by Ember Casey
“Is everything all right, sir?” she asks. “Er—Your Highness. Sir.” She does an awkward sort of half-bow.
“Everything is perfectly fine,” I say, at the same time Victoria says, “He needs help.”
The nurse’s nose wrinkles in confusion as she looks between us again. “Is there—”
“I think maybe Prince Andrew hit his head without realizing it,” Victoria says. “Or maybe he has some disease that’s giving him delusions.”
I frown. “I assure you, my mind is perfectly—”
“Either way, I think I need some privacy,” Victoria says. “I don’t think I feel well enough for visitors.”
“Victoria, if you’d just consider what I’ve said, I think—”
But the nurse has turned to me and is gesturing toward the door. “Sir—Your Highness—if you would please step outside.”
“Ms. Simpson and I haven’t finished our conversation.”
“Because you’re insane,” Victoria says from the bed. “Seriously—take some time and think about what you’re asking me to do.”
I cross my arms. “I assure you, I’ve given it plenty of thought.”
“Your Highness, please,” says the nurse. “You’ve already stayed here long past normal visiting hours.”
I can see that neither she nor Victoria intend to budge on the matter, and since I don’t officially have any authority in this country—and I don’t have Leopold’s talent for charming people into doing whatever I like—I see no other choice.
“I will give you some time to consider my proposition,” I tell Victoria, then turn and leave the room.
I march down the hospital corridor, trying to remain calm. I need Victoria for this—she’s the only one I trust to do this right. She might think I’m pushing for some sort of circus, but she’s only been awake for a short time—she hasn’t seen that the circus has already begun.
I shouldn’t have said anything yet, I think. I should have waited for her to recover a little more. Still, now that I know she’s safe, I can think of little else but how to handle this predicament. When we were struggling for survival, I never allowed myself to think far past the present moment. But now that we have water and shelter and medical care—and now that I’ve seen what the media has done with this story—the large-scale consequences of our plane crash cannot be ignored.
This is about more than just my reputation—this is about the future of Montovia. I won’t have the world believing I care so little for my country. And I won’t have Montovia’s name tarnished, not if I can do something about it. It is time to think about the future.
I reach the end of the corridor. There’s a window here, and I look out at the parking lot below, rubbing the back of my neck.
I need a wife, I think. That part is crucial—I need to show the world I am dedicated to serving my country and continuing my family’s name, that I have no intention of ending my own life now or ever. The public search for a wife is an obvious media stunt, but I don’t care—it’s exactly what we need to turn people’s attention from other less-favorable rumors about me in the news. The world won’t be able to take their eyes off the story. It has everything—drama, romance, a touch of scandal. If we choose the women wisely, they can be in on the game. The whole thing would be perfectly calculated.
It really is the best way, I think, watching the cars below. I hate that I must lower myself to such a distasteful stunt, but it is better than the alternative.
I count five news vans in the lot below, and I know there are more on the other side of the hospital. The hospital security team has already caught a few reporters trying to sneak through the lobby, but thankfully, they’ve been vigilant.
Unfortunately, that also means that the rumors have run rampant these past twenty-four hours. I’ve tried to avoid the televisions in this place, but I’ve still managed to see that at least one media outlet is speculating that I was horribly deformed by the accident. As soon as we get to Montovia, I need to hold a press conference.
But I want Victoria with me. If these last few days have taught me anything, it’s that she isn’t motivated by narcissism or personal gain. Instead, she’s driven by her own moral code—and whether or not I happen to agree with the dictates of her conscience, I can respect that much. But how do I convince her that helping me is the right thing to do?
If I had my mobile with me, I would have already called Victoria’s editor and offered him exclusive rights to the news about the hunt for my bride. It would have been the opportunity of a lifetime for Celebrity Spark.
But I suspect such an action would have done little to convince Victoria to take the story—probably quite the opposite. And I want her and no one else.
Why should she morally object to helping me? She must see that this is the easiest way to restore some goodwill for me and for Montovia, as crass as a public search for my wife would be. She acted like it was inappropriate for me to ask such a thing of her after these last three days—but I can’t see how that is so. The kiss in the cabin was a mistake, certainly—but she was the one who pushed me away. And she was the one who seemed so appalled when she realized I’d stayed in her hospital bed with her. Perhaps the thoughts I had as I held her in my arms were less than princely, but she couldn’t have known the things in my head. And I’m certain we both understand that nothing could ever happen between us.
If you were Leopold, you would have slept with her anyway, I think. And cared little for the consequences. If you were Leopold, you would have had ways of persuading Victoria to do exactly as you pleased. For a moment, I allow myself to entertain that thought—how I might walk back into her hospital room, how I might grab her and kiss her the way her mouth begs to be kissed. How I might push her down on the bed and run my hands over her body the way I longed to do as I held her last night. How I wouldn’t care that we were in a hospital, that it was highly inappropriate, that anyone might walk in on us.
How freeing it would be to not care about consequences, if only for an hour.
I step away from the window. There isn’t time to be having fantasies or making speculations about how my life would be different if I’d been my brother. This is real life, and there are important matters to address. I must convince Victoria to help me. Speaking to her as I would speak to any reporter didn’t work, so I must appeal directly to her conscience.
I stride back down the hall, ignoring everyone I pass. Fortunately, the nurse is no longer in her room, so no one tries to keep me from entering.
Victoria frowns when she sees me. “Do I need to get them to kick you out again?”
She’s sitting up in bed, her dark hair in a messy bun that hangs over her shoulder. Her cheeks look much pinker than they did yesterday, and her eyes are bright with something that might be annoyance.
Instantly, I think of the fantasy I had right before I walked in here—how easy it would be to cross over to the bed, to take her in my arms, to kiss her speechless. I wonder if I’d have time to get her undressed before someone walked in on us.
I shake my head, driving the images away. I don’t have time for this.
“Ms. Simpson, may I speak to you frankly?” I say.
She blinks, almost as if she’s surprised to hear me ask her.
“I—I guess,” she says. “But if you’re just going to try and convince me to help you with this stupid plan of yours, you can save your breath.”
I walk slowly over to the end of her bed. “Actually, I was wondering if you had some advice for me.”
Now her expression has shifted from amused to downright suspicious. “Advice?”
“On a better way to handle this matter,” I say. “Forgive me—I know this isn’t the best time to ask such a thing of you, but time is of the essence. And I respect your opinion.”
Her brow is still wrinkled. “I can’t give you advice if I don’t know the whole story, Your Highness.”
“Andrew.”
“Andrew. If you won’t be completely honest wit
h me, then I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Know this,” I say. “The world believes I tried to kill myself. The world is also about to believe that I may have betrayed Montovia in other ways, too. Tell me—how might you advise me to prove them wrong? To show everyone that I am dedicated without question to my country?”
“You don’t need to hold some ridiculous pageant to find a wife, that’s for sure.”
“Perhaps not,” I say. “I could take a wife quietly, father an heir, continue to perform my princely duties without fanfare. But would the world notice or care?”
“The world always notices a royal wedding.”
“But would that be enough? Would they forget everything else they’d heard about me?” I grip the end of the bed. “Montovia is my life, Victoria. Nothing else in this world means more to me. Believe me—I detest the idea of having to parade myself in front of the media, to put on this ridiculous show. But I would humiliate myself a thousand times over for the sake of my country. To show the world I am dedicated to serving her in the best way I can.” I look down at my hands. “I fear that nothing short of a publicity stunt will tear the world’s attention away from the rumors. If you have another idea—a better idea—I will hear it. As I have said, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for my country.”
She fiddles with the sheet. “I’m sure we could think of something.”
“I will have to marry soon either way,” I say. “Before, it didn’t matter if Leopold married before me. But if the world already believes that I’m not dedicated to Montovia, then my younger brother marrying before me will not help matters.” I release the bed and turn away, clasping my hands behind my back. “You’ve spent a lot of time reporting on my brother and his activities. You know as well as I do that Leopold thinks little about the consequences of his actions. The only reason he isn’t in prison or lying dead in some alleyway is because I’ve dedicated a good portion of my life to cleaning up his messes. I haven’t the same luxury he does—there is no one to clean up my messes for me. And I can’t bear to sit idly by while the world accuses me of such vile things. I must fix this—can you at least see that?”
I risk a glance back over my shoulder at Victoria, and she’s watching me with some unidentifiable emotion in her eyes.
“Please,” I say, stepping around to the side of the bed, closer to her. “I must do everything I can to fix this. I won’t be able to live with myself otherwise.”
She starts to shake her head. “Andrew, I—”
“I need your help,” I say, taking her hand. “Please, Victoria. You are the only person I trust with this.” I catch her gaze in mine, will her to see my desperation. “Montovia is in my blood. It is the reason I wake every morning. The reason my heart beats. I am prepared to do everything in my power to fix this.”
Her eyes search mine. For a long time, she doesn’t say anything, and after a moment, I release her hand, straightening. If that speech doesn’t convince her, then I’m not sure what will. I’ve laid myself bare before her.
I’m halfway to the door when I hear her voice behind me.
“Okay.”
I turn. “You’ll help me?”
She nods. “I’ll help you.”
Victoria
His passion is misplaced—I wish he could see that. But it’s hard to question his allegiance to his country.
Everything about this is wrong. I know that without question. But there’s some nagging feeling in my chest—something that’s almost screaming at me to help him, even if it’s only to get him to see the error in his judgment.
He walks back over to the chair next to my bed, sinking into it with what looks like relief. “You won’t regret this, Victoria.”
“I already regret it.” I almost grumble the words. I’ve spent the last five years trying to do everything in my power to get out of the celebrity news business—not to get myself permanently mired in it.
But in some ways this is perfect. It at least has the potential to be perfect. I was already on my way out of this business when Andrew showed up in my life. And this would send me out with a bang. The only problem with this plan—at least as far as my career is concerned—is that it will end any chance that I might have had at being a real journalist. No self-respecting publication will ever want anything to do with me. I’m sure I could have my choice of jobs at any celebrity rag in the world after pulling off something like this—if it even can be pulled off—but I’ll never be taken seriously again. Not that I’ve ever really been taken seriously since I left journalism school. I’d received some praise for the reporting I did about Elle’s story, but considering the other scandal that was going on at the time, it barely even registered as a blip in the news. And when that had failed, I knew I had to be done with the media circus that is celebrity news reporting once and for all.
I turn to Andrew. “You realize that trying to pull stunts like this almost always blows up in the face of the people trying to pull them. Reporters aren’t stupid. They can smell a phony story a mile away.”
He smiles. “And that’s why I have you. That is precisely why I want you to handle this, Victoria.” He tents his hands in his lap. “And this will not be a phony news story like my brother’s. This story…” His voice trails off and he looks down at his lap for a moment before lifting his gaze back to mine. “This story—these stories—will help to shape the future of Montovia.”
I can only shake my head at him. He seems so sure of this plan—so certain. I can see now that the wildness in his eyes is more like desperation. If what he’s been saying is true—if the press really is accusing him of attempting suicide—I can’t even imagine the anguish he must be feeling. It’s true that I barely know him—even though I’ve covered hundreds of stories about his brother, I hardly know anything about Andrew himself. He’s always been the mysterious prince—the world’s most eligible bachelor, for sure, but he’s rarely made public appearances outside Montovia.
I look over at him again. He’s staring at his hands, obviously lost in thought about this half-baked plan of his. I know he thinks it’s a great scheme, trying to pull the wool over the world’s eyes with these carefully crafted stories of his, but he has no idea how much it’s going to hurt him in the long run if it fails. If the slightest thing goes wrong, it isn’t going to just damage him. It’s going to ruin him.
If I were really one of the paparazzi that he despises so much, I might let him do it. I might even help him to do it, knowing what the outcome will be. But after everything that’s happened in the past few days, I know I can’t. Even if we hadn’t had this weird bonding experience, I’m not sure I could allow him to hang himself like this.
I turn in the bed to face him and clear my throat to break him out of his thoughts.
He looks up at me and smiles.
I’m sure the smile I return is pretty weak—I don’t know how to do this. How to tell him that he’s a fool if he wants to pursue this ridiculous scheme. “Andrew, if this fails—”
“It won’t.”
“It might. You have no guarantee—”
He nods. “I can guarantee that the women I choose to participate are ready to rule Montovia with me. They’ll be of noble blood, born into the same sort of role I was. They’ll have grown up knowing they could be chosen for something like this—that there is at least the possibility—”
“I get it.” I nod. “I get that you want some princess-y girl—”
“Woman.”
I lift a brow. “Woman. You want someone appropriate—”
He grins, nodding. “Exactly.”
I shake my head. “If someone had come to you a week ago—two weeks ago—with the same plan, you would have told them they were crazy. That there was too much at risk.”
He reaches out and takes my hand into his. “That was before. Two weeks ago, I didn’t believe that anyone would ever have found out about certain events that happened several months ago. I didn’t believe that Leopold would be trying to usur
p my rightful place as heir to the throne—”
“I seriously cannot believe that you actually think that, Andrew. I’ve known your brother for years—”
He shakes his head. “You think you know him. You know what he’s wanted you to know. And he’s changed. He may not have wanted to rule before, but he does now.” He sucks in a breath and drops my hand before he stands, almost kicking the chair he’s been sitting in out of the way.
Andrew starts pacing the length of the room again, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s muttering under his breath and I can’t understand what he’s saying. He freezes, turning to me, his eyes wide. “Victoria, I will not discuss this with you outside of Montovia.”
I struggle not to roll my eyes. “I didn’t ask you to, Andrew.” I motion to the chair with my hand. “Why don’t you sit back down? You can outline this awesome plan of yours.”
He nods and walks back over to the chair, pulling it up to the side of my bed again. There’s something clouding his eyes—it’s desperation, for sure, but there’s almost a little hope there, too. He lowers his voice. “I’ve given this quite a lot of thought and consideration over the past day, and I think having five women in contention will be suitable for this plan.”
“Okay.” I motion at the pen and pad of paper on the table next to my bed. Andrew reaches over and grabs it, handing it to me. I almost write IDIOTIC PLAN across the top, but I stop myself before I do. I scribble a few notes instead before I look back up at Andrew. “Do you have any candidates in mind?”
He nods. “As I said, Princess Maria is out of the question.”
“Obviously.” I blink at him a few times, waiting for him to give me any other names, but he doesn’t. “And were there any other women you were thinking of?”
He frowns and rubs his jaw. “Lady Karina is also out of the question.”
I roll my eyes this time. “Yes, Andrew, obviously. She just had a child two weeks ago, so, yeah, probably not the best choice.” I pause for a second. “Unless her baby is actually yours and not Leo’s…?”
