"This marriage will work because it has to work.The alternative is unacceptable."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
The afternoon light from the tall windows caught the silver in her dark hair, and for a moment I saw past the royal mask to something that might have been genuine concern.Or maybe just political calculation disguised as maternal worry.With my mother, it was impossible to tell, and frankly, I'd stopped trying years ago.
"I understand that you're willing to sacrifice my personal happiness for the security of our nation," I said."And I understand that you expect me to do the same."
"Good."She picked up her pen and returned to the documents on her desk, dismissing me as thoroughly as if I'd never existed."Don't disappoint me."
"I'll do my best," I said."Although I prefer tea over coffee."
She didn't look up, but I could have sworn I saw her lips twitch.Progress.
I left her study and walked back through the palace corridors, past the portraits of my ancestors who had all made similar sacrifices for crown and country.Great-great-grandfather Wilhelm, who had married a woman he reportedly couldn't stand for forty years to secure an alliance with Austria.Great-aunt Margarethe, who had been shipped off to Denmark at seventeen to prevent a trade war.My own grandfather, whose arranged marriage had produced exactly one heir (my father) before both parties retreated to opposite wings of the palace and communicated exclusively through footmen.
What a legacy to live up to.
By the time I reached the barn, I'd almost convinced myself that I could survive anything if it meant protecting Solmarina from Russian aggression.That maybe this American princess, this coffee-making barista from Oregon, would be easier to live with than I was imagining. She certainly had to be better than Princess Anastasia of Belarus, Condesa Maria of Osana, or Princess Mathilde of Moravia. Not that there was anything wrong with those noble ladies. Just that they were a little too much like my mother.
Then again, Bettina was probably going to be all starstruck about being a princess.She’d probably be more concerned with shopping for a new wardrobe than trying to broker world peace. Or at least their section of the world.
Azzurra was still restless, pacing her stall with the awkward gait of late pregnancy.Her chestnut coat had lost its usual luster, and she kept shifting her weight from hoof to hoof like she couldn't get comfortable.I let myself into the enclosure and ran my hands along her neck, feeling the tension leave my body as she settled under my touch.
"Looks like we're both going to have to deal with some major changes, beautiful," I told her, breathing in the familiar scent of her mane."At least your situation has a happy ending guaranteed.Mine's going to involve teaching an American how to use seventeen different spoons."
She nickered and leaned into my touch, trusting me completely despite having no idea what the future held for either of us.
If only human relationships were that simple.Though to be fair, humans rarely responded well to being offered a carrot as an apology.
CHAPTER 3
Betty
The private jet wasridiculous.
