37. AMANDA

“Are we going to have enough food?” I wonder aloud.

“Who cares?” Dante says, sweeping me into his arms and kissing me deeply. It’s wonderful, but it would be better if there weren’t so many flashes going off.

I suppose that’s life as a princess. Better get used to it.

We disengage and sip a little more champagne as we wait for dinner to be served. The gardens are wall-to-wall people, just as we planned. I knew it was a huge risk inviting so many commoners to the reception, but it seems to be working out. The weather is perfect, everyone is having a good time, and the media coverage has been amazing.

Even Marco finally has something to do, leading a security team through the gardens. They’re dressed so inconspicuously, you’d never know there were more than a hundred highly trained men and women patrolling the grounds.

“Maria and her people have it well in hand, I’m sure,” says Dante. “The reason we pay so many people so much money is so we don’t have to worry about things like that. All you need to think about is looking beautiful for your new subjects. And that will be easy for you.”

“I wish Maria and Carlo were here,” I sigh. “They’re an important part of this.”

He shakes his head. “Believe me, they’re much happier working behind the scenes.”

Dante wraps an arm around my waist as we scan the gardens. There are approximately 15,000 people here – basically a good-sized outdoor concert. The major difference, of course, is that these people are all dressed to the nines, not in cut-off jeans and bikini tops.

And the fact they’re all getting free food and drinks, of course.

“I have to admit, I thought you were crazy at first,” he whispers in my ear. “Inviting half the population of Morova was a huge risk.”

“Mmm, but what better way to distract people from the fact their monarch is marrying an American commoner with less than two weeks’ notice?”

“That dress helps,” he says, scanning the area to see if anyone is looking, then grabbing my ass once more. It sends an electric jolt right between my legs.

Dante’s been risking a major scandal by grabbing my ass through the dress every time the cameras aren’t on us. He’s also risking the wrath of my dad.

Not that we have to worry too much about him. He’s been playing with the twins practically non-stop since the ceremony ended.

“It should be tight enough to squash any pregnancy rumors, anyway,” I say.

“I can’t imagine a shotgun wedding to the daughter of Ike Sparks.”

“You’d have his whole collection pointed at your back.”

In the distance, I see a crew setting up a piano and sound equipment on the stage near the entrance to the palace. A few taptaps ring out as someone tests the microphones.

“I still can’t believe Elton John is playing our wedding reception,” I say. “As if this whole thing could be any more like a dream.”

“He was good friends with my father,” he says. “And you know how he feels about princesses.”

We’ve had a break in the procession of well-wishers for a couple of minutes, but the next wave is coming in. After a while, it just turns into a sea of faces with automatic hand-shaking and smiles. It’s my own fault for inviting so many people.

A pair of well-dressed young women look at us sheepishly after introducing themselves.

“Would it be okay if we got a photo with you two?” one of them, a compact blonde, asks. The hope in her voice is sweet.

“Of course,” I say, positioning them between me and Dante. The girls blush furiously as they set up the shot with a telescoping selfie stick. We each wrap an arm around their shoulders and smile.

A moment later, they’re staring at their screen with their mouths open, starstruck. Over a photo of me. The girl who was buried in a vault in Malta less than a month ago.

“Thank you so much,” one of them breathes. “This is the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”

“Don’t forget hashtag Amandante,” I say.

“She’s so cool!” the other squeals as they scurry away with their prize.

“You’re going to regret that,” Dante says out of the corner of his mouth. “Now everyone will want one.”

“Bring it,” I say with a laugh. “I’m a star today, and I’m going to act like one.”

After what seems like thousands more well-wishers file past, we finally get a chance to steal away to where our family is seated. The twins are eating ice cream from crystal dishes while Isabella chats with a frumpy looking man in formal wear. Emilio’s eyes are the same shade of red they’ve been for the past week or so.

“Any sign of my father?” I ask him.

“He’s over there,” Emilio says, pointing to a small clearing. Dad’s holding court with a couple of people who have cameras on him and another holding a microphone.

I wince. “Has he been doing all right?”

“They love him.” He shrugs, knocking back the last of his drink. “What more could you ask for?”

“Is everything all right, Emilio?” I ask, taking a seat next to him. “You haven’t seemed yourself for a few days.”

He gives me an odd look that I can’t read: a mixture of surprise and… is it embarrassment?

His hand finds mine on the table. “I’m fine, princess,” he says. “Don’t worry about me, especially today, of all days. Go enjoy yourself.”

“Amanda, darling!”

Isabella’s voice cuts through the air from behind me, making me think of Cruella de Vil in 101 Dalmations, for some reason.

“Your Grace,” I say, standing to greet her. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

She gives me a European peck on both cheeks.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Auntie? We’re family now.”

Dante appears at my side and pulls me close.

“Who was that gentleman you were talking to, Auntie?” he asks.

“Him?” She shakes her head. “Some bore of an undersecretary for the National Council. But better that I take the brunt of the bureaucrats than you two, wouldn’t you say?”

I smile. “I appreciate your efforts, Auntie. Keep up the good work.”

At that moment I hear a groundswell of applause coming from the stage area. A few moments later, the opening keyboard refrain of Crocodile Rock blasts through the air and the crowd goes wild.

The bass line kicks in and suddenly I feel my dad’s big hands on my waist.

“C’mon, pumpkin,” he hoots. “Let’s go show these stiffs how it’s done!”

As the music begins, we find an opening in the crowd and dance to the bopping beat of the song. Despite his size, Dad’s a pretty good dancer, thanks to a few decades of Friday night get-togethers down at the legion hall. I’m not half-bad myself, especially when it’s the oldies.

We hop and step and swing around until the opening of the first chorus before I notice everyone is staring at us.

On the edge of the crowd watching us are the twins, nodding their heads in time to the music. Dad and I both have the idea at the same time, reaching out a hand towards them. They come running into our little circle to joins us, jumping around and shaking their little behinds.

If Dad notices any of the dozens of cameras recording our every move, he doesn’t show it. This is Ike Sparks in his element, cutting a rug with a couple of Buds in him. And if the people around us have a problem with it, they can go pound sand up their asses.

I don’t care what the circumstances were that led up to this: today is my day.

Apparently realizing that royals won’t spontaneously combust if they have fun, Dante joins us. I’m sure he can do the Viennese waltz with the best of them, but his rock ‘n’ roll dancing sucks. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

As the song ends and the crowd roars, I lean into his ear.

“If that doesn’t break the Internet, I don’t know what will. Eat your heart out, Kim Kardashian’s ass.”

The people around us start clapping, some of them still sporting shocked looks on their faces but most of them laughing. As Dad picks up the twins and heads back to the table, Dante reaches behind me and grabs my ass again. This time, he works a finger in there, sparking a live wire in my groin and making me weak in the knees.

“We need to get out of here as soon as we can,” he hisses in my ear as I try to keep my composure. “I’ve been waiting too long to fuck you. I can’t wait any more.”