To Save a King, page 26
“I don’t know about that but I’ll try my best to have a good time.”
She’d dance with John in this one-of-a-kind gown, wearing a pair of Cinderella shoes in front of five hundred pairs of eyes and past a slew of hot, gossipy whisperers.
Maybe the point of her prince journey was to realize how foolish she’d been the last two years. Terrified, almost paralyzed with fear over people finding out she’d surrendered everything she believed in, every core value for fame and fortune.
Maybe that’s what Adelaide the Angel was really trying to tell her. To merely think of herself as a princess.
Gemma had wrapped herself in guilt and shame, almost proudly, and refused to see herself any other way. She could fake it with friends and family, even John, but inside, she knew the whole truth. Saw the real woman beneath her talent, her beauty, and even her kindness.
But the Vegas files had been destroyed. God, or fate—hey, maybe Adelaide—had been looking out for her.
Got to say, it was nice to have a touch of supernatural on her side.
* * *
Gemma
She finally knew what it felt like to walk on clouds. Even under the weight of the gown and wearing a new pair of heels, she floated through every dance.
She and the prince only left the dance floor when the orchestra took a break. Then John shuffled her off to a private room for hors d’oeuvres where she met King Nathaniel and Princess Susanna, Prince Stephen and Princess Corina from Brighton Kingdom, and Grand Duchess, Princess Regina from Hessenberg and her husband, Tanner.
All the princesses were southern American girls, and the moment they met it was like old home week.
After hours of dancing and twirling to stringed waltzes and stumbling through quadrilles, she was warm and energized, drinking in the magic of it all. The splendor.
When John suggested, “Let’s get out of here,” he took her hand as she gathered the heavy skirt, leaving the bright and vibrant ballroom with its gilded walls, glistening floor, and crystal chandeliers for the glorious darkness of a half-moon night.
Laughing, feeling as if they were getting away with something, they ran down the Queen’s Avenue with abandon toward Clemency. Toward the Heart of God. And the crystal shoes bore with her.
“Gunner will be miffed we left him behind,” John said.
“Should we tell him?” Gemma stumbled on a crack in the concrete and fell into him. He caught her about the waist and pressed his forehead to hers.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
“I think you stumbled first. Just like on the Fourth of July.”
“No, it was you. I think you wanted me to carry you.”
“In your dreams. And like you could carry me in this dress.” She turned away from him, but before she could take a step, she was in his arms, her face inches from his, the dress’s skirt cascading down.
“Where should we go?” he said.
She was about to say “put me down” but instead she wrapped her arms about his neck. “The Heart of God, of course.”
When they arrived, the cathedral lights seemed to blink and wave in greeting. John set Gemma on her feet but they fell against each other. Gemma stretched her hand to the fountain’s cool, flowing water.
When she looked up at John, he held her close and kissed her.
“You made me proud tonight,” he said, his lips against her ear. “Everyone loved you. The Hessenberg ambassador wanted to know where I’d been hiding you and from what aristocratic family you hailed. I said, ‘She’s from Tennessee.’ He said, ‘An American? Not another one,’ but he was smiling.” John kissed down her cheek to her lips. “Truly, love, he admired you.”
“He barely knows me.”
“Your dress reminds me of the fairy tale, The Swan’s Feather.”
“The one your mother told you?” Gemma stepped back. His kiss was awakening things in her she’d rather leave asleep. “Prince, this is not a fairy tale.”
“When Holland died, I found a swan’s feather on the abbey floor. But there were no swans in the nave. Then the other night, after we talked in the corridor, I found another feather.”
Gemma made a face. “What are you saying? This dress with feathers is a sign? John, we’re not living in a bedtime story where everything works out. Where feathers appear out of nowhere to guide us to our destiny and happily ever after.”
He reached for her and she didn’t resist. Resting her head against his chest, she let herself just be in the moment—standing with this amazing man in the Heart of God, listening to the music of the fountain…
Let this be her happily ever after. Even if it only lasted a night.
“I know we don’t live in a fairy tale, Gemma. But I also know I don’t want you to go home Sunday.” The prince began to move in a melodic sway, humming the same tune from Monday evening, and Gemma flowed with him in body, mind, and soul.
“Gemma, don’t you think—”
“Shh, Prince, let’s just enjoy the lights, the fountain, you and me, this dress of feathers—”
“Which could be a sign.” He leaned to see her face. “I find two random feathers and then you walk out of your suite bedroom wearing a million of them.”
“Remember this feathered frock belongs to your sister-in-law.”
“But now it belongs to you.”
“Tomorrow it will be Princess Daffy’s again.” Gemma pulled free of him. He was dreaming too much. Talking crazy. “Prince, we’ve had a marvelous time together. I admire you, and am so grateful to have met you, but this is the end of the line for us save a Christmas card here and there.”
“It doesn’t have to be the end, Gemma.” His low tone made her shiver. Where was he going with this? “I’ve been thinking—”
“No thinking tonight. Just pretend this is forever. And when the clock strikes mid—”
“Marry me.”
His question startled her, and suddenly she felt the entire weight of the gown. “What?”
“Marry me. I realized this week you’re my best friend. I want to talk to you first thing in the morning and in the evening before lights out. When something interesting, or not so interesting, happens I think, ‘Wait until Gemma hears this.’ So why not marry? As you know, I need a wife—”
“John, the clock has struck midnight. The spell is broken. We go back to our real selves You cannot marry me. I live in Hearts Bend. I have Imani. She wants to graduate from Rock Mill High. And you, you, simply cannot marry me.” The very idea of what the press would unearth if she married this man made her weak where she stood. Despite Matt’s assurance the videos no longer existed, she’d taken a huge chance stepping out with a crown prince tonight. “John, I’m not royal material, trust me. I’m starting to think they put something strange in the punch at the ball tonight that’s making you actually believe in fairy tales.”
“My darling, you are perfect royal material. Smart, loving, kind. Beautiful. We can work out the details with Imani.” The light of the cathedrals illuminated the seriousness in his blue eyes. “Having my best friend with me on this journey makes my heart light.”
“John, listen to yourself. Please.” If she said yes, she’d have to tell him about Vegas and that she could not do. Ever. She turned toward the street. “We should go.”
Upon her words, the cathedral clocks pealed the hour, striking the twelve chimes of midnight. When the last bell rang out, the night was over and as far as Gemma was concerned, the magic, the spell, was broken.
“That’s it?” Prince John said. “‘We should go?’ You’re not going to even consider my proposal?”
She turned to face him. “All right, I’ve considered it and no, I won’t marry you.”
“Why not?”
“Do you even love me?” Gemma dragged herself and the heavy dress back to him.
“Do you love me?”
Yes, she did. The truth beat in her chest. “John, this summer has been unusual to say the least. But let’s not mix up our friendship with real love.”
“Being best friends is the perfect start for us. I’m not sure I could even say that about Holland. I want to be with you, Gemma. If our kiss that night in the rain is any indication of our, shall we say, chemistry, I know I can love you like a man should love the woman he married. We’re good together and tonight I saw how well you fit into my world.”
“You’re caught up in a moment, Prince. The lights in the Heart of God, the chimes, the air, the music, and the whatever happened here Monday night. But you’re not ready to get married again. You said so yourself.”
“Because I was grieving and scared. What are you afraid of, Gemma?”
“How much time you got?” She smiled which relieved a bit of the tension. “Look, by this time next year, you’ll have married a gorgeous Lauchten woman with raven hair and ruby lips, who’s a brilliant entrepreneur of some kind and represents the future of your people.” She grabbed a handful of the gown’s skirt—which felt heavier than ever—and stepped toward the curb. “Trust me, I’m not that girl.”
Gone, gone, was the mystery of the Heart of God, the swirl of the light, the fragrance, and the freedom. She was back in the dark pit of her past.
“Gemma.” His voice was stern. “What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing.” From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Gunner who stood off to the side, watching and waiting.
“I know there’s something. Tell me. Is it losing your property? Someone swindled you. It could happen to anyone. But I can help with that, I can. What if we keep a residence in Hearts Bend?”
She held her reply as she walked into the night. Another word and she’d burst into tears.
“Gemma, wait. Gemma.”
Chapter Twenty-five
John
She had a secret. He knew it. But she refused to tell. Brushing his teeth to the solitary chime of one a.m., John tried to imagine what she held close.
If she couldn’t tell him, maybe he’d overestimated their connection. Their friendship. The passion he felt when he kissed her.
As he rinsed his toothbrush, an idea flashed. Her Majesty’s Security Detail had sent over a dossier on Ms. Stone a few weeks ago but he’d been on his way to a walkabout at the time. He tucked it in a drawer for later inspection.
Then, in the course of things, he decided not to look inside. If there was some dark secret she harbored, who was he to ramrod his way through? Wasn’t the news hers to tell when she was ready?
But now, he had to know. Leaving his apartment, he made his way to his office, the footman on duty eyeing him from the other side of the second-floor gallery. Hadn’t he ever seen a man in his pajama bottoms before?
Clicking on the desk lamp, John pulled out the dossier. If there was something, Her Majesty’s Security would find it.
Born in Hearts Bend, Tennessee. Date of birth. Parents’ and grandparents’ names. Salaries. No family criminal record. None. So that wasn’t it. Gemma graduated salutatorian. She never said. Was a cheerleader during football season. Played basketball.
Moved to L.A. fourteen years ago. Spent a year in Las Vegas before coming home. Was in the hospital. For a month. Ah, so that was the source of her limp. But what was so bad she couldn’t tell him?
Returned to Hearts Bend upon release from the hospital. Bought the property, the farm, for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Boyfriend: Matt Biglow.
Then came driver’s license pictures. Just before turning to the final page, he closed the dossier.
He’d seen enough. If there was more, he didn’t want to know. He’d had enough with the women he admired harboring secrets. If there was something in Gemma’s past she didn’t want him to know, who was he to unearth it?
Perhaps she was right. He was reading too much into their unusual summer. She’d turned him down. Let that be the end of it.
Move on, mate. From now on Gemma was simply be the woman who helped bring him out of his grief.
John tossed the dossier in the rubbish and headed back to apartment A2.
* * *
He awoke to the sound of rain and an urgent-sounding door chime. He rolled over and buried his head under his pillow but he could still hear Shaw.
“He’s still asleep, Your Royal Highness.”
“I’ll wake him.” Gus. What did he want?
“Good, you’re awake.” Gus pulled John’s pillow from his head. He wore short trousers, boat shoes, a sweatshirt, and a slicker.
“Aren’t you supposed to be sailing?” John said, getting out of bed, tugging on a T-shirt before heading to the tea trolley.
“We’ve delayed an hour. Mum had a rough night and Dad wanted to make sure she was sorted before shoving off. And it’s raining. But the weather presenter says the clouds will roll away by midmorning.”
“Is Mum all right?” John popped a puff in his mouth. “Should I go see her?”
“The nurse is with her. Check on her this afternoon.” Gus sat at the dining table looking solemnly at John. “Have you seen it?”
“Seen what?” John fixed a cup of tea and dropped a few puffs on his plate.
“The video of Gemma?”
“What video?”
Gus opened his phone then slid it across the table toward him. “It’s all over the internet.”
John tapped the screen with a sense of dread. The play button waited on the video Gus queued up. Would he see what possibly was on the final page of her dossier?
John set the phone down. “Do I want to know?”
“Probably not but you should.”
With a deep inhale, John grabbed the phone and tapped play. Then swoosh, a spotlight hit a long runway and Gemma paraded toward the camera, wearing nothing more than strategically placed leather straps. Her short hair was slicked back. Her features accented and highlighted with makeup but there was no life in her eyes. Vacant. She looked vacant. When she began her routine, John tossed the phone to the table.
“Is this a show in Vegas?”
“It was supposed to be but it never saw the light of day. However, one film buff saw it when it was online and downloaded it. He’s a porter at the Delafield. He recognized Gemma. He uploaded it early this morning.”
“I asked her to marry me last night.” Now he knew why she refused to tell him. Why she refused his proposal.
“You what?” Gus said.
“She turned me down. Joked about the spell being broken when the cathedral clocks struck midnight.”
“John, our life is not your Swan’s Feather fairy tale.”
“It’s Rachel’s fairy tale now.”
“You know what I mean. Whoever you marry impacts us all. Impacts Lauchtenland. Never mind the gossip and scrutiny Gemma would be subjected to. When she goes home, all of this will mercifully go away.” Gus sighed. “Eventually. The Chamber Office line is jammed with calls. Hamish Fickle is out there asking why you brought a woman of the night to a formal, state function.”
“She’s not a woman of the—” He shoved away from the table. “I need to talk to her.”
“And tell her what?”
“That she’s still my best friend and I think, no, I’m sure. I love her.”
* * *
Gemma
He’d proposed. Of all the things she imagined between them, a true and honest proposal was not one of them. She’d not allowed herself to even pretend it was possible.
Then there he was, asking. While standing in the Heart of God. It was romantic and serendipitous. And not real. They were both caught up in the beauty and sensations of the Heart.
God would not want her to marry Prince John. He knew what she did and yes, though she actually felt forgiven after Monday evening, that didn’t make her fit for a queen.
In the meantime, she lay awake long after she’d crawled into bed and stored her memories. The colors, sights, and sounds of ancient Port Fressa. The music of the ball. The timbre of John’s voice.
Over time, everything would fade—like all summer memories—but she’d treasure them for now.
On the end table, her phone chimed. Scottie texted asking to meet for breakfast.
“I want to hear about last night and also I’m extending my stay.”
“Give me twenty minutes.”
Across the room, the swan gown hung from the top of the closet, the skirt just barely touching the floor.
Gemma kicked out of bed to walk over, and traced her hand across the embellishments, down to the feathers. “Thank you.”
In the bathroom she started the shower. Princess Daffy’s stylist had lacquered Gemma’s hair something fierce. Finding the palace’s laminated apartment intercom guide, she punched in the numbers for 3C, the spare heir’s apartment. There was no answer so she left a message regarding the gown.
“Shall I bring it to you?”
With a final glance at the dress, she reached for her phone. She’d not taken a picture of it. Haley and JoJo would go bonkers.
She took a couple of shots then, on a whim, checked social media. Why not? She’d find a picture of her in the dress—there were so many cameras aimed at John last night—and send it to Hal and Jo, Mama, Daddy, and Imani. Though Imani followed the House of Blue accounts and would probably knew more than Gemma.
Finding one of the royal fan sites she checked after the prince had left Hearts Bend, she dropped to the bed when the first image on her screen was of her and Prince John walking into the ballroom. He looked stunning in his tuxedo with his rakish smile and rich, dark hair.
You love him. So, what does it matter? I’m going home.
There were a lot of comments about how beautiful she looked—thank you—but more on how stunning the dress was.
Checking another site, she squinted at the first image. It was very dark. The text below read, “Gemma Stone a stripper?”
What? Gemma slipped from the bed to the floor. “Matt Biglow…no, no, no. You promised me.”
Wait, maybe someone from her past hopped on one of these sites and said Gemma was a stripper but without any evidence. Besides, she wasn’t a stripper. She merely played one on a fake reality show.
