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Frederick leans close to me, interrupting my thoughts. “I didn’t get a chance earlier to do a perimeter check,” he whispers low enough so only I can hear. “Normally I wouldn’t leave you, but since the deck is raised, I should be able to see you from the ground. That all right?”
I can hardly focus with his warm breath tickling my neck, but I manage a “Yeah, of course.”
He glances at Marilee. “Sorry, I’m not feeling great at the moment.” It’s not a lie—I see the strain behind his eyes—even if it is a convenient excuse. “I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” She cocks her head in sympathy. “Of course, take your time.”
Frederick taps my mobile on the table—a signal to keep it close in case he needs to call me and give me any directive—and I nod back. Yes, I know the drill. He gives my shoulder one more squeeze, this time a bit friendlier, before sliding his arm off and whisking himself away.
I feel the loss of him immensely and sigh. All of these months away from him, I’d almost convinced myself to let him go. It was easier being an ocean apart, not facing the daily reminder of his strength, his entirely too manly scent, his loyalty, and goodness.
This week and a half just might be the end of me.
But I will soldier on, because this isn’taboutme. It’s about giving my sister-in-law—someone who hates being in the public spotlight, but is willing to do it for the sake of love—the chance at having a normal wedding.
And about making someone else happy.
Even if the path to that is part misery for myself, taunting me with a glimpse of whatcould be… if things were different.
six
FREDERICK
I’m already dragging from this never-ending day, and it’s only half past five. I can’t believe it was only this morning that I arrived in California. It feels like I’ve lived a lifetime already.
If I’d have told early-this-morning Frederick that he’d be fake engaged to the princess of Kentonia, or that he’d have spent the afternoon first at the florist then at the hair salon to book wedding-day appointments for the wedding party, he’d have told me I was barmy.
And he certainly would have laughed in disbelief at the image of me and Chloe in the small lobby of a bed and breakfast one town over from Hallmark Beach, about to receive a venue tour for our “wedding.” Would have told me there was no way I could survive the experience of holding Chloe’s hand—of being zapped with those electric touches over and over again—without weakening in my resolve to keep her at arms’ length.
And he’d be right.
But this is a mental game and I’m mentally tough. I simply need to keep playing the part of stoic grump. I’m hoping others will just believe it to be my personality and not try to read into what it says about me and Chloe as a couple.
“Mr. Shaw? Ms. Marie?” A tiny woman approaches with stiff shoulders, her black hair slicked back and tucked so precisely into a bun it nearly looks like one solid, removable piece. Like a helmet she takes off at night. She taps her short, buffed, and unpainted nails along the back of the clipboard she’s holding. “Welcome to the Moon Bay Inn,” she says in a rather monotone voice. “I’m Betsy, and I’ll be giving your tour today.”
It feels like she’s shouting, but I know from experience that’s just the migraine talking. I must not have had enough water on the flight over, and my body is paying for it now. But I do my best to keep a neutral expression so no one knows that it feels as if tiny gremlins have taken hammers to the sides of my skull and the back of my neck.
At least we only have this one appointment standing between us and some sleep. After lunch—while I called and spoke with my parents, letting them know I’d be out of the country for a few weeks in case they needed me—Chloe contacted the other two venues on the list Lucy gave her. Unfortunately, they were booked for next weekend. But the Moon Bay Inn actually had availability, so she snagged us this appointment.
“Oh, it’s wonderful to meet you, Betsy.” Chloe—aka Ms. Marie, since we decided it was smarter to use her middle name instead of her real last name—reaches out with her free hand to shake Betsy’s. She flashes a warm smile her way. “I can’t tell you how excited we are to be here, and that you had an opening on our preferred wedding date.”
“Yes, that’s extremely lucky. We book out years in advance.” Head cocked as she studies Chloe, Betsy removes a pen from the top of the clipboard. Clicks it as if to remind us that she’s in charge here. Then the woman turns on her heel and begins walking through the lobby, which boasts some tasteful nautical decor and is painted blue. Chloe could probably tell me the exact shade, but that’s not really my forte.
My forte is keeping her safe, and so far, thankfully, nobody we’ve encountered today has seemed to know who Chloe is. But I need to always be alert, always be prepared, especially considering the large influx of newcomers Hallmark Beach is scheduled to get tomorrow and Friday ahead of the wine festival this weekend.
Betsy tells us a bit about the history of the inn as she leads us out to a walled-in garden space. Chloe asks intelligent questions and Betsy answers them, her body language growing more and more open the longer they speak. That’s no surprise to me, though.
Because Chloe is clearly in her element. Everywhere she goes, Chloe makes people feel special, giving them her full attention. She commands respect but not in a way that makes people feel degraded or less than. It’s a gift few royals possess. Even Topher intimidates people without meaning to. But just like Queen Charlotte, Chloe becomes best friends with everyone.
It’s both a gift and a curse, because it makes it more difficult to keep her safe. Much more difficult than hermit-like Topher, whose favorite place is the library.
Still, I wouldn’t want Chloe to live any other way.
As Betsy drones on about what the inn offers for weddings—something about tables and place settings and flowered wedding arches—I move into the garden and walk the perimeter so that I can examine the venue. Even I have to admit the space is beautiful, its stoned walls lined with bushes that are teeming with flower buds and open flowers alike in a variety of species that I can’t name. Under the vibrant blue spring sky, with just a nip of a breeze in the air from the ocean a short jaunt away, this would indeed make a right proper spot for a wedding. A beautiful one too.
But beauty isn’t enough. I need to examine the venue also from a protection detail standpoint.
From what Betsy has said, with such a small wedding invite list, we could hold both the ceremony and reception here. Because the inn is three stories high and right on the beach, we could station agents at each entry and exit point, as well as along each of the public balconies that overlook the garden.
