Page 98 of Coronation
Cal offers him a pitying look and holds up three fingers. “Billionaire, queen, prodigy.” He ticks off Sterling, me, and Sybil in turn. “Nobodycan compete with that, Dad. The gene pool absolutely fucked me. Anyway.” He rounds on Ben again. “I was watching my sister, and all of a sudden, she started complaining that she couldn’t breathe out of her nose. I’m panicking, right? Because I’m a fucking teenager and nobody trained me for that shit.”
I slump back in my chair, covering my face with my hands as both Dad and Sterling start snickering. Beside me, Ben is listening intently, obviously greatly invested in this story.
“So, I find a flashlight to look up her nose, and I see somethingfucking orangeup there. When I finally got her to fess up, she told me she shoved some peel up there because she liked the smell, and she couldn’t find any tape to—and I’m quoting here—stick it on there.”
My traitorous husband chuckles. “Innovative.”
“Indeed. I respect the creativity, but not the lack of practical considerations,” Cal agrees grimly. “Anyway, the extraction attempts weren’t successful?—”
“You tried to stick chopsticks up my nose! Did you actually believe that would work?”
“Chopsticks?” Dad demands incredulously, “I didn’t know about the chopsticks. Jesus, Cal.”
“That’s what you get for free childcare. In any case, we end up in the emergency room, and,” he breaks off, gasping for breath in between peals of laughter, “I swear to god, they started pulling the peels out, and it wasn’t just a few little pieces, they just kept coming! It was like some kind of medical miracle. The doctors hadn’t seen anything like it! Nobody could understand how she fit so goddamn much up there!”
All four of the men are roaring with laughter now, and I lean back in my chair, glaring around at all of them and pretending to be more disgruntled than I am.
“You’re very high and mighty for a man who once pretended he had an incurable case of scabies to get out of a gym membership.”
If Cal is embarrassed by this, he doesn’t show it as the laughter subsides and he returns focus to his breakfast, still grinning. “It’s been too goddamn long, Z. I’ll have to visit more, since the accommodations are so adequate.” His eyes lift to the resplendent room around us.
“Yes, adequate about sums it up,” Ben agrees, offering the fancy wallpaper a distasteful look.
“I think we’ll end up spending more time at Fernmoor House than we do here,” I muse aloud, helping myself to a bit of melon.
My father frowns at me. “Fernmoor House?”
“The house I’ve been staying in while filming, since the whole media situation got so crazy, and security was a concern,” I explain. “It’s in the North Country, and it’s lovely. Nobody in Ben’s family has used the place for years, and it’s begging for some love. I think I’m going to take up restoring it, so we have a place to get away.”
Dad grunts. “I suppose your schedule won’t allow for acting now?”
My heart sinks, and I turn my fork over between my fingers, considering how best to respond.
Even if Ben and I haven’t discussed the specifics of this, it’s pretty clear my film career is over. I knew what would be expected of me if I agreed to marry a king, and that it would mean a lot more hosting luncheons and charity work than working twelve-hour days on set. Besides, I’ve seen firsthand how brutal the industry can be on families, and I have no interest in continuing down that route at the expense of my husband and child. I love what I do, but not more than I love them. That, coupled with my complicated feelings about my place in the industry, leaves me feeling pretty peaceful about letting it go.
“I want to focus on being a good queen,” I tell Dad at last, offering him a weak smile, silently begging for him to understand. “It’s kind of overwhelming how much I have to learn. I have an opportunity, though, to do good things that positively impact people’s everyday lives, and I think that’s important.”
Dad smiles tightly, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Of course it is, Z.”
I look at Ben, meeting his eyes over the corner of the table. His expression is softer than I’m used to for a man who has such experience in hiding behind a stoic facade, but I’ve seen it every day since he found out about the baby and we got married. Giving up my career might sting a little, but what I’ve gained is so much more that I know I will never complain.
An alarm on my phone chimes, signaling the end of this item on the agenda, and I turn it off as Ben and I rise from the table.
“We’ll see you all at the cathedral,” I tell them. “Let the staff know if you need anything; they get irritated ifyou’re too low-maintenance. Trust me, I’ve gotten a lot of accusing looks over the past few days when I filled my own water glasses.”
There’s a round of goodbyes from my male relatives, and then we’re off, walking side by side down the corridor that leads to our private rooms. Ben arranged for someone to pack up my belongings in California, and they’ll be arriving next week, but until that time, the space doesn’t feel quite like my actual home. Not just the rooms, either. Right now, everything about this place is pretty surreal. I haven’t learned to stop tiptoeing around like an unwanted visitor, apologizing for bothering people, and asking permission to open unknown doors.
Not helping matters is that we’ve hardly been able to spend more than a few hours at a time together since arriving back in Wyngate after the wedding. I’m assured it won’t always be like this, and that our unexpected marriage, on top of the complications of adding me to the upcoming ceremony, has made for a particularly packed schedule.
Even so. I would really like some carefree newlywed time with my husband when all this is said and done.
As though he’s thinking along similar lines, Ben slows his pace just before we take the last turn toward our rooms, dragging me back through one of the dozen or so doors lining this section of the palace. I blink as the lights come on, and giggle when I realize where he’s taken me.
“A supply closet?” I tease, my arms looping up around Ben’s neck, allowing him to back me toward the nearest wall of shelves, piled high with cleaning supplies. “Are things that dire?”
“The only way I can get you alone, it seems,” Ben replies waspishly, his hands wandering down to my ass and dragging me more securely against himself. “You know, I’m not sure I thought this marriage business through. It never occurred to me that I would have to share you with an entire country.”
My thigh inches higher over his hip, and I bite my lip to prevent myself from moaning at the friction this facilitates with the bulge straining against his trousers. “So greedy, Your Highness.”
