Duchess.

Holy shit.

I was going to be a duchess.

For some reason, somehow, even though I’d thought about it before, even if I’d been pondering the practicalities of “what does that job entail?” for months, even if I’d had flashes of lowercase “holy shit,” and “won’t that be weird,” this was different. This was Holy. Shit.

I was looking up into Dylan’s blue eyes, those blue eyes that had kept me centered through countless new experiences, and I pleaded with them to center me now. I could feel my breathing pick up, like the hugeness of this decision was propelling me out of the warmth and making me zone into my own head and all the anxieties that lay there. All the unknowns.

“Shhh.” I heard Dylan’s voice soothing, matching the stroking of my cheek with the back of his hand. “Baby, just us, remember?”

“A duchess.” I closed my eyes tightly, trying to digest this thing that suddenly felt so big.

I felt his finger under my chin, tilting my face up towards his.

“Hey, look at me. Show me those brown eyes.” His tone turned back to the commanding bossy one that always got my attention, and my eyes snapped open. “Good girl. Now let’s go inside, and I’ll make that overwhelmed look of yours go away.”

He reached down by my hip and unlocked the door, moving me out of the hall and into the apartment with him. I was about to go to the kitchen to put on the kettle for tea when he pulled me into the overstuffed armchair in the living room. My legs draped over his lap, and his strong arms encompassed me, held me close to him by wrapping his arm fully around my hip.

“Damsel,” he started, sifting his fingers through my hair with his free hand and holding my head against his body. “This marriage of ours is going to be about you and me, got that?” The tightness of his hold echoed his words and calmed me. I breathed into his chest, and reveled in the closeness. “It’s not about the media or about HELLO! magazine. It’s not about anything bigger than us. We will have to deal with all of it, but first and foremost, this is about us.”

I nodded, looking at him to continue. “I know.”

“It’s time, damsel. You were right about being public. I have no intention of letting our marriage be a secret. And I won’t sugarcoat it for you—it will be trying at first, the press will go mad. But, I promise you, we’ll handle it all: the media, my mother and sister, who will likely want to slaughter us when they’ve discovered we’ve gone and gotten married without them.”

I laughed a little into his chest just imagining Emily’s look of horror when she realized she’d missed out on the real affair, not to mention his mother’s, whose horror would be about the fact he’d married me. “Oh, we’re having a wedding,” I said with purpose. “I have a feeling it won’t fly for the Duke of Abingdon to tie the knot without some fanfare.” I’d be happy to indulge Emily’s whims, and his mother needed to know this was for real.

Dylan chuckled back. “Probably, but we won’t do anything we don’t want to do.” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “But, baby, I, better than anyone, understand why the title feels overwhelming. We’ll figure this out together. We’ll break new ground together. I can’t be a duke without you. And I’ll never ask more of you than you want to give when it comes to being a duchess.”

I could actually feel, beneath his skin, in his bones, his posture, the truth in his words. And suddenly I couldn’t remember why I’d been worried. Yes, it was big. Yes, it felt grand and new. Yes, it was going to be my life’s work to be a duchess but also to be me, to pursue my dreams. I’d been serious when I’d said that I didn’t want to open another store, that I was ready for the next big thing. And now, I realized, that whatever that next big thing was, it was going to have to work with the gowns, the events, the duties of being the Duchess of Abingdon. Much in the same way his architecture firm would have to work with all of his duties. But we could do it. Together.

I wriggled out of his hold and shifted to straddle him. He never took his eyes off my face as I adjusted and rested my elbows on his shoulders and wrapped my hands into his hair. “We got this, don’t we?”

“We do.” He smiled as he said it and surely would have dived in to kiss me if I hadn’t beat him to it. I stroked his lips with my tongue and kissed and kissed.

“Make me your wife, then, already,” I whispered, and he chuckled. “What’s taking you so long?”

Dylan laughed heartily and moved his hands to my ass, which he squeezed just to the brink of pain. “You cheeky thing.”

He rose from the chair, and I wrapped my legs tightly around him. I broke the kiss for only a moment. “Don’t we have details to figure out?” We couldn’t get lost in each other if there were things to plan.

“Nothing can be accomplished at ten in the evening, damsel. Not where legalities are concerned.” He nipped my neck, and a shiver shot down my spine, settling right at my quickly dampening center. “Nothing except to remind you, my saucy little fiancée, that no previous date with any Brooklyn boy ever had a chance of ending the way this one will.”

He slapped my ass before he dropped me on the wide low bed. I grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt on the way down, making him topple over me. And he showed me, as he promised, that no guy I’d ever dated had even stood a chance.

I woke up to three distinct sensations—the smell of coffee, the sound of Dylan’s bossy business-tone barking into the phone but shifting to a whisper as he got closer, and the pulling of the sheet away from my bare chest.

I opened my eyes and saw Dylan, clad only in a towel wrapped around his waist, cover the base of the phone with his palm and focus those impossibly blue eyes on me.

“Happy marriage day, damsel.” He leaned over, clearly intending to give me a quick kiss on the lips but was unable to go away once he’d started. He kissed my neck. My clavicle. He groaned, started to pull away, and then came back to kiss my breast. I laughed as I ran my hands through his hair, and he groaned again, frustrated that he was still on the phone, which just made me laugh harder.

He retreated towards the living room but gave me a quick desperate look before leaving the room.

I rolled back into the bed and closed my eyes again for a moment. Assuming we could pull it off, I was getting married that day. Married.

I slid further into the sheets, and what started as a daydream of he and I walking into city hall that day—him in a suit, me in a simple white dress—slowly churned into details of the day running through my mind. What was I going to wear? Did we need a witness? Should we go out to eat afterwards? Should we invite anyone? How do people get married anyway? How many forms of ID was I going to need? Where was my birth certificate? Where was city hall anyway? Wait, was city hall where people actually got married or was that just on TV?

Within a minute, I was sitting up in the bed, clinging the sheet to my chest. I took a big gulp of my coffee, winced at the hot liquid burning my throat, and dialed the one person who could help me figure all this out. Well, the one person besides Dylan, that is.

Daphne.

As the phone was ringing I began to realize how crazy this was going to sound to her, but I didn’t have a chance to dwell on it.

“This better be good,” she said groggily into the phone. I could hear her sheets rustling. Hell, I could practically still hear her dreaming.

“I’m getting married.”

“I know. You told me,” she said, yawning. “You woke me up at…What time is it? I’m so fucking jet-lagged. You woke me up at…” I could hear her rustling around. “Eight in the evening to tell me you’re engaged?”

“It’s six in the morning.”

“Not in my brain, it’s not.”

“Well, tell your brain it’s Friday at six a.m., because I’m getting married, Daphne. Today,” I said. “And I need you.”

“Wait, what?”

“Dylan surprised me yesterday. Wait, was it yesterday? No. Crap, sorry, I’ve lost track of time. He surprised me by coming to the apartment. To New York. On Wednesday. We had this kind of fight about Eric—”

“Eric?”

“Eric Stuart? From that journalism class I took college? Keep up, lady.”

“Wait, what does he have to do with anything?” I had her attention now, and I could hear her making coffee in the background.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll explain later. The important thing is that Dylan and I are good. And we’ve decided to get married. Today.”

“What the? Um, okay. Lydia, are you sure? Wait, what is happening?” I heard her yawn again. I felt like I was talking to someone on another planet. I’d forgotten how not a morning person Daphne was, which seemed to be seriously exacerbated by jet lag.

“Yes. I know it was fast before, but weirdly, now it’s not. It’s right, Daphne. I promise it’s right. I’ll explain everything. But I need you. Can you take the day off?”

“Wait. Hold on. The coffee maker is going now. Let me make sure I understand—you’re getting married?”

“Yes.”

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“And Dylan is there? At your apartment?”

“Yes.”

“I’m on my way over. Give me twenty-five minutes.”

“Bring—”

“I’ll bring everything.”

“I love you!” But she was already hanging up. I had activated the Daphne machine, and I could feel my shoulders sink with relief.

When Dylan came back into the bedroom a few minutes later, I was standing in front of my closet, the sheet wrapped around my body and my coffee cup in my hand. I was staring into the cramped overstuffed space as though maybe it would magically produce the perfect dress to wear to one’s spur-of-the-moment wedding. I could hear him coming but hadn’t yet turned around.

“Was that your lawyer? What did he say? Do you have your birth certificate? Daphne’s coming over.” I clung the sheet to my body with my coffee and went to move some clothes aside, but I stilled when I felt Dylan’s chest against my back. His arms sliding over my shoulders, trying to settle me.

“I want to buy you a dress.” I turned around to look at him for a moment, and he kissed my forehead. “May I do that?”

“Yes.” For some reason, buying something new hadn’t even occurred to me. In spite of having gotten the better part of one cup of coffee down, I still was trying to grasp how we were going to accomplish this.

“Trevor pulled some strings and secured us an actual appointment at the city clerk’s office for four this afternoon. Does that give you enough time?”

“Plenty.” I sighed and leaned back into him. His presence calmed me, even if my mind was still buzzing, slowly building a to-do list.

“Daphne’s coming?”

“She is.”

“Do you want her to be our witness?”

I turned around completely, swallowing the remainder of my coffee and wrapping my arms around him while the empty mug dangled off my finger at his back. “Is that okay with you? She’s the closest thing I have to family.”

“Damsel, I want her there. For you. We’ll get a chance to do this all over again, and I’m afraid it will very much be about my family and fanfare. I want this day to be ours. Yours.”

“Thank you,” I said and landed my forehead against his firm bare chest. “You’re still only wearing a towel.”

He stroked his hands up my back, and started to pull the sheet down from my body. “I didn’t much see the point in getting dressed.” I could hear the seduction in his voice, the hunger, and it awoke every cell, set each one afire, but I pulled the sheet back and resecured it around my chest.

“Oh no, you don’t,” I said. “No more sex until after we’re married. You’ll have to make an honest woman out of me first.” I gave him a coy gaze and moved back, making a show of keeping a distance between us.

“Baby,” he said, pulling me back against him and making my refusal nearly impossible. His skin was so warm, and he smelled so good—that earthy scent humming in the air around us. “That’s a mere ten hours from now. Surely you can overlook the technicality.”

“Sorry, Hale. Rules are rules.” I squirmed free and moved behind the standing screen in the corner of the room. I took the robe hanging from its corner and slipped it on out of his sight.

He groaned in frustration for the second time that morning. “You’re maddening, you know that, right?”

I smirked as I reemerged.

“And speaking of rules,” he added, marching back towards me. “I’ll be buying you a dress. But: No. Knickers.”

“Who does he think he is?” I grumbled to myself while laughing as I headed into the kitchen for more coffee.

“I heard that,” he said firmly. “And the answer is: your husband.”

“I know you did!” I shouted back. “And the nineteen fifties called and they want their bossy man back!”

We continued the banter as we ate breakfast but quickly turned back to the practical issues at hand.

“So are you going to tell your mother?”

“That we’re getting married?”

I nodded.

“Well, it would kind of defeat the purpose of some of this if we never told anyone, don’t you think?”

I groaned, not being able to bear the idea of that conversation.

“Look, I know she’s made this about as difficult as she possibly could have. She’s bloody impossible. And I don’t want to call her. Or Emily. Anyone. We’ll tell them when we get back and take it from there. We should decide what we want—or don’t want—in advance, but I promise we won’t agree to anything until we’ve had a chance to consider it all together. Is that all right by you?”

“That seems fine. I just hate that it’s a thing.”

“It was always going to be a thing. I’m sorry for that. Me getting married…The best way I can describe it is that it impacts everyone, and not just in the ways a wedding normally impacts others. It’s—”

“It’s about the future of your family, of the name, of Humboldt. I get it. It’s just hard to reconcile that with the idea that it’s also just about us.”

He nodded and pulled me into his lap—he’d sat down on one of the old colonial chairs at the kitchen table. “Think of it this way: Our marriage is just about us—we’re the ones who decide everything about it. But we have to be thoughtful about those decisions, maybe think a bit harder than the average couple about what we decide to do. It will always be what we decide, but it would be unfair to ignore that the repercussions extend beyond us.”

I stared thoughtfully into my empty mug.

“Baby,” he said. “Don’t let this put a damper on this day—”

“I’m not. I actually feel lucky. And not because of the title, but because you’re a part of something that pushes you to be a better man.”

“And now you’re a part of it too. Or you will be by quarter past four today.” He smiled as he said the words. Then he reached across the table to grab his phone, which had started vibrating, his lawyer’s name flashing on its screen. “Hale,” he said sternly into the phone, all businesslike. “Well done. Thank you, mate.” Silence, and he began pouring himself another cup of coffee. “What’s the first thing?…I did, and the answer is still no.” He walked across to the fridge to get the milk. “I think I’ve made myself clear on this point.” He listened intently into the phone and actually rolled his eyes. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him do that before. “Bloody hell, fine! I’ll ask her.” He pressed a button on the screen of his phone. “Trevor, you’re on speaker. Lydia, say something so he can hear you.”

“Hi,” I said warily.

“Hello, Lydia.” Trevor’s voice crackled from the speakerphone.

“Now.” Dylan interrupted and looked at me purposefully. “Lydia.”

“Um, yes?”

“Do you want a prenuptial agreement?”

Oh, fuck. I hadn’t even thought about anything along those lines. Of course Trevor, as his lawyer, would be concerned. He should be. We’d met a few times, but regardless of that, he should of course advise his client not to marry a girl he’d known less than a year without a prenup.

“Lydia?” I hadn’t said a word, and Dylan was obviously starting to worry.

“Um. I think you should do whatever Trevor advises.” I tried to say it with as much warmth as I could. I didn’t care. I really didn’t, and I didn’t want Dylan to think I was being defensive.

He looked at me for a moment, searching, making sure I was being honest. Then he spoke back into the phone. “Well, you heard her. She says it’s up to me. And I don’t want one. It’s a bloody waste of your time. And mine.”

He looked at me with so much warmth. Not a hint of challenge. He put the phone off speaker and brought it back to his ear.

“What you fail to understand is that if Lydia leaves me, I’ll be worthless anyway, and I’d happily give her every cent I had. And there’s no way in hell I’d ever leave her. And Humboldt, as you know, is locked up in Hale Shipping anyway. So like I said, waste of time. And ink.” He looked at me the entire time he was speaking, and I nodded back, hoping to convey that I felt the same way. Not that I had anything to give, but that I loved him that much as well.

“Sure, I’ll let you know,” he continued. “So what’s the second thing?” He spoke more calmly into the phone and came around to stand behind me as he spoke. He was running his hand along my robe-clad shoulder, and leaning down to kiss my head when he said, “What? Well, what can we do about it?” I turned quickly to look at him when I heard him speak. His voice had gone down an octave, and he was running his fingers through his hair.

He put the hand over the receiver end of the phone again, and spoke softly to me on the side. “Trevor got the marriage license squared away—we’ll just need to sign it when it’s delivered—but there’s a twenty-four-hour waiting period. One needs a judicial waiver—”

At that moment, the door to the apartment swung open—I could hear it from the kitchen, and I’d know those footsteps anywhere. Daphne came barreling into the kitchen just as Dylan was filling me in. “Did he just figure out about the judicial waiver issue?” she asked.

“Yeah, what can we do about it?” I asked her.

“So I was looking into this on the way over, and it’s really simple. It’s just a signature. I think I know someone who will sign it for you—the judge I interned for last semester. She loves me. I’ve got you covered.”

“I’ll call you back…No, call him anyway, but Lydia’s friend, Daphne, apparently knows a judge. I’ll call if I need you to call Senator Hampson.”

Dylan hung up the phone, marched over to Daphne, and put his arm around her, giving her the most emotive hug I’d ever seen from him. I mean to someone other than me.

“Well, hi there, Your Royal Highness.” Daphne patted his back.

“Minister.” I laughed at their ridiculous ribbing of each other.

I laughed at both of them, and enjoyed this moment of all us just standing in my kitchen. The two people I cared most about in the world.

“So,” she said, grabbing a cup of coffee and looking at Dylan. “Once I forgive you for not asking for my blessing—”

“Sorry for that,” he said.

“Noted.” She reached into the fridge for milk. “Now we can get down to business. Lydia, you need to get dressed. We have errands to run. While you do that, I’ll call Judge Fogel.” I nodded, relieved to have our wedding planner in-house. “And, Dylan, you and I have some other details to discuss.”

“Indeed.”

I stood there, waiting to hear what they had to say, but they both just looked at me. Obviously they wanted to chat in secret. The nerve.