Just Another Bright, Sunny Day
Flicka von Hannover
I married Pierre because
everyone was counting on me,
even though I knew it was a mistake.
Flicka von Hannover, Princess of Hannover and Cumberland and a host of lesser titles, married Prince Pierre Grimaldi, the heir to the throne of Monaco, on a sunny Saturday morning in late March.
White and pale pink flowers filled the French cathedral, hanging from the wooden pews and draped from the soaring columns, and softly scented the air.
Her brother Wulf, who had raised Flicka since she had been a child, walked down the aisle with her, and her father didn’t so much as cough.
It was odd, however, as Flicka walked down the aisle beside her brother, that everyone turned toward her as she strolled like flowers following the French sun, everyone except Pierre’s uncle.
Prince Rainier Grimaldi, who was Prince Rainier the Fourth, the ruling sovereign Prince of Monaco, stared forward as she passed, his angry gaze intent on his nephew Pierre, who was standing at the altar rail, beaming at her as she walked toward him.
Pierre slid the wedding band onto her finger. The new ring weighed on her left hand. She just wasn’t used to it yet. It must be that way for all brides.
She felt noTorschlusspanik,a German word that meant more than just cold feet. It meant that desperation when the world closes in as your life becomes set in concrete and crushes you.
Indeed, settling her life with Pierre relieved Flicka from many burdens of expectation.
After the ceremony, as always, security men gathered in formation around her as they prepared to leave the church, a phalanx of black suits as alert as terriers and as massive as tanks. Some were her brother’s men, privately employed. People might call them mercenaries.
Others were from Pierre’s Monegasque security division, the Secret Service. Quentin Sault, the head of the security team, was near Pierre, of course. She knew a few of the other guys: Claude Brousseau, Mathys Vitale, and Jordan Defrancesco.
Dieter Schwarz was behind her, she knew. She could practically feel him back there like heat on the back of her neck, glowering at her, disapproving of her every move.
He had no goddamn right to do that.
The impulse to turn around and punch him in the mouth seized her. Her fist would connect with his strong, square jaw, and she’d probably break her fingers on his masculine cheekbone.
His storm-cloud gray eyes would look down at her, amused.
Surely a princess wouldn’t do such a thing on her wedding day while wearing her bridal gown.
His broken nose would bleed scarlet blood all over her white dress.
Yeah, she probably shouldn’t.
Ahead of Flicka, her brother Wulf and his date, Rae Stone, waited while the security guys fidgeted with their underarm holsters and in-ear communication buds. Rae’s burnished copper hair flowed down her back in a thick mass, and Wulf’s hands drifted toward her arms and shoulders as he talked with her.
Surely, her brother couldn’t be in love with Rae.
Infatuated, maybe.
When Flicka had been a kid, during long winter evenings with Wulf and Dieter when they had come home from their military barracks and picked her up from boarding school, the guys had teased each other that they were both destined to be bachelors their whole lives. Sometimes Dieter had brought a woman home with him, and sometimes Wulf did. Flicka had learned not to get attached to the women because she wouldn’t see them more than a few times.
But Wulf was acting differently around Rae.
When Wulf was around other people, he closed down emotionally. All von Hannovers were reserved, of course. They were old royalty, like old money but far older. They were serene and mindful of their elevated social status. Flicka envisioned her own reserved demeanor like a shining suit of armor that closed around her, isolating her from upset and annoyances.
Wulf wore his emotional armor like a tank.
When he was around Dieter and Flicka, he was warm and open.
