The rest of that week was decidedly insane.

I’d spent the next couple of days at Hale Shipping in conversation with the board and various VPs. They were aching for leadership—the staff were getting antsy, a few had resigned, feeling uncertain about the company’s future. It was time to step up and provide direction. I’d ended the day with my head in my hands, a clear vision of where the company needed to go and absolutely no desire to get it there myself. Fucking hell.

And it was nearly three on Friday by the time the meeting with the International Olympic Committee was over. After a series of scandals involving the banking of tracks in velodromes, we’d have to expand the floor of the west stadium. Fucking nightmare. Couldn’t remember how or why I’d agreed to do this, except that they’d given me free rein, initially anyway. The truly shite part was that I was going to have to be in Auckland for three weeks that summer for final tweaks. No way around it. It wasn’t for another month or so, and I’d do my damnedest to make sure Lydia was with me, but I was ready to get back to normal. I wanted days to begin with my mouth on my naked wife, include a healthy day at the drafting table, perhaps a run around Regent’s Park, dinner somewhere deserving, and to end the day the way it’d started.

Instead I was sitting in my office up to my eyeballs in corporate international Olympic bullshit.

“Sir.” Thomas ducked his head in my door. He’d gotten a bit cocky recently, lost all his fear towards me. Gotta say I kind of missed the days when he hid behind his desk—this version was all too brazen for my taste.

“What is it, Thomas?”

“Her Majesty’s secretary is on the line for you, and your wife called…” He paused to smile. I was pretty sure my having a wife was allowing him to live out some kind of Mad Men–related fantasy of being an assistant, about which I did not want to know the details. “And she said she’d invited…” He paused to look down at the paper. “Your sister, over for dinner. I think she wanted you to call her back.”

“Thank you. Also, Thomas?”

He gulped, his Adam’s apple shifting nervously. Bingo. “Please remember to knock.”

“Of course, sir.” He closed the door and scampered away in the most satisfying manner.

I straightened my tie and sat up in my chair as though the queen would somehow know, via her secretary and over the telephone lines, that I had been slouching during this conversation.

“Hello, Mr. Randolph,” I said, ready, eager, accommodating, as I’d been trained to be my whole life.

“My lord.” Anyone from the palace, from the butlers all the way up, said titles the same way, as though we needed to be reminded we were lords before the conversation continued, lest we forget the obligations it entailed. “Her Majesty wishes to convey her gratitude for your contributions at His Royal Highness’s charity gala.”

Was that all? “Of course. I’m glad she is pleased.” I relaxed a little, picking up a pen and doodling a vision I was having for an extension to the hideaway house.

“Indeed, sir. In fact she is hoping you may be willing to provide some assistance of a different nature. She is requesting that you accompany Prince Richard on his travels this summer. He is obliged to visit Vancouver, Cameroon, Johannesburg, and Sydney, and whilst Her Majesty is aware that this is a rather…” Mr. Randolph paused, searching for the right word. “Unusual request of someone outside the royal family, she believes you’d set a rather good example for the prince.” In other words, the palace didn’t trust Richard not to paw his fiancée in public or otherwise fuck up his first royal tour. “Her Majesty trusts you, my lord, and is hopeful that you won’t mind.” Bloody hell. It was a fucking world tour. “She is aware that you’ll be in Auckland in preparation for the Olympics, so surely it won’t be an inconvenience.”

“I’d be honored, of course.” I delivered the acceptance as I should, with grace, etc. But fucking Christ. I’d be gone most of the summer. What a disaster. “When are these trips meant to occur?”

“I’ve forwarded the schedule to your assistant, Lord Abingdon. Also, I’d like to add that the queen sends her warmest congratulations on your nuptials.” Ahh, of course. If I was a good boy, she wouldn’t put up a fuss at us having eloped and the accompanying scandals. Hell, this woman was a genius with her diplomacy. No wonder she was trusted with an entire commonwealth.

“That’s too kind.”

I retrieved the schedule from Thomas, displeased to discover I’d be departing the day after the operation with MI6—in a bloody week—and assuming I didn’t have the chance to come home between any of the stops, I would be gone until the week before our wedding.

I ran my fingers through my hair, drawing my nails against my scalp, pressing my thumbs into my temples. The only silver lining was that once it was done, it’d be done.

I’d just have to convince Lydia to come with me. I rang her mobile immediately.

“Damsel.” She’d answered the phone on the first ring.

“Hey. How’s your day going?” I could tell she had the phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder, could hear the rustling and muffled sound of her shirt rubbing against the mobile.

“Can you be available for two months starting a week from Saturday?” I had a pencil in my hand, continuing to build on the sketch I’d started earlier, an addition to the house Lydia called my hideaway. I could just imagine how the addition might be connected to the main building, how if we had kids, as they grew, there’d be room for them right—

Lydia’s sarcastic laughter interrupted my multitasking.

“What?” I asked.

“Two months? Dylan, don’t be ridiculous. I was just gone for a month. If we take a honeymoon, I’ll be gone from work again in August—we should talk about that at some point. Emily’s been hounding me about it. Hannah and the investors just upped the budget for the Manhattan store, and have asked me to take a couple of short trips to supervise. Fiona’s jewelry line launches in two weeks. There’s no way I can abandon her. Not to mention, we’re getting married, which apparently takes a lot work, which I’m finding rather shocking given that we’re already married.” She was breathy and stressed; her American accent came on so strong during these rants. I had to admit I loved it—it always reminded me how delightfully not British she was. Obviously what I had thought was going to be an immediate Yes, Dylan. Of course, baby, I’ll go anywhere with you was not so simple.

“Wait, why are you asking?” She had stopped moving on the other end.

“The queen’s secretary called, and I’m afraid, damsel, that I’m going to be doing some travelling this summer with Richard and Jemma—Johannesburg, Cameroon, Vancouver, and Sydney.”

“When? For how long?” I could hear the resignation in her voice, and it fucking killed me. I wanted her with me. Eventually I’d want her to be able to come on these trips, and I was suddenly extraordinarily happy that she’d begun considering a career wherein she was self-employed.

“Starts just week after next, on either side of the Auckland trip, I’m afraid. I’d be back just before the wedding.” She sighed, an exhale that meant she wasn’t going to tell me how what I’d said had just made her shoulders fall.

“Well, bring me back something nice, okay? A stuffed kangaroo or a picture of you with a koala or on a whale watch or whatever.”

“Is that what you think happens on these trips?” I laughed.

“No, but I’d prefer not to imagine you away for that long with whatever vile Olympic volleyball players are going to be like swooning over you.” She sighed again. “Okay, well when you get back can we hide from the queen’s secretary for a while?” She imitated my accent when she said secretary in a way that made me love her just a little more.

“Absolutely, damsel. I think this will be the last of it for a while. I’m afraid I’m a bit indebted after beating Tristan Bailey to a pulp in her Butler’s lounge and then eloping without informing the palace.”

“Fair enough.” I heard more rustling—she’d resumed whatever she was doing. “Also, Emily asked me what we were doing for a rehearsal venue and whether we wanted to book out rooms here in London or near Humboldt for guests?”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I haven’t the faintest idea. The point is, she is on top of this. Dylan, really, you should see her. She’s incredible at running this show. She’s hired staff.”

“What? How?”

“I don’t even know. I’m not sure I even care. All I know is that she’s a force. I’ve handed the planning entirely over to her. You know, Dylan, you might ask her for some help—I have a feeling she is capable of far more than planning weddings.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure. But there are more important matters.”

“Like what?” I heard something louder being moved around on her end, probably a box of some sort—she had to get better at delegating this nonsense.

“Like is your office door closed?” The rustling stopped again.

“It is now.” Her voice had shifted to the pliant soft tone that made my dick hard.

“Good girl. Now I want you to go to your chair, damsel.” I slid back in my own seat and pressed the button on my desk to fog the glass of my windows. “Hike that dress up, baby—I want it out of the way.”

“Okay.” The word was broken, like she was nervous all of a sudden—I liked it.

“Now, damsel. You’re going to do everything I tell you to. And when I’m done, you’re going to know that I can take care of you, even from afar.”

“That’s the date, yes…Well that’s just one of life’s real cruelties, isn’t it? That you’ll have to manage four cakes instead of two?…Well now, there we go—we’ve figured it out, haven’t we?…That sounds reasonable…No, no lilies. What do you think this is? It’s a wedding, not a bleeding funeral…Absolutely…I’ll confirm with the duke and duchess, but sounds classic…Certainly…Send over the sketches by noon tomorrow, and I’ll be happy to consider your bid…Cheers.”

I’d walked into my own kitchen to find Emily at my table, Molly bringing her dinner, her laptop set before her, not one but two mobiles next to her, and a set of folders in neat orderly piles surround her.

“Shall I get you an office?” I asked sarcastically, rather shocked to see my sister so expertly dispatching my resources in the name of this wedding.

“That would make my life easier,” she said cheekily as she reached for one of the mobiles, getting ready to dial.

“Haven’t you got schoolwork to do?” I looked over her shoulder and saw a pair of bids from bakers side by side.

“Of course, but I’ve got that handled.” She spoke to me while reading an incoming email, as though she barely had time for my interruption. “Did I tell you I’ve switched courses?”

“No. What are you doing?” For as long as I’d remembered, Emily had said she was going to go into art history—some nonsense about wanting to once and for all be able to confirm that the eyes in the paintings at Humboldt did in fact follow her.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, I wasn’t exactly devoted to art history. So I’ve switched to the business course. Unfortunately I missed the entry for some of the key classes, so I’ve talked with the faculty and decided to take the semester, do some catch-up reading, and resume at Michaelmas.”

“Bloody hell, Em.” I hadn’t been expecting that. Not from the Emily I knew, whom I was quite sure spent her weekends gallivanting around Sloane Square with her schoolmates.

“What?” When she looked at me, her back straight, her focus evident, her efficiency written all over her, I had this sudden realization that perhaps we were far more similar than I’d realized. I’d always thought my drive had stemmed directly from the stifling pressure my father had put on me as the future Duke of Abingdon, but here was Emily, not a child, not a mind-numbing socialite, with what looked like every bit as much drive as I had.

“Dylan, do stop staring at me and say what you need to say or allow me to get back to work. I adore you, for some mysterious reason, but if you want your wedding to happen in less than three months, you’re going to have to let me get back to work.”

I found myself chuckling. “Fine, madam. But first, have you considered we could simply hire a wedding a planner—”

“I did, twice, and fired both. Completely inadequate.”

“Right, then proceed. But check everything with Lydia—”

“Obviously.”

“Christ, you’re a pill.”

She smiled broadly at me, loving that she’d obviously outsmarted me. Loving the respect I was bestowing on her. It felt good to do it, and novel for both of us. Emily was clearly not just my kid sister anymore. “And, if you can fit it into your schedule, you should come down to Hale Shipping with me on Monday.”

“Really?” She looked surprised and curious. And honestly I felt both of those things as well. I wasn’t even sure where that had come from. An idea was brewing, and she and I would just have to figure out if we could make it work.

“Really. Now where’s Lydia?