Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
A peculiar look of awe flits over the staff’s faces as if they’ve spent their tenure invisible until now. As Luxury greets each one, they respect her, revere her.
Wearing a small smile of his own, Burt speaks in a subdued voice at my side. “You’re a lucky, chap.”
“I . . .”
Dressed in a flowing cream chiffon ensemble, Mum and her very own mother start out of the double-arched doorways that shoot to the heavens. My petite mother could rule her own dominion if she weren’t begrudgingly completing my father’s duties.
“Fuck,” I murmur. Many staff members have fallen back in line, though those closest to Luxury are engaged in a chin-wagging with her, and others still await her attention.
I stroll to Luxury, guiding her away from the introductions and toward the angered princess.
“Luxury, this is my mother, Princess Mary, and my lovely grandmother, the Dowager Sarah. Mum, Grandmother, this is my woman, Luxury Whitson.”
Although I can feel Luxury’s sharp inhale, her spine lengths as she extends a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both, Princess Mary, Dowager—”
“This is how you greet me?” Princess Mary scoffs.
Rebuffed, Luxury slowly lowers her hand. Her lips start to form an apology, but my voice adopts Mom’s noxious bite. “My mother will discern her tone in the future.”
“I will do nothing of the—”
Grandmother steps up a few paces, a sloppy, albeit, atoning smile on her face. “Sweetheart, don’t mind Mary. We do not shake hands here. We’re huggers.”
Rubbish. We are not affectionate. She is drunk.
“Well, alright.” Luxury’s gaze questions me as Grandmother Sarah enfolds her in an exaggerated embrace. The back of my mother’s hand drops to her forehead at the uncharacteristic sight. As always, when my mother chooses to faint, I catch her in my arms.
15
Luxury
* * *
“Burt, I thought all princesses were supposed to be nice. Radiant like the sparkly tiaras in their head. Mary hates me,” my murmur fades down a massive corridor. My eyes momentarily shut as I’m overwhelmed by the culture.
The decadent walls.
Everything is dripping in gold or ensconced in marble.
Everything is lined in history.
There are murals and paintings that predate my parents’ linage in the States.
“That might be the case in America,” replies Jane, the maid who has helped Burt with my items.
“What have I done?”
“Princess Mary felt slighted when you introduced yourself to the staff before saying a word to her,” Burt says.
“You did receive our favor,” Jane adds.
“I didn’t see her. My friggen short stature.” My height screwed me over. Groaning deeply, I fork a hand through my hair.
“I assure you, no. Apologies aren’t necessary. That mother of Victor’s has a ghastly habit of preying on everyone. I assure you, she was not even outside when introductions commenced. She’d have expected you to walk on the backs of commoners just to bid her good day first. Her love for self has always rivaled—” Catching himself, Burt clears his throat and continues with my luggage.
“But . . .” I slow down.
“There is no room for provisos. I’m afraid the damage is done.” At the look of horror on my face, he adds, “I’m terribly sorry. Her Royal Highness is a first-impression type of person. However, I may have gone off on a tangent, but all I wish to convey is you do not require her favor.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Damn, you gave it to me straight, no chaser. I’ll appreciate that tomorrow.”
“As you requested during our many chats while Victor was away.”
Shit, I cringe. Well, I’d prefer someone who straightened my crown and not humored me, so I square my shoulders. We continue past portraits almost two stories high on the towering walls. Each painting boasts men from different centuries, each resembling Victor in some form.
Villainous looking with snobby hair.
Striking eyes.
I pause to take it all in. “So, those are all royalty?”
“Yes,”
“Bu-but . . .”
“I presumed that Victor warned you?” Burt arches an eyebrow.
“Yes, sure. Still, it’s just too much. If this were a novel . . . But Victor didn’t mention Mary—”
“Princess Mary or Her Royal Highness is Victor’s mother,” Jane says.
“I’m sorry, but I’m having a difficult time wrapping my mind around this,” I murmur.
“It’s all a misunderstanding that will be dealt with,” Burt assures.
How do I apologize and make things right?
Burt stops before shiny wooden double doors. He opens them, leaving me speechless. The large bedroom is straight out of a historical Harlequin romance. A canopied bed seems to be stacked high with an abundance of soft feather pillows. To one side, there’s a fireplace with a marbled mantel taller than I am. Paisley silks and satins adorn every inch of the room.
“Miss Luxury, I have other things I must attend to. Jane will help you with whatever you need.” Burt smiles, exiting the room and shutting the doors behind him.
I sink onto the antique silk chaise near the balcony, alone with Jane.