Aziza sat on the edge of her bed, wanting nothing more than to lay back down and sleep. She had woken to the soft murmur of unfamiliar voices, yet it seemed as though she just fell asleep not long before. For several seconds, she remained sitting there, staring blankly at the rug beneath her feet while two women moved quietly around the bedroom.
Then the memory returned.
Our child will not be the fourth.
Her stomach twisted. “Oh, no,” she whispered.
It was no wonder why she had barely slept. After fleeing to the bathroom the previous evening, Aziza had eventually managed to convince herself that she needed her own room. She had told Greg that she simply needed space to process everything, but the truth was much more embarrassing.
She was not ready to sleep beside him sober. Not after waking up married to him, and definitely not after blurting out something about having a child together. How could she bear to do that especially after realizing that the words had sounded far too natural coming from her. She had spent most of the night staring at the ceiling and wondering what Greg thought of her now.
One of the servants approached with a dress draped over her arm.
“Good morning, Your Highness.”
It was then that Aziza noticed there was a rack of elegant dresses and pants suits off to the side of the room ready for her to choose from.
This is definitely a step up from my usual outfits, she thought, looking back at the servant.
“We thought perhaps this dress would suit you well,” the older servant continued, “however, if you do not like it, there are plenty of other outfits you can choose from. If you like, we can help you…”
“I can dress myself,” Aziza said quickly.
The woman paused. “Of course.”
“I mean…” Aziza softened her voice. “Thank you. Really, but I think I need to do this myself.”
The women exchanged a glance before nodding. They didn't leave, though. Apparently, doing it herself still meant having two attendants hovering nearby in case she needed assistance.
Aziza sighed.
“Fine, but I'm warning you… I'm not very good at this royal princess thing yet.”
One of the younger women smiled faintly, “You will learn, Your Highness.”
That's exactly what worries me, Aziza thought.
After dressing in a modest cream-colored dress with a fitted jacket, Aziza stepped into the hallway. She immediately found the door to Greg's apartments, then hesitated. Taking a breath, she walked inside.
She found Greg in the sitting room. A breakfast table had been prepared near the windows. Fresh fruit, pastries, eggs, toast, coffee, tea, and enough food to feed a small gathering covered the table. Greg stood near the fireplace, dressed in dark trousers and a crisp shirt.
He turned and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
“Good morning,” he finally said.
“Good morning.”
His eyes lingered on her face. “Did you sleep well?”
Aziza almost laughed. “Not particularly.”
“Neither did I.”
That somehow made her feel better, even though she noticed how he looked pretty well rested. A stark difference from how she felt and probably looked.
She walked toward the table, “About last night…”
Greg immediately looked amused, “Which part?”
Aziza gave him a warning look, which didn't seem to bother him. He sat down in one of the single cushioned seats in front of the fireplace, his smile growing wider. Did he think this was funny?
“The part where I apparently started discussing our hypothetical children.”
“Ah, that part,” his smile widened.
“I was tired.”
“You were embarrassed.”
“That too.”
“And you were probably trying to escape the conversation.”
Aziza’s eyes narrowed, “You're enjoying this.”
“Just a little.”
She shook her head, but a reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. The awkwardness didn't disappear, but it became easier to breathe. Before either of them could say more, the door opened.
Mike entered with three members of security behind him.
“Morning, Your Highnesses” he said, bowing slightly.
The three security members did the same behind him, then regained their stances.
“Mike,” Aziza said, her smile widening.
Mike nodded toward Aziza, “I've got your security detail here.”
Aziza straightened, “My security detail?”
“Your personal protection team,” he explained. “I'm still overseeing security for both of you, but these three will be assigned specifically to you, particularly when you're traveling without His Highness.”
“Umm…ok, though this is unnecessary,” she said, waving her hands dismissively.
Greg raised an eyebrow, “It most certainly is necessary.”
“Greg,” she said, looking at him, “I don't need any security or bodyguards for that matter.”
“Yes, you do,” he said, moving to the edge of his seat.
It was a command, not a statement. If he thought he could order her around like one of his servants, then he had another thing coming.
Heat spread across her face. She stared at him.
“I've been gettin’ around perfectly fine on my own without a bunch of babysitters watchin’ my every move.” Looking at Mike and the rest of the security team, she sheepishly said, “No offense.”
Turning back at Greg, she added, “I’m not gonna change that now.”
“You will and that’s final.”
“Don’t get it twisted! I’m your wife; I don’t work for you.”
Wincing, Greg leaned back in his seat. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, he breathed in deeply before he said, “Sorry, let me start over again. I understand that you’re not used to having security around, but it’s absolutely necessary. You’re no longer just Aziza, you’re Princess Aziza. You’re royalty now and with that comes some… requirements, especially when it comes to safety. This role brings with it dangers. There are some who would wish harm to the Royal family.”
He paused for a moment as a slight smile spread on his face. “Think of it this way… they are to you as the Secret Service is to your American President.”
“Oh…” she looked down at the floor. Now she understood the full picture. “Next time, maybe try leading with that.”
Aziza sat down in the opposite single seat next to Greg’s. She knew this was how it worked, but being a princess for a day… or was it two, maybe three days now… however long it was, it wasn’t enough time for her to wrap her head around the reality that she was now a princess.
“Ok, I see your point,” she said. “I’ll get used to having security around.”
Greg visibly relaxed, sighing heavily as though he was holding his breath the whole time.
“However,” Aziza continued, looking at him again, “If you ever try ordering me around again, security won’t be needed to protect me.”
Before Greg could say anything, Mike cleared his throat. He was clearly trying to break the tension in the room, while trying to maintain his composure. It wasn’t working. The corners of his mouth form a faint smile and the rest of the security team seemed to have the same problem as Mike, each of them attempting to hold back their laughter.
“Excuse me Princess,” Mike finally managed to say, “Would you like for me to introduce you to your security team now?”
A little embarrassed, Aziza just nodded her head.
He gestured toward the first man, “This is Daniel Carter.”
The tall, broad-shouldered man offered a polite nod.
“Daniel is former military and specializes in protective operations.”
Aziza smiled, “Nice to meet you, Danny. Or, do you prefer Dan?”
He blinked, “Dan will do.”
She turned toward the woman beside him.
“This is Natasha Brooks,” Mike said, gesturing towards a woman, who looked to be around Aziza’s age.
“Natasha… let’s see… how about, Tasha?” Aziza asked.
The woman smiled, “Tasha works.”
Aziza looked toward the third member, “And you?”
“Thomas Reed.”
“Hmm… Tommy or Tom?”
Thomas laughed softly, “Tom is fine.”
“Great. Then we're all friends already,” Aziza smiled.
Michael raised an eyebrow, “They're your security team, not your college roommates.”
“I know, but I'm going to be spending a lot of time with them. I'd rather know their names than call them ‘the tall one’ and ‘the woman with the ponytail.’”
Tom chuckled, as Mike shook his head.
“Good luck with her,” he said to her team.
Before Aziza could respond, the doors suddenly opened again. Reggie strode inside with a tablet in his hand.
“Your Highnesses.” His expression immediately told Aziza that something was wrong.
“What's happened?” Greg asked.
Mike and the rest of the security team quickly bowed and left them alone with Reggie.
Then, Reggie held up the tablet, “We have a problem.”
He tapped the screen and turned it toward them. Aziza's breath caught. A photograph filled the screen. It was unmistakable. The blurry Vegas wedding picture with Greg's arms around her, their faces turned toward each other as they kissed. The headline above it was even worse. DRUNK ROYAL ELOPES
Aziza stared, “Oh, no.”
“The American online tabloid The Scoop published the story approximately forty minutes ago,” Reggie explained. “It is already circulating.”
Greg's expression hardened, “What exactly are they claiming?”
“They're calling it a mystery royal wedding. The article suggests that one of several young princes may have secretly married an American woman in Las Vegas.”
“Do they identify me?”
“Not definitively. They mention your name as one possibility, along with three other European princes.”
Aziza leaned closer, “So they don't actually know it's us.”
“Correct,” Reggie said. “But the photograph is convincing enough that speculation is growing.”
Greg looked at the image, then at Reggie. “How bad is it?”
“Your parents are furious.”
Aziza winced. This won't bold well for them.
“Of course they are,” Greg said dryly.
“They have instructed me to inform you that they still expect an annulment.”
Greg's jaw tightened, “No.”
Reggie nodded as though he had expected that answer. “I assumed as much.”
“Wait…” Aziza looked between them. “If they don't know it's us, couldn't we deny it?”
Greg glanced at her, “We could, but then wouldn't someone eventually figure it out? That’s why we need to control the story before someone else does.”
He turned toward Reggie. “Get the royal publicist team here.”
“Already contacted.”
“Good.”
Aziza looked back at the photograph, “Could we say the photograph was misidentified?”
“We could,” Greg said. “But that creates another problem. If we deny it and someone proves it later, we're caught lying.”
“Then what do we say?”
Greg was quiet for a moment. Aziza watched his expression change as he slipped into the composed persona she had seen him use with his parents.
“We give them a story that's close enough to the truth that we don't have to keep changing it.”
She frowned, “What does that mean?”
“It means we acknowledge that I'm married. We don't necessarily give them every detail of how it happened.”
‘That he's married?’ Not… ‘we’re married’? Aren’t we in this together, she thought, staring at him.
“You mean the drunk-in-Vegas part stays secret?”
“Absolutely.”
Despite everything, she almost laughed. “That's probably a good idea.”
Greg smiled faintly, “That's the first thing we've agreed on today.”
Aziza smiled back before glancing at the photograph again.
Reggie was still holding the tablet when there was a knock on the door. Three people entered the room in quick succession, each carrying a tablet or slim folder. They acted as though they had walked into a crisis, and judging by the looks on their faces, they had.
The woman in front stepped forward.
“Prince Alexander. Princess Aziza. I’m Victoria Hale, senior communications director for the royal family.” She gestured toward the man beside her. “Marcus Bell, media strategist.”
“And Sophie Laurent,” the third woman said, offering a brief smile. “Public relations and international communications.”
Aziza barely had time to return the greeting before Victoria continued. “We've reviewed the article.”
Greg folded his arms, “And?”
Victoria glanced at Marcus, just before he raised his tablet.
“The photograph has gone viral,” Marcus said, nodding once.
The room seemed to go silent. Aziza's stomach dropped.
“Viral?” she repeated.
“Internationally,” Sophie said. “It's been reposted across social media platforms, picked up by entertainment sites, translated into multiple languages, and discussed by several major news outlets.”
Aziza stared at them. This had to be a mistake. She knew the picture was embarrassing, but she hadn't realized it was everywhere.
“Already?” Greg asked.
Marcus nodded. “Millions of views.”
Aziza's face warmed.
Millions. People she'd never met were looking at a picture of her kissing Greg. Her husband. Except most of them didn't know that yet. Well… they knew now.
Victoria tapped her tablet, “The good news is that no publication has independently confirmed your identities. The bad news is that people are guessing.”
“Guessing what?” Aziza asked, looking back and forth at them.
“That you're someone important,” Marcus said. “And that the man you're kissing is someone even more important.”
Greg sighed.
Aziza glanced at him. He looked calmer than she felt, but she could see the tension in his jaw. His usual teasing confidence was gone. This wasn't a tabloid rumor about a wild party he'd attended. This was about her, their marriage, and their lives.
Suddenly Aziza felt guilty.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Greg's eyes immediately moved to her. “For what?”
“This,” she said, gesturing around her.
“You didn't take the picture.”
“No, but—”
“Aziza,” his voice softened. “Don't.”
The simple word stopped her. She swallowed and nodded.
Victoria cleared her throat gently. “If we may, we need to discuss the public response before this gets any larger.”
She connected her tablet to the screen in the sitting room. A series of possible headlines appeared.
MYSTERY COUPLE MARRIES IN VEGAS.
WHO IS THE MAN BESIDE THE MYSTERY WOMAN?
ROYAL ROMANCE OR DRUNK MISTAKE?
Aziza's stomach twisted at the last one.
Victoria quickly changed the screen. “We need to establish a narrative before someone else establishes it for you.”
Marcus nodded, “Exactly. The safest approach is to make this look like an impulsive, harmless mistake between two young people who barely knew what they were doing.”
Aziza blinked, “Barely knew each other?”
Marcus looked at her. “It's believable. You met recently at school. You went to Las Vegas with friends. There was alcohol and an impulsive decision was made.”
Greg's eyebrows lowered.
Marcus continued, “We don't confirm the prince's identity yet. We emphasize that this was a spontaneous decision between two people who weren't seriously considering marriage.”
Aziza stared at the screen. The words sounded wrong. Not merely uncomfortable.
Wrong.
Victoria added, “We could say something along the lines of, 'They were friends who made an impulsive decision while celebrating in Las Vegas. They are taking time to understand what happened.'”
Aziza's chest tightened. Yes, they were friends, but impulsive decision? Then there was ‘taking time to understand’. Though that last part wasn’t too bad, it made her and Greg sound like strangers who had met hours before walking into a chapel.
She glanced at Greg. He was staring at the screen too, yet his expression was unreadable.
However, she knew enough about him now to recognize the slight clench of his hand. He didn't like it either.
Aziza looked back at the publicists. “But that's not true.”
Everyone turned toward her. Her heart pounded… maybe she shouldn’t have said anything.
Victoria's expression remained professional. “Which part?”
“Most of it.”
Marcus tilted his head.
Aziza took a breath, “We weren't strangers.”
Greg looked at her.
“We were friends before Vegas,” Aziza continued. “We knew each other. We studied together and we trusted each other.”
She paused.
“And yes, we made an impulsive decision. But saying we barely knew each other makes it sound like we didn't care about one another.”
No one spoke. Aziza could feel her courage beginning to falter, but she forced herself to continue.
“And I don't want our marriage presented as some ridiculous mistake we barely remember.”
Greg's gaze hadn't left her. There was something in his expression she couldn't quite name. Pride, maybe? Surprise? Perhaps both.
Victoria slowly lowered her tablet. “What would you suggest?”
Aziza hadn't expected the question. She looked at Greg, and he gave her a small nod.
Go ahead.
Aziza turned back to the screen, “Tell the truth.”
Marcus looked skeptical, but she continued before he could object.
“Not every detail. We don't have to tell the world everything about us. But we can say we were friends, that we made a decision together, and that we're committed to figuring out what comes next together.”
Victoria considered that. “And the marriage?”
Aziza's heart skipped. She looked at Greg, who was watching her closely now. She thought about the chapel. The rings. Waking up beside him, and his confession on the plane.
She remembered the way he'd refused to abandon her when his parents demanded an annulment. As well as, the way he'd stood beside her every time she felt like she didn't belong.
Aziza took a breath. “We're married,” she said quietly. “So maybe we should stop talking about us like we're trying to escape from it.”
Greg's expression softened, as she turned toward the publicists. “Say, we're learning how to navigate this together because that's what we're doing.”
For the first time since they had entered, Victoria smiled.
“That,” she said, “might actually work.”
Marcus looked down at his tablet, already typing.
Sophie nodded thoughtfully. “It gives us something genuine to work with without revealing anything you aren't ready to share.”
Aziza released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She had expected them to tell her how to become a princess. Instead, she'd just told the people responsible for protecting the royal family's image how she wanted the world to see her marriage. And somehow, judging by the look Greg was giving her, she'd surprised more than just the publicists.
She'd surprised him, too.
Their secret was no longer entirely theirs, and somehow, that frightened her more than she wanted to admit.
Two hours later, Aziza sat beside Greg in the palace parlor. Cameras were positioned across from them. A small production crew moved quietly around the room while a reporter sat in an armchair, reviewing his notes.
Aziza kept her hands folded neatly in her lap. She had been instructed on what questions might be asked, what subjects to avoid, and which details could be confirmed. Still, nothing could prepare her for sitting beneath the enormous family portrait behind them while cameras pointed directly at her.
The reporter smiled, “Your Highness, Princess Aziza, thank you for speaking with us.”
Greg nodded, “Thank you for having us.”
The interview began easily. Questions focused on Greg's time studying in America, their relationship, and their sudden marriage.
“How long have the two of you known each other?”
“Several years,” Greg answered. “We met at university.”
Aziza nodded.
The reporter smiled. “And you were friends?”
“Very good friends,” Greg said.
Aziza glanced at him. The words sent an unexpected warmth through her.
The reporter continued, “Was marriage something you discussed before the Las Vegas ceremony?”
Greg paused just long enough to make the answer convincing. “We had discussed our future.”
Aziza nearly choked.
Had we?
Technically, perhaps. In reality, their discussion of marriage had apparently involved approximately one night of questionable decision-making and a very cheap chapel. However, she managed a polite smile.
The reporter asked several more questions. Most were directed toward Greg. Aziza answered when necessary, keeping her responses short. Then the reporter's expression changed.
“Your Highness, given your reputation, why should the people of Valoria believe this marriage is genuine?”
Aziza could feel Greg tense up beside her. His expression never changed, but Aziza could tell the question bothered him. Not wanting him to deal with answering alone, she turned to the reporter and said, “Because it is.”
The reporter zeroed in on her, causing her to almost regret speaking. He nodded once, then lowered his notes slightly, “Princess Aziza, may I ask you something more personal?”
Her stomach tightened. “Of course.”
“Did you ever imagine yourself living this kind of life?”
Aziza looked around the room. At the palace, the cameras, the guards standing near the doors, and the royal crest displayed above the fireplace.
“You know,” she said, looking back at the reporter. “I know everyone has this belief that every little girl grows up thinking or wishing that she could be a real princess one day, but… no, I was never one of those girls.”
The reporter smiled. “Not even when you first met Alexander?”
Aziza swallowed. “No, not even in my wildest dreams.”
“ We only have time for one more question, so I’ll have to remember to ask you about those dreams next time,” he said, cheesing from ear to ear. “Last question… when did you realize you were in love with him?”
Silence.
Her mind went completely blank. She stared at the reporter, then at Greg.
In love? Was she? She cared and trusted him.
She had become frightened at the thought of losing him. She had felt something when his parents suggested ending their marriage. Then, last night, she'd somehow spoken about having his child as though it were the most natural thought in the world. But love? She didn't know.
“I—”
Greg shifted slightly beside her. He placed his hand in hers and lightly squeezed it, giving her a sense of support.
“She isn't accustomed to discussing her private feelings publicly,” he said smoothly.
The reporter looked toward him. “I understand.”
Greg's voice remained pleasant, “If possible, we'd prefer that particular question not be included in the final interview.”
“Of course.”
Aziza exhaled quietly.
The reporter smiled. “Then perhaps we'll end there.”
The cameras stopped. A member of the production crew began packing equipment.
Aziza remained still. She should have felt relieved. Instead, one question continued echoing in her mind.
When did you realize you were in love with him?
She looked at Greg. He was speaking quietly with the reporter, apparently unconcerned. Aziza, on the other hand, couldn't stop wondering what he had thought when she hesitated. Had he expected her to say when she realized it? Had he been disappointed? Or worse… had he realized that she didn't know because she wasn't in love with him?
Her chest tightened. She lowered her gaze. She had agreed to remain married to Greg because it seemed like the right thing to do. She wanted to help him because she cared about her friend. However, somewhere along the way, the line between helping Greg and wanting him had begun to blur. And that… well, that scared her far more than any newspaper headline ever could.