Page 11 of The English Queen

“That makes two of us. We shall fight with words, melodies, and guilt–a weapon we both know to wield well.”

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Rita flashed back to her first wedding as she planned her second. She and Richard had been married in a no-holds-barred, budget-free ceremony at St. George’s Chapel at Windsor. It wasn’t a royal wedding, but it was attended by the entirety of the royal family and most foreign delegations close to the family. They hosted a pre-wedding royal attendee dinner, formal rehearsals, and well-wishers pouring into the gates in a small viewing area to see people entering. It had been Tatler’s “event of the season” and had delivered.

If only the following marriage had been as wonderful. Rita had been happy on that day. She had figured, like her parents, they were forever. However, Richard didn’t take his vows to heart. He thought Rita’s open mindedness was a Get out of Jail Free Card which allowed him to put his dick in anything that moved without so much as a comment. It was mortifying in the end, but the wedding had been lovely. It had been perfect. It met every expectation–of which there had been many.

Second marriages were rarely so luxe. That was gauche. The only reason Elliot got away with it was he had first eloped into short-lived a marriage–without his mother’s permission–and people were glad to see him seriously settle down with an “acceptable” match. Charlotte fit the bill. Rita was glad to have the expectations of a big pseudo-royal society wedding taken off her shoulders this time. It did not seem sad, as she had always assumed second weddings were. Instead, she and Bruno made their own choices and wanted it to be a big party. In the end, they’d be married. It was time to celebrate finding one another.

Before she’d told her boys, Rita decided on her dresses. She would wear something off-the-the rack for the ceremony at the registry office–a simple silk gown from Galvan. For the wedding, she commissioned a bespoke gown from a Mexican American designer who showed his first collection in New York a year before. The inspiration was art deco and built for tall, leggy brides. Rita was interested in a collab. They traded designs back and forth. Her seamstress sent her measurements, and she updated them with some “give” since she was expected to be showing when she walked the aisle. The dress was a strapless fit-and-flare number with intricate beading from head-to-toe. The pattern transformed the bodice into something reminiscent of the Chrysler building until a simple belt transformed the beading into a unique geometric look all over the skirt. The train was short. It was beautiful, loud, and a perfect party dress.

Bruno’s mother loved the dresses but was nearly heartbroken Rita wasn’t planning on a veil for either ceremony. Mantilla veils ran in the family. They were beautiful. When she had married Bruno’s father, Silvia wore the most beautiful veil previously worn by Bruno’s grandmother years before. She wore it as a nod to the new Mexican way she was trying to embrace. Rita’s ceremony dress was relatively simple, and she wondered if maybe Rita wasn’t interested in something similar.

Rita wasn’t planning on doing more than a simple birdcage on a hat. A veil required a tiara. She had plenty to choose from. Why not? The more she dug into the veils in Mexico, the more she fell in love and decided it was time to purchase one. However, it was a trade. It was craftsmanship. So, she and Bruno elected to take a trip to his hometown to look at veils and to catch up with family. Rita was told she’d be spoiled within an inch of her life.

Rita was excited for their trip, but they had one more hurdle. They had not told Bruno’s parents about the baby. Beyond Robbie and Vanna, they had not told anyone. Rita couldn’t keep a secret from Vanna. It was impossible. She had always been the first to know. Vanna was over-the-moon, but knew how stressful the first few weeks of pregnancy could be for any woman. Especially at Rita’s age, things weren’t rosy. However, as they saw Ravi for their first appointment, he was positive. The baby was measuring well. Pictures in hand, they departed for the warmth and sunshine of Mexico City. They did so along with a new accompaniment, the Sanchez Tiara, as Rita dubbed it. It was a gift Rita bought herself–a floral spray that was beautiful and low-profile. She’d bought it on a lark with Vanna’s encouragement. She couldn’t try on veils without it, after all.

“Welcome, welcome,” Silvia greeted them at Bruno’s family’s house.

And thus began the big, overwhelming, lovely welcome back. Rita and her children had stayed with his family over the summer holidays. Rita and the boys fell in love with the weather, food, and warmth of Bruno’s family. They treated her little ginger-headed children like their own grandchildren. While she’d met a few of Bruno’s siblings that time, she was now overwhelmed with all five of them. Rita wasn’t one to blanch at a big, wild family. It was on-brand. They sat down to a fabulous meal. Unfortunately, Rita was unable to eat most anything. She had the appetite of a bird at present.

“I’m apologising in advance for my appetite,” Rita said. “It’s not what it usually is.”

“Don’t tell me you filled up on airplane food,” Raul, Bruno’s dad, laughed.

“Not at all. No. I ate almost nothing on the flights. Dreadful food even in first.”

“She’s just especially picky,” Bruno clarified. “Right now.”

“I’m not picky. I am lousy. It’s not a knock on this lovely spread, Silvia. It’s just…”

“We’re having a baby,” Bruno declared, proudly.

The eruption of the room was predictable. The number of tight hugs was overwhelming. Rita’s family was not a hugging family. She made a mental note to prepare her family for the reality of Bruno’s family being full of huggers and not to be offended. She made another note to have Bruno inform them not to hug the Queen. That was a big no-no. Rita beamed. It was good to have people happy for them. She always worried someone would say she was too old and shouldn’t be doing this. She still thought someone would come out of the woodwork to shout at her for being greedy or reckless or something. It never happened.

“This is such good news,” Raul said. “And you never thought you’d have any of your own, Bruno.”

“I didn’t.” Bruno chuckled.

“Happy accident?” his sister, Maria asked.

“No. We talked about it and decided we’d just see. She didn’t want to do more than just see what happened.”

“I was broody–I wanted a baby,” Rita admitted. “Which he picked up on, so we said what the hell? It had nothing to do with getting engaged.”

“No, I asked her about the baby. She asked me to marry her. Totally independent,” Bruno asserted. “But we couldn’t be happier about either.”

“Chuffed. Truly chuffed.”

“That means incredibly happy,” Bruno translated. “Chuffed.”

“I always wanted a third baby. It never worked out. I guess the universe had other plans.”

Bruno’s grandmother figured out what was going on by this point, but did not speak English. Instead, she said something in Spanish and Raul translated.

“She says it is a blessing from God. She had her last baby at your age–my youngest sister. She wishes you the best.”

“Gracias,” Rita said. “I feel a bit silly sometimes. Like someone will say something to me.”

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