Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I could finally hear my heart beating. It was loud and painful, begging me to do the right thing, the selfless thing.
I really did not want to listen, though.
“I will seriously consider it.” I sighed, hanging my head. “Whoever is it that they wish me to marry.”
“Whomever? Even Lady Maeve Cudmore?”
“Oh, dear God!” I cringed, my skin crawling.
“I’m merely joking,” he had the audacity to say, a small smile on his face. Though the rest of him still looked weighed down.
“This is not the time for jokes. I am at the edge of my sanity right now. I cannot take it,” I grumbled, rubbing my temples. “Who is it? Actually, on second thought, don’t tell me. Just get me drunk and hold me up at the altar should there be no other way.”
“First, I do not know if that would be legally binding, so let us not do that. Secondly, what would it take for you to move past the point of consideration?”
I knew he wanted me just to say yes. Part of me knew, for the sake of my family and the crown, I had to, but the words just would not leave my lips. “I do not know. Surely, I could meet the woman a few times. It would be good for us not to be complete strangers. What do you know about her?”
“I barely know anything in truth, other than her fortune and name, that is.”
My eyebrow raised at that. “You know nothing of her? How? What family is she from? Maybe I’ve already heard of her?”
“I doubt it. She’s not Ersovian.”
“German, then?”
He shook his head. “Wrong direction. Go west.”
“French?” That wouldn’t be the worst.
“Keep going west.”
I paused. “How far west am I going?”
“North America.”
For the love of Christ! “An American? Bloody brilliant. It’s always been my desire to be a complete and utter cliché. Everyone knows the only reason a noble marries an American heiress is if they are in need of money. I might as well tattoo the words gold digger on my forehead.”
“If the prince of England can marry an American, so can you, Gale,” he stated.
“This isn’t England, and she wasn’t an heiress.”
“And the difference is?”
“American culture and American wealth culture are completely different.”
“Now you are being a snob,” he replied, but he did not say I was wrong.
“Fine. Is she a Hilton or something? Do you know her name?”
“Odette Wyntor, co-heir of Etheus.”
“Etheus?” I knew that company. “But isn’t the family that founded Etheus—”
“Black,” he finished for me and nodded. “Yes, they are. Is that a problem for you all of a sudden?”
“No.” I ignored the last part of his comment. “However, with the current political climate as it is, and people as they are, why the bloody hell would they agree? What do they get out of a title that means nothing?”
“It is hardly nothing to be married to a prince. We may not hold much actual power, but we carry a lot of influence, not only here but throughout Europe, too.”
I wanted to ask him if he thought influence and gossip were the same things. If he did, he was correct. Everyone loved to gossip about royals, and the British always took the brunt of it throughout the world. But within Europe, we were the second most gossiped about. Who has what? Who gave more? Who was seen where? And the worst, who was dating who? Eliza refused to leave the country for a year because she took one photo with the prince of Denmark, and all of a sudden, parliament and the whole nation were in an uproar over her. All of that scrutiny, all of that judgment, and for what? The only people who willingly joined this circus were women either hell-bent on joining aristocracy or people with no choice.
Neither option was what I wanted in a wife.
Chapter 2
“Mom, I’m begging you, please, please, do not make a scene.” At this point, I was ready to get down on my knees and plead with her. But since we were still in the car, all I could do was hold out my hands in front me as if I were praying. Actually, that is a good idea. I closed my eyes. “Heavenly Father, as we—”
“Oh, will you relax!” she called out, smacking my hands. “Don’t waste God’s time on this. I have it handled.”
“That is exactly what I am worried about, Mom!”
Instead of paying attention to me, however, she leaned forward and looked into the mirror that she had rigged up on the back of the passenger seat, brushing her tiny curls.
“I really like this hairdo, and they said I couldn’t pull off a blonde pixie cut at my age,” she gushed.
I rolled my eyes. “Can we please focus, Mom?”
“Right, let’s go—”
“Wait!” I stopped her before she could take her Christian Dior clutch and get out of the car. “You didn’t tell me what you and the lawyer discussed. What’s the plan?”