“I neither confirm nor deny the existence of Capri,” Sebastian said solemnly.
“See that you don’t.”
Alexander watched the exchange in silence. His mother’s gaze was flinty; Sebastian’s, irreverent but steady. There was something like a truce between them—or at least a mutually agreed ceasefire. And Alexander knew: Eleanor hadn’t wanted to include Sebastian at all.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Eleanor didn’t look up. “I included him because you wouldn’t let me exclude him anyway.”
“I’m not trying to make trouble,” Sebastian said, with a rare flicker of sincerity.
“That,” Eleanor said dryly, “is a matter of opinion.”
He leaned forward slightly. “I’ll take care of it. The guys, the suits, the schedule. I’ll even make sure no one spikes the punch.”
“There is no punch.”
“See?” He smiled. “Alreadysucceeding.”
Eleanor filed a note with a satisfied snap. “Now—dress code.”
She pulled a printed style guide from her folder like a general presenting battle orders.
“White tie for the ceremony. Morning dress for the rehearsal luncheon. Formal black tie for the reception. No exceptions.”
Sebastian leaned over to scan the page. “Shoes must be high-shine black leather. No suede, velvet, or patent. Are you targeting me specifically?”
“If the velvet shoe fits,” Eleanor said, with rare humor, eyeing his loafers.
“I wasn’t going to wear them to the wedding anyway.”
And just like that, another page turned—and the royal wedding crept one step closer to chaos.
Refined, well-dressed chaos.
13
Congratulations! Lord Hawthorne Wants to Destroy You
The museum’s grand atrium glittered with chandeliers and carefully vetted aristocrats. It was their first official joint appearance since the engagement photos dropped—and the press couldn’t wait to get more royal couple coverage. Camera lenses gleamed like predatory eyes along the designated press area, each photographer poised to capture the perfect shot.
Alexander and Emilia entered through the main doors, hand in hand. Conversation paused, then resumed with an undercurrent of electric fascination.
She wore deep emerald silk that hugged and floated in all the right places, the colour making her skin glow and her green eyes appear even more luminous under the chandelier light. Her engagement ring caught the light as she gave a poised wave. The royal stylists had done their work well; she looked polished but not manufactured, elegant but approachable.
Alexander looked like every magazine profile of him come to life. His tuxedo sharp, jaw sharper, and exuding the quiet confidence of a man who’d been professionally congratulated just for existing since birth.
“Ready for this?” Alexander asked.
“Well, as ready as I can be when everyone is watching for any sign ofweakness.” Emilia replied.
“Just smile, nod, and if all else fails, fake a sudden allergy to old money.”
She snorted, the knot in her chest loosening just a touch. “And if I bolt?”
“Then I will chase you. Very romantically.”
“You’re ridiculous.”