struck her as unprofessional and annoying. But as she’d dug deeper into her new career and been confronted with the full scope of the damage he’d caused, from the lack of affordable housing and quality jobs to damaged relationships with countries across the world that wanted nothing to do with a king who preferred to spend money versus rule, her work had become very personal to her. It had physically hurt to see deals fall through after one of Daxon’s affairs was splashed across Instagram or to hear conversation about Celestine’s latest tabloid feature dominate a conference instead of one of Alaric’s carefully crafted economic proposals.
Shame crept up her neck and turned her cheeks red. She turned away from the mirror. What kind of queen was she going to be if she was feeling sorry for herself over a damned dress? Yes, things were looking up for Linnaea. A wedding dress for a future queen who never should have been queen in the first place was definitely not a priority.
With her focus back where it needed to be, Clara moved toward her bed to grab her coat.
“It’s nearly time. We should head down.”
Meira sighed. “I know he wants to keep this a secret and give Briony a little more time in the spotlight, but couldn’t he have at least picked somewhere a tiny bit more romantic than his office?”
“It’s not in his office anymore.”
Meira’s head whipped around as she narrowed her eyes.
“Oh?”
“It’s in the rose garden.”
She tried, and failed, to keep her voice neutral. Alaric’s text that morning sharing the new location had surprised her, too. She hadn’t been able to deny the slight thrill that had pulsed through her at the thoughtful gesture, even if it had also confused her to no end. Was there a reason behind his sudden change of heart? Or was he simply trying to do something nice for his future wife?
A knock sounded on the door. Meira answered, murmured something to the person on the other side and turned back with a pale blue box in her hands, the lid topped off with a white bow.
“A footman just delivered this.” Her voice held a touch of smugness as she gestured to the small white card on top. “Guess who it’s from?”
“I can guess,” Clara replied drily even as her heartbeat kicked up a notch. What could Alaric have sent her?
Meira set the box on a table. Clara lifted the lid and peeled back the tissue paper. Even she was unable to contain her gasp of surprise.
“Are those...”
Meira’s voice trailed off as Clara let her fingers glide over the different materials inside. Her earlier excitement returned as a smile broke across her face.
“Wedding dresses.”
Alaric glanced down at his watch. Two minutes to noon and no sign of his bride-to-be. Did the dress not fit? Had she misunderstood which garden? Or, worse, had she changed her mind and fled the palace?
Stop. He never questioned himself like this. He had not pulled the country back from the brink of financial disaster by engaging in self-doubt. There was a solution for every problem. No matter what happened today, he would fix it.
He focused on the looming escallonia hedges that surrounded the palace rose garden. In the dead of winter, the glossy leaves still held on to their green, a welcome splash of color beneath the snow. Come springtime, white and pale pink flowers would blossom, followed a couple months later by an explosion of color as the roses bloomed.
A more appropriate setting for a wedding, he grudgingly acknowledged. Briony had poked her head into his office last night. Despite his attempts at keeping his upcoming nuptials under wraps, his sister had found out and somehow knew about the baby, too. How, she’d refused to say, but his concern that she might be upset over her spotlight being stolen so quickly after her own wedding was invalid. Briony had been thrilled, pattering on about gaining a brother, a husband, a sister-in-law, and now a niece or nephew in such a short time.
Well, thrilled to a point. Once she’d learned of his plans for the ceremony to take place in his office, she’d nearly leaped across hid desk and strangled him.
“Seriously?” she’d cried. “Clara is carrying your child and you’re going to marry her in youroffice?”
It had also been Briony’s idea to surprise Clara with three wedding dresses from a designer in downtown Eira.
“She doesn’t get to have a real wedding, Alaric. The least you can do is make it memorable for her.”
Briony had a point. And it had given him the idea to summon the photographer from the palace’s public relations office. Clara could have photos of the ceremony and, when news of their wedding came to light, he could produce the photos to combat negative press. The public loved royal weddings. With the right spin, an elopement in the rose garden would rise above malicious gossip.
