To Marry A Prince. A.C. Arthur
felt like crap. Astelle had left her in that kitchen alone, where Landry spent a few more moments wallowing in guilt and wondering how long she should wait before apologizing to her mother. Her father had come in during that time, rubbing his hand over Landry’s head as he used to do when she was a child.
“Put your foot in your mouth again, huh, pumpkin?” Heinz had asked with the booming melodic voice of a southern-born minister.
“Yes, sir,” had been her quiet response.
“She’s only telling you what she’s learned. That’s a mother’s job,” he said as he went into the refrigerator and grabbed a bottled water.
Landry watched her father’s strong hands—the same ones that, when she was ten years old, had fixed the chain on her bike—twist the cap off the water before lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a gulp. She saw the man who had carried her mother to the car the night she’d awakened in pain and stayed at the hospital every second Astelle was there having her emergency hysterectomy. Landry had only been sixteen then. He was the same man who had placed money in Landry’s hand and told her to go to the grocery store and get some things to have cooked before Astelle came home. The man who had written check after check for Landry to attend college when the scholarships she’d received had run out.
“I’m not the type of woman she is,” Landry had admitted. “I could never be like her.”
Heinz shook his head, his short-cropped black hair having long ago made the transition to snowy white. “She doesn’t want you to be like her. She just wants you to be good and true.”
“To bow to some man and say what he wants to make him happy. Kevin Blake cheated on me with a freshman that had big boobs and a fake butt. What could I have done to make him happy if that’s the kind of trash he wanted to chase in the first place?”
“Nothing. Because he was a jerk. But not all men are and your mother is simply trying to prepare you for a mature and fulfilling relationship.”
“She’s trying to make me a Leave It to Beaver wife in the age of The Real Housewives.”
Heinz chuckled then. “Now, those women, you should definitely take note of.”
Landry had been surprised by what her father had said in reference to the reality TV series. But more so because as she’d been talking to him, she’d moved to the seat that her mother had vacated and started snapping the green beans and dropping them in that same yellow bowl.
“You’re saying I should take advice from the housewives?” she asked because that made more sense than trying to figure out what she was doing with the beans.
“No,” Heinz replied with a hearty chuckle. “Not at all. What your mother and I have built over the course of our marriage is something special and sacred. It’s also been very rewarding for us. Of course your mother would want you to find the same type of commitment for your life. The thing is, what I think you’re missing about the type of marriage that your mother and I have, is that it’s rooted in love. Your mother could not do and say the things she did with regard to our marriage if she didn’t love me with every fiber of her being. For that I am forever grateful as there is no greater love on this earth. As for me, I can only thank the Lord daily for the blessing of my wife. I love her phenomenally and I cherish her. That’s what she wants for you, Landry. That’s what we both want for you.”
Well, that was never going to happen, Landry thought as she pushed away from the door and stepped out of her heels, kicking them across the Aubusson rug.
She reached behind and unzipped her dress as she walked toward the rack where she’d left the hanger. Landry stood in the middle of the fanciest room she’d ever had the pleasure of staying in and stripped the expensive dress off her body. She hung it on the rack once more, traipsed over to the bed and plopped down onto the shiny cream-colored comforter.
She’d thought for sure Kristian wanted to kiss her. Everything about him said so. The way he’d stepped to her and touched her chin. His eyes had grown darker, his lips parted. Well, hers parted first because not only had she assumed he wanted the kiss, she’d been anxious for it as well.
With a heavy sigh she fell back on the bed, one arm going over her eyes, her hand to her stomach as if she could possibly calm the butterflies that still danced happily there. She wanted to kiss the prince. Not the sexy flirtatious one that probably would have easily taken her into his arms and kissed her senseless. No, she had to want the other one. The one who looked at her like she was no better than the rug he stepped on. She hadn’t been here a full twenty-four hours and already she was messing up.
But tomorrow was another day and she needed to get an early start. Malayka was going to be anxious and irritable. Everything would need to be perfect for her first official appearance as Prince Rafferty’s fiancée. So with a resignation to keep her mind on things that it should be on, Landry moved over the bed until she could push down the comforter and slip beneath it and the sheets. Lying on a soft pillow she stared up at the ceiling and attempted to think of the dresses she would pull for Malayka tomorrow. The shoes, earrings, necklace, rings. How her hair would be styled. Makeup soft, or bold?
Those thoughts were quickly replaced by the sights of the windows across the room. Large windows, no curtains, giving a clear view out to the night sky. Dark, but with tiny pricks of light. Stars, Landry thought. There were stars out tonight. What would happen if she wished upon a star?
Not a damn thing, she thought with a chuckle. This wasn’t a storybook and wishes did not come true. Sure, she was lying in a king-size bed, in a room in a palace. Tomorrow morning she would watch a prince announce that he was about to make a woman a princess. A woman, who for all intents and purposes, came from the same place that Landry had. And yes, tonight she’d dined with said prince, plus two more and a princess who smiled easily but managed to run their household and island in grand style.
There was still reality. The one where Landry was a business owner and Malayka was a client. She would do this job and then she would return to LA, to her family and her condo. To her world. The princes and princesses would all remain here in the land that looked to be fresh out of a childhood storybook, but had no place in Landry’s dreams.
Now that was a buzzkill if ever she’d experienced one. Landry turned on her side, closed her eyes and forced them to remain that way. She thought of dresses again, of colors and materials. She did not think about Kristian, or his lips, or how a kiss from him would have tasted. She refused, and that took way more energy than planning a wardrobe for any client ever had.
Kris watched the taped version of the press conference for the third time. There was a throbbing between his eyes as he hit the stop button on the remote, ending the recording seconds before turning the television off.
He was in his rooms now, two hours after his meeting at the bank had ended. His second meeting of the day had been cancelled and his father had never contacted him about when they would meet today. Kris sat back in the leather chair in the sitting area that he’d turned into an additional office and stared down at his desk. He did not have time for this.
Press conferences about wedding plans, announcements about parties, and yes, the blatant disrespect Malayka had just shown to the local dressmakers, were all among the things Kris did not want to deal with. There were too many more important things for him to occupy his thoughts with. The meeting at the bank and the concern that had been gnawing at him for weeks, for instance.
Grand Serenity Island was an independent territory that had been acquired by the Netherlands in the 1600s. The island did not flourish as the early settlers would have liked because of its dry climate and thus the lack of agricultural prospects. That began to change in the late 1800s when the son of a British sailor named Montgomery Chapman decided there had to be more to this place than gorgeous waters and warm air. Montgomery and his group of slaves discovered the Rustatian Gold Mill, which eventually went on to produce three million pounds of gold. In the immediate