Maxon & America: The Married Life (A The Selection Fanfiction)

Chapter 3: Maxon

I’m doing all of my work, so I could go back to America and plant some kisses on her head, on her lips. I want these works to be done. As I work, I call one of the guards. “Can you please call Sylvan.” I say to him, and I read his name tag. “Markson.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He gives me a salute and heads out to call Sylvan. As I sit, I open the drawer near my desk and get my camera. I look at the pictures, the past. Sylvan comes in and I put the camera in the drawer again.
“Hello, Your Majesty. What can I do for you?” Sylvan bows.
“I’m depending it on you, Sylvan. I know you were my mother’s adviser, and you’re an expert on all things related to royal etiquette. I called you here because I want you to help my wife, America. My wife and I, we will be having a honeymoon in France for one week.” I say to her. “And I want you to help us while we’re gone. Organize, plans, things like that. Could you do that for me? Please?”
“No need to beg, Your Majesty,” says Sylvan. “It’s my job, and it will always be. I will help you and the Queen.” She smiles and bows.
“Thank you, Sylvan.” I say to her, “You may go now.” She gives me a nod and curtsies, then goes out of the room.

I head to my room, and see America packing up. She sees me and gives me a perfect smile, stands up to pick up some clothes to bring to our honeymoon, and I run towards her and gives her a peck on the lips. She laughs and pushes me aside so she can go packing again.
She points at the corner of the room, and I see my luggage there. She packed my clothes. She’s so excited, I think.
I am, too.
I snake my arm around her waist and hum some tune, and it soothes her. It calms her. So I just keep doing it, until her body relaxes against mine. I kiss her temple and rest my chin on her head.
She turns around and hugs me tight.
We stand there for like a million hours, and I like it. I will always do this to her. Wake up in the morning, her by my side, kiss her lips every morning, every minute, every second. We could do this every single day and not care to anyone but I’ve got something to run.
There will be a lot of works to do after our honeymoon. The plans include charity events, the castes system. I think it’s everything. So I really need to work hard. Now I understand my father.
And it’s too late to mourn, or to regret.
Because he’s gone.
I shake the thought and America looks at me. I give her a tiny shake and she smiles, holds my hand and kisses the back of it.

As we go into the airport, the people are crowding us. The people are shouting our names. The girl has a sign that says ‘Congratulations, Queen America!’ and I can’t help but to smile. Some has a sign that says ‘Live long, Illea!’ So I give them an approving nod.
America waves at them, just like a queen.
A perfect queen.
My queen.
The dark clouds swirl above us. Bad weather tonight, I think. Sooner or later, the rain will come down. I give the crowd a kingly wave and go on board. My wife, America, has curled her arm around mine. But I take it off, and grab her waist. Pushing her beside me.
As I predicted, the rain starts to fall. Good thing that it’s not very bad, as the weather reporter said. A private plane. Just for me and America.
She sits beside me, reading a book I don’t know. I close it, then take her hand, and kiss her on the lips. She stifles a giggle, and looks at me, then says, “Couldn’t you wait?”
“I couldn’t. And still can’t.” So I cup her face in my hands and kiss her passionately. I grab her waist, not caring that there’s a lady near the door. But she doesn’t care, so why should I?
America breaks the kiss, and my eyes are still shut. I open it, and see her, reading a book. It’s gonna be a long trip. This vacation will be, probably, the longest vacation I will ever have.
After an hour, America’s head is resting on my shoulder, her book is open. I close it, and fix her head on my shoulder so she could get a better nap. I smell her hair, and, somehow, it reminds me of my first kiss. I may not be her first, but I will be her infinity. I smile at the thought of her lips.
I can feel myself vibrating, because I’m laughing. Suppressing it. I don’t know what would happen next after this plane goes down and lands.
Maybe it will happen.
God, what am I thinking? I blush, knowing we can do that. She agreed, didn’t she? She’s said that she wanted it too, hasn’t she?
I slap my face gently, too many times. Trying to make the redness of my cheek go away. But that doesn’t help, it helps to bring more red in it. So I stop doing it.
I take a nap.

When I wake up, the plane is already landing. I take a look at my window, and see France. It used to be the City of Love. And I think it still is. I look at my right, and see America, smiling at me. Clapping her hands slowly. The smile has spread across her face, so does mine. I take her hands and kisses the back of it.
The plane lands, and I hear a woman’s voice, announcing that we’re in France now. I squeeze America’s hand, and she does it too.
The guards take our luggage and help us. When we’re going down, I see her. I see Daphne. The guy beside her snakes an arm around her waist, and I can see sadness in Daphne’s eyes. I remember her confessing her love for me. I turned her down, rejected her, told her I didn’t love her.
My brain flashes the memory of Daphne’s words, she was willing to give up her crown so that she join the Selection.
But I told her that we were prisoners of our own crown and had to do our duty. When she criticized my mother and father, I didn’t get mad at her. She said that my father’s coldness, and my mother’s introversion had made me unaware of my feelings, and incapable of love.
I thought of her words, it left a mark on me. I thought of her, asking myself whether or not I did love her.
But when I met America Singer, I know that I wasn’t in love with Daphne. I was in love with America (and still am! And probably, I will love her eternally!). I recalled the simplest things about Daphne. But that didn’t change my feelings towards her.
But now, I’m staring right into her face. With, I think, his husband. Must be. I try to remember his name, but can’t.
America puts her arm inside mine.
And I know Daphne flinches.
I shake hands with the guy and I introduce myself, “My name is Maxon Schreave. King of Illea.”
“I know. I’m Fredrick, Daphne’s husband.” He says.
“Oh, I know you know. French noble, right?” I say, confirming it.
“Yes.” He responses.
“This is America Schreave, my wife. You must have heard about her.” I say.
“Yes, I have heard about her.” Fredrick says to me. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Queen America.”
“Thank you, Fredrick.” America says. They shake hands and smile to each other.
We stand there for like a million years. Finally, Daphne breaks the tension, “Congratulations, Queen America. For winning the Selection. For winning Maxon.”
“Oh, I’m glad that I won.” America says, raising her head a little. Trying to be calm and proud. “I really love him so much. Right, My Royal Husbandness?” She looks at me and I shake my head while laughing. God, she’s so cute. Daphne flinches again.
“Shall we go?” Fredrick asks us, smiling at us.
“Yes.” America and I both say it in unison. I snake an arm around her waist and plant a kiss on her temple, inhaling her scent. Even we’ve slept through the entire ride, we’re very tired and we want to sleep.

Fredrick and Daphne give us a tour, and the people of France suddenly recognize us and wave us at. America waves at them at a queenly manner. Silvia has done a nice work, I guess.
After the tour, the driver take us to the beach and he picks our luggage and go inside the cabin hotel. It’s a private beach resort. Finally, some privacy, I think.