Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
“I love you, Edward. It’s very important to me that you know that.”
I raise up on my arm and lower my head to kiss her tears away.
“I know. Never doubt that I know.”
“We’re not going to make it through this, are we?”
And because I understand her through and through, I understand her meaning as well.
“It’s not the sort of thing you make it through, sweetheart. There is no finish line, no other side to reach.”
“No.” She shakes her head and then nods, breathing deep. “It will stay with us. This will change who we are.”
“Yes,” I agree, cupping her cheek in my palm. “But whoever you are, whoever you become—I will love you every bit as much as I love you now. I will love you more.”
Lenora reaches up, tenderly tracing my jaw, my lips, with her fingertip. I lie back and she comes to me—nestling her head on my chest, our arms around each other, our bodies entwined.
(23 years after Royally Yours)
“His father used to look at his mother the same way—like she was
the Eighth Wonder of the World.”
~Queen Lenora, Royally Screwed
Lenora
I SIT AT MY VANITY, checking my reflection in the mirror. Hair, lipstick, straighten the emerald pendant on the lapel of my snow-white cashmere coat.
“Are you all right?” Edward asks from across the room, his arm resting against the thick wood mantel. “You seem fidgety.”
I take a deep breath.
“I believe I’m nervous.”
He grins, teasingly. “You? I guess there really is a first time for everything.”
I swivel around on the cushioned bench. “Do you think . . . do you think she’ll like me, Edward?”
Edward checks the time on his pocket watch. “If history is any indication, I think she’ll be terrified of you.”
I roll my eyes, turning my back on the impossible man. But he approaches, standing beside me and trailing his knuckle slowly down my cheek and across my neck in a velvet caress.
“You are so beautifully imposing.”
Heat blooms in my stomach. Because even after twenty-six years of marriage, that’s what he does to me—my dashing, dirty, devastatingly handsome husband still turns my insides to jelly.
“And once she gets to know you, she’ll love you, Lenny.”
“Yes,” I agree, meeting Edward’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “She’s perfect on paper, you know. Impeccable looks, educated, talented, excellent pedigree.”
“You had security do a full background check on her, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did. She’s the first girl Thomas has been truly serious about. What mother wouldn’t?”
He presses a kiss to my temple. “One who doesn’t have an army of secret service agents at their beck and call, I imagine.”
“Thankfully, I am not one of those.”
The shrill ring of the telephone on the table beside the sofa pierces the air. Edward picks it up, listens, then replies, “We’ll be down shortly.”
Anticipation bubbles in my stomach when he glances back at me.
“They’ve arrived.”
I was born at Ludlow Castle, then visited frequently throughout my childhood—and yet, the beauty of the estate at Christmastime is still wondrously magical. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla waft from the kitchens, and crisp pine permeates the air in each of the common rooms where enormous hand-cut trees, trimmed with glowing lights and sparkling ornaments of red and green, gold and silver, wait to delight all who enter. The doorways are embellished with fresh hanging greenery, red and ivory poinsettias adorn every tabletop, and all the windows are bedecked with lush wreaths and big, floppy satin bows. Snowflakes perpetually drift down from a dove-gray sky, covering the rooftops and treetops in a sugar dusting of shimmering white.
Edward and I step out into the front brick courtyard just as the shiny black car pulls up. The driver opens the rear door and our son emerges first.
To see him after a time never fails to take my breath away. He is our joy—the holder of our hearts, and the very best of both our souls.
Thomas is tall, handsome, and broad like his father, with my thick dark hair, and has the perfect blend of gray-green eyes that can be studious and serious one moment, shining with laughter the next.
He holds out his hand, assisting his guest from the car. A moment later, she stands beside him—and the photos from the security reports did not do her justice.
She’s only a few inches shorter than my son, but delicately boned, slender and lithe, with a natural grace. Her hair is honey blond, her gaze wide-eyed and blue-green. She wears an elegant black overcoat with a knee-length red dress peeking out the bottom, sensible but stylish black low-heeled shoes, and an adorable black wool bucket hat on the crown of her head.
She looks . . . well . . . like a princess. And the two of them together are straight out of a storybook.
They walk to us, smiling—Thomas hugs Edward as my husband pounds his back.