plans made it impossible for Chanel and Demyan to have any time alone for the rest of the day. She was not surprised to find him in her room late that night after she left her mother and the indefatigable Oxana still discussing seating charts.
Demyan pulled Chanel into his arms and kissed her for several long seconds before stepping back. “That is better.”
“You missed me.”
“I spend all day without you at work.”
“But it was different here.”
“Yes.”
“Worried the mom of your heart would let slip too many of your secrets?” she teased, unprepared for the clearly guilty look that crossed his features. “What?”
He shook his gorgeous head. “Nothing.”
“Demyan?”
“She is the mother of my heart.”
“Have you told her and the king you filed for an official name change?”
“They will hear when the priest names me during the ceremony.”
“You’re a closet romantic, aren’t you?”
“I am no romantic, Chanel.”
“You just go on thinking that.” Then a truly horrific thought assailed her. “Are people going to call me Princess after we are married?”
“Are you going to refuse to marry me if I say yes?” he asked, sounding way too serious.
“I’m not going to refuse to marry you, but Demyan, it’s not easy, this finding-out-you’re-royalty thing.”
He nodded, as if he understood, but how could he? He’d grown up knowing what he was.
“So, about the princess thing...” She wasn’t willing to let this go. Chanel wanted an answer.
He’d left enough out up to this point.
“That depends on my uncle.”
“If he calls me princess...”
“Then others will.”
“Oh.” Considering the cool reception she’d received from King Fedir, she didn’t think he was going to call her princess anytime soon.
“You look relieved.”
“I’m not a princess in his eyes.” As she said the words, she knew them to be absolute truth. And she didn’t blame King Fedir for feeling that way. “I’m not nobility.”
“You are. You inherited the title from your great-great-grandfather—you are a dame. Marrying me will make you a duchess.”
“So?”
“So, even if you are not called princess, most will call you by your title.” His expression and tone said he was perfectly aware she wasn’t going to see that truth as a benefit to marriage.
“That’s medieval.”
“No. Trust me, the nobility system is alive and well in many modern countries.”
“But...” She didn’t want to be called duchess.
“The correct term is Your Grace.”
“That makes me sound like, like... What do they call them, a cardinal or something in the Catholic church.”
He laughed, like she’d been joking.
She wasn’t. “I’m... This is...”
He didn’t let her keep floundering. Showing he knew exactly what Chanel needed—him—Demyan pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
All thoughts of unwanted titles and unexpected ties to royalty went flying from her head in favor of one consuming emotion. Love for the man so intent on making her his wife.
* * *
Over the next few days, Chanel hardly saw Demyan—except when he came to her room at night and made passionate, almost desperate love to her.
She didn’t understand, but it felt like he was avoiding her. Not sure that wasn’t her old insecurities talking, she refused to voice her concerns aloud.
He didn’t seem inclined to anything serious for pillow talk either, but she understood that. Chanel certainly didn’t want to talk about the wedding and its never-ending preparations and plans. Nor was she interested in discussing her fledgling closer relationship with her mother and stepfather.
Beatrice was in her element planning a wedding for her daughter to a prince. A cynical part of Chanel couldn’t help wondering how much of her mother’s newfound approval stemmed from this unexpected turn of events.
Perry wasn’t nearly as overtly critical as he had been in the past, but he didn’t go out of his way to extend even pseudo fatherly warmth, either.
As they had been for the majority of her life, Laura and Andrew were two bright beacons of sincere love and affection for Chanel. Their steady presence reminded her that no matter how her life might change by marrying royalty, some things—the truly important things—remained.
Though she saw little of him during the day, Demyan arrived in her room every night—sometimes very late and clearly exhausted. Apparently when he was in Volyarus, his duties extended beyond the company business into the family business: the politics of royalty.
Sometimes they didn’t make love before falling into exhausted slumber, but those nights he woke her in the wee hours in order to bring amazing pleasure to her body.
He’d found time to sit with her today, though, while she and her stepfather’s lawyer went over the prenuptial agreement. Perry had offered his expertise as well, but honestly?
Chanel trusted Demyan to watch out for her best interests more than her stepfather.
Once she’d read it through, though, she didn’t think she needed anyone else’s interpretation. For a legal document, the language was straightforward and to the point.
There was some serious overkill in her opinion, but nothing that bothered Chanel to sign.
Upon her marriage, she and her heirs gave up any and all rights they might have in Volyarus, its financial and political endeavors and anything specifically related to the business enterprises of the Yurkovich family.
The fact that particular paragraph was followed by one giving any children she had with Demyan full interest as his heirs, she felt was particular overkill.
Clearly, the royal family was very protective of their interests, though. King Fedir’s influence, no doubt.
The man had not warmed up to her at all, but he’d never been unkind, either. After her years with Beatrice and Perry, Chanel was practically inured to anything less than overt hostility.
Even with what she was sure were the king’s stipulations, the terms of the agreement were very generous toward Chanel, considering the fact she wasn’t bringing any significant accumulated wealth to the marriage. The agreement guaranteed an annual sum for living expenses that Chanel couldn’t imagine spending in five years, never mind one.
Unless it was on research, but she didn’t see Demyan approving using their personal finances to fund her scientific obsessions. Yurkovich Tanner had been generous in that regard already.
One thing the prenup spelled out in black and white, oversize and bolded print to her heart was that Demyan wanted their relationship to be permanent. If she’d been in any doubt.
Which she wasn’t.
The financial provision did not decrease in the event of his death. The annual income was Chanel’s and her children’s for her lifetime and theirs.
There were some other pretty stringent requirements that would insure she didn’t divorce Demyan or be unfaithful