Peach

As soon as Papaya is done with school Thursday night, we grab a palace driver and a set of bodyguards, and I take Gracie and Joey on a tour of the town. It’s odd how many places have already become familiar, like the bakery with the amazing biscotti and the pet supply store where Papaya likes to get treats for Fred and her other alpacas.

We have dinner at an Italian place, and I text Viktor that we’re having a bachelorette party and not to wait up.

He’s so Viktor-like in his reply:

Enjoy. I shall leave the palace lights on for you.

“Aww, look at that smile,” Gracie whispers loudly over breadsticks. She has a napkin laid over Sophie’s head as the baby sleeps in one of those sling contraptions. “She has it bad.”

“She has it disgusting,” Papaya replies.

She’s not really wrong.

I do kinda have it bad.

We’re out later than I meant to be, and the snow on the road slows us down getting back up the mountain to the palace. Viktor is passed out cold and doesn’t move when I crawl into bed, snuggling close to him to take advantage of his body heat between the chilly sheets.

He’s already at meetings when I stumble out of bed Friday morning.

Papaya has the day off school—the district declared the wedding a reason for a school holiday, which is actually pretty rude of them, considering how many working parents of younger kids will be scrambling for daycare. We spend the afternoon doing girly things, much to Papaya’s delight. Eva and Viktor’s mum joins us for pedicures and manicures and facials.

We go straight to the abbey for a rehearsal, which takes forever in the cavernous building. Everything’s so rich inside, with eight times as many hearts as King Roland had in his chamber of love.

“You should move all the furniture here and create a special exhibit,” I whisper to Viktor while the minister and Leonie and Alexander argue over the order of something or other within the ceremony.

He smiles, and his dimples pop, and I wonder if it would be inappropriate of me to grab him by the tie and seduce him in the choir loft.

Probably.

Dammit.

But he’s so damn sexy in that suit, and I haven’t seen him much at all the last two days, and he’s so attentive and perceptive and when we have to practice our vows, I believe him.

To the bottom of my heart, I believe him when he says he’ll love and honor and cherish me until his dying breath.

And it’s terrifying.

Because believing him means trusting him. Not just for today.

But forever.

There’s something terrifyingly real about this wedding.

Even if I didn’t plan it.

We have a huge feast in the informal dining room at the palace, and it’s surprisingly edible. “The chef got a boyfriend,” Papaya whispers to me over the heart-shaped turkey cutlets and squash risotto. “She was just lonely.”

“’Tis true,” Viktor confirms on my other side. “Love has cured her of the desire to punish the food.”

Because our wedding is tomorrow, we’re sitting together at the head of the table.

Dessert is an amazing crème brûlée, and I eat enough that hopefully I’ll split a seam in my dress tomorrow.

I doubt Viktor would be willing to wreck this one too, considering how much more it cost.

If I thought anyone would want it, I’d auction it for charity after we’re done tomorrow.

When we reach our bedroom suite, Viktor shuts the door softly and invites me to join him before the fire, which someone lit while we were finishing dinner. “I’ve something for you,” he tells me.

“I thought we agreed on not doing wedding gifts.”

Instead of sitting in the second chair, I crawl into his lap.

I need to know tomorrow’s going to be okay. And there’s nothing like having his arms around me to make me feel safe and secure.

I know I shouldn’t give in, but I can’t help myself.

He’s rock-steady, and for now, he’s mine.

“Not a wedding gift.” He nuzzles my hair, and I sink deeper into my happy place. “’Tis paperwork.”

“A-ha! I knew you couldn’t have a romantic bone in your body.”

He merely smiles, because he knows me. “The adoption judge retired. A new judge reviewed your case, and simply needs your signature.”

I freeze. “Seriously?” I whisper. “Joey didn’t—does Meemaw—how—Wait. What did you do? Did you pull some kingly rank crap—”

“I would prefer that I never knew why, and I shall leave it to you to ask your grandmother for more details on the back story. In the meantime, as king of Amoria, I am an authorized witness should you wish to sign these tonight.”

“But you—”

“She is yours in the eyes of American laws, my lady. As we agreed.”

I sit stunned for a minute. Warmth pools in my chest at the same time panic registers in my stomach. “You don’t want her?”

“I’ve no wish to complicate your life when it’s within my power to simplify it. If she wishes me to be a part of her life, I would be honored to remain so.”

This is a good thing.

I think.

He toys with my hair. “And there’s more,” he says quietly, as though the weight of the words are too much.

“Viktor?”

“Alexander has identified a loophole, if you will, in the succession laws. An error in the nuance of translation.”

Ice is crystallizing over my heart. “What does that mean?”

“The monarch is required to be in love with his spouse. The feeling must not be mutual in order for me to satisfy the laws of succession.”

I stare at him.

Because I think I understand what he’s saying, but I can’t make myself ask the question.

Do you love me?

No matter what he’d say, I would believe him.

And I don’t know if I’m ready for the answer.

“We do not have to go through with this wedding if you do not wish.”

“It’s not for us,” I choke out, finally finding my voice.

He studies me closely, and I watch for any flicker of indication that he wants to marry me.

That he wants to love me.

That I’m not too much trouble. That he’s not tired of me.

And I don’t know if those flickers in his steady façade are worries that I don’t want him, or worries that I do.

Now guilt is crushing all the icicles in my chest.

His grip tightens around me, and hot tears prickle my eyes. I have Papaya. Viktor doesn’t need me.

I could go home. Tomorrow. Free and clear.

“Do you want me to stay?” I whisper.

His voice is clogged and low when he answers. “I would be honored to have you at my side, my lady.”

I don’t reply, because I don’t trust my voice.

Instead, I wrap my arms around him and I kiss him silly.

Because words can be too empty. What a person does is what counts.