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“Mum.” Nicole replied. She moved toward her mother, arms outstretched, seeking the comfort found in the embrace they shared.
“Look at you,” her mother murmured, stepping back to appraise Nicole with eyes that glistened with unshed tears. “You look every inch a princess.”
“Only on the outside,” Nicole confided. Her gaze drifted over the ornate furnishings, the delicately carved mahogany, the plush velvet drapes.
“I’ll never understand how you’ll manage to live surrounded by all this...wealth.” Her mother’s tone was one of bemusement.
Nicole allowed herself a small smile. “It’s not the things, Mom. It’s the people—Theodore, Amanda, Eloise—that anchor me. They remind me who I am, where I come from.”
“Still,” her mother replied. “All this pageantry, it’s overwhelming. Are you sure...”
“Aren’t you the one who had me believing I should marry Prince Theodore before I even started school?” Nicole reached out, her hand finding her mother’s. “I’m marrying Theodore because I love him, not for any other reason. I’d be more inclined to not marry him over the title and wealth.”
Her mother’s smile bloomed then. “Love is all you need, my dear. Just remember that when you sit down at a table more expensive than the house you grew up in.”
“Ah, but will it be filled with as much laughter and life?” Nicole mused aloud. She considered the countless meals shared at their humble kitchen table, the echo of joyous conversation, and the clink of glasses raised in celebration.
“Nothing could ever replace those memories,” Nicole continued. “Not even a palace.”
“Good girl,” her mother said.
A soft rapping on the door heralded the approach of regality itself. “Enter,” Nicole’s mother called.
The door swung open, and Queen Beatrice glided into the room, the very picture of stately grace. Nicole’s mother rose to her feet seeming more than a little nervous.
“Your Majesty,” she said curtsying.
“Please, no need for such formality among family,” Queen Beatrice responded. She extended her hand, not as a monarch to a subject, but as one mother to another.
“Beatrice will do just fine,” the queen added.
“Thank you, Bea— Your Majesty... Beatrice.” The words stumbled off her tongue.
Nicole observed the interaction, the fluttering in her chest easing slightly as the queen enveloped her mother in a brief but sincere embrace. Her mother’s shoulders relaxed, and Nicole felt a kindred spirit in both women, each strong in her own right.
“Today, we welcome you to our family,” Queen Beatrice said.
“Thank you,” Nicole murmured.
“Shall we?” George’s voice was a grounding presence, his hand extended toward Nicole. She placed her palm in her father’s, feeling the calluses of years of work—a comforting contrast to the smoothness of her satin gloves.
The procession to the chapel was a slow unfurling of tradition and anticipation. Nicole’s steps were measured, her father’s arm a pillar of strength as they traversed the long aisle together. Above them, stained glass windows splashed colors onto the stone floor, a kaleidoscope of hues dancing with each step they took.
“Remember to breathe,” George whispered, his breath stirring strands of hair that had escaped her elaborate updo.
Nicole inhaled deeply. The pews stretched endlessly on either side. She focused on the rhythm of her father’s steady heartbeat, a silent drumbeat guiding her forward.
“Feels like walking in a dream, doesn’t it?” George asked.
“More like stepping into a fairy tale,” Nicole replied.
“Either way, you’re the princess,” he said, pride resonating in his voice, a subtle tremor betraying his emotion.
The murmur of the congregation rolled like distant thunder as Nicole stood at the altar.
“Nicole Elizabeth Winters,” the minister’s voice boomed, “do you take Prince Theodore to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Her heartbeat quickened, but somewhere, Nicole found her voice. “I do.”
