by Ember Casey
“I didn’t—”
“You did. When are you going to get it through your thick skull that the whole world isn’t conspiring to take your crown away from you?”
“Forgive me, Victoria, but the whole world declared me dead. Of a suicide.”
“Did you even see your brother just now? Did you see the look in his eyes when he talked about how they thought you were dead? He’s still upset about it, even now.”
In truth, I didn’t notice—I was too busy trying to calm my own temper.
“I know you have a lot on your mind right now,” Victoria says. “Trust me—I know that better than anyone. But your family is going through something, too. They thought they’d lost you. Forever. And then they realized they hadn’t. That’s a lot of shock to go through in just a few days.”
“I understand that,” I say. “But understanding it doesn’t erase any of our problems.”
She crosses her arms. “You’re right. So maybe you should go talk to your father before anyone else shows up at my door.”
I stiffen. “Are you kicking me out?”
“You’re the one who’s so concerned about people seeing you here,” she says. “What do you expect us to do? Spend the morning together cuddling? Share brunch like this was some sort of date? I thought you didn’t date commoners, Andrew.”
Her sudden determination to drive me away doesn’t sit well with me.
“I’ve already explained my views on commoners,” I say, “and you know as well as I that it’s not—”
“Go deal with your family,” she says, giving me a dismissive wave of her hand. “Tell them we were taking care of business or whatever. I don’t care. I have things to do today.”
My frown deepens. I don’t like this at all. “Victoria—”
“Please, Andrew. I really think it’s for the best.”
Only a short time ago, she was in my arms. Pressed against me like there was nowhere else she would rather be. But the warm spark I saw in her eyes earlier is gone, replaced by cold walls.
You should stay and try to make things right again, I think. But the other part of me knows she makes a fair point—my priority must be to set things right with my father.
“Fine,” I tell her. “I’ll go.” I tighten the robe around me. “I’ll see you at tea with my mother.”
She nods, avoiding my eyes as she sinks back onto the sofa.
An hour and a half later, I’ve finished explaining everything to my father. I’ve given him full details of the plane crash as well as explained my plan for changing the tone of the media’s dialog about me—which gives me the perfect excuse for why I was spotted in Victoria’s room this morning.
“As you can see, we need to start preparations immediately,” I say. “We cannot allow the press to linger on speculations surrounding the crash. I know you dislike publicity stunts, Father, but I truly believe this will kill two birds with one stone.”
My father leans back in his chair, rubbing his chin. We’re in his office, sharing a small lunch between us. My father even pulled out a bottle of brandy he was saving—it might seem a small thing, but from a man who shares little in the way of emotion, it’s quite a gesture. My father’s way of showing his relief at my return.
“This seems very unlike you, Andrew,” he says finally. “A public pageant? I don’t know...”
“We need to lead the media in a different direction. And it must be something big if we want to distract them from the story of my near death.” I take a sip of the brandy. “Besides—we both know I should marry sooner rather than later. The women will be carefully vetted, of course.”
He studies me over the rim of his glass. “I didn’t think you could surprise me, son, but I was wrong.”
“Do you approve or disapprove of my plan?”
“It is...unorthodox, certainly. But I do not entirely disapprove.” He sets his glass back down. “You are right—we need to change the story. And you do need to marry. And, preferably, produce an heir quickly. I’d like there to be at least one legitimate royal grandchild conceived within the bounds of marriage. I understand that times have changed, but we have a responsibility to uphold certain standards of propriety in this family.”
“I agree completely, Father.”
He rubs his chin again. “Your mother might take some convincing.”
“I thought I might look to her for suggestions of potential brides,” I say. “You know how much she enjoys playing matchmaker.”
“I do. And yes, I think it’s a brilliant plan.” He turns his gaze to me again. “I hope that I, too, might put forth a candidate.”
I straighten. “You have someone in mind?”
“Yes, actually, I do. In fact, I was thinking of suggesting an acquaintance between the two of you even before I heard this little plan of yours. She still must be vetted, of course, but I can’t believe our investigators will find anything unsavory in her past.”
I sit forward, my stomach tightening with an emotion I can’t name. “Who is it?”
My father takes his glass and lifts it in my direction. “That, my son, will be a surprise. In the meantime, let’s drink a toast to your future nuptials.”
Victoria
As promised, I’m brought a wide array of clothing to choose from—everything from business wear to cocktail dresses. I only take a few things from each of the racks. I definitely don’t want to abuse the hospitality of my hosts. And besides, I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here.
Not long.
I sort of hate that voice in my head, but I know I’m right. As soon as Andrew is done with this ridiculous show he wants to put on to find his bride, he’ll have no use for me. And I was dumb enough to not get anything in writing about the promised job before we left Los Angeles, so I know there won’t be any sort of permanent position waiting for me here when we’re done. Not that I would really want that now. It’s going to suck more than enough having to help him find the woman of his dreams—there’s no way I’m going to want to hang around any longer than I have to after this charade is over.
I change into a simple skirt and blouse—professional wear—for my tea with Andrew and the queen. I try not to put much thought into it—I don’t really want Andrew seeing me as anything more than he did before the plane crash. If there was any way to go back in time and undo all the damage that’s already been done, I know we would both choose to do it. Nothing good can come from allowing whatever is going on between me and Andrew to continue. Nothing good for me, anyway. He might be able to restrain himself—keep himself from doing anything more than sleeping when I’m around—but I’m not sure I can.
I think I’m already in trouble. The fluttering in my stomach as I’m thinking about seeing him again at tea is a terrible sign. The aching in my chest when I think about not being able to sleep in his arms again is even worse.
I have to put an end to this. Now.
I shouldn’t have even come to Montovia. I should have taken the opportunity to get out of this mess when I had it. I could have refused to fly on that airplane after they let me out of the hospital. I could have said I was too afraid—or that I didn’t want the job after all. But there had been something inside me that hadn’t let me do any of those things. The same part that finds herself wanting to be held by the crown prince every night, no doubt.
I don’t need to be held. I’m a survivor. I’ve faced death more than once now, and I’ve been victorious each time. I’ve lost more than anyone can ever imagine and I’m still standing. I’ve never needed to be held before, and I damn well don’t need to be held now.
Somehow, I need to find that same steely resolve that’s allowed me to survive my past. I’m not sure where it went or how I came to lose it—I’m pretty sure it was there before the plane went down. Even after it did. I just need to go back to that place—that little space inside myself that is shielded from everything. The one that convinces me I’m safe, even when everything else says I’m not.
I remind myself of why I’m here, but it’s no use. I had only taken this job to get out of celebrity reporting, not to create a new media circus. And that’s exactly where I find myself now—inside a circus of my own making.
I’m led to a small dining room—this seems to be a more formal tea with the queen than the one Elle told me about, which makes perfect sense. I’m not sure why I was expecting to be invited to her suite—it isn’t as though Andrew and I are involved. Not in the way Elle and Leo are.
It isn’t too hard to cover my disappointment, particularly when Andrew stands up from the table as I enter the room. He’s wearing a grey suit that looks like it’s been custom made for his body, accenting his physique in just the right way. And the color makes his eyes look more blue than I’ve ever seen them.
My heart does a weird pattering thing, but I try to ignore it even as his eyes lock with mine.
He smiles and motions for me to take the seat next to him, which seems like a good idea—I won’t have to make much eye contact with him if he’s sitting right next to me.
It occurs to me that not being able to make eye contact isn’t going to matter much as soon as he reaches over and caresses the top of my arm.
My eyes flutter closed for a moment at his touch and I’m glad the queen isn’t here to see whatever the hell this is.
“You look lovely.” His finger trails down my arm until he takes my hand into his under the table. “My mother should be arriving shortly.”
I pull my hand away from his and keep my gaze fixed on the wall on the opposite side of the room. “Then you probably shouldn’t be doing that.”
“Doing what?” I can hear the confusion in his voice.
I shake my head—he can’t really be that dense. “Doing that touching thing. Holding my hand.”
He reaches over and takes my hand in his again. “There is nothing inappropriate about holding hands, Victoria. If I were to do this…” He pulls my hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across my knuckles. “It would also not be inappropriate.”
I shiver as goosebumps form on my skin.
He lowers our clasped hands under the table again.
I’m silent for a moment. “If it isn’t inappropriate, then why are we hiding the fact we’re holding hands by keeping them under the table?”
A woman’s voice rings out from the doorway. “Holding hands? Did I hear that correctly?”
Andrew pulls his hand away from mine so quickly it almost hurts. He stands and turns to face the queen. “Good afternoon, Mother.”
I stand, too, and force a smile before doing a small curtsey. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”
She motions for us to sit, shaking her head. “Please, Victoria, call me Penelope. We’ve known each other long enough that we don’t need formalities, even if my son insists on them.”
“It’s a matter of tradition, Mother.” I can hear how his voice has lightened considerably in the presence of the queen.
“And we all know how you feel about tradition, Andrew.” She playfully rolls her eyes and grins as she takes the seat on the opposite side of the table. “Now what is this I overheard about hand-holding?”
I feel Andrew stiffen beside me, but he says nothing.
For some reason, she drops the subject—maybe Andrew has given her a look that warned her she was treading too closely to a sensitive topic.
She puts on a smile I’m sure is forced, but she seems to be a master at making her happiness appear real. “Well, regardless of what I must have misheard, I have to say I am delighted you have arrived home safely, Andrew. You put us through quite the scare.”
Andrew nods, but says nothing.
She also seems to know when to change the subject, though her smile falls a little. The queen pours us each a cup of tea, motioning for me to take a sip before she sits again in the chair across from us. “Your father tells me you have some sort of plan for finding a wife?” Her voice is flat, but not quite angry. “I’m not sure that is a very good idea, Andrew.”
His hand brushes against my thigh—and because of how far he’s sitting from me, I know it has to be on purpose.
He pulls his hand away almost as quickly as he touched me. “It is a good plan, Mother. It kills several birds with one stone. I will find an appropriate wife. It will put me back in the good graces of the public. And I’ll be able to father an heir.” He pauses for a moment. “A legitimate heir.”
Something about the tone in his voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. His tone is condescending, for sure, but there’s something else in it, too, that is making me uncomfortable. But I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.
The queen sighs, shaking her head. She holds out a tray to me, motioning for me to take one of the sandwiches on it. “Leopold’s child is legitimate, Andrew, in that it is his and in that he and Elle will be married before it is born.” Her smile falls away completely. “And Leopold’s child has little to do with you needing to rush into something like this. Honestly, Andrew, I fail to see what one thing has to do with the other.”
He’s silent for a moment. “I wouldn’t expect you to, Mother.” His voice is low and I hear that same quality in it I did before.
My brow furrows, trying to decipher what that tone is, but the queen must think I’m concerned about something else. “You agree with me, do you not, Victoria? That this…performance would be a little ridiculous?”
I nod slowly, still not looking over at Andrew.
He almost growls. “It is not ridiculous. What is ridiculous is expecting that either of you would understand. And how could you?” He pulls his napkin from his lap and slams it to the table before he stands. His voice is low and he’s speaking almost under his breath. “I should never have expected commoners to understand my needs in this area.”
The pain in my gut at his words almost feels like a knife being driven into it—and it’s at that moment I realize what it is about Andrew I couldn’t put my finger on.
Superiority.
Nothing about him has changed from the condescending asshole who showed up in my office almost a week ago. Even spending this week with a commoner did nothing to change his mind. He still feels some level of disdain for those of us who weren’t born into royalty—even his own mother.
And it kind of makes me sick.
He stands there in silence for a moment before he storms out of the dining room.
The queen also says nothing, she merely stares down at her plate for a moment.
I sip at my tea, pretty much uninterested in any of the food she’s set out. I haven’t even taken a bite of the tiny sandwich in front of me.
She sighs. “Would you care for a pastry, Victoria?”
My head snaps up and I look across to meet her gaze. “No, thank you. I think—”
“Would you…” Her voice trails off and I see her blinking rapidly. I could swear she’s trying not to cry. “Would you think it terribly rude of me to cut our tea short, my dear?”
I shake my head, feeling tears welling in my own eyes in response to hers.
She gives me a weak smile before she stands. She looks at me for a moment, but says nothing before she turns and walks out of the dining room.
I pick at my food for a few more minutes before I stand and leave, too, returning to my room.
I thought he had changed. I suppose I knew there would always be some part of him that looked down on me—on anyone not born a royal—but I guess I had hoped what we had been through had helped him see he’s no better than anyone else. That he’s just as fallible as the rest of us.
It’s several hours before there’s a knock at my door. I know without looking that Andrew is standing behind it.
I consider not answering for a moment, but then think better of it. There’s no time like the present to tell him what an asshole he’s being—that making his mother cry is almost unforgivable.
I crack open the door. It is Andrew standing there, but whatever superiority complex he had going on e
arlier seems to have disappeared.
He frowns. “I’ve already apologized to my mother for my poor behavior.”
I nod, glaring at him through the slight opening. “Good.”
“May I come in?”
I shake my head. “No.”
His jaw clenches for a moment. “Please, may I come in, Victoria?”
My eyes narrow to slits. “No. I think it’s a really bad idea.”
“It isn’t. I—”
“Andrew, you can’t insult someone like you did and expect them to just forgive you. I saw what you did at tea. I saw who you were. And I have to tell you, I don’t like the person I saw in there.”
He flinches like I’ve slapped him. “Victoria—”
I shake my head. “No, Andrew. You don’t get to spit on a commoner and expect that she’ll just let you back in her bed. Even if it is only to sleep. Even if it is only for comfort.” I stare at him for a moment longer. “That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”
He nods. “Only because I know you won’t be sleeping, either. And…” His voice trails off.
I wait, but he doesn’t finish the thought. “And what?”
His shoulders drop and I can see he’s hunched over the slightest bit, almost defeated. “And because…” He winces again. “And because I owe you an apology.”
Andrew
She stares at me for a long moment, her face unreadable.
“Okay,” she says after a moment. “Apology accepted.”
Relief rushes through me. I know I behaved abominably at tea today—there is absolutely no excuse, and I can only blame the stress and exhaustion that seem to have attached themselves permanently to me since the plane crash. I start to step in the room, ready to take Victoria in my arms and show her how very sorry I am, but she blocks my path.
“I never said you could come in,” she says.
I blink at her, frowning. “You just—”
“I accepted your apology. You’re still not allowed in my room tonight.”
Now she’s just being ridiculous. “You know as well as I that neither of us will be able to sleep unless—”
