thrilled to introduce you all to my lovely wife-to-be, Miss Daisy Walker from Berkeley.”
A ripple of confusion runs through the crowd as I watch guests whisper to each other, no doubt wondering where the fuck Berkeley is.
“Berkeley, California.”
Mic-drop.
Confusion rapidly shifts into masks of unbridled rage as they work out that California is in America, that their lovely, perfect prince chose some random girl from America instead of one of them.
“Thank you for coming and please enjoy the party.”
There’s no applause. At least not for a few seconds, and even then it’s scattered and dispassionate. Liam beams at them, and then he turns around to face his very irate father.
“Dad, meet my fiancée.”
Behind me, I can hear the sharp whispering from the guest, all of it indistinctly angry. I watch as a girl my age absentmindedly grabs a pastry from a tray held by a waiter. It crumbles in her fist as she sends a hateful glare in my direction.
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
Liam looks at his father, feigned surprise all over his face. “I don’t understand your question.”
For a moment the king’s eyes flare out and burn like two small suns. His veined hand lashes out, grabbing Liam’s shirt collar in a vise grip.
“You will not make a mockery of this family. My guards will escort the prisoner back to her cell, and then I will flay the skin from your back for this embarrassment!”
“Father, this is not a prank. I was given one month to find a suitable bride, and I found one.”
“Do you honestly expect me to believe that? I will never allow one of my sons to marry an American,” he says with a nasty glare at me.
“The deal was that I had to get married within a month—”
“To a bride of my choosing!”
“No,” Liam says in a louder voice. “You said I could choose whomever I wanted. I followed your instructions to the letter. Perhaps you should’ve been more specific.”
“I will never approve of this union.”
“I do not need it.” With a smirk, he pulls his phone out of his pants pocket and shows him the Instagram post of us kissing. “Within half an hour I already have five hundred shares of this photo.”
I gape at it. Damn.
“What’s this rubbish?”
“That ‘rubbish,’ Dad, is going to make Anglefell relevant again. If you throw her in jail after the world has seen this photo, you become the coldhearted bastard who separated Romeo and Juliet.”
“She gained entry to Anglefell illegally.”
“To be with me.”
The king takes a step forward, his foul teeth gnashed in a grisly smile. “If you think I give a rat’s fart about some teenagers shitting their thoughts on the Internets—”
“It’s the only way we stay connected with the rest of the world. Like it or not, we need it, and we need this. We don’t need yet another foreigner sentenced to hard labor, and endless articles condemning our human rights violations.”
King Jonathan glares at me, hatred etched in every line on his face. “If you claim to care about this country as much as you say you do—”
“I do.”
“Then you will take this role seriously. If she is to be your princess, she must act like one,” he spits out. Then he glares at me, leaning in. “Step one toe out of line, and I’ll make sure you both never see the light of day.”
Screw you, asshole!
My face burns as he turns away and brushes past us, walking straight out of the ballroom. The wave of bowing and curtsying ripples.
“Don’t mind him. He’s just a little pissy because I won.”
“He just threatened me!”
“He threatens everyone. I doubt he gets through breakfast without promising someone’s death. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To dance.”
“What? Hell no! You know I can’t dance.”
He laughs off my concern and grabs my hand, pulling me to the dance floor. My palm slips, and he reaches forward to get a more secure grip.
“Just pretend you’re at prom.”
“I never went to my prom!”
He makes a face. “Seriously?”
The crowd applauds as we take our places in the middle of the dance floor, and I place my hand numbly on Liam’s waist.
“Darling, your hand goes up here.”
He takes my hand from his waist and places it on his shoulder.
A girl watching me nudges her friend, and they let out volley of unkind laughter. I must look like a complete joke to them. Laugh it up, bitches. I try to ignore the sea of hostile, pretty faces glaring in my direction, and look at my dance partner