The Queen of Honduras Came to Texas to Buy Bulls, and Fell for the Shortest Cowboy in the Arena novel · Chapter 17 of 24

Chapter 17: The Fitting

"I'm not marrying him," I said.

"You've said that before." Elena slid the press release back into her folder. "Then you put on his ring."

I looked at my left hand.

The ring was still jammed on my little finger. The knuckle around it had gone purple.

"Every paper in Central America has this by now," she said. "Congress backed off the minute it went out. A married queen is a safe queen. Break it, and they meet the next morning."

She uncapped her gold pen and wrote on a small white card.

I knew what kind of card it was.

I turned to the window and watched the Gulf go by underneath us, gray and endless.

The Casa Real stands on its hill above Tegucigalpa with white walls and a red tile roof.

Three hundred years of my family hang on the stairs.

On my fourth morning home, I stood on a velvet box in the dressing room in my slip.

The wedding gown waited on a form beside me. Ivory silk, long sleeves, a high lace collar.

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