“Nothing,” I mumbled.
Amy grasped my hand beneath the table, offering her silent support.
Ignoring the disruption, Grandfather continued, “What would you say to announcing between Christmas and New Year’s? We could turn our annual New Year’s Eve ball into an engagement party. That gives your courtship a little over two months—a perfectly respectable amount of time.”
Respectable, my ass. This was the twenty-first century. No one met, fell in love, and got engaged in two months. That was the kind of thing you saw when an unplanned pregnancy was involved, and that wasnotthe case here—if I had my way, it never would be. The harsh reality was that an arranged marriage followed its own set of rules, and I was merely a pawn—a piece in their game, moved around the board at the will of the players.
Mom asked, “Lucy, have you thought about when you’d like the ceremony to occur? Summer or fall would be ideal before it gets too cold and snowy.”
How about never?
Most surprising in all of this was that my mom, my closest ally, saw no problem in my current predicament. When I arrived home this morning—after unexpectedly waking up at Desire—I appealed to her, begging for help extracting myself from this outdated practice of an arranged marriage.
She told me it was a good match and that Grandfather was overly generous in allowing me to step back as a working royal. Mom knew how much I loved my job. Looking at her now, apart of me wondered if she was a traitor, who told Grandfather exactly how to trap me into this ridiculous charade.
All eyes were on me, so I played off my silent tirade as time spent thinking about my schedule. “Well, let’s see. Amy and Liam are getting married the first week in April. Summer is rough for me, leading up to fashion week in September. Two royal weddings in less than a year seems like a lot of work. Are you sure we can’t postpone until the following spring at the very least?”
Waving her hand and smiling at our guests, she brushed off my concerns. “Everything is mostly done for Amy and Liam. I don’t see why we can’t see you two married by the end of next year.”
Feeling defeated since everyone had an answer for everything, I sighed. “Fine. Whatever you think is best.”
Pleased, my mother smiled at our dinner guests. “Wonderful. I think mid-October will be perfect.”
Grandfather commented, “Sets up perfectly for a summer baby.”
Baby?Did he say,BABY?
The last shred of my sanity snapped, and I stood from where I was seated, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.
Dad let out a shaky laugh and threw on a fake smile. “Lucy, is everything all right?”
“No, everything is not all right. Not once before tonight was there any mention of a baby. Assuming I’m expected to be the mother of said baby, was anyone planning to clue me in? Marriage is one thing, but you can’t seriously expect me to sit here like a good girl and open my body up to unlimited breeding for the sake of our country and this family’s survival.” Everyone just stared at me, including my intended, who I turned on next. “Didyouknow about this?” I didn’t give him time to answer,stating, “You know what, it doesn’t matter. This whole situation is insane!”
Shoving the heavy chair out of my way, I turned on my heel and was halfway out of the dining room when my mother called out, “Lucy! We have guests!”
Halting my steps, I turned back to our dinner guests. Throwing my arms wide, I couldn’t help the near-hysterical laugh that left my lips, nor the sarcastic tone in my response. “I’m sorry your dinner is ruined. You know what? I’m not, actually, because mylifeis ruined.”
The smirk on Preston’s face caught my eye, and damn if I didn’t want to slap it off his face for the second time in two days.
“You’ll have to excuse Lucy. She’s not quite herself at the moment.” Putting a hand next to his mouth in a conspiratorial fashion, he told the group, “You know . . . That time of the month.”
My mouth dropped open in shock as I felt heat rushing to my face. Howdarehe? Speechless, I let out a frustrated scream and fled the room.
This would never work. He was determined to make my life a living hell. A life with Preston would be worse than a life without fashion.
When the dust settled, I’d tell Grandfather the deal was off.
Amy found me in my home workspace—ironically, the same room in my apartment expected to eventually house the nursery.
Knocking on the door as I sketched out my frustrations, she asked softly, “Do you have your computer?”
Confused, I turned to where she stood in the doorway. “Why do I need my computer?”
She was dressed casually in leggings and an oversized sweater, an indication that dinner was over. “I might have an idea, but we’re gonna need some help.”
“My laptop is in my bedroom.”
Standing, I stretched my body, which was stiff from hunching over my sketchbook for what apparently had been hours since I’d left dinner. Usually, losing myself in new designs was therapeutic, but my brain was still fuzzy, unable to focus. I was sure that tomorrow when I looked at my drawings, they would either be genius or garbage.
