Royally Endowed(77)

God damn, he is fine.

The cut of his jacket shows off his broad, strong shoulders. The charcoal grey cravat accentuates his masculine throat and gives him a sophisticated but roguish look—like he stepped out of the pages of a romance novel. His dress pants hug him perfectly, highlighting his powerful legs, his hard, gorgeous ass, and his thick, impressive “endowments.” I’ve seen Logan wearing a tuxedo before, but this time is different.

Because now, he’s all mine.

And the way he stares at me—how his eyes drag up from my silver, strappy heels, over my curves beneath the snug, satin pale pink gown, to the blond curls piled high on my head—it seems like he’s lost his breath too.

He swallows hard. “You look like an angel, Ellie.” He lowers his voice and bends his head nearer. “Like a scrumptious dessert . . . and I’m going to eat you the first chance I get.”

Heat spreads low in my stomach—I’ll never get enough of him, or his wicked, adoring words. But then I blink, remembering why I sought him out, and that any eating will have to wait a while.

Aware of the guests wandering to their seats, I rise up and whisper in Logan’s ear that Olivia is in labor.

He wants to get the car, take her to the hospital immediately. But I talk him out of it—even while he insists that my sister is “fucking batty” to wait. Then he covertly makes his way up to the altar, where Nicholas stands as best man beside Henry, both of them looking regal and elegant in their military uniforms.

“What?” Nicholas shouts. His face goes rigid and a little pale.

The whole church freezes—staring at the prince—like the greatest mannequin challenge ever.

I hike up my dress and my heels click on the stone floor as I run up the side aisle, passing the dozens of marble columns that rise to the high arched ceiling. I scoot between Nicholas, Henry and Logan who are talking like a football team huddle planning the next play.

“It’s fine, guys. Everything’s fine. All fine.”

Now I sound like I’m on drugs.

Nicholas’s green eyes are wide and wild. “No—none of this is fine.”

“Olivia knows what she’s doing. She would never put the babies at risk,” I insist. “Please follow her lead on this, Nicholas.” I give him an encouraging smile. “Happy wife, happy life.”

He’s unmoved—his face grumpy—his jaw like granite.

“How’s Sarah?” Henry asks.

“She’s okay. Calmer, now that there’s a distraction to take some of the attention off of her.”

“Good.” Henry sighs, rubbing his hands on his slacks nervously. “That’s good.”

“And wait until you see her, Henry. You’re going to lose it.”

He chuckles. “I always do.”

Henry rests his hand on his brother’s arm. “The sooner we start, the sooner you can get on to the baby business. Yeah?”

Nicholas hesitates, but finally, he stiffly nods.

And everyone takes their places as Logan and I slide into our spots in the third pew. The music starts to play, and the wedding begins.

The Queen is escorted first, by her nephew, stoic and oblivious to what’s going on behind the scenes. The entire congregation bows and curtsies.

After the bridesmaids and tiny adorable flower girls, Livvy walks alone. Waddling and smiling. But the aisle is so damn long she has to stop twice to breathe through her tightening stomach—while still smiling. Whispers roll through the crowd like a killer wave, and you can almost hear the news stations shifting into royal-baby-watch level: hysteria.

Nicholas steps forward when she gets to the altar, taking her hand and helping her into a cushioned chair, which he ordered an usher to place on the right side of the alter. They speak quietly . . . argue quietly for a moment, then Olivia gently kisses his knuckles, soothingly placating her handsome prince. Nicholas rubs his jaw, but with a tight expression, takes his place to Henry’s right.

And then the bridal march begins.

The crowd glances at Sarah, nodding at how lovely she is—but then they return to chattering about the crazy princess who’s in labor. Sarah doesn’t take her eyes off Henry as she walks to him—and she doesn’t look even a little terrified.

She looks like a bride in love.

Henry steps close to Sarah as she approaches, gazing down at her tenderly.

“Hello.”

Sarah grins up at him impishly. “Hello.”

“This is madness,” he whispers.

“It suits us though, doesn’t it?”

Henry offers her his arm and, elegantly, Sarah takes it.

And then, they get married—and it’s more wonderful than all the Disney Princess wedding ceremonies combined.