I have no idea what their pissing contest is about, but I don’t have time for it.
“You’re both gonna have my foot in your asses if somebody doesn’t drive me to the palace right now!” I yell.
They both look shocked.
And then they move their asses.
“She’s kind of a violent little thing, isn’t she?” Harry says to Logan as he climbs in the backseat with me.
Logan just laughs. And looks at me. “You’re going to make a good mum one day.”
I shake my head at him. “That’s what you got out of my statement? Really?”
“Sure—you sound just like Tommy’s mum and she’s the best one I know.”
And something occurs to me—something we haven’t talked about yet.
“Do you want that one day?” I imitate Logan’s accent. “To be a da?”
“I do.” His face softens. “As long as you’re the mum, I’d like very much to be the da.”
My stomach gets warm and fluttery. “Me too. Should probably make me a Mrs. first, though.”
Logan kisses my palm, smiling. “That’s the plan.”
Good to know.
But for today, there’s only one wedding that matters: the royal one.
Lady Sarah sits at the vanity table, in the private bridal rooms in the back of St. George’s Cathedral, looking unbelievably stunning in a short-sleeved white lace wedding gown with a two-tiered tulle skirt and cathedral-length lace veil. She’s the image of the perfect bride. A dark-haired Bridal Barbie.
She stares at her reflection in the mirror, chanting, “It’ll be fine. It will be fine. It will be fine.”
“Is she on drugs?” Penelope Von Titebottum, Sarah’s sister asks, pointing with the lily-and-lilac bouquet that matches her lavender maid-of-honor gown. “Did you take drugs, Sarah?”
“I wish.” Sarah closes her eyes and breathes deep and cleansingly. “It’s a calming technique Mother’s meditation specialist taught me. ‘Say it until you believe it.’ It’ll be fine. All fine. Very, very fine.”
She really does sound like she’s on drugs.
My poor sister waddles out of the bathroom, looking uncomfortable in a pretty lilac maternity-styled dress with an adorable white bow above her ginormous belly.
I’m not in the wedding party. I’m just here to look pretty. And help Sarah stay calm if I can. And . . . catch Livvy’s babies, if needed.
“You feeling okay, Liv?” I ask her. “You look kind of pale.”
She rubs my arm. “It’s my only color these days.” Then she lets out a slow breath . . . just like Sarah’s.
“It will be fine . . . It will be fine . . .”
“It will be fine,” my sister tells Sarah firmly. She’s the only one in the room who’s walked the royal green mile before, so I’m hoping Sarah will take her opinion to heart.
Sarah stands and nods. “You’re right. Weddings happen every day.” She shrugs. “I mean, truly, how many people are even out there anyway?”
Olivia closes her eyes and rubs her lower back.
Penelope tries to be helpful. “Not many. Only a few . . . thousand.”
Slowly, Liv sinks down into the chair along the wall. Inhaling deeply.
“Thousands—child’s play.” Sarah scoffs—not convincingly. “And the total watching on television can’t be more than a couple . . .”
“Million.” Penelope waves her hand. “Tens of millions. Pfft.”
Sarah nods.
And then she collapses onto the vanity bench, covering her face with her hands. “Oh dear God, help me! Please . . . send me a miracle.”
That’s when Liv starts to pant. “Hee, hee, hee, hoo. Hee, hee, hee, hooooo.”
Oh boy.
Sarah spins around. “Olivia, . . . are you . . . in labor?”
Holding her stomach, my sister nods. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know this is—”
“—amazing!!” Sarah yells, throwing her arms up to heaven. “Thank you, Lord! Yes!”
“You’re not upset that I’m stealing your thunder?” Olivia asks, panting.
“Take all the thunder, and the lightning, too! If anyone even suspects you’re in labor no one will look at me. It’s perfect.” The future queen sobers. “Will you be able to make it through the ceremony, though? I don’t want you to take any risks.”
My sister grimaces. “I should be able to make it down the aisle. But I want to get to the hospital soon, so if the Archbishop starts droning on, I’ll give you a signal. If I’m moaning in agony—you’ll know.”
My sister’s spunkiness has returned to her.
And then a thought occurs to me. “Hey, the babies aren’t just going to share a birthday with each other, they’re going to share Henry and Sarah’s wedding anniversary. Lenora’s gonna be pissed.”
Just before the ceremony is set to begin, I find Logan out in the main Cathedral. It’s beautiful. Light streams through the windows, depicting saints and biblical scenes in richly-colored stained glass. When my eyes finally land on Logan, it’s like the wind is knocked out of me—because I haven’t seen him since we parted ways to get dressed at the palace. And now, he’s wearing his tuxedo.
God damn, he is fine.
The cut of his jacket shows off his broad, strong shoulders. The charcoal grey cravat accentuates his masculine throat and gives him a sophisticated but roguish look—like he stepped out of the pages of a romance novel. His dress pants hug him perfectly, highlighting his powerful legs, his hard, gorgeous ass, and his thick, impressive “endowments.” I’ve seen Logan wearing a tuxedo before, but this time is different.
Because now, he’s all mine.
And the way he stares at me—how his eyes drag up from my silver, strappy heels, over my curves beneath the snug, satin pale pink gown, to the blond curls piled high on my head—it seems like he’s lost his breath too.
He swallows hard. “You look like an angel, Ellie.” He lowers his voice and bends his head nearer. “Like a scrumptious dessert . . . and I’m going to eat you the first chance I get.”
Heat spreads low in my stomach—I’ll never get enough of him, or his wicked, adoring words. But then I blink, remembering why I sought him out, and that any eating will have to wait a while.
Aware of the guests wandering to their seats, I rise up and whisper in Logan’s ear that Olivia is in labor.
He wants to get the car, take her to the hospital immediately. But I talk him out of it—even while he insists that my sister is “fucking batty” to wait. Then he covertly makes his way up to the altar, where Nicholas stands as best man beside Henry, both of them looking regal and elegant in their military uniforms.
“What?” Nicholas shouts. His face goes rigid and a little pale.
The whole church freezes—staring at the prince—like the greatest mannequin challenge ever.
I hike up my dress and my heels click on the stone floor as I run up the side aisle, passing the dozens of marble columns that rise to the high arched ceiling. I scoot between Nicholas, Henry and Logan who are talking like a football team huddle planning the next play.
“It’s fine, guys. Everything’s fine. All fine.”
Now I sound like I’m on drugs.