To Steal a Groom (Royal Billionaire Romance) (7 page)

“There you are.” Wrapping me in his arms, he twirls me around. “Natalia told me there’d been a room mix-up. Thanks for looking out for her, Nic.”

“Of course, Highness.” Nic bows. “I think I’ll hail a cab, unless you’d like me to escort you home?”

“I think we can manage, Nic,” Damon says. “We’ll see you back at the palace.”

Bowing again, Nic takes his leave. Have I ever seen him bow to the prince before? I hope Damon won’t get suspicious. I’m a little jealous that Nic can distance himself from this mess so easily. I’m going to be weighed down with guilt every second I’m with Damon. I wonder if it ever gets easier.

Damon walks me out the front door, to where the canary-yellow car waits. “Did you have a good night?”

“As far as I can remember.” It’s the truth, at least.

Damon laughs as he gets behind the wheel. “I don’t know when I last partied like that. Natalia and Marc should be commended.”

We rocket down the road, at one point passing a pair of police cars. One of the officers waves at Damon.

The prince shifts to a higher gear. “Do you want to go to London again today? The weather should be beautiful again.”

“Can we please stay here? I don’t think a jet would help my headache.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, intent on the road. “You didn’t like Lady Fortuna’s, did you?”

“I really appreciate you taking me there. I’m just not sure I can go through all that effort again. Not today, anyway.”

We come to a stoplight. The idling car rumbles impatiently.

“Would you like to try something closer to home?” Damon asks.

“If that’s all right with you.” If Eris will forgive us, I’d like to ask for her help. I’ve already seen the magic she can work.

At the green light, the car leaps forward with a snarl. “I’ll see what I can arrange,” Damon says.

He puts the car through its paces, the engine noise drowning out the possibility of conversation. I hope he’s not mad at me over choosing a dress. How would he handle the news that Nic and I have no clue what happened in our room last night?

We drive through the iron gates and up to the palace. A woman waits on the stairs. I jolt forward as Damon stops the car quite ungracefully. “Sarina?”

The queen stands on the steps, smiling serenely. “I thought I might talk with Grace.”

A discussion with Damon’s stepmother isn’t what I had in mind for this morning. I was planning to sleep off my hangover. I look over at Damon, who nudges me. It seems I don’t have much choice.

I step from the car. “I’d love to, Majesty.”

“Splendid.” Sarina walks up the stairs, motioning for me to follow.

Pleading with my eyes, I ask Damon to save me. He shrugs as if to say that he can’t help me here, and slowly drives toward the garages.

Taking a deep breath and hoping I won’t embarrass myself, I trail the queen. She leads me down a passage I’ve never seen before. The walls are lined with rich hangings, depicting castles and kings. She pushes open a door at the end of the hall.

Sarina crosses the room to pull back the curtains. Morning light illuminates bolts of shining white fabric. “A little bird told me that you’ve been having dress troubles.”

“That’s correct, Majesty.” It better not have been Damon. I know I rejected a second trip to London, but the idea of playing dress up with his stepmother is far worse. The queen I know has always been chilly toward me, so this helpful version is rather disconcerting.

I start when I realize that we’re not alone in the room. A woman stands in the corner, her brows thick and her eyes hooded. She bows stiffly when she catches my eye.

“Is this what I have to work with?” she asks the queen.

Sarina nods. “Grace, this is Valda, my dressmaker. She’s the best. I trust my finest occasions to her, and she’s never failed me. I’m leaving you in very capable hands.” With that, she sweeps from the room. I barely have time to curtsy before she’s gone.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Miss Bird,” Valda says. “I hear about everything that upsets my queen. She is a delicate soul. You work with me, and we can avoid unpleasantness.”

I’m not sure if that’s a helpful offer, or a veiled threat. And I don’t know where Valda gets the idea that the queen is delicate. She’s torn me down before, and I have no doubt that she’d do it again without hesitation.

Valda pulls a dusty cloth off a mannequin in the corner.

“Oh!” I try not to recoil at the sight of the dress beneath. It looks like the mannequin is being choked by white lace.

“You like it?” Valda asks.

“It’s very … unique.”

“It was the queen’s wedding dress.” The woman’s eyes well up. “She looked so magnificent. The picture of perfection.”

I wonder how anyone could have seen her under all that lace.

Grunting, Valda pulls the dress off the mannequin. “Are you ready to try it on?”

So the lace can claim another victim? “I’m flattered, but I wouldn’t want to ruin Her Majesty’s dress.”

Valda clucks. “I keep telling her that it needs to be in a museum.”

Or in a fire.

“But she gave me explicit orders that you were to try it on.”

Maybe Sarina wasn’t being nice at all. Maybe she’s moved onto a new form of torture. “Her Majesty is very generous, but I’m not sure I understand. Why would she have me try on her dress?”

Valda lays her fingers against her temples, as if she’s weary of dealing with imbeciles. “You require a wedding dress. The queen wants you to be fashionable, yet traditional. There’s no better template for what you need than the gown from the last royal wedding in Lions.”

I’m sure every word I say will get back to the queen, so I have to choose them carefully. “The queen is very generous. But, and pardon my ignorance, wasn’t she married many years ago?”

Valda’s nostrils flare. “The queen would not be offering her help—or mine—if you were not in her good graces. Do you wish to remain there, or would you rather dismiss me?”

I don’t even want to contemplate the storm that would follow me spurning Sarina’s help. “Could I try on the dress, please?”

“Very well. Disrobe.”

It’s even worse than I thought it would be. The queen must have been in good shape on her wedding day, for the fabric digs into my hips. With each button that Valda fastens, I become more panicked that I’ll never be able to escape this lace nightmare. By the time she reaches the highest buttons on my neck, I feel like I’m being bitten by thousands of ants. I’ve never encountered a garment this intensely itchy.

The collar is constricting me like a snake. I feel even sorrier for the mannequin, who’s had to endure this monstrosity for years. I try to loosen the lace around my neck, but I can’t even fit a finger between the dress and my skin.

Valda slaps my hand away. “Don’t stretch the fabric. It’s very delicate.”

So is my skin. Somehow, I resist the urge to claw the lace away. The tightness of the sleeves helps, since it makes it almost impossible to bend my arms in the first place.

“And now for the finishing touch.”

I cringe. There’s more? My flesh feels like it’s being devoured. How did the queen stand still through her vows?

“Here we are.” Valda throws something heavy around my neck. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was trying to garrote me. I cough as she fastens it.

“What is that?” I try to look at a mirror on the far wall, and find that I can no longer turn my head.

“Would you like to see?” I have to lean on Valda’s arm as she guides me to the mirror. The dress is so tight through the knees that I can only take tiny steps. At last, she turns me so that I can see myself.

Not only does lace cover every inch of skin besides my face, I have a ruff the size of a dinner plate around my neck. I look like a Shakespearean jester.

I burst out laughing. I try to turn it into a cough, but I’m not sure how well I succeed.

Valda’s imperious brows descend as she frowns.

“I’m sorry.” I cough into my hand. “I think the ruff is a bit dusty. It may be setting off my allergies.”

She snatches it away. “What do you think of the rest of the dress?”

“It has a lot of character. I can see why the queen likes it so much.”

“Spin, spin,” Valda urges. “You need to see the back as well.”

I obey, only to find a large bow over my butt. I keep turning, trying to suppress a new wave of giggles.

“Can you see the details on the hem?”

As I bend down, something rips at my waist.

“Stop!” Valda cries. “You need to stand up straight at all times!”

Am I not supposed to sit on my wedding day? Is this a gown or a torture device?

Valda’s already loosening the back. “Let’s get you out of this gown. I don’t want you to ruin it any more than you already have.”

I can’t escape the dress fast enough. I slip my clothes on as Valda puts the dress back on the mannequin. I swear I can still feel ants on my skin, though nothing’s there when I check.

“So,” Valda returns with a pad of paper, “we might have to make your dress looser to contend with your unladylike behavior.”

I bite my tongue. I’m not well versed in the ways of royalty, but I believe that ladies are allowed to sit from time to time.

The dressmaker takes a pencil from behind her ear. “Is there anything else I should know about your wishes?”

I wish to be as far from here as possible, but I don’t want to upset the queen. I can’t tell Valda that I hate her dress, so I’ll only tell her the aspects I most despise.

“I think I’ll make do without the ruff.”

“Hmph.” Valda scribbles something.

“And less lace is fine with me.”

“Hmm.” Her pencil skates over the page, effortlessly forming clean, crisp lines. At least on paper, Valda is an impressive artist. If only her vision weren’t quite so stuffy.

The sketch is no better than the dress, but I don’t want to say anything. This is the only time the queen has reached out to me, and I don’t want to let it go to waste. Looking like a fool for a day is a small price to pay if it makes Damon’s family happy.

“What do you think of that?” Valda tilts the sketchpad for me. There’s an inch around the neck that’s free of lace.

“It’s breathtaking,” I say. “Could I think it over before you begin making it? I’d like to show it to the prince.”

“Fine,” Valda says, sighing as she tears the page from the pad. “Before you go, let me get your measurements.”

“Oh, do you know Eris, the chambermaid? You can get my measurements from her.”

Valda sniffs. “I wouldn’t trust that wench with something this important. Or with anything, for that matter.”

I clench my fists, staring at my whitening knuckles. I’m doing this for Damon. I want his stepmother to like me. I won’t snap at this horrible woman.

“Relax, Miss Bird. The dress won’t fit right if your shoulders are this tense.”

I try not to fidget as she runs a tape measure around my bust, waist, and hips, tutting all the while.

At last, she dismisses me, and I race down the hall. I want to find Damon, and get his opinion on this abomination of a sketch. Maybe he’ll have some ideas for how I can gracefully get out of this. I really should have let him take me to London today.

One of the front doors opens as I reach the main hall. I quicken my stride. “Damon?” I call.

It’s Nic. His face flushes, and he steps back outside so fast that he almost trips. The door clangs shut behind him.

My stomach lurches. Why couldn’t that have been a horrible dream?

“Grace!” Damon descends the spiral stairs, taking them two at a time. “Perfect timing. Brunch is ready.”

“Oh.”

He stops short, looking closely at me. “Are you all right?”

I should tell him. I have to. Not now, though. I don’t want to ruin his meal. “I’m fine. I’m just feeling last night still. The party, I mean.”

“Do you think you can eat something?”

“I can try.”

“Come on, then.” He holds out an arm. “What did Sarina want?”

I fold the sketch, hardly caring if my sweaty hands ruin the lines. “I’ll show you while we eat.”

We enter through the double doors. The king and queen are already at their places. Sarina nods to me, while the king steadfastly ignores me. At least one of them doesn’t hate me, though that might change if I don’t go with this horrible dress concept.

I sink into my chair with a sigh. Getting engaged to Damon was like a fairytale come true. How did everything get so twisted so fast?

Two chairs over, Marc is practically glowing. I guess it’s from the accolades he’s getting for pulling off the engagement party so well. I don’t begrudge him those, but I am envious that he’s escaped any effects of a night of heavy drinking. My head still throbs a little, and that’s when I can get my mind to stop hammering away at visions of what might have happened last night.

“Why are you so cheerful?” Damon asks Marc.

Marc looks around the room. “It looks like the family’s all present.”

The prince frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Marc looks at Natalia, who is seated next to him. I realize that they’re holding hands.

“If I could have your attention, everyone,” Marc says as he rises. “I’d like to announce my engagement to Lady Natalia Fa of Andova.”

Natalia waves prettily, as if none of us know who Marc is referring to.

The queen puts her hands to her mouth, tears in her eyes. “Marc, I’m so happy for you! Natalia dear, come give me a hug.”

Natalia rounds the table to accept the queen’s embrace. She looks over Sarina’s shoulder at me, a serene smile on her lips. My breath hitches. I have to remind myself that none of this is Natalia’s fault. There’s no way she knows how much this stings.

Darius leans across the table to shake Marc’s hand. “A smart match, my son. I knew you had it in you.”

“Thank you, Father. You taught me everything I know.”

I feel like I’m reeling. How could this day get any worse?

Marc holds an arm out to Natalia, who comes to stand beside him again. “If it’s all right with you, Father, we’d like to get married as soon as possible.”

“How soon?”

“In two weeks’ time.”

The king strokes his beard. “I’m sure that can be arranged. Of course, you’re welcome to hold your celebration on the palace grounds.”