Royally Wed: The Poser Read online

  “That’s Tulip. I think she has to make a potty. I know Mother’s precious, yum-yum dog!” I hollered. “Dinner time soon, I promise.” But she barked and whined again, her claws scraping against our front door. “She’s hungry. Maybe we should—”

  “I just fed her half a package of liver treats. Besides, I’m hungry too. We should do exactly what we’re doing.” Nick’s lips headed further south, prompting me to change my mind and wholeheartedly agree with him.

  “Holy crap you’re good at that.” My head was spinning and I tried to remember how to breathe.

  “I know.” He came up for air and glanced up at me, a sexy smile on his face. “I trained in high school you know.”

  “You did not. Stop exaggerating and get back to business.”

  “I did. I was certified in Scuba in the deep end of the pool. That does wonders for a man’s breathing abilities,” he said and then, luckily for me, got back to business.

  As much as I hated the beauty makeover I’d endured after I accepted my new part-time job working impersonating a royal lady—color me grateful for the whole waxing ordeal. Eighteen months ago I was an impoverished cocktail waitress, fired from my job at MadDog Biker Bar, desperate to keep my Uncle John at his pricy Vail Assisted Living Care Facility on Chicago’s Southside. I answered an Internet work for hire listing on Daveslist and accepted a part-time job impersonating Lady Elizabeth Billingsley.

  “Lizzie” had hired me to ‘babysit’ Crown Prince Cristoph Timmel, fly to Fredonia, and keep him on the straight and narrow in the small jewel of a country tucked next to Monaco and France in the French Alps. She had planned on returning to Fredonia, and to Cristoph’s side in five days tops to accept his marriage proposal.

  I quickly discovered this job paid extremely well, but it wasn’t the easiest work in the world. I was subjected to a terrifying makeover in which I was aggressively groomed, forced to shop at high end department stores and boutiques, schooled to walk in high heels, and tutored on how to homogenize my vowels in order to refine my Chicago accent. I earned every pound and pence these tight-assed Fredonia royals paid me.

  I sailed through my makeover with flying colors. Okay—except for the body-waxing thing—which to this day terrifies me. I practiced not looking for red clearance sales tags, studied up on spoon placement, and memorized the names and relationships of all the important players in Elizabeth’s life, including the Royal Fredonia family.

  I had it all going on. I was boss. I was “such a nasty woman” even a bombastic politician would have called me out. But then the whole plan was blown sky high like vaped medicinal marijuana mist. It happened a few minutes after I boarded the flight bound from Chicago to London Heathrow, my first official step on the physical journey to Fredonia as Lady Elizabeth Billingsley’s imposter.

  My hair was coiffed, my makeup perfect, and I wore my new Chanel suit and carried my matching bag as I claimed my seat in first class cabin on British Air, seat 4B. I might have looked cool but I was totally sweating whether I’d be able to successfully pull off my Elizabeth impersonation. I hadn’t planned on Prince Nicholas Frederick Timmel of Fredonia who sat down in the seat next to me.

  No one warned me that Nick and Elizabeth had a sexual history. If we really wanted to get honest, no one even warned me that Nick was Crown Prince Cristoph’s younger brother by 10 months. Both men were devastatingly handsome, womanizers, and forces to be reckoned with. So it wasn’t really my fault that my eyes were diverted from the prize, Prince Cristoph, and landed squarely on his younger brother, Nicholas, he of the sharp cheekbones, dark hair, blue eyes and nickel sized cleft in his chin.

  I tried to resist, really I did, but I fell hard for the irresistible bad boy, the incorrigible flirt. Shortly after I bolted from The Royal Fredonia Cathedral in Sauerhausen after I said “I don’t” instead of “I do” during my marriage attempt to Prince Cristoph, Nick tracked me down to Chicago and proposed to the real me, Lucy Trabbicio. Because wonder of wonders he’d fallen in love—hard— with the real me as well.

  Tulip barked again. I heard a strange scraping, sound and a gust of chilly wind blew into our place and extinguished the candles next to the fireplace. “Yes, Tulip. Give your dog mother a few more precious mommy minutes. I’ll be there soon. Then it will be all the organic venison kibble you want.”

  But she barked again, high and sharp, anxious and demanding.

  “Yes, Tulip. Soon!” I exclaimed, one of my legs splayed across the top of the red velvet sofa, the heel on my other foot dug into the couch’s extra wide and comfortable cushion. I noticed my toenails painted in purple, gold, and white—Fredonia’s royal accent colors— as my toes curled with Nick’s every thrust, and every well positioned move. I couldn’t help but think this might indeed be the couch for us.

  “Yes, yes, Lucy!” Nick cried out.

  “Oh, holy, crap!” I exclaimed, and dug my fingernails into the rich red velvet cotton blend.

  “Oh, holy, crap!” A female voice said from the inside of our apartment. “This place is spectacular!”

  Nick’s eyes popped open directly over my face. “Did you invite your ladies over?”

  “No! I don’t consider this a spectator sport—yet.”

  “Nicholas. You’re bouncing up and down on that couch just like you used to do on the spare bed in the guest quarters at the royal palace. Why aren’t you wearing any underwear, my adorable grandson? I guess I know what I’m getting you for Christmas. Smile for the camera!”

  “My grandmother!” Nick boomeranged off me like he’d been hit in the eye with a flying tennis ball. “My grandmother is taking pictures of us shagging!”

  Chapter 2

  Her Royal Highness was eighty-six-years-old, and looked every second of it as she squinted at me from across our flat. She was bent over her walker, one hand petting Tulip, the other holding her smart phone high in the air clicking pictures of our new townhouse.

  “Hello, Royal Nana,” I said, and sunk, panicked, back into the deepest recesses of the pudding couch. “Lovely to see you. No pictures please. Were we expecting you?” I glanced around and spotted my jeans and long-sleeved light pink fleece shirt tossed onto the floor, not remotely within reaching distance.

  Nick crawled away, grabbed his pants, crouched behind the wing of the sofa, and wriggled them on.

  “Wuss!” I mouthed, glaring at him.

  “It should be perfectly obvious I’ve come for a pint of lager, my darling new grand-daughter-in law or whatever you are. And to snap a few photos of your new abode to share on my official Facebook page.”

  “We’re not ready to share pictures of our new flat on social media yet,” I said, glaring at Nick as he hurriedly pulled on his shirt and buttoned it up. I pointed one judgmental finger at my clothes lying in a heap on the ground that were too far for me to reach, but were well within his grasp. “Toss them to me,” I whispered, extending my hand. “Now!”

  “That’s too bad,” Royal Nana said, still holding her phone in the air as she rolled forward with her walker, a crocheted purple, gold, and white afghan draped over the front bar. “Spacious interiors. Lovely. Please don’t clutter them up right away.” Click. “Cottage Stone fireplace. Nice touch. Don’t forget to wipe down the grout every now and again.” Click.“Fantastic view of Centralaski Park.” Click. Click. Click. “It looks practically identical to Cristoph’s place. You could have just moved in with him.”

  “Same architect, I believe,” Nick said.

  “Cristoph is still a bachelor, Nana,” I said. “We’re a married couple, need our own space, and will be decorating accordingly. Why don’t you wait until we’ve completely unpacked before you take pictures? In fact, I think you should come back next week when our flat is more put together, and take as many photos as you like.” I snapped my fingers at Nick and pointed again to my clothes.

  “The tabloids, can’t seem to decide your marital status, and you know me, I hate all that gossipy crap, and was hoping to allay their suspicions. Lucy, I can’t get a good picture of you down there. Poke your head up from that couch so I can snap a decent photo.”

  “I’d love to, Nana, but I’m makeup free today. Airing out the skin.” More like airing out all the skin. “No pictures for me.”

  “Later then,” she said, rolling toward me like the Russians advancing on Berlin at the end of World War II. “Christmas season will soon be upon us. Plenty of time for holiday cheer as well as photo ops. I’ve brought a house-warming present for you, and now that I’ve sized the place up, I think it will fit perfectly on the accent wall next to the fireplace.” She stopped and furrowed her brows. “Why do you have so many couches?”

  “We’re trying them on for size, Nana,” Nick said, snagging my jeans, and lobbing them in my direction. They flew high through the air and sailed over the couch, landing on the pedestal claw foot of the large rectangular wooden dining table. “Sorry,” he mouthed, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it,” I whispered, slapping a hand on my forehead. But my boobs bounced freely, and I realized that they, as well as the rest of my pink parts, would momentarily be in Nana’s camera range.

  “You’re a sensible young man, Nicholas. You get that from my side of the family. Not that airhead American actress mother of yours. The royal gossips whisper sweet nothings in my ears trying their best to suck up to me so I’ll support their cause du jour,” Royal Nana said. “I told them all to sod off whenever they ask me how I feel that you and Lucy might not be married. About the sordid dilemma that the two of you are possibly living in sin.”

  “We’re married,” Nick said. “End of story.”

  “I’m sorry that they are hounding you,” I said. “Just tell them this isn’t the 1950s and living together is normal, not sordid. Perhaps this isn’t the best time to visit? In fact, let’s set up a date next week after we decide on a couch. I’ll make real eggnog. Nick, escort your grandmother to her vehicle, please.”

  “Come on, Nana. I’ll make sure you are safely tucked back into your town car,” Nick said, lifting my lace undies and pitching them in my direction.

  I shot my hand up like a ball player. But once again, he’d overthrown and they flew inches above my fingers. “No!”

  “No what?” Nana asked.

  Tulip barked, crouched, and leaped into the air. She caught my thong in her teeth, shook it violently, and dropped it in front of the walker. She collapsed onto her stomach on the hardwoods, and wagged her tail in anticipation that Nana would pick it up and throw it for her again.

  “No… we wouldn’t want you to trip over something a thoughtless carpenter left behind,” I said.

  “You have an interesting carpenter,” Royal Nana said, staring down at my undies. “Posh, it’s a perfect time to visit. Besides, Nicholas popped over to my chateau on Friday, vacuumed, took out the trash, and rubbed my shoulders. I asked him when I could see the new fancy-pants townhouse. He said, ‘Drop by any time this weekend. We have no commitments or solid plans.’ Right, my favorite grandson?”

  “Um… I was thinking you’d call first,” Nick said.

  An ancient man trod into the flat carrying a thin six foot by four foot cardboard container.

  “Herr Fingerlachen!” Nana thrust her arthritic hand in the air in his direction, “Did you not hear Nicholas say we could stop by anytime this weekend in the afternoon?”

  “Yes, Your Royal Highness.” He deposited it on the floor, took a moment to catch his breath, and rubbed his hands together. “A bit of a nip in the air tonight. Splendid place you have here. The fireplace is roaring. Are those chestnuts roasting? I do love a toasty fire on a chilly night. Can I safely leave Her Royal Highness’s house-warming gift on this wall, or will it damage the paint?”

  “Lean away,” Nick said.

  “No,” I said. “He needs to lean away on a different day.”

  “Yes, Lucille,” Fingerlachen said. “It is a splendid day.” He rested the package against the wall and stiffly shrugged off his overcoat.

  I shot dagger eyes at Nick. “Get rid of them,” I whispered, suddenly realizing that the thought of my clothes magically flying through the air, landing on top of me, and covering my nakedness was tragically, only a fantasy. I glanced around looking for coverage of sorts, but only a bag of chips and the TV remote were within reach. I grabbed the bag of spicy BBQ Ridge-cut kettle chips, slapped them on top of my lower girlie parts, and the remote over my boobs but it only semi-covered the left one.

  “Allow me to help you, Herr Fingerlachen,” Nick said, hustling over to the man and hanging his coat on the reclaimed barn door peg rack protruding from the foyer wall.

  “So glad you can help him,” I said, squeezing my tatas together between my arms hoping the remote would cover both. But I only resembled a pin-up girl perfect inspiration for a horny, desperate, gadget-geek pervert.

  “Don’t get up for me, Lucy,” Nana said, rolling forward on her march toward world domination and townhouse conquering. “Although I’m sure you’re on pins and needles wondering what your house warming gift is.”

  “That I am.” Perhaps her eyesight was shot and she hadn’t yet seen that I was naked. I placed my other hand casually over my other breast, contemplating if I should drop my foot that still rested on top of the sofa’s back but feared I might upset the strategic chip bag placement. Instead, I concentrated on looking nonchalant; and I have no idea how—managed to hit a button on the remote, changing the TV channel on the flatscreen that hung over the fireplace.

  “Except for the three couches your place is even better than I imagined. Why are you naked on the red velvet pudding sofa?” Royal Nana asked. “Never mind. I see you’re watching porn.”

  Dramatic moans and groans emanated from the flatscreen TV. I glanced up and realized, that I’d hit a Triple X channel. I scrambled to punch a different button, but that involved angling the remote, and I didn’t want to completely expose a boob. “Sorry! I don’t make it a habit of watching porn in the early evening.”

  “Neither do I,” she said, and plunked down on the leather couch perpendicular to the one I lay on. “I usually tune in around 10 pm. Have you seen that one show, The Not So Young and the Feckless? It’s so realistic. Especially the nasty bits.”

  “No, I haven’t seen that one.” Nick’s grandmother was here in our house, getting comfy on the sofa, settling in. Unless her Royal Highness died in the next few minutes, she was not going away any time soon. What could I do? “Nick can’t wait to give you and Herr Fingerlachen the grand tour. Right, Nicholas?”

  “Yes! Walk this way, Nana.” Nick pointed to the tiny elevator next to the hall closet. “We can take the lift all the way to the rooftop garden. The city’s Christmas lights are magical. The palace and the cathedral are completely lit up.”

  Royal Nana leaned back and stared at the screen. “That’s not all that’s lit up. I love this actor. Round firm buttocks. Chubby tallywacker. I’m tired. It wasn’t easy driving here. Holiday traffic starts earlier every year you know. I’ll take the tour another time. Herr Fingerlachen?”

  “Yes, your Royal Highness.”

  “Come here and check out this couch. It’s so sturdy.” She patted the leather on the seat next to her and futzed with her walker, pulling the fuzzy afghan crocheted in the royal Fredonia colors onto her lap. “Nicholas, be a nice grandson, and bring us a few lagers and some snackies. Lucy appears a tad chilly.” She tossed the afghan on top of me and winked.

  “Yes, Nana,” Nick said. He shot me a look, and shuddered.

  “Greetings and salutations!” A female voice came from the doorway.

  I shivered, pulling the small afghan on top of me.

  “Google maps says I’ve arrived at my destination. Have I? Is this 11211 Centralaski Park West?”

  “Duchess Edith of Friedricksburgh. Come on in you old bat.” Royal Nana glanced back at the door as her frenemy entered our abode.

  “Hello lovebirds!” Edith cooed. “Do you adore your new house-warming gift?”

  “They haven’t unwrapped it yet,” Royal Nana said. “They’ve got plenty of couches for all of us, as well as chips and dip. We’re watching porn. Like we always do at my place on Saturday nights.”

  “Splendid! You know how much I hate changing our routine.”

  My eyes met Nick’s and I whispered, “Kill me now.”

  Chapter 3

  Snowflakes wafted through the air, dusting our hair and warm winter coats on a Saturday afternoon as my ladies and I wandered Sauerhausen Old Town Farmer’s Market. It was the second weekend in December and the Christmas/Hanukah holidays were already in full swing.

  Twinkly holiday lights wrapped around trees and draped from the tops of gorgeous old buildings that resembled cake topper decorations in Sauerhausen, Fredonia’s capital city. Holiday shoppers walked briskly through the urban streets as small bands consisting of three or four members played Christmas carols, and classic holiday standards like “White Christmas” and “Jingle Bells” outside shops as well as in bars and pubs. Despite the cornucopia of pressing world problems, there was still an undeniable holiday spirit in the air: hope, love, and longing for peace on Earth. Considering how cantankerous recent elections had been, I also suspected there was a desire for brandy-spiked eggnog, smooth single malt scotch, and schnapps with a kick of mint that simultaneously chilled one’s throat and drowned one’s sorrows.

  We browsed the booths looking for presents, farm fresh groceries, and baked goods. Joan held a bar of homemade soap close to her nose and sniffed. “This has a hint of bacon. I might get distracted in the middle of showering and be tempted to eat it.”

  “As will your numerous shower mates,” Esmeralda said.

  “I’m not dating anyone,” Joan replied. “I shower alone.”

  “Not for long,” Esmeralda said. “Who doesn’t love bacon?”