The lily-white silk swished around her legs as she paced the room, the gossamer curtains obscuring the fading sunlight through the bay windows in the sitting room.
The sunset over the royal gardens might as well have been painted by Monet, with how glorious the colors streaked the sky.
Her mind wouldn’t settle.
“You’ll wear out the carpet,” Cataline joked. “Why so nervous? You’re already married.”
Gemma touched her forehead, careful not to wipe off any makeup so painstakingly applied the hour before by three artists. She didn’t think the original dress she’d worn at the state dinner last year was unbeatable.
Until she saw the reception dress, designed just for her. The strapless gown hugged her torso beautifully, holding in her breasts with surprising comfort in the straight-across neckline. Shimmery lace embroidered in an intricate floral design around the bodice, with real amepphires sewn into the swirls. The same gemstones in the wreath necklace gracing her neck, and matching tiara. The gown billowed out at her waistline, the silk as white as the lilies in the vases all throughout the palace.
Which buzzed with excitement. The walls seemed to hum with the sheer number of guests attending this reception, nearly triple the state dinner.
“So many people,” she breathed.
Cataline sighed. “I know what you need.” She whispered something into a tiny microphone, clearly attached to someone on the other end of her earpiece. Then grabbed a flute of champagne from the buffet table on the other side of the room. She filled it to the brim, and handed it to Gemma.
She frowned. “I appreciate the gesture, but champagne isn’t my thing.”
“Of course not. Your remedy is on the way.”
She took a few sips, grimacing at the bubbles gliding down her throat. “This whole thing seems ridiculous. Why the wedding gown like this, if it’s just a reception? Food and dancing means stretchy pants and boots.”
Cataline snorted. “There’s an image. At least you don’t have a veil or a long train to trip up in. You’re lucky. Most weddings are marathons. This is merely a sprint.”
Gemma forced a deep breath. She’d promised Alanna the grand reception. The least they could do to make up for their last minute, exclusive wedding.
The door knocked, and swung open.
In stepped André.
Her heart skipped. Staring at her husband in the full princely getup. The black tuxedo—complete with tails—decked with the traditional royal blue sash, and his gold and silver chain collar and medallions on his breast pocket—made her instantly wet.
“Now, there’s an image.”
His eyes nearly glittered, staring at her. “You are…” He swallowed. “…heaven on Earth.”
She moved across the room slowly, absorbing his magnetism and branding his expression in her mind.
André stood perfectly still, until he placed his hand over his heart. “You’ll cause cardiac arrests in that room…”
Like the moon embracing the shadow of an eclipse, she moved into his frame, the gown pushing into his legs, and slid her hands behind his neck.
Their kiss was unguarded, yet tender, settling her nerves, yet simultaneously igniting her anticipation for after the reception. Her prince tasted like honey and peppermint.
“I desperately want to take you right here, while you wear this gown.” He spoke the words so quietly, so only she could hear.
“You kissed the words right out of my mouth.”
He covered her lips once again, delving deeper than before, his hand braced around her back and pulling her closer.
Cataline quietly left the room, giving them their privacy. She cast a warm smile before closing the door behind her.
André’s hands glided down Gemma’s backside.
“Good luck, there’s far too much skirt to feel up my ass.”
His devilish smile lit her up inside. “I can always find your ass. I know every inch of your body.”
“Do we have time for a quickie?”
“We have all the time we want. It’s our reception.”
He slowly sashayed her back, moving her to the credenza by the windows. Bracing her on the desk’s edge, André gathered her skirt under all the layers and crinoline, and pulled them up, his hand smoothing along her lace lingerie. He pushed the fabric aside, rolling his fingers along her folds.
Gemma’s heart raced. Her mouth went dry as the throbbing between her legs expanded to the rest of her limbs.
“I love watching your breasts rise and fall in this dress…so easy to see when you’re excited.”
She reached forward, feeling his rigid length through his tuxedo. He moaned against her lips. “Likewise.”
Someone knocked on the door.
“Go away,” she called.
Her husband chuckled, and pulled her underwear to the floor.
“It’s time, Your Highness.” Cataline called through the door.
“Give us two minutes,” André answered.
“Two minutes?” Gemma whispered.
“You said a quickie.” He slid one finger into her warm slit, then another.
She mewled.
“We might have time to cuddle after.” His thumb found her sensitive nub, swirling it in slow circles.
Her hips rocked into him, the involuntary spasms shocking through her system. Her fingers tightened around his cock, yanking a groan from his lips. She unfastened his pants, her fingers rushed and eager.
Once he was finally free, the pants fell to his knees. She helped guide his dick to her entrance. “Don’t you dare mess up this dress. But you aren’t allowed to stop until I say so.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” He surged inside her.
She opened her mouth to cry out, but André covered her mouth with his own. And swallowed her cry of ecstasy.
Ever so slowly, he pulled out and repeated, making her feel every inch of him sliding against her. Gently rocking his hips into her, pumping her in tortuous pleasure.
Gemma forced her eyes open. The sight of André—her husband—wearing his tuxedo and his medallions shaking as he made love to her…
She gripped the back of his neck, and matched his thrusts. She hooked her leg around his ass, pulling him in deeper. She tried to urge him faster, but he shook his head, and kept his movements slow.
“Now I know how it feels,” his voice shook. “To make love to an angel.”
“With a crooked halo. But I’ve known what making love to an angel feels like for a year.”
His mouth found hers, and their tongues danced. Their bodies slowly melted into each other, until she reached heaven’s highest peak. She tumbled from the clouds, André’s mouth capturing every savory ounce of her orgasmic moan.
Until on the final surge, he plunged off the edge of that mountain as well.
After a few moments, they were back to rights, and Gemma reapplied her lipstick using the wall mirror.
Another knock pulled them around.
“Pase,” André answered, readjusting his cuff links.
Cataline opened the door, her pink cheeks revealing she knew exactly what they’d just done. “The queen is waiting.”
Heat rushed her face, and she turned to André. “You ready, Your Highness?”
“I am if you are, princess.”
In the throne room, all the guests gathered for the grand reception, waiting for the guests of honor.
Rico and Luciana stood toward the front, anxious for a dance. At least from what Gemma spied through crack in the door to the ballroom.
Gemma had promised him a dance as well. Her heart raced, but with her husband on her arm, she’d get through anything. Including formal receptions.
Stefano and Cataline mingled with the crowd, both attending as guests, per the royal family’s insistence.
The orchestra in the corner waited on baited breath. The guests in the room—the whole palace—seemed anxious, as if anticipating the curtain to be pulled back. Yet, instead of revealing an elusive wizard controlling Oz, André and Gemma would step forward, hand-in-hand. Officially announcing with grand pretense that one of the world’s most eligible and desirable bachelors was officially claimed.
Gemma swallowed. Then glanced at the man beside her. A dream in a tailored black tux, smooth jawline, and dazzling eyes.
She smiled.
He winked.
Last year, the man was just an inexperienced city boy on Reyna’s ranch. Where I fell in love with how much he pissed me off. Only to fall more deeply in love with how much he loved her, despite her pushing him away. A man whom the world coveted and exalted.
And he chose me.
The Royal Herald pounded the long staff on the wooden floor. “Her Majesty, Queen Alanna Safira Peralta Domingo.”
Alanna came through the doors on the other side of the room, her silver gown dazzling off the lights through the crack in the door, where Gemma waited anxiously. The queen climbed the few steps up the throne, and stood before the bejeweled seat.
With a nod to the guards, the doors on either side of the throne opened.
The bright lights blinded Gemma.
“Breathe,” André whispered. “Remember, I love you.”
The herald’s voice echoed throughout the hall once more. “Announcing His Royal Highness Prince André Miguel Peralta Domingo, and his wife, Her Royal Highness Princess Gemma.”