“No,” I say as Olivia reaches the bottom step. “She looks like a queen.”
She stands in front of me and for a moment we just stare at each other.
“I’ve never seen you in your military uniform,” she says, eyes drifting over me hungrily from head to toe, before settling on my eyes. “It should be illegal.”
“I’m the one who’s supposed to be giving the compliments.” I swallow hard, wanting her so much. In every way. “You look breathtaking, love. I can’t decide if I want you to stay in that dress forever or if I want to rip it off you right now.”
She laughs.
Simple, elegant diamonds dangle from her tasty little earlobes, but her throat is bare—just like I asked the stylist to keep it. I reach into my pocket and pull out a small, square box.
“I have something for you.”
She blushes, before she even sees what’s inside. And then, when I lift the lid, she gasps.
It’s a snowflake, in an intricate, spin-wheel pattern, laden with a hundred small diamonds and sapphires. The diamonds are clear and flawless, like Olivia’s skin, and the sapphires are brilliant and deep, like her eyes.
Her mouth goes slack. “It’s…gorgeous.” She fingers the velvet bed, but doesn’t touch the necklace—almost as if she’s afraid to. “I can’t keep this, Nicholas.”
“Of course you can.” The words come out firm, almost harsh. “I designed it myself, had it made.” I slip it from the box and step behind her, tying the silk choker ribbon around her throat. “There’s only one in the whole world—just like you.”
I press a kiss to the back of her neck, then her shoulder.
Olivia turns to face me, takes my hand, and lowers her voice. “Nicholas, I’ve been thinking—”
“Let’s go, Googly Eyes One and Two. We’re late,” Henry, also decked out in full uniform, says as he walks into the room, tapping his wrist. “You’ll have time to drool all over each other later.”
I lean down and kiss Olivia’s cheek. “You can finish that sentence tonight.”
We assemble in an antechamber off the ballroom, while the sounds of the party, the chatter and music and the clinking of glasses, seep like smoke under the door. My cousins are here—Marcus and his brood. After the briefest of greetings they stay far away from me, and I do the same. I also stay away from any refreshments they’ve been near…just in case.
My secretary, Bridget claps her hands, giggling and vibrating like the head of a social committee in school. “One more time, just in case—the Queen will be announced first, followed by Prince Nicholas, then Prince Henry, who will escort Miss Hammond into the room.” She turns to my brother. “Everyone will be standing, so you will walk Miss Hammond to the marked spot near the wall, then return to your brother’s side for the receiving line. Everyone’s got it, yes?”
Trumpets blare from beyond the doors, and Bridget nearly bursts out of her skin.
“Oh, that’s the signal. Places, my lords and ladies, places!” She pauses next to Olivia, squeezing her arm and squeaking, “It’s just so exciting!”
After she steps away, Olivia laughs. “I really like her.”
Then she lines up beside my brother. We talked about it—about Henry escorting her in, the expectations, the traditions…but standing here now, it all just seems so meaningless.
Stupid.
I turn around and tap my brother on the shoulder. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Trade with me.”
“Trade what?” Henry asks.
I motion with my finger. “Our spots.”
He leans over, looking at our grandmother’s back. “You’re supposed to follow Granny out. Be second in the receiving line.”
I shrug. “She won’t look behind her. She won’t know until you’re beside her—and then, she’ll roll with it. You can handle greeting the guests second—I have faith in you.”
“That goes against protocol,” Henry taunts, because I already know he’s going to say yes.
I shrug again. “Fuck it.”
He chuckles and looks at me, with pride in his eyes. “You’ve turned my brother into a rebel, Olive.” He taps her hand. “Well done.”
Then he switches spots with me.
Olivia’s arm curls around mine, and her thigh brushes my leg through the fabric of her dress.
“That’s better.” I sigh. Because having her on my arm feels like it always has—like it’s meant to be.
The ball is in full swing. Everyone’s enjoying themselves—the music is less stuffy than in past years, the orchestra mixing renditions of popular music with classical. People are dancing, eating, laughing—and I stand across the room, by myself for a rare moment, watching.