Royally Matched (Royally #2)(78)

“TMI, Henry,” Olivia quips.

“Thank you, Olivia,” my grandmother says. “My thoughts exactly.”

The Queen sets down her teacup. “Small steps, my boy. Tradition still demands propriety. The fact that Sarah accompanies you to functions of state and family affairs would’ve been scandalous just ten years ago. You’re not even engaged.”

I wave my hand. “A technicality.”

Nicholas chuckles. “You sound awfully cocky for a man who hasn’t popped the question yet.”

“Just realistic.” I wink at Sarah. “I’m irresistible.”

My little duck rolls her pretty eyes.

“Be that as it may,” the Queen says dryly, “we must set a good example for the young ladies of Wessco.” She pats Sarah’s hand. “Explain it to him, dear.”

My grandmother and Sarah have grown very close in the last year. Granny’s taken Sarah safely under her wing and become a wonderful, strong mentor to my lovely girl.

Not unlike Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader.

“Oh, I don’t know, Queen Lenora,” Sarah replies. “I’m a modern, independent woman. Living with Henry before marriage could be a very good example for the women of Wessco. What’s the phrase? ‘Try it before you buy it’?”

“‘Try it . . .’” the Queen sputters.

And then she looks at Sarah’s face.

“Are you teasing me, Sarah Von Titebottum?” she asks sternly.

Sarah’s expression sobers, but the sparkle in her eyes remains.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Sorry. Your grandson is a terrible influence.”

In more ways than one.

I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively and Sarah throws me a mock frown before reassuring the Queen.

“But I agree with you: I won’t be moving into Guthrie House until after the wedding. We’ve enjoyed so much support from the people, we shouldn’t risk offending the more conservative citizens . . . no matter how tempting the idea may be.”

My grandmother nods. “Well said, child.”

And I pout. “But that will take so long. I don’t want to wait.”

The Queen has no pity. “Then I suggest you get the ball rolling, Henry. If you like it, you should put a ring on it.” Then she adds proudly, “I told Beyoncé that once.”

We all laugh. Because apparently the Queen has a sense of humor.

Who knew?

But still . . . it’s good advice.





Sarah tells me the best happily ever afters end with a wedding. But if you’ve seen one royal wedding, you’ve basically seen them all—glossy commemorative magazine cover–worthy photos of the stunning white dress with lace sleeves, the dashing groom in his military uniform, the gold, horse-drawn carriages, the crowds, the adorable flower girls.

The real story is the one that comes before. The one that only a handful of people get to know and even fewer get to see.

For us, it happens at The Horny Goat. Sarah looks stunning in a dark plum dress. She still doesn’t like to stand out, still is not a fan of loud colors, but these days her fashion choices are more vibrant and fearless—just like her.

I like to think I had something to do with that.

Nicholas and Olive are with us, Penelope and my brother’s bouncy sister-in-law Ellie Hammond too, as well as our friends—Simon and Franny, Willard and Laura, Annie, Sam and Elizabeth. Macalister and Meg are behind the bar, and James and big Mick are at the door, joined by two members of my brother’s security, Tommy Sullivan and Logan St. James.

The gang’s all here.

Onstage, in a chair with my guitar, I tap at the microphone and the crowd goes hushed.

“My father used to put together jigsaw puzzles in his spare time; it was a hobby for him. Huge, complicated puzzles with thousands of pieces. I remember pushing my toy cars around on the carpet while he sat at a table in his study, patiently putting together one piece after the next.”

I see Nicholas smiling softly, because he remembers too.

“And sometimes, there were pieces, just one or two, that were odd, that didn’t seem to fit in anywhere. He would put them off to the side and I would think, maybe there’s something wrong with them, maybe they’re broken. But then . . . he would find the piece they fit with, their match—and when the two pieces were joined, you could see what they were supposed to be. Where they fit and how important they were to the whole picture.”

I scan the crowd, searching for my Sarah’s dark eyes, and when I find them they’re already filling with tears.

Because she knows what’s coming.

“The official account of tonight will be very proper and appropriate and . . . fucking boring. But that’s okay. Because those of you here, those of you who mean the most to Sarah and me, you’ll know the true story of how it all happened. That once upon a time, a pitiful lad met a shy, lovely lass and together they became something more . . . something strong and beautiful and forever. And one night he sang her a song, in a fantastic rickety old pub—a song with a question in it. And after he played the very last note, she said yes a thousand times.”

My lips slide into a grin. “At least . . . that’s how I’m hoping it’ll go.”

I bring my fingers to the strings and play the opening notes of “Marry Me” by Train.