by Ellie Hall
This time Penny stopped in the hallway. “Wait. What?”
Addie’s eyebrows crimped together. “Miss, I’m sorry. Please forgive me if I overstepped. I didn’t realize it would upset you. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“No, Addie. It’s fine. It’s wonderful actually. I’m just overwhelmed and I happen to be best friends with Logan’s girlfriend.”
Realization dawned. “Oh.”
“And I have to come clean. I cannot go through with this, given who I really am.” No one; she wasn’t good enough, she wasn’t nobility. She was a liar. The shame threatened to devour her. Penny pulled out her phone and sent a text to Clara with two requests.
If she understood her sister correctly through the garbled conversation, she was on her way. Clara likely as well since she was on tour with L Ryder as his puppy wrangler—they both had a thing for rescue dogs. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that they’d be there to offer moral support to Penny.
Despite the upcoming celebrations of the engagement and Oliver’s birthday, she knew what she had to do and she had to do it in a very public way.
Chapter 22
Oliver
Upon returning to Concordia, Oliver had a full agenda leading up to the celebration later that evening. He had a fitting for his suit as well, but more importantly, there were royal duties to attend to. Because of the delay due to the accident, appointments, meetings, and documents to sign were backed up and stacked up. Had there really been that many official matters he wondered as he looked around the room.
The office, headquarters for affairs of the monarchy, was a mess with stacks of papers and books. Then with a heaviness in his limbs, he realized that it was just as his father had left it. The room was strictly off limits unless the king was present. The staff had done a wonderful job keeping up the rest of the castle but the office was a relic.
His parents had died, ironically, in a train accident. He rarely thought about the details. They’d been touring Africa when another train hit the one they’d been on because the timetable was incorrect.
Perhaps that’s why everyone in the kingdom insisted on punctuality. The queen-to-be with her carefree ways might have to adapt to that. If she stuck around.
Oliver was torn between stepping into his new role and concern about Penelope. She’d distanced herself and he sensed she would soon depart, leaving his life forever. She’d disappear back into the wild prairies of the west to live her life free of the constraints of her station. He couldn’t abandon his rule but he didn’t want to let her go either, but if that’s what she desired, he wanted nothing more than for her to be happy. He didn’t believe he should try to stop her but he wouldn’t give up, not yet.
He sighed and one of his advisors appeared, holding a paper under his nose.
Oliver waved the man away. “I do not want to delay important matters of state; however, they deserve my full attention. Considering I was nearly buried in a ravine after my train plummeted from the tracks, I need a day to collect myself. I hope you understand.” He left the part off about Penelope and everything that jumbled in his mind.
“I apologize, your Royal Highness,” the advisor said, excusing himself.
Oliver leaned back in the chair and turned to the painting of a young version of his father, a tradition when the king took the throne and one he knew he’d soon have to sit for. Beneath the painting, on the cold hearth, was a clock. It had stopped at midnight, who knew how many years previous. He felt like time was running out.
He opened and closed the velvet box in his hand. The one thing he wanted to do in order to make the engagement more personal was to ask her to marry him properly—even though it wasn’t royal tradition. But he didn’t want his request to force her hand. “What would you do?” he asked the painting of his father.
Of course, there was no answer.
It was up to him now, as was the business of running the country, and the mess in the office.
A gentle snow fell from the sky, blanketing the village scene below the castle. Oliver drew a deep breath and started organizing the paperwork. It was customary for the prince and queen-to-be to remain separate until they were announced at the engagement soiree so he took advantage of the time to clear his mind and the office.
Later, Winston rang the bell. Oliver had hardly noticed the sun had set and the energy, just beyond the now open door of the office, had shifted into a flurry of excitement. “Sir, it is time to get ready.”
Oliver quickly donned his suit, in slate gray. It fit perfectly—king-like. He tucked the ring box in his pocket. A twinge of fear rippled through him as he passed through the castle halls and toward the ballroom. What if she’d left while he was leafing through papers regarding decades-old domestic and international political matters? What if while he’d hesitated in letting her know his feelings beyond the kisses they’d shared, she’d fled. No, she wouldn’t just leave. She was a royal. She’d have the decency to say goodbye.
Winston led him through the hall to a room adjacent to the ballroom. “Sir, apologies on behalf of Queen Beatriz. There has been a delay but she should be here soon. She insisted you not wait to proceed with the soiree on her behalf.”
While he waited in a room to be announced to his guests, his phone jingled. He thought he’d left it in his dressing room. He didn’t recognize the number, only that it came from the United States. It was his private line that few had access to. A lump formed in his throat. Was it Penelope? He answered anyway.
“Oliver,” the caller said. She had a faint British accent. “This is Penelope.”
He glanced toward the door as anger pierced his voice. “No, this isn’t. Penelope is here and she does not have an accent. What’s the meaning of this? Who are you really?” Who’d trick him after all he’d been through recently. Perhaps it was Genevieve exacting revenge by impersonating his love. Yes, his love. He loved Penelope and was terrified of losing her.
“No, this is the real Penelope. The one you’ve been spending time with, the one you’re about to marry is a fraud.”
“Why should I believe you?” he fired back.
“Because I’m the one who ran off to America.”
“Where have you been all this time? Why didn’t you answer the queen’s summons to return for the royal courtship?”
“Because I’m already married.” She went on to explain how she’d met a cowboy, fell in love, and eloped in Las Vegas.
He hardly believed a word, but doubt had wiggled its way into his mind. The soiree was about to begin but he grilled the caller on details only she’d know if she was who she claimed to be.
She got every single one correct.
Oliver’s stomach twisted and knotted and dipped. What was happening? It couldn’t be.
Then the person who claimed to be the real Penelope said, “I wish you love and happiness with whoever becomes your queen.”
The line went silent.
He was nearly panting as though he couldn’t catch his breath. Winston’s bell rang. It was time. He needed a few moments to collect his thoughts but he didn’t want to leave his people waiting any longer than they already had: thirty years since their king and queen had perished, three days while the prince and…he let the thought hang as the herald introduced Oliver with great fanfare.
The guests, mostly nobility but a few high-ranking officials as well, greeted him with immense enthusiasm. He shook a few hands, kissed a few cheeks, but because it was a combination engagement and birthday party the vibe was less formal and more celebratory.
He wanted neither. None of it. He needed space and time to think. He needed to talk to his sister, she’d know exactly what to do but because of the delay, she had to leave before the rescheduled soiree.
Penelope, or whoever she was, entered the room. She wore a sweet gray dress, befitting a queen-to-be. His queen but not. Who was she really? Had she deceived him? She glided forward but he registered a sense of defeat in her shoulders. Their eyes met and he
couldn’t imagine her doing something so horrible but the sadness there told him she hid something.
She stepped to his side as was custom.
He should’ve taken her hand.
It would’ve been the moment during the engagement party when he was supposed to say words of greeting and gratitude to the court, to his friends and family. Then announce the date of the wedding and all that was to come now that the people would have their monarchs.
It was when he’d planned to get down on one knee, open the box, and ask Penelope to marry him. It wasn’t part of the Concordian tradition but a way to make the engagement their own.
He did nothing but stand there, slightly numb. But he wouldn’t have been able to do anything anyway because the curtains in front of the performance stage parted and the familiar strains of a song began.
L Ryder, the famous musician, bellowed into the microphone. “Happy birthday, Prince Oliver.”
Everyone cheered.
The band played his favorite song. He knew the queen-to-be had the responsibility to organize his birthday festivities, but the call from the real Penelope, or so she said, soured the moment. He tried to smile, to wear the noble mask he’d been wearing his whole life, but he was confused, torn up inside, and wanted to tear it off. He wanted the truth.
He fought the urge to lean in and ask Penelope what was going on but all eyes were on him, measuring his attentiveness, his gratitude. He didn’t want to ruin it for them.
After the song was over, a petite woman appeared with a golden retriever puppy. He recognized it from the animal shelter where they’d volunteered in London. She approached Oliver, did a similarly awkward curtesy bow that had been so endearing when Penelope had done it, and passed him the dog.
“Happy birthday,” Penelope said.
He took the puppy and felt himself melting inside at the sight of the big eyes, the soft fur, and doggy smile. But the warmth was doused by the uncertainty, the doubt, and the questions on his lips.
Logan played the happy birthday song while everyone sang along. Then when the clapping died down, he said, “Now, I turn things over to the man of the hour because we’re celebrating two wonderful events. Thank you all for being here and it’ll be our pleasure to play a few more songs later this evening.” He bowed and stepped aside.
Penelope leaned in while Logan was talking and said, “This is Duke. I wanted something for you to remember me by, the good parts because the truth is, I love you, Oliver. But I’m also sorry.” She lifted onto her toes and kissed him on the cheek then stepped in front of the microphone.
His stomach plunged. He loved her too but what was going on? It was all happening so fast. He didn’t know what to think. What was happening?
She cleared her throat. “I need to apologize formally, to everyone present.”
From the back of the room, someone shouted, “She’s an imposter.” Genevieve strode through the crowd and practically shoved Penelope out of the way. “I knew something was off about you. Yes, this person here is Penelope, but she is not the queen’s niece. If I were queen, I’d have you imprisoned.”
Penelope glared at Genevieve. “I am not who you think I am,” she agreed.
Genevieve staggered back as though that was not what she was expecting to hear.
Oliver’s eyes bore into her. He blinked, trying to bring everything into focus.
She turned to him. “My name is Penelope, Penelope Jones. I was selected to be the royal baker’s apprentice at the palace in London. When trying to find the kitchen, I stumbled upon the sewing room. It was foolish, but I tried on a dress, taking a moment to live in a fairytale. The queen thought I was her niece. I went along with it.” She hung her head then added, “However, everything I have said or felt about you has been true. The rest was wrong and deceitful and I am very, very sorry.” She swallowed hard and then rushed from the room.
Oliver’s shoulders drooped. A different kind of shock than from the accident raced through him, leaving him feeling disoriented and cold. He’d been slightly skeptical, hoping the call was a prank but to hear Penelope Jones claim the deception and apologize wrung him out.
He knew it was too good to be true: to meet a royal who was down to earth and not stuck up or out for his money, the title, or any of the other benefits the royal life offered. He should’ve known better.
“See? Told you so,” Genevieve snorted.
He didn’t have the energy to retort. He felt blindsided, crushed, at a loss. He set the puppy down and staggered out of the room.
She’d fled, just as he’d predicted. They couldn’t be together after all. It wasn’t meant to be and her true identity was merely another reason.
Oliver had not wanted an arranged marriage but that wasn’t possible. He wanted to marry for love and had that possibility in Penelope. He’d wanted it to be her: not the queen’s niece but the commoner. He loved her. He wanted her but was prepared to let her go, to let her live a happy, free life away from the confinements of royal life. And now he really couldn’t have her because she wasn’t who she said she was.
This fact, more than the deception, hollowed him out as he sank into the chair in his father’s office and held his head in his hands.
Chapter 23
Penny
Penny raced down the hallway of the castle, not familiar enough with the layout to know how to get back to her room. Her throat was tight. Her chest ached. She’d told the truth, revealed who she really was and what had happened but didn’t feel the burden of guilt lift. She felt worse than ever.
Her pulse thundered in her ears and tears streaked down her cheeks as she reached a dead end. Her life seemed like a series of those: she’d never known her father and had a rocky relationship with her mother. Her last boyfriend and the ones before him had always broken it off with her. Was she not good enough? Pretty enough? The prince seemed to think so. She crumbled a little more inside at the thought of him believing her, trusting her, seeing her but not for who she really was.
Through blurry eyes, she gazed out the window to the village below. Wisps of smoke rose up from chimneys. The soft glow of lights from inside warm homes dotted the valley. The snow sparkled in the starlight.
The people of Concordia had long awaited the return of their royals. The prince was worthy of the title. She was just a commoner, like them. She’d grown up in a regular house in a regular town and went to regular school. She wasn’t special or different. She didn’t know the proper way to greet royalty or all of the customs and formalities. She knew how to bake, how to drive a stick shift, and how to navigate Manhattan.
She wasn’t like Genevieve or any of the other royals-in-waiting. She was just Penny and not the shiny kind.
They couldn't be together. It wasn’t meant to be.
“There you are,” a voice called from down the hall.
Penny’s instinct was to run but she was done with that and done pretending.
It was Addie. “I heard what happened.” She reached out for Penny and enveloped her in a hug. “You did a courageous thing.”
“But I feel terrible,” Penny sniffled. “I know I made the right choice about the wrong choice but this is awful.” Even if things were different, he’d never have her back. He couldn’t.
Addie gently guided Penny down the hall and back to her room.
“I have to pack, to leave, unless, of course, they plan to arrest me.” Penny’s eyes went wide as reality hit her like a punch in the gut. “What do they do to criminals here?”
Addie gripped her chin.
“It’s not good, is it.” Nonetheless, Penny threw open her suitcase and started packing up. An envelope slid out. Mrs. Wong, her neighbor in Manhattan, had given it to her the day she left her apartment. She picked it up, no longer afraid if anyone saw who it was addressed to because the secret was out. She stuffed it in her pocket. She’d have plenty of time to read it later, probably along with her rights as a person who’d deceived the crown.
Chapter 24
Oliver
Oliver had never felt so miserable, empty, and hurt. He wanted to crawl back into the railcar, buried in the ravine, and remain there. Then Penelope’s image popped into his mind. He wanted to be there with her. Or somewhere with her. Anywhere.
Why’d she have to lie? Then again, if she hadn’t, he’d never had met her.
He grunted at the harshness of that truth. It was a no-win situation and it crushed him.
Because of the strict rules of nobility, and since she wasn’t royal, they could never be together, but had she not pretended to be royal, they’d never have had the opportunity to be together.
Yet, she’d lied. Why? Nothing about her personality struck him as the kind of person who’d pose at the queen’s niece for personal gain, fame, wealth, or, like Genevieve, all of the above. Unless she was hiding something. He didn’t really know her. But he wanted to. He wanted to get to know her every day for the rest of his days. He drove his fist onto the surface of the desk, sending several papers fluttering.
Perhaps there was a loophole. A way to still marry even though she wasn’t of noble birth. But how could he trust her after the stunt she’d pulled?
Another idea crashed into his mind. He could cede the throne. Let Uncle Garfield take over. Then he could marry whoever he wanted. He thought about it for half a second. He couldn’t do that to his people. They’d waited so long to have their king back. Uncle Garfield would throw away everything his parents had built and that he worked for from the sidelines over the last years.
