A Christmas Wedding
Flicka von Hannover
Princes and princesses.
A week later, Flicka readied herself to walk down the short aisle of a small church just outside the city.
Wulfram waited for her in the narthex, before the doors to the sanctuary. “I have something for you.”
“Oh, Wulfie. What now?”
Wulfram wore a morning suit, a Victorian version of a tuxedo, in darkblue with a matching vest and tie. Of course, Wulf would always pick out the most conservative suit on the rack when Flicka didn’t select his clothes for him. The dark blue did make his blue eyes look even brighter, though.
He reached inside the suit coat—which was oddly lumpy, but Flicka had just assumed that Wulfie had some financial papers or electronics in there—and removed a small, blackvelvet bag. “You forgot something in Las Vegas.”
“What did I—oh.”
As Wulfram unwrapped the object, the morning sunlight caught the glitter of diamonds. Bright sparkles of refracted light appeared on the walls around them.
She sighed, “You got the Laurel Tiara back.”
He handed it to her. “The claim ticket was in the manila envelope that Dieter gave to me in Monaco, along with his will, Alina’sbirth certificate, and her passport. I found it when I brought her home.”
When she turned it over in her hands, the sparkles on the walls revolved. “It’s so beautiful. I’m glad you got it back.”
“Wear it.”
Flicka blinked. “I can’t.”
“Of course, you can.”
“Only royal, married women can wear tiaras. I’m not royal anymore.”
He shrugged one shoulder and shook his head. “Everyone wears a tiaraat their wedding.”
“Not me. Not anymore,” she insisted.
He shook his head, smiling. “You know I won’t accept your renunciation.”
“You don’t have to. I’ve already renounced.”
“We’ll let the lawyers quarrel over it someday. In the meantime,” he took the tiara out of her hands and settled it in her hair, “wear it. You look beautiful in it, and it makes me happy to see it on you.”
The tiara’sscant weight felt right on her head. “Oh, all right.”
She tucked her hand in her brother Wulfram’s arm, and they strolled down the aisle of the small church. She held a small bouquet of pale green lisianthus and a few white Christmas roses, as it was Christmas Eve morning.
Dieter Schwarz was already waiting at the altar for her, dressed in a dark gray morning suit just a few shades deeper thanthe storm-cloud gray of his eyes. His dark gold hair and the suit’s pale blue vest and apricot tie gave the impression of the sun and sky breaking through after a ferocious downpour.
He smiled at her, and his eyes lit up as she stepped between the doors.
Standing on her side of the church, Rae and Georgie Johnson-Grimaldi were standing up with her, wearing shimmering, pale gray dresses. Raewas still soft and curvy in her looser dress from being pregnant just three weeks before, while Georgie was so thin that the material swam on her.
The rest of their friends who could get there on such short notice—Welfenlegion,Rogues, debs from the Shooting Star cotillion andLe Roseyboarding school, Sophie and Océane Mirabaud and some kids, Scotta and Minx and Charla and Prissy from the SilverHorseshoe Casino, and her father, Prince Phillipp von Hannover—filled the pews of the small church. More people leaned on the walls.
Christine Grimaldi stood to the side of the altar, holding her violin.
It took Flicka only a few steps to reach Dieter.
