by Laura Burton
A couple of yaps make me jump and I open my eyes to see Teddy hopping on his back two feet like a bunny rabbit, his tongue flopped out.
Well, almost alone.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand and I dash over to it like a drowning man reaching for a lifejacket.
“I’m terribly sorry that I didn’t respond to your message last night.”
I listen to Prim’s apology, clutching the phone to my ear with a mixture of relief and fury.
“Never mind that,” I interrupt her. “Why didn’t you tell me about Prince Cristiano?”
“How do you know about him? Has father talked to you?” Prim sounds alarmed.
“No—he’s barely looked in my direction. But the Prince is here and they’re saying we’re…”
“What?” Prim says with a yelp, then a bang follows. A muffled grunt tugs my mouth into a frown. I stroke Teddy as he sprawls out across my lap.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yes, yes, I’m quite alright,” Prim replies, sounding anything but convincing. I can just make out the sound of Alejandro’s deep voice in the background.
Then I picture Prim blushing profusely after knocking over a tub of ice cream and Alejandro cleaning it up from the floor.
“You didn’t answer my question; why didn’t you tell me about this Prince?”
Prim hums back, and a shuffling sound makes me picture her sidling away from Alejandro. “He’s a month early. The wedding was…”
“Brought forward,” I interject. “They want us to make a public appearance on the balcony this afternoon.”
Prim lets out an overly dramatic gasp and the sound of it does nothing to calm my nerves. “The balcony appearance takes place three weeks prior to the wedding ceremony.”
It’s my turn to gasp and I almost swallow my tongue. “You have to come home. I can’t marry your prince.”
“Yes, the problem is… Jo and I will need to come back on public transport. I can hardly call for the private plane.”
I nod along. Right. “You said you don’t have money,” I think aloud.
“Jo has my money. But I’ll need to book a cab. Then a boat. Then another taxi in Andonna. And how do I do that without being seen? Anyone in my country will wonder why I’m away from the palace.”
What a mess. I scratch my neck, a flush of heat rising to my temples at the stress of the situation.
“Please, Violet. I need you to pretend to be Cristiano’s fiancé for a little while. I promise I’ll be there before the wedding, but I need a couple of weeks…”
“A couple of weeks?” I shriek. My voice is so loud, Teddy rolls off my lap and yaps at me.
I glance at the bedroom door, hoping no one heard. The last thing I need is for someone to come and cut this call short. “So, what am I supposed to do, parade around with this Prince pretending I’m in love with him while you’re gone?”
“This union has nothing to do with love,” Prim corrects me, a hint of irritation in her tone. “It’s about duty.”
I roll my eyes. “Funny. He said that too. You royals are all about the romance, aren’t you?”
Prim falls silent and for a minute the two of us just sit quietly, reeling from the turn of events.
“Listen. Cristiano and I agreed to this because...”
“Don’t tell me, the two of you are forming an alliance because your countries are at war?” I say, failing to hide the sarcasm from my voice.
“No,” Prim replies curtly. “If I do not accept Cristiano’s hand, the government will take over.”
“What do you mean, ‘take over?’” I stand up and pace the room in an attempt to burn off my nervous energy. “Will the palace be invaded or something?”
“There is legislation that states the monarchy will be abolished should the heir fail to continue the family line by their thirtieth birthday.”
I gulp. “Wait. Continue the family line…you mean––”
“––have a child. Yes.”
My mouth turns dry. So, Prim needs to marry this Prince and get pregnant to save the monarchy. Now I can see why she wanted to get away.
“I suppose father wants to bring the wedding forward to give us more time, it is not unusual for it to take a few months to fall pregnant.”
I open and close my mouth several times, but no sound comes out. Then I swallow hard and clear my throat.
“Prim. I’m really sorry about this situation you’re in, but I never signed up to fake an engagement.”
“I know it is too much to ask, but I have no choice. Please, Violet. Please pretend for a little while longer and I’ll do everything I can to return swiftly.” I can’t ignore the sense of panic in her voice, but it’s not enough to convince me. I mean, I’m all for helping out my long-lost sister. But this is a far cry from letting her steal my clothes.
“Can’t I just bring the plane back and we’ll switch places again?” I ask, sounding desperate.
“Oh, goodness no. Now the Prince is there, no one will ever let you out of sight, much less allow you to take the royal plane for a trip.”
I let my shoulders slump as I sigh with defeat.
“Fine. I’ll do it. Just get here as soon as you can.”
Prim begins to gush with praise and gratitude but my stomach is tangled at the thought of what I’ve just agreed to do.
Public appearances.
I’ve already made a complete fool of myself at breakfast with only a handful of people in the room. How on earth am I going to maintain my composure in front of a crowd of people?
I finish the call and look at Teddy’s ink black eyes staring up at me.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” I say to him. I wish this little guy could talk. Maybe if he could, he would open his mouth and offer me some advice, like a cute furry side-kick in a movie.
Suddenly, he is opening his mouth. My imagination runs wild and I lean in, expecting him to offer me some inspiring words, but then he burps in my face and wags his tail as if proud of himself.
I sigh and look out of the window, watching Prince Cristiano strolling along the garden path with his hands clasped behind him. The shape of his muscles are prominent through his shirt.
Yep. I have a lot of feelings about this. And none of them are good ones.
Chapter 8
After changing into a gown, chosen by the Queen, I allow one of the ladies to fix my hair. She opts for a long braid and coils it up until it looks like a water hose pipe sitting on my head. I look utterly ridiculous, but I smile and offer praises to her anyway.
The pastel pink dress kind of clashes with my hair, I definitely wouldn’t have chosen it myself, and the skirt is so tight, I have to shuffle my feet to move.
But, a princess does not complain, I tell myself. So, I hold my head up and shuffle out of my room with as much dignity as I can muster.
Prince Cristiano joins me by the grand staircase, he is wearing a navy suit with red and yellow stripes along the seams. My gaze floats upward and hovers on his beaming smile for a flicker of a second before I take in the tall dark hat atop his head. A huge red feather is sticking up out of it and it takes every ounce of my willpower to not crease over and howl with laughter.
I bite my bottom lip until it stings to suppress the urge, while reminding myself that in his country, his hat is a sign of authority and prestige.
To me, though, he looks like a nutcracker who is about to leap into a dance at any moment.
Nope. I need to get that picture out of my head immediately.
My eyes grow misty and the pressure rises in my face as I approach the Prince. He offers me his elbow like a true gentleman, but his eyes study my face and his smile fades.
“You look flushed, my princess. Are you not feeling better?”
I nod so fast, my coiled braid wiggles and threatens to uncoil. Which is a disaster I cannot afford, so I promptly stop and rest my hand delicately on my collarbone the way Prim did in my kitchen.
“Why yes, Prince
Cristiano,” I say, and right now I deserve an Oscar award for not breaking character when all I want to do is give into my fit of giggles. “I suppose it is the sight of you in that dashing suit, that is making my cheeks grow warm.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, the urge to laugh dissipates.
What kind of line is that? I’m sure I picked it up from a TV show. Or a bad chat-up line in a magazine. I’m sure it’s not going to be long before this Prince thinks I’m a total fool.
But instead of giving me a reproachful look, or ignoring my cheesy outburst, a flush of color rises to his forehead and a dimple appears on his left cheek, like it had before. Then he inclines his head, and I’m impressed that the huge hat doesn’t fall to the floor.
“Please, call me Cristiano,” he says, then he gently takes my hand and presses his lips to my knuckles. The soft bristles of his stubbled chin tickle me slightly, but I’ve still lost the urge to laugh.
Nothing about this feels funny anymore. I smile back, genuinely this time, and give a little curtsey.
“Very well… Cristiano, then I suppose you must call me Prim.”
“People of Andonna, His Royal Highness King Edward and Her Royal Majesty Queen Primrose are pleased to announce the engagement of their only daughter, Primrose, the second––”
My breath hitches at the announcers’ words.
Only daughter.
The words sting, and just as I squeeze Cristiano’s arm, he releases my hand and steps aside, putting at least two feet between us. I think I look at him with a mixture of horror and disappointment plastered all over my face because he raises his brows and gives me a nod.
“If we were in Rossini, I’d have no objection to holding your hand. But you said we are not to show public affection, remember?” he says, as if to remind me of a conversation we already had.
I find myself nodding along, feeling more rejected and alien than ever.
Get a grip, Violet. This is for Prim.
This isn’t about my feelings. I swallow the lump in my throat, and put on a charming smile as I step out onto the balcony to stand between the King and Queen.
A rousing applause fills the warm air, and the sickly sweet scent of perfume stifles my nose. I give a small regal wave––the one thing Prim did teach me before she let me get into this mess. And I steal a quick glance at the Queen, realizing the perfume is coming from her.
She keeps her gaze outward, waving at the crowds of people who had gathered outside the palace gates. A sea of faces is looking back at me. Men, women, children. More than I can count. There must be at least a few thousand people who have come out to see Cristiano and I.
Cristiano and Prim, I remind myself. Primrose, the second. The only daughter.
I’m just a nobody. I wonder how my biological parents might react if I come out and just tell them the truth? How would that conversation even go?
“That olive green gown is gorgeous, Mother. Father, that crown really suits you. Oh, by the way. Not a big deal, but I’m Violet, not Primrose. She’s flirting with an older man in Italy, and I’m the twin you threw in the trash.”
Maybe one of them will actually look at me for longer than two seconds. I hate that Prim is right. So far, even with my crazy antics, neither of them have any suspicions.
I shake myself mentally and try to ignore the fact that my insides are twisting and my whole body is burning up.
The blazing sunshine beams down on me like one ridiculously powerful spotlight. Beads of sweat cling to my upper lip and I’m suddenly acutely aware of just how tight my dress is.
How long do we have to stand and wave like this? Maybe it’s only been a few minutes, but I swear we’ve been waving for so long, I’ve developed new crow’s feet. My arm is heavy, like it’s been filled with lead, and my shoulder burns.
Royal life is hard. Who knew? I didn’t.
If Prim had told me just how painful it is to wave for a solid ten minutes, all the while trying to stay perfectly still, with thousands of people watching… I would have laughed.
Oh, to be a princess! I’d think to myself. Imagine that your biggest complaint is having a sore arm after waving at your adoring subjects.
Meanwhile, most people worry about their sick grandma, thousands of miles across the globe. Or their struggling family business, that might have to be closed for good.
My parents’ faces flood my mind and I imagine them, looking round senior homes somewhere in Chicago. What I would give to run away right now and pull my mom into a big hug.
My eyes prickle and I blink furiously, resisting the rising urge to sniff.
No one speaks. We just stand like robots, waving.
Waving. And waving.
Suddenly, the sunshine turns white and explodes like a beautiful supernova, completely blinding me and flooding my body with impossible heat.
Then I realize I’m no longer waving, but falling. And falling.
A loud collective gasp follows, and I smile weakly to myself, impressed at the crowd’s unified reaction. It’s like they all rehearsed it.
A pair of strong hands grasp my arms and hot breath tickles my cheeks as I try to make sense of why I am no longer falling, but also not standing.
“Can we get a glass of water?”
“Primrose, darling, can you hear me?” The Queen’s concerned voice brings a frown to my face. “I’m fiiiiiiiiiine,” I say through a sigh.
“Take deep, slow breaths.” Cristiano’s voice floats into my ears like a beautiful lullaby. He breathes long and slow and I follow his rhythm, still unable to blink the white spots out of my vision. Then, in one swoop, I’m lifted into the air, and the sickly sweet perfume is taken over by a sexy masculine smell.
Not cologne. But, pure male pheromones.
Suddenly, my vision returns and a rush of heat floods my cheeks as I find myself in Cristiano’s arms, being carried back inside. I think for the first time in my life, I’m actually blushing. My ear is pressed up to his firm chest and I can’t work out if the rapid thumping is his heartbeat or my own.
He gently lowers me to a chaise lounge chair like a damsel in distress. Someone hands me a glass of water and I take a sip. The dash of cold liquid jolts me and I take a greedy gulp. Then another.
On reflection, I don’t think the sun exploded. The more-believable explanation for that black out is that I fainted.
I grin sheepishly at the group of maids gathered around me, and glance at Cristiano, who is knelt by my side, looking at me with his brows knitted together. I clear my throat and roll my shoulders back.
“I’m terribly sorry,” I say, dabbing my temples with a handkerchief that was passed to me. “I appear to have swooned.”
The words tumble out of my mouth and sound a thousand times more ridiculous aloud than inside my mind. I have got to stop taking movies as my inspiration.
Swooned?
I can think of fifty alternative words that would be better than that one. Fainted. Passed out. Became dizzy. Overheated.
I could have blamed low blood sugar. Or a migraine.
Heck, I could have said I had been poisoned and it would have still been better than saying I swooned.
I grin sheepishly at the wave of chuckles, then the Queen joins me. She presses the back of her hand to my forehead tenderly and the warmth of her touch sends a bolt of shock through me.
“You are a little warm, my dear,” she says softly. I blink up at her, opening and closing my mouth like a little goldfish that hopped out of its fishbowl.
Her dark eyes are sparkling, despite the frown on her face as she studies me. She cocks her head to the side for a moment and her rosy lips turn into a thin line. I imagine she’s rolled them inwards and bitten down. I do that when I’m worried too.
Did I get that trait from her?
The thought sends a flurry of excitement to my chest, but the sensation fades as she lowers her hand, breaking the connection. And a wave of cool air wafts over me, making me tremble.
But the cold isn’t due to a lack of the Queen’s warmth, one of the maids just happened to turn on a fan next to me at the same moment.
“I need to take a call,” the King mutters before striding away.
It takes several seconds of stunned silence for my brain to register that Cristiano has grasped my hands protectively. I look at him, and he squeezes, offering me a reassuring smile.
“Perhaps, Prince Cristiano, you could accompany Primrose to the natatorium,” the Queen offers, lifting her shaped brows and eyeing the two of us like we’re a pair of teenagers who have no idea what to do.
The word natatorium conjures up an image of a prison cell, guarded by huge primates. But that might just be because I watched the Planet of the Apes last month.
Regardless, I don’t like the idea of going there. Not at all.
“It’s a rather hot day, and we need you both to look well-rested. If you require swimwear, our staff will be happy to––”
“A dip in the pool sounds like a marvelous idea. Thank you, your Majesty,” Cristiano says, as he rises to his feet. He offers a small bow to the Queen and she inclines her head, then turns to me.
“Do take care, my dear. The King and I will be at Sanderton for the week.”
“You’re leaving?” I ask, almost panicked. I came here to get to know my parents, and now I find out they’re not even going to be here. Disaster.
The Queen gives me an odd look. Like this is the only thing I’ve done to rouse her suspicion so far. “I appreciate that it is hard not having Jo to manage your schedule, but I trust Mae will be able to bring you up to speed.”
For a second I wonder who the heck Jo is, then I remember the tall, burly woman staying with the real Primrose back in Rome.
I nod like an enthusiastic puppy, covering the disappointment flooding every cell of my body.
“When do you leave?” I ask, scrambling to my feet. The maids dissipate, as if sensing this is a private conversation. Only Cristiano remains at my side. I smooth out the wrinkles in my dress and take a deep breath. The Queen glances at her gold watch––probably real gold, too. Like a bazillion karats, or something.
