Title: Royally Wed (Ladies-in-Waiting, #2) by Pamela DuMond
Publication date: October 13th 2016
Genres: Comedy, New Adult, Romance
Ring the wedding bells, pour the champagne, and get thee to the cathedral for Royally Wed, the LOL sequel to Part-time Princess (Ladies-in-Waiting, #1)!
Lucy Trabbicio, former cocktail waitress, and down-to-earth American commoner is about to marry the man of her dreams, Prince Nicholas of Fredonia in the posh royal wedding of the year.
But something goes very wrong on the way to the altar. Now it’s up to Lucy, her party-hard, take-no-prisoners Ladies-in-Waiting, and Nick’s opinionated Royal Nana to solve the debacle, and get her back into sexy Prince Nick’s arms in time to be Royally Wed, as well as royally bed.
A modern day, sexy tale with romance, twists and turns, laughter, and a whole lot of hanky-panky!
Click to add Royally Wed to your Goodreads shelf.
PRAISE for Ladies-in-Waiting Romantic Comedy Series!
Five Stars “Why can’t I be a Part-Time Princess?! Amazing, I loved this book!!” ~ London Dreaming
Five Stars “Absolutely Freaking Hi – lar – ri – ous!!!” ~ Avid Reader923
Four Stars “This is a flirty fun read.” ~ Karen’s Book Haven
Five Stars “AHHHHH I LOVELOVELOVE this Book!” ~ Maryam Dinzly
About the Author
Pam pitched Erin Brockovich’s story to Hollywood. Erin Brockovich, the movie earned 4 Academy Award nominations, and Erin became a household name for environmental activism.
Pam writes Romance, YA, Mysteries, and even Self-Help. All her stories have humor and heart.
She’s addicted to TV shows — The Voice, The Blacklist, and GOT. She likes dogs and cats equally, prefers her coffee strong, her cabernet hearty, her chocolate dark, and her foods non-GMO. She lives for a good giggle in Venice, California with her fur-babies.
Excerpt for Royally Wed
I lay collapsed on my back, naked except for the tiara on my head. An ornate silver cheese platter rested on the bed next to me. “Hey, aren’t we supposed to be attending a surprise party tonight?” I fanned my face.
“No, Lucy.” Prince Nicholas Frederick Timmel of Fredonia picked up the tray and placed it on a nightstand. “But thanks for the appetizers.” He wrapped his muscular arms around me and squeezed me tight as he lay next to me—scratch that—for-the-most-part on top of me, on the king-size feather top bed. “We’ve attended back-to-back pre-wedding galas, cocktail parties, and family gatherings. Tonight is blessedly free. I think you’re simply exhausted from the jet lag and the time change.”
“You mean from our most recent round of toe-curling sex.” I pinched my forearm and reminded myself for the hundredth time that this was not a dream, nor had I been out boozing with my ladies-in-waiting.
“Ow!” Nick said. “You need to be nicer to HRH if you want him to make another royal appearance.”
Oops—that wasn’t my forearm.
“Sorry! I totally thought you were kidding when you told me your—I mean—the little prince’s nickname.” In a former life, I was a cocktail waitress. Now I was engaged to a real Prince, he of the black hair, the blue eyes, and the remarkable royal jewels. How could this be?
“I would never kid about HRH,” Nick said. “He can be overly-sensitive.”
“An admirable trait,” I said. “I don’t know, Nick. I distinctly remember an invitation that mentioned a surprise party. There was a photo of a woman’s finger pressed over her lips and the word ‘Shh!’ was engraved in big black letters on the cover.”
“No, Lucy. You’re remembering that time a few months ago when we visited the Viking Museum in Oslo.” He snuggled his five o’clock scruffy shadow into my cheek and nibbled on my ear. “The docent went out of her way to publicly admonish us.”
“You mean the cranky woman whose face resembled a pickle when she said ‘Shh!’ and told us to ‘cease our boisterous laughter?’”
“The very same,” he said. “I still remember her warm spittle striking my cheek when she uttered the words, ‘Hold opp!’ Emphasis on the hard d and ps.”
“Docent Marte,” I said. “Was she the one who was upset that we were kissing in public?”
“Kissing?” He waggled his eyebrows. “She complained that I was fondling your—”
“Right,” I said and mimicked Docent Marte’s outraged alto voice, complete with her thick accent. “‘Only women who are BREASTFEEDING are allowed to go TOPLESS in the Royal Viking Museum!’ Jeez! I was totally not topless.”
Nick smiled. “Well sweetie, you kind of were—”
“A nipple slip is technically not topless. I think she was jealous. You had your haircut that week, Nick, and you looked exceptionally handsome. Very rugged. Very royal.”
“You flatter me.” Nick kissed the palm of my hand. “Honestly, Lucy, I don’t remember receiving an invitation to a surprise party. But there are too many invites and far too many bloody events. It makes me want to call off this formal wedding and simply elope.”
“We can’t elope.” I smoothed an errant lock of hair off his forehead. My Nick was in his late twenties with high cheekbones, jet-black hair with a hint of a curl, come hither eyes, and a smoking bod.
“Why not?” He found his way to my neck and buried his lips in its sweep.
I shut my eyes and fantasized for a few seconds that he was a hot vampire, like the one young Brad Pitt played in that movie they adapted from the Anne Rice book. But then I remembered that I bruise easily, and the whole sexy fang thing would grow old quickly when my neck resembled an heirloom tomato. “We can’t elope because we’d disappoint too many people: your mother, my uncle, your grandmother, my ladies-in-waiting—”
“You mean your ladies-in-trouble.”
“Oh, come on!” I bit my lip. “We haven’t gotten into that much trouble lately.”
“The police reports regarding your recent trip to Monaco might have been destroyed but they’re seared into my memory.”
“There’s nothing to remember.” I cleared my throat. “That was a quick weekend ski jaunt to the French Riviera and perfectly innocent. No one was arrested. No one called the police.”