It was just weird that Andrea Grace Catherine Clark looked so familiar, but Gen couldn’tquiteplace her.
Chapter Forty-Two
Stalwart and Dutch
Prince Casimir van Amsberg of the Netherlands
Weddings were lovely.
Casimir didn’t get emotional at them of course. It was probably his stalwart Dutch constitution that assured that while he might feel as deeply as any Frenchman or Monegasque, Casimir was more reserved and expressed his emotions privately and modestly. He was made of sterner stuff.
Arthur, Gen, Casimir, and Roxanne were sitting in roped-off, front-row seats directly behind where Maxence and Andrea Catherine were kneeling as the priest prayed over them. Casimir sat on one end and Arthur on the other, with their two wives sitting between them.
Arthur was also keeping it British, reclining slightly in his chair with his long legs crossed at the ankles in front of him. As always, one side of his mouth was slightly higher in a very English smirk.
Their wives, Roxanne and Genevieve, should have been dabbing their eyes due to the emotions of remembering their own weddings to Arthur and him.
They weren’t.
They should be.
Casimir glanced around the interior courtyard of the palace. The white roses and gardenias hanging in bunches and swathes from the medieval architecture and Italian Renaissance double staircase leading to the second floor were lovely. The singers and orchestra were excellent. The priest was both amusing and heartfelt.
When Maxence and Dree exchanged rings and said their vows, their evident love for each other was Earth-shattering.
Everything about Maxence’s ceremony brought back memories of Casimir’s own royal wedding in the Netherlands, though their wedding had been Protestant. But the love Max and Dree had for each other and this incredible expression of itshould havemoved the two women to tears.
Not himself of course.
Casimir’s eyes burned, and his nose felt scorched inside like acidic vapor filled the air.
He had brought two extra handkerchiefs and had carefully folded additional tissues into his wallet in case those weren’t enough.
Roxanne should be happily rememberingtheirwedding.
The display of love at this gorgeous ceremony should move her.
Why wasn’t Roxanne sobbing?
Why was she looking at the bride with her head tilted to the side, one frown line creased between her eyebrows, andblinkinglike that?
Casimir grabbed the handkerchiefs out of his tuxedo’s inner breast pocket, foisted one upon a very confused Roxanne, and wiped his nose because he must be allergic to all the beautiful,beautifulflowers.
Chapter Forty-Three
Familiar II
Princess Roxanne van Amsberg of the Netherlands and Georgia
Familiar.
How could Andrea Catherine Clark look sofamiliar?
Obviously, Rox had never met the woman before. She’d been holding down the fort, meaning their Los Angeles law practice and their rambunctious toddler, while Casimir had gallivanted off to Europe because Maxence needed him.
Not that she begrudged Casimir running off to help his friend. She’d called Arthur and Maxence twice when Casimir had been in trouble, and they’d both shown up the next morning.
But Gen was squinting at Andrea Grace Catherine Clark, too.
