And he kisses me, because he knows that’s what I need.

His hand slides lower, finding my clit, petting me in perfect time to the thrusting of his cock.

“Yes . . . yes,” I breathe against his mouth, my voice reedy.

I climb and climb and then I peak—soar. My back arches and everything tightens and contracts as waves of hot, blissful sensations tear through my body. Logan holds me to him with his strong arms as I spasm around him.

Then when I’m weak and chasing my breath, he gently guides my upper body down to the bathroom vanity counter. Resting my cheek against the cool marble, tenderly running his fingers through my hair.

Then, he fucks me.

Grasping my hips, hard and fast, he lets go, losing himself to how good it feels, grunting as he pounds into me. I love it when he comes—I can feel it, the hot pulse of his cock as his semen fills me, so deep inside. His rough, harsh gasp against my shoulder blade when he folds over me, thrusting and jerking one final, glorious time.

Then it’s all feathery kisses, soft and sweet and adoring. This is how we start our day.

Not too shabby.

After he slips out of me, I turn in his arms and kiss him fully on his minty-fresh mouth. And then I see the time on his watch.

“Shit! We’re going to be late. We can’t be late.”

I slip away from him and turn the shower on full blast.

Logan gives me a teasing grin. “So that’s how it is, huh? You got what you wanted from me.”

I giggle, turning back towards him to peck his lips. “Yeah, I really did.”

His pinches my ass, playfully. “I’m just a piece of meat to you.”

“No—you’re a sexy piece of meat to me. And I love you.”

His mahogany eyes go warm and light, almost golden. It’s how he gazes at me whenever I say those words.

After one more quick kiss, I hop in the shower—because we really do have to hurry. If we’re late, I’ll never hear the end of it from Livvy.

She wanted us to sleep at her and Nicholas’s apartments last night, but I wanted to stay here, in Logan’s house—our house. It’s my favorite place to be, even more favorite than a palace.

In record time, I’m out of the shower, hair dripping, my T-shirt sticking to my still-damp body, running out the door to the SUV in the driveway. My dress and Logan’s tux are waiting for us at the palace, where the glam squad will make me presentable.

Harry, a young, carefree security guard with shoulder-length brown hair, argues with Bartholomew, a bulkier bodyguard, in the driveway.

“You don’t have it in you, mate.”

“Oh, I have it in me—you can believe that.”

I have no idea what their pissing contest is about, but I don’t have time for it.

“You’re both gonna have my foot in your asses if somebody doesn’t drive me to the palace right now!” I yell.

They both look shocked.

And then they move their asses.

“She’s kind of a violent little thing, isn’t she?” Harry says to Logan as he climbs in the backseat with me.

Logan just laughs. And looks at me. “You’re going to make a good mum one day.”

I shake my head at him. “That’s what you got out of my statement? Really?”

“Sure—you sound just like Tommy’s mum and she’s the best one I know.”

And something occurs to me—something we haven’t talked about yet.

“Do you want that one day?” I imitate Logan’s accent. “To be a da?”

“I do.” His face softens. “As long as you’re the mum, I’d like very much to be the da.”

My stomach gets warm and fluttery. “Me too. Should probably make me a Mrs. first, though.”

Logan kisses my palm, smiling. “That’s the plan.”

Good to know.

But for today, there’s only one wedding that matters: the royal one.

Lady Sarah sits at the vanity table, in the private bridal rooms in the back of St. George’s Cathedral, looking unbelievably stunning in a short-sleeved white lace wedding gown with a two-tiered tulle skirt and cathedral-length lace veil. She’s the image of the perfect bride. A dark-haired Bridal Barbie.

She stares at her reflection in the mirror, chanting, “It’ll be fine. It will be fine. It will be fine.”

“Is she on drugs?” Penelope Von Titebottum, Sarah’s sister asks, pointing with the lily-and-lilac bouquet that matches her lavender maid-of-honor gown. “Did you take drugs, Sarah?”

“I wish.” Sarah closes her eyes and breathes deep and cleansingly. “It’s a calming technique Mother’s meditation specialist taught me. ‘Say it until you believe it.’ It’ll be fine. All fine. Very, very fine.”

She really does sound like she’s on drugs.

My poor sister waddles out of the bathroom, looking uncomfortable in a pretty lilac maternity-styled dress with an adorable white bow above her ginormous belly.

I’m not in the wedding party. I’m just here to look pretty. And help Sarah stay calm if I can. And . . . catch Livvy’s babies, if needed.

“You feeling okay, Liv?” I ask her. “You look kind of pale.”

She rubs my arm. “It’s my only color these days.” Then she lets out a slow breath . . . just like Sarah’s.

“It will be fine . . . It will be fine . . .”

“It will be fine,” my sister tells Sarah firmly. She’s the only one in the room who’s walked the royal green mile before, so I’m hoping Sarah will take her opinion to heart.

Sarah stands and nods. “You’re right. Weddings happen every day.” She shrugs. “I mean, truly, how many people are even out there anyway?”

Olivia closes her eyes and rubs her lower back.

Penelope tries to be helpful. “Not many. Only a few . . . thousand.”

Slowly, Liv sinks down into the chair along the wall. Inhaling deeply.

“Thousands—child’s play.” Sarah scoffs—not convincingly. “And the total watching on television can’t be more than a couple . . .”

“Million.” Penelope waves her hand. “Tens of millions. Pfft.”

Sarah nods.

And then she collapses onto the vanity bench, covering her face with her hands. “Oh dear God, help me! Please . . . send me a miracle.”

That’s when Liv starts to pant. “Hee, hee, hee, hoo. Hee, hee, hee, hooooo.”

Oh boy.

Sarah spins around. “Olivia, . . . are you . . . in labor?”

Holding her stomach, my sister nods. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know this is—”

“—amazing!!” Sarah yells, throwing her arms up to heaven. “Thank you, Lord! Yes!”

“You’re not upset that I’m stealing your thunder?” Olivia asks, panting.

“Take all the thunder, and the lightning, too! If anyone even suspects you’re in labor no one will look at me. It’s perfect.” The future queen sobers. “Will you be able to make it through the ceremony, though? I don’t want you to take any risks.”

My sister grimaces. “I should be able to make it down the aisle. But I want to get to the hospital soon, so if the Archbishop starts droning on, I’ll give you a signal. If I’m moaning in agony—you’ll know.”

My sister’s spunkiness has returned to her.

And then a thought occurs to me. “Hey, the babies aren’t just going to share a birthday with each other, they’re going to share Henry and Sarah’s wedding anniversary. Lenora’s gonna be pissed.”

Just before the ceremony is set to begin, I find Logan out in the main Cathedral. It’s beautiful. Light streams through the windows, depicting saints and biblical scenes in richly-colored stained glass. When my eyes finally land on Logan, it’s like the wind is knocked out of me—because I haven’t seen him since we parted ways to get dressed at the palace. And now, he’s wearing his tuxedo.

God damn, he is fine.

The cut of his jacket shows off his broad, strong shoulders. The charcoal grey cravat accentuates his masculine throat and gives him a sophisticated but roguish look—like he stepped out of the pages of a romance novel. His dress pants hug him perfectly, highlighting his powerful legs, his hard, gorgeous ass, and his thick, impressive “endowments.” I’ve seen Logan wearing a tuxedo before, but this time is different.