Royal Fake

“When you say you’d rather be a womanizing bachelor, that sort of makes all of this a lot harder.”

“Right, well, honesty is the best policy, isn’t it? You’d rather be designing clothing and totting around New York and I’d rather be a bachelor with a buffet of women to choose from. Since neither of us is going to be getting exactly what we want, at least let me show you what you will be getting. My bed is one perk no one else in the world will have exclusive rights to. Please follow me,” he said and walked a few paces ahead.

The arrogance of the man. I walked into his office which was neat and very modern with a computer and large monitor at a huge heavy mahogany desk. He had several papers laid out in off-white manila envelopes. Each was electronically labeled with a title. Somebody must have been very busy while we were traversing the Atlantic. A lot of work and preparation had been done in a very short amount of time to make this arrangement between Liam and I happen. Liam opened the first of the envelopes which were entitled marriage contracts.

“Let’s start with the nitty-gritty, shall we?” He took a seat at the desk and offered me the adjacent chair.

“Sure, let’s dive right into this.” I fought the nausea welling in my stomach, but I was in Ireland, there was very little I could do to wiggle away facing what I’d gotten myself into.

“Here, we can read it together.” He laid out the papers and began to read them out loud as my stomach slid deeper into a pit of anxiety and fear.

The basic gist of the contract was quite simple. I would be paid ten million dollars, if I meet the conditions of the contract. I would agree to marry Liam and in agreeing to marry him, I would sign a prenuptial contract which protected his inheritance and his income should our marriage end before I died. If our marriage was to end because of his death then I would receive an inheritance from his estate. The basic amount would be calculated and presented to me for my signature with the caveat that it would be altered to an agreed-upon percentage as soon as a male heir was born.

“Wait? A male heir? What about a female one? This is the twenty-first century. I’m not signing anything that shafts my daughter.” Funny I didn’t balk at my own inheritance being altered to give money to my kid, but I wanted him to know I wouldn’t stand for sexism.

“Right, yes. I’ll make sure the language is changed there. Also, the inheritance should provide equally for all of the children. I’ll have to impose some new laws, but at the moment only a male heir can inherit the throne. When I’m king, I’ll look into revising this custom.” Wow, it was more than I was expecting from him. “Other European monarchies allow women to take the throne, so Ireland should follow suit.

“That would be great.” I couldn’t believe I was even discussing children with him and heirs to the throne, it all seemed so strange.

The contract further stated that I was to remain married to Liam for the course of either seven years or the birth of two children to weaning age which was identified in the contract as three and a half years old. It also stipulated that I would remain in Ireland to provide maternal care to my children even after the end of my marriage to Liam Sheamus Michael Grady McMurrough.

“So, I have to breastfeed for three and a half years?” That seemed daunting.

“The contract doesn’t really stipulate how you’ll feed our children; it merely mentions weaning. A toddler needs a stable home and so weaning, in this case, can be interpreted however you want. If you want me to revise the conditions to include specific conditions of weaning I can have that part of the contract amended.” He was officious and it was a little scary.

“No, I’m okay, as long as someone doesn’t make me breastfeed that long, I’m good.” What was I saying? I started to sweat and shake a little.

He took my hand in his and brought it up to his lips delivering a soft and sensuous kiss to my knuckles.

“I know this is all too much, but the sooner we get this signed the sooner we can get married and move on with this arrangement.” Ugh, the word arrangement.

“Right, okay. Let’s keep going.” I knew if I didn’t hear it all right then and there I’d eventually be on the next plane to New York or barfing my brains out.

The rest of the marriage contract stated that I would agree to the rules that Miss O’Shay had laid out for me previously. And that my signing the contract also meant I agreed to the rules which would be attached to the document. The idea of having to wear pantyhose every day and conservative dress thus adhering to the monarchy’s style conventions were against my sensibilities and really threatened my individuality. I couldn’t agree with that.