Page 67 of Coronation (Royally Forbidden #1)

Forty-One

Zelda

“ Y ou know, Zelda, when I said I had a feeling this year would be a big one for you, I didn’t mean for you to take it quite so seriously.”

I can’t help but smile as I dig into the bowl of sliced fruit before me, otherwise ignoring the disgruntled rumblings of my father, who is seated beside me at the breakfast table.

He and my brothers arrived very late last night to be present for the coronation.

Ben and I waited up for them, and we’d only managed introductions before everyone went to bed.

He’d been called into a last-minute meeting with the organizers this morning, and god knows how long it will take.

Which means, with Mom and Sybil due to barely make it to the cathedral in time for the ceremony, I’ve been left to enjoy breakfast with my male family members on my own.

“Keep doing what you’re doing, Z. Having a queen in the family is good for business,” Sterling reports grimly from his place beside Dad, brow furrowed and thumbs flying over the screen of his phone. “YUM stock is up sixteen percent.”

Beside him, Cal snorts. “I don’t think you want to encourage what she’s been doing to get herself in this position.”

His comment makes Sterling blanch, and, to my right, Dad curses under his breath.

“I’m very glad that stock from your very sex positive business, which isn’t in the business of shaming women for having fantasies or desires, is doing well because of my marriage,” I tell my eldest brother with a sweet smile, spearing a piece of pineapple on the end of my fork.

Sterling glowers at me. “I’m not shaming you for anything. I just don’t want to hear about how you ended up queen of a country you lived in for four months.”

“And pregnant,” Cal adds cheerfully. “Don’t forget pregnant.”

Another round of mortified expressions and cursing commences as I chew my fruit, trying to contain my smile as I look around at all of them.

They may be grumbling, snarky, and overprotective, but they all came.

No questions were asked—okay, a few questions were asked—and every member of my family abandoned the very important items on their agenda to be here for me.

And Ben. They might not know it yet, but they’re going to love him.

“Well, now that we’ve gone over that.” I pick up the agenda, which was printed and waiting for me when I woke up this morning, the one with the newly designed HRH Queen Zelda of Stelland letterhead, which outlines the rest of the day in painstaking detail.

7:10 A.M. to 7:34 A.M. — Breakfast with visiting family members (Owen Flowers, Sterling Flowers, Calvin Flowers)

Smiling to myself, I check it off. While the list of things I now need to learn how to do is beyond daunting, at least keeping a tight schedule is something I’m familiar with.

On set, time is money, and I was never going to be the person blowing up a production budget because everyone had to wait for her.

Footsteps sound from out in the hall, and I look over in time to see the two footmen opening the French doors with a respectful incline of their heads to the man striding through.

I stand, beaming at my new husband. “We didn’t think you’d make it,” I tell him, my heart lifting as I accept a swift kiss on the cheek, and Ben’s hand comes out to rest on my stomach for the briefest moment before it falls as he turns to greet my father.

“Thank you again for joining us,” he tells Dad. “It means a great deal to Zelda and myself.”

My father—who once delivered a sixteen-minute, entirely improvised speech at The Canes to standing applause—merely grunts.

I sigh, sinking back into my chair as Ben takes the vacant spot at the head of the table, offering me a tight smile. In the corner of the room, the grandfather clock’s ticking seems to grow louder, and I look desperately to Cal.

My second brother’s grimace tells me he isn’t excited about the nonverbal plea, but humors me anyway. “So, ah, Benedict? ” He glances at me for confirmation that they’re allowed to call him that. I nod. “Benedict. Are you excited for the thing later?”

“ The thing? ” I demand incredulously before Ben can respond, glowering at Cal. “Are you serious?”

“I know what it’s called.” He waves me off. “Jesus Christ, you’re a pain in the ass. Oh, shit! I know a great fucking icebreaker! Did Z ever tell you about the orange peel ?”

Oh no.

“Cal,” I snap, attempting to remain calm even as heat rushes to my face. “Could we not?”

Ben leans forward. “I would very much like to know about the orange peel. ”

My brother points at him, clearly delighted. “Yes! Excellent! Off to a good start here, Benny. So, Z had to be about… God, what was it, Dad? Ten? Eleven?”

“I was five!”

“Five. Yes, that’s what I said. Anyway, you haven’t met Birdie yet, but needless to say, she’s not exactly what one would call an attentive parent.

On this particular day, the nanny was out sick.

As the designated family disappointment, it was declared I had nothing better to do than watch my sisters. ”

Dad scoffs. “You have a platinum record, Calvin. I believe that absolves you of this self-appointed title of family disappointment.”

Cal offers him a pitying look and holds up three fingers.

“Billionaire, queen, prodigy.” He ticks off Sterling, me, and Sybil in turn.

“ Nobody can compete with that, Dad. The gene pool absolutely fucked me. Anyway.” He rounds on Ben again.

“I was watching my sister, and all of a sudden, she started complaining that she couldn’t breathe out of her nose.

I’m panicking, right? Because I’m a fucking teenager and nobody trained me for that shit. ”

I slump back in my chair, covering my face with my hands as both Dad and Sterling start snickering. Beside me, Ben is listening intently, obviously greatly invested in this story.

“So, I find a flashlight to look up her nose, and I see something fucking orange up there. When I finally got her to fess up, she told me she shoved some peel up there because she liked the smell, and she couldn’t find any tape to—and I’m quoting here—stick it on there.”

My traitorous husband chuckles. “Innovative.”

“Indeed. I respect the creativity, but not the lack of practical considerations,” Cal agrees grimly. “Anyway, the extraction attempts weren’t successful?— ”

“You tried to stick chopsticks up my nose! Did you actually believe that would work?”

“Chopsticks?” Dad demands incredulously, “I didn’t know about the chopsticks. Jesus, Cal.”

“That’s what you get for free childcare.

In any case, we end up in the emergency room, and,” he breaks off, gasping for breath in between peals of laughter, “I swear to god, they started pulling the peels out, and it wasn’t just a few little pieces, they just kept coming!

It was like some kind of medical miracle.

The doctors hadn’t seen anything like it!

Nobody could understand how she fit so goddamn much up there! ”

All four of the men are roaring with laughter now, and I lean back in my chair, glaring around at all of them and pretending to be more disgruntled than I am.

“You’re very high and mighty for a man who once pretended he had an incurable case of scabies to get out of a gym membership.”

If Cal is embarrassed by this, he doesn’t show it as the laughter subsides and he returns focus to his breakfast, still grinning. “It’s been too goddamn long, Z. I’ll have to visit more, since the accommodations are so adequate.” His eyes lift to the resplendent room around us.

“Yes, adequate about sums it up,” Ben agrees, offering the fancy wallpaper a distasteful look.

“I think we’ll end up spending more time at Fernmoor House than we do here,” I muse aloud, helping myself to a bit of melon.

My father frowns at me. “Fernmoor House?”

“The house I’ve been staying in while filming, since the whole media situation got so crazy, and security was a concern,” I explain.

“It’s in the North Country, and it’s lovely.

Nobody in Ben’s family has used the place for years, and it’s begging for some love.

I think I’m going to take up restoring it, so we have a place to get away. ”

Dad grunts. “I suppose your schedule won’t allow for acting now?”

My heart sinks, and I turn my fork over between my fingers, considering how best to respond.

Even if Ben and I haven’t discussed the specifics of this, it’s pretty clear my film career is over.

I knew what would be expected of me if I agreed to marry a king, and that it would mean a lot more hosting luncheons and charity work than working twelve-hour days on set.

Besides, I’ve seen firsthand how brutal the industry can be on families, and I have no interest in continuing down that route at the expense of my husband and child.

I love what I do, but not more than I love them.

That, coupled with my complicated feelings about my place in the industry, leaves me feeling pretty peaceful about letting it go.

“I want to focus on being a good queen,” I tell Dad at last, offering him a weak smile, silently begging for him to understand.

“It’s kind of overwhelming how much I have to learn.

I have an opportunity, though, to do good things that positively impact people’s everyday lives, and I think that’s important. ”

Dad smiles tightly, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Of course it is, Z.”

I look at Ben, meeting his eyes over the corner of the table.

His expression is softer than I’m used to for a man who has such experience in hiding behind a stoic facade, but I’ve seen it every day since he found out about the baby and we got married.

Giving up my career might sting a little, but what I’ve gained is so much more that I know I will never complain.

An alarm on my phone chimes, signaling the end of this item on the agenda, and I turn it off as Ben and I rise from the table.