Days passed. I didn’t see Max. Only Leo. Apparently, Max had taken my threat seriously and was staying away. That should have been good. That was exactly what I asked him to do. Why did I feel so horrible?

I sat on the stool in front of Cici’s bathroom mirror as Bea deftly parted my hair with her fingers, and rolled and styled sections of it with a large curling iron. Joan flipped back and forth between makeup brushes, and tiny pots of color and pencils, micro-managing my makeup. Esmeralda sat on the bathroom floor paging through gossip rags. “Oh, look, that photo of you collapsed on the tarmac with your skirt hiked over your panties made the Daily Email again.”

“Color me delighted,” I said.

“Look all the way up.” Joan tapped the underside of my chin.

I dropped my head back and stared at the ceiling.

Joan pulled the bottom of my lower eyelid down and penciled the inner rim. “Stop blinking.”

“Is this necessary? You could poke out my eye.”

“If you shut up that might not happen. The white pencil brings out what’s left of the whites of your eyes. It makes you look refreshed. Trust me, you’re in need of refreshing.”

“Thank you. We’ve been doing this for an hour. It’s not like this is for a photo-shoot. Leo and I have already had a ton of those.”

“I’m sure you’ll look lovely in Pottery Castle, People More Important than You Magazine and Royally Glamorous.” Bea plucked earrings from a large jewelry box, holding them up to my face, eye-balling them. She switched them out until she found a pair she liked and handed them to me. “These.”

I slipped on the earrings.

“This is a more important occasion than a magazine photo-shoot.” Joan broke into a sweat as she blended concealer under my eyes with a makeup brush. “This is your first meet and greet with Leo’s family since you got engaged. Have you even slept the past couple of nights? Your eye circles are the size of Bea’s former dowry.”

“Which was huge,” Esmeralda said.

“In olden days it would have been the equivalent of three sacks of gold coins, a few rubies, one hundred pigs, twenty goats, and a couple of bones from dead saints,” Bea said.

“We’re going to have to order concealer in a tub.” Joan dipped the makeup brush into the pot and dabbed more under my eyes.

“I need you all to help me pick out the perfect outfit,” I said. “I’m starving. Anyone?”

“Watching my waistline,” Bea said.

“Didn’t hit the gym,” Joan said.

“Got it.” I punched a button on the intercom. “Helga? Do you have time to whip up a sandwich?”

“Changed my mind. On sourdough,” Bea said.

“With fresh Bellèno sausages.” Joan said. “I’ll workout tomorrow.”

“Four sourdough subs with fresh Bellèno sausages and the works. Thanks. I’ll come down to the kitchen and pick them up. No really. Are you sure? Thank you.”

Bea lifted her thumb to her mouth and tipped her head back.

“Can you bring us a bottle of Korbel as well?” I asked.

“Ha!” Joan said. “You’re hilarious. The Perrier-Jouet Belle Epoque Rose Cuvee, please.”

I handed the phone to Joan. “You tell her.”

---

We noshed on sandwiches in my bedroom and the Ladies drank Champagne. I abstained. Cici might have met the royal family many times in the past, but this was the first time for me. “My sleep has sucked for the past three nights. Every night Helga brings me herbal tea before I go to bed. In the morning she drops off fresh coffee. But it never really wakes me up. I don’t feel like myself. I think it’s all the stress.”

Maybe it was all the lying. Or maybe I missed Max.

“What stress?” Bea asked. “You’re engaged to a hot Prince, you’ll want for nothing ever again. All you really have to do to cement the deal—post-wedding of course—is pop out an heir someday. I delivered two. Hubby is quite content with his little ladies who adore him. Of course he travels five days a week and only has daughter duty on weekends.”

“I read an article in Euro Cosmopolitan that said getting engaged was in the top twenty of major life stresses,” Joan said.

“I come by my eye circles the old-fashioned way—too much stress,” I said.

“Or perhaps your lack of sleep is from all the clandestine sex you’re having.” Esmeralda threw herself onto my bed. “Someone pour me a glass of Champagne, please.” She propped herself up on her elbows and held out one hand.

“What do you mean, ‘clandestine sex?’” I poured a glass and passed it to her.

“What do you mean ‘finally getting?’” Joan asked. “Good God, Cici’s been getting more than her share for years. I’m a single barrister with a fifty-hour work week. When do I have time to meet men?”

“You meet men all the time,” Bea said.

“I meet men who are married, incarcerated, or married and soon to be incarcerated. My ‘getting’ pool is in the shallow end,” Joan said.

“All the clandestine sex Cici’s getting will be screeching to a stop after she marries and pumps out two heirs. Color me happy if the hubs and I have sex once a week.” Bea guzzled what remained in her glass and held it out. “And even then, it’s usually in front of the TV during a soccer match. Top me off, please.”

“You’re engaged to a royal, darling,” Esmeralda said. “The good citizens of Bellèno assume you’re having hot sex, and while most of them fantasize about it, everything still must remain hush-hush for etiquette’s sake. I can only assume Leo is sneaking into your room and banging you senseless every night. That’s why you’re not getting enough sleep. Hence the eye circles.”

“Leo’s a perfect gentleman. No one’s banging me senseless. And if I see this quote in a tabloid, I’ll have your ass, Esmeralda.”

“Take a number and stand in line,” she said.

“We need to pick a dress. What do you think?” Joan held out four—one draped across each of her forearms and one dangling from each hand.

“I like the red one,” Bea said. “That’s Cici’s signature color.”

“The blue one’s cute,” I said. “It’s sweet, modest, and—”

“Did you turn Amish in the States?” Esmeralda stared at me. “The Cici I knew wouldn’t be caught dead in anything that droll. The blush-pink concoction is feminine without being over the top. It’ll bring out your complexion, which has completely lost all the acne. And it practically screams virginal, even though we all know that ship sailed a long time ago.”

Actually, not that long ago and only with the Johnny’s pizza delivery guy who was working his way through pre-med until I learned he was working his way through half the girls on his route.

“You’re right.” Bea ran her hand over the blush pink silk.

Joan nodded. “You’ve always had an eye for details.”

“It’s beautiful. It’s the perfect meet the Royal Family dress.” I felt my face flush. Could I do this? “Thank you, ladies. I’ll let you know how tonight’s meet and greet goes, hopefully before it hits the press.”

“You’re welcome.” Esmeralda rolled to sitting, cracked her neck, and stood up. “I’ll know all before it trickles into my grandmother’s royal Depends, which will probably happen even before it’s leaked to the press. I am, after all, Leo’s first cousin and part of the Rochartè family. I’ll be at the royal meet and greet tonight. You need anything, Cici, just look my way and signal.”

“Thank you.”

There was a knock at the door. “Yes?”

“Special treat for you Ladies,” Helga said.

“Come in!”

Helga entered carrying a silver tray filled with cupcakes. “Strawberry tart cupcakes. A time-honored Bellèno good-luck tradition,” she said.

Joan grabbed one and bit into it. “Ooh, yummy!”

“Thank you, Helga.” Bea plucked one and nibbled.

“Helga, this is so sweet of you.” I picked up a cupcake. “Really you didn’t have to.” I placed it to my lips—

Esmeralda ripped it out of my hand and tossed it across the room where it splattered against my window. “Cici! You’re deathly allergic to strawberries!”

“I am?” I asked. “Oh right, of course I am!” I frowned and tugged on my ears. “I could swear she said fairy tart cupcakes. I think my ears are still clogged from that horrible flight on Bellèno Air.”

“I didn’t know,” Helga said. “So sorry!”

“No worries! Of course, you didn’t know,” I said.

The problem was—neither did I.

---

A few hours later I was dressed to the nines, my hair shiny and curly. I paced the Fontaine Penthouse rooftop terrace with its blooming flower gardens and vegetable boxes. A tall mesh security fence surrounded the patio. I wasn’t a fan of heights but Lord Angus had assured me the barrier was secure.

I pressed the cell to my ear. “Do not tell me to calm down, Mr. Cartwright. I can’t talk to Max. You and Zara are supposed to be my go-to people and neither of you are here. I’m meeting the House of Bellèno’s Royal Family for the first time. Going this alone was not part of my job description.”

“I’m sorry. Zara hasn’t called or texted me in a few days. Some kind of drama with Catherine,” he said.

“There’s always drama with Catherine. Why didn’t anyone tell me she’s deathly allergic to strawberries? I want to do a good job. I want to pull this off. What if I screw it up? Oh crap, I’m turning into a self-centered, insensitive bitch, aren’t I? I’m sorry.” I knocked my fist against my head. “How is your back?”

“So-so. The physical therapists are making me walk and stand on my tippy toes. The hospital food is tedious. I just want to return to Bellèno.”

“I can’t wait for you....” I frowned. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Forget about me. My problems are tiny compared to yours.”

“You’re a sweet girl, Vivian.”

“Thanks. Say, have you talked to Max?”

“My PT is here. Talk later.” He hung up.

---

The pristine palace loomed through the front window of the royal limo. It looked like it had been lifted from a fairy tale and dropped into a bustling metropolitan city. A thick fence, manned by guards wearing uniforms sporting Bellèno’s royal colors.

We arrived at the security post and waited as the guards made a call.

“Why all the precaution?” I asked.

“Death threat,” the driver said as the guard waved us through.

“Death threat?”

The gates hummed and opened.

“Quite common, actually,” he said. “I wouldn’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“Death threats have never sounded all that comforting to me.”

“Standard fare, par for the course,” he said.

We motored down a lane toward the castle. Royal flags waved from poles embedded into the walls. There were turrets, a large tower, and a few cannons positioned on the fortress’s roof. We drove to the front of the castle and the driver slipped the limo into park. The bodyguard hopped out the passenger side and opened my door. From what I could see outside the tinted windows, there were no paparazzi on the premises.

“Hang on.” I raked my hand through my purse, found my lipstick, and swiped it across my lips, then stepped out of the car.

A palace guard bowed, and opened the front entrance.

---

I stood, head high, shoulders back, with Leo at my side in a long hallway. Marble busts of former kings and queens sat on pedestals and oil paintings lined the corridor’s walls.

Leo wore casual pants and a white buttoned down shirt. His coloring was darker than Max but they had the same smoldering eyes.

“The hall of the Bellèno’s kings and queens,” Leo said. “We might be up there some day. See that rather stout fellow on that wall?”

“The man with the magnificent curly hair and velvet cap with the feathers?”

“King Andrew George Winston of the House of Bellèno. A pain in the ass that one.”

“How so?”

“He stole the monarchy from his half brother after he poisoned him.”

“Why?”

“Why does anyone steal? Follow the money.”

“He probably lived out his life surrounded by glamour and fine things,” I said.

“His followers staged a coupe and turned on him like the skivey rat he was. He was deposed by his nephew, taken away in chains. He died alone in a tower somewhere overlooking the sea. By the way, did I tell you that you look gorgeous? I used to think red suited you best. I’ve changed my mind. I think pink is your new signature color.”

“Thanks.” I bit one manicured nail.

He took my hand and eased my finger from my mouth. “No nail biting in front of my family. They’ll perceive that as a sign of weakness.”

“What if they don’t like me?”

“That’s not going to happen. You already know them. Depending on which relative we’re talking about, you simply haven’t seen them in two, or five, or eight years.” He squeezed my hand. “Besides, they’ll take one look at you all grown up and curvy, and they’ll fall in love with you all over again. Just the way I did.”

“You think?”

“I know. Getting through the paparazzi and the magazine photo-shoots, that was the genuine pain in the ass. But you’ve charmed everybody.”

I nodded.

“This is the easy part,” he said. “This is cake.” He leaned in and smooched me on the lips.

His kiss was tender. More than a hint of sexy. He was hotter than hell. I should have been tempted.

I missed Max.

He pulled away, swiped the lock of hair off his forehead, and smiled.

I smiled back. “You’re kind.”

“I’m practical.”

“If I didn’t know better Leo, I’d think you’re actually a good man disguised as a bad boy.”

“Shh,” he said. “Don’t tell anyone, it’ll destroy my wild child image and reputation.”

“But you’re-I mean-we’re getting married. You don’t need the bad boy reputation anymore.”

“There’s no fairytale more enchanting than the one about the girl who tamed the bad boy, Cici. The press is eating it up. Your picture is everywhere on cable news and social media. The press has dubbed you ‘The Lady with a Heart.’”

“Why?”

“Because you’re genuinely nice to everybody. You don’t reserve your kindness for the wealthy or powerful. You’re kind to a cameraman. You’re nice to the tuba player. You’re even nice to Ducklips.”

“You call her that too?”

“I overheard you mutter it under your breath when she mentioned a baby bump. Hey.” His hand touched my waist, lingered, and I jumped. “Maybe we should get working on that.”

“Not yet. Why is being nice such a rare trait?”

“What happened to you in the States? You’ve grown more idealistic.”

Thankfully, a uniformed butler pushed open a tall, ornately-carved wooden door, before I had to answer him. He bowed to Leo. “Your family awaits Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” Leo said. He took my arm and pointed to a row of narrow stone steps inside a darkened chamber.

“Good luck,” the butler said and closed the creaking door behind us with a thud.

---

Leo led the way, holding my hand as we descended the long flight of stairs into a skinny, damp, dark passageway lit by flickering torches mounted high on the walls.

The temperature dropped twenty degrees and I shivered. We walked across cobblestone floors past ancient pens with short, sagging, rotting wooden doors accented with tiny peepholes covered in rusty, chain-linked mesh. Something sticky brushed against my face and I batted it away. I glanced up at thick spider webs on the ceiling. The torches cast funky shadows.

“This feels like a hazing,” I said.

“Ha. We gave that up a while back.”

“It’s still creepy. This used to be a dungeon, right?”

“Yes. Now we store vegetables here and use it as a passageway of sorts. Even the monarchy is modernizing.”

We reached the far end of the room. He pushed open a door. I blinked as sunlight streamed into the cellar and we climbed the steps out. I expected to find myself in a large ornate room. I expected a majestic chamber with two thrones. I expected a posh, intimate cocktail party. I did not expect to see Leopold’s family dressed in J. Crew-like attire having a picnic.

I recognized the man in the chef’s hat stationed at the very large grill: King Frederick Wilhelm Gustave Rochartè the Fourteenth was flipping burgers. We walked the few yards in his direction and then stopped. Leo bowed.

“Father. I’d like to present my new fiancée, Lady Catherine Theresa Fontaine. We anxiously await your approval of our betrothal.”

I curtseyed.

“Someday Leo, my first-born son, you will govern Bellèno. Is this the woman you want to be your queen? To rule by your side?”

“Yes, Father.”

King Frederick waved one hand in the air. “You have my approval. No rest for the wicked. It’s back to work for me.”

“Thank you so very much your Royal Highness,” I said.

I spotted Esmeralda dressed in a full-length luau themed dress, a flower lei draped around her neck. She sucked on a straw stuck in a tall, festive umbrella drink impaled with chunks of fruit.

The beautiful Queen Cheree approached us. She wore board shorts and a T-shirt. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. “I remember you from years ago, Catherine.”

“Your Highness.” I curtseyed.

“You’ve always been a very smart girl. I approve. Congratulations to the two of you!” She placed a hand on my arm. “We need to talk later about your upcoming schedule. Planning these types of things on abrupt notice can be monstrous.”

“Yes. Totally awful. I agree.”

What were we planning on abrupt notice?

“And I have an engagement present that I’m dying to give you,” she said. “A special ‘Welcome to the Rochartè family giftie.’”

An elderly woman, a lopsided tiara on top her coiffed white hairdo, moved toward us with the aid of a walker, one painful step at a time.

Queen Cheree placed a hand on her shoulder. “Can I help you with something, Mother?”

“No, my precious bundle of American joy,” the woman said. “I already surrendered my dream of my eldest son marrying into the British Royal Family. You’ve done enough for one lifetime.”

“I’m the one who needs help, Cheree.” King Frederick stood next to a huge, glossy BBQ. “I can’t find the tongs.”

“Hang on,” she said and walked away as a yellow lab bounded across the yard toward her.

The Queen Mum squinted up at me with her crystal blue eyes. She pinched my cheek. “You have a pretty face, Cici. Do you want to call me Queen Mum or Royal Nana?”

“Thanks,” I said. “Royal Nana.”

“She has ample hips, Leo. Good for babies, and ever since the Kardashian debacle, everyone likes a decent tuches.”

And just like that, the official Bellèno Meet and Greet the Royals turned into a backyard BBQ and party. The family went back to playing chess and badminton while King Fredrick obsessed over his grill. A bartender whipped up drinks at a small outdoor bar. Two uniformed servants refilled drinks and passed around plates of food.

Suddenly my perfect meet the royals dress felt a little too fancy. So much for getting it just right.

“How’s the burger, Catherine?” King Frederick fanned smoke from the grill.

“Perfect,” I said. “This cheese is delicious.”

“That’s from our goats that feed in the Friedricksburgh pastures next in the foothills of the Alps. Another thing your marriage to Leo will be saving.”

“What’s he talking about?” I asked Leo.

“Your Papa told you about the contract. Right?”

“Right.”

Not really. I knew that there were business dealings, but I didn’t know particulars.

Queen Cheree strolled up, the bouncy dog on her heels. “I’m kidnapping Catherine. Go help your father.”

Leo bussed my cheek and whispered, “You nailed meeting the family, Cici.” He strode off toward his dad holding court at the BBQ.

“I can’t wait to help you plan your wedding.” Queen Cheree said as we walked toward a gate in a stone wall.

“My wedding? Doesn’t that take at least six months?”

“It’s been fast-forwarded, darling. Something about a buyout. Truth be told, I already called a few folks a couple of days ago. I hope you don’t mind if I get involved. It’s the first wedding in our immediate family since mine, and I’m so excited. I want to give you your welcome to the family gift. Have you met Maisey?” She pointed to her Labrador.

“She’s gorgeous,” I said.

“I think so too. But I’m partial.” Queen Cheree keyed in a code and hit a button. The door slid open and we entered a small yard covered with a tarp stretched overhead.

Maisey raced to a medium-sized pen in the yard’s corner, pawed at it and barked. Two blond, fuzzy, fat puppies stretched up against its metal confines and yipped.

Queen Cheree bent down, unlatched the gate and the fur babies bounded onto the lawn. Maisey pinned one with her front paw, and licked him from head to tail.

The Queen lifted the second puppy and smooched its face. “Scrumptious! So much easier raising dogs than my own children. Here.” She held the pup out to me. “Your engagement present. Roman von Pumpernickle.”

“Really?” I took him from her, held him to my face, and inhaled his puppy breath. “Amazing!”

“No harm, no foul, you can turn down this gift. I don’t want you adopting this dog unless you truly want him.”

“I want him. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. And if you change your mind in twelve weeks or twelve years, give him back to me. Fair?”

“Fair.” Roman wriggled. I set him on the lawn and watched him trot off.

“All your puppy supplies are being delivered to your father’s condo even as we speak. Let’s get down to business and plan your wedding, yes? I arranged for bridal dress sketches and the fabric swatches to be brought to my table.”

No one had trained me to plan a wedding let alone a royal one.

“Great,” I said. “I have no idea how to plan a wedding.”

She laughed. “Ha! You and your Ladies have been planning your weddings since elementary school.”

---

Queen Cheree, Esmeralda, and I sat at an outdoor table piled high with sketches of designer wedding gowns and fabric swatches. The sun was going down and I shaded my eyes as we passed them around.

“Too old-fashioned. Too tragically hip,” Queen Cheree said.

“Too over the top fairy princess,” Esmeralda said.

“Agree.” I tossed the rejects into a pile.

“Hmm. Definite possibility.” The queen handed me a drawing.

“That doesn’t look anything like Cici,” a familiar voice said.

I turned. And just like I’d been issued a royal edict, Max came into view. His hair was messy and he sported a five o’clock shadow. He wore jeans, a fitted T, and held a lager in one hand. A raven-haired young woman, wearing too much makeup, a mini, and sky-high platforms accompanied him. My stomach dropped.

“Why are you so late?” the Queen asked.

“Daira and I just arrived in town.” His eyes locked onto mine. “We were delayed by bumpy weather.”

I knew what that was code for and my heart sank.

Esmeralda’s attention ping-ponged between Max and me. “Oh, crap.”