The Prince and the Wedding Planner

He descended the stairs. “It’s Bianca. I have to find her.”

The queen’s brows rose. “Is there a problem with the party?”

“No. It’s fine.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “There’s something I have to discuss with her.”

“Well, if that’s all, you’ll have to phone her because she’s already in the air. I gave her my personal jet to return home.”

“You did what?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

The queen frowned at him. “Come with me.”

He followed her to her office, where most of the kingdom’s decisions were made. It was where his ancestors including his grandfather, father and eventually he would rule from. This seemed like a fitting place to have this life-altering conversation.

“I’ve chosen a wife,” he stated boldly. “If she’ll have me.”

His mother’s frown lifted into a smile. “Very good. And I take it you’d like Bianca to plan the wedding. I will admit that she did a pretty good job with your sister’s wedding, but you have to realize with you being in line for the crown, traditions must be strictly adhered to—”

“Mother, stop!”

She blinked as though surprised by his interruption. “Leopold, I’m not going to be as agreeable this time. Bianca cannot be your wedding planner.”

“You’re right. She’s going to be my bride.”

His mother’s penciled brows rose high on her forehead. “Leopold, if you’re trying to be funny—”

“I’m being perfectly serious. I want to marry Bianca. I want her to be my princess—”

“Stop! No.” The queen vehemently shook her head. “It’s not going to happen. I gave you a whole selection of very fine women to choose from. Just because you couldn’t find your version of the ideal woman—”

“But I did. Bianca is everything I’ve ever wanted and more.”

His mother shook her head again. “Leopold, you’re missing the fact that she doesn’t have noble blood. She isn’t f

rom a politically influential family. She brings nothing to the nation. She’s...she’s a wedding planner.”

“She’s the woman I love. And she loves me in spite of my faults—”

“Faults?” The queen’s eyes narrowed. “This woman has convinced you that you are full of faults?”

“No, Mother,” his voice filled with pent-up emotion. “You did that the day Father died.” His mother’s mouth opened but he didn’t give her a chance to speak as he kept going. “When he died, you looked at me like it was all my fault. And you’ve been blaming me ever since.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true. Whether you admit it or not.”

The composed look on her face crumbled. In its place were deep worry lines that aged his mother. She sat down on the window seat as though her legs would no longer hold her up. “I had no idea that’s how you felt.”

“How could I not when you sent me out of the room after father died as though you couldn’t bear to look at me. And you made me promise not to tell anyone what had happened. Do you know what keeping that secret cost me? I couldn’t even talk to Giselle.”

For so long, he’d kept this torment of emotions locked up inside of him. But after confiding in Bianca, he realized the secret was destroying not only him but also his relationship with his family. He’d been distancing himself—avoiding conflicts. And it was no way to live life. It was no way to rule a country.

“But you told Bianca?” His mother’s troubled gaze searched his.

“I did. I trust her. And I don’t regret it.”

“And she convinced you that I blamed you for your father’s death?”

“On the contrary, she defended you.” His mother’s eyes widened. Maybe at last his mother would see that there was so much more to Bianca. “She suggested you might have been trying to protect me.”