by Noelle Adams
Edward either didn’t notice it or knew how to ignore such behavior. He never became defensive, and there was never even an edge of reciprocity in his conversation or expressions.
I tried to follow his example, but it became increasingly harder as they needled him about a bad real estate investment he must have made in New York a few years ago. It was supposed to be teasing, but it wasn’t.
It wasn’t.
Finally the topic died as we were shown to our table and went through the process of ordering our meals.
I usually drink milk with food, but I knew it was a strange habit for an adult. I never worried much what other people thought, but Edward clearly was supposed to play nice with this couple, and I didn’t want to give them any reason to think I was strange, so I decided to just drink the wine Edward ordered for the table.
When he noticed, he turned toward me and murmured, “You don’t want milk?”
I shook my head. “I’m good with wine.”
Edward looked confused but didn’t comment further.
I was just relaxing in relief that the awkward cocktail time was over when a new topic of conversation began.
Mae, the American wife, asked with a glimmer of interest in her eye, “So your wife is a princess, is she?”
Edward’s smile was as bland as ever. “Yes. She is.”
“That’s what Carl said, but I didn’t believe him.” Mae poked at her grinning husband. “I thought he was putting me on.”
“He wasn’t.”
“What country are you a princess of?”
I managed a friendly smile. “Villemont. It borders Switzerland and France—just thirty miles away from here.”
“Told you,” Carl put in, slanting his wife a look.
“Never heard of it,” Mae said.
“It’s very small,” I said, trying not to feel defensive. I hated the edge of humor toward my beloved and much-patronized country, but it was better than them making fun of Edward. “A lot of people have never heard of it, unless they’re from this part of Europe.”
“You sound like you’re English,” Carl mentioned.
“My mother is, and our governesses were. That’s probably why.”
“Governesses.” Mae poked her husband again. “Sounds very Sound of Music.”
I swallowed and willed myself to hold on to my polite smile.
Beside me, Edward took a slow sip of wine.
“How big is this country?” Carl asked.
“Twenty-five square miles,” I explained. “About fifteen thousand citizens.”
“Seriously?” Mae asked with a laugh. “It’s barely a city!”
“It’s small, but it’s a sovereign nation,” I murmured.
“It’s been a nation for more than three hundred years,” Edward put in, for the first time sounding slightly annoyed. “Since long before your country was nothing but a collection of colonies. If history and geography were better taught in your schools, you’d certainly have heard of it.”
Ridiculously, I felt a little flutter of pleasure at his words and his tone. His voice was as bland as ever, but it was impossible not to hear the condescension.
Edward wasn’t normally like that. He was doing it in defense of me.
Carl blinked in surprise. “I’m sure that’s right,” he said in a different tone.
He looked like he was going to change the subject, but before he could, his wife asked, “So what do you do as a princess?”
I smothered a sigh. “I do a lot of what anyone else does. I do have some diplomatic responsibilities—and I try to be present for important events and matters of state.”
“Do you get to make important decisions for your country?” This time Mae’s question sounded more like a genuine inquiry, rather than a barbed slight.
“No. My father and the Council make all the decisions.”
“So, Ed, do you get to be king eventually because you’re married to her?”
I hated when people asked questions like this. Not because they displayed ignorance, but because anyone else becoming King of Villemont meant that my father would be dead.
It wasn’t something I liked to think about.
“No,” Edward said, ignoring being called “Ed,” which I was sure he hated. “Of course not. Victoria’s brother, Henry, will be king.”
“So being princess doesn’t come with much power then?” Mae asked, her eyes moving between Edward and me. “It’s mostly just looking pretty?”
“I suppose it depends on your perspective,” I replied, saying as little as possible and praying the conversation was over.
Pretty soon I was going to be outwardly rude to this woman, and I didn’t want to mess things up for Edward.
Edward took another long sip of wine. “Most of us would never be able to do the kind of diplomacy that Victoria does every day. Carl, tell me about the piece of property you just bought in Florida.”
DINNER LASTED A COUPLE of hours, and I was frustrated and exhausted when we were finally able to escape. The rest of the conversation was an improvement, but nothing made me like these people, and I was glad to see the last of them.
As Edward and I got into the back of the car after leaving the restaurant, I sighed and leaned my head against the seat.
“Sorry about that,” he murmured. I could feel his eyes on me, even though mine were closed.
“It’s not your fault. Why do they dislike you so much?”
“You think they do?”
“Of course they do!” I opened my eyes and straightened up. “All that passive-aggressiveness. It’s like they resent you for some reason.”
Edward paused for a moment before he answered, like he was thinking through his words. “They do. I do my best to ignore it, but they’ve resented me for a long time. Carl and my father worked together for a long time since I was just a child. I believe he assumed that they’d form some sort of partnership, but instead my father wanted to leave the company to me. As far as I can tell, Carl blames me for this.”
“That’s ridiculous. The company has been in your family for four generations. Why would your dad partner with some random person when he has a very competent son?”
Edward gave a half shrug. “To some people, family loyalty isn’t as important as profit.”
I blew out a dismissive breath. “Ridiculous. Anyway, thank you for defending me—defending Villemont, I mean. I was trying to be nice so I wouldn’t cause any friction or problems for you.”
“I know you were. I appreciate it. But you don’t have to thank me for doing what any husband would.”
Something about the huskiness of his tone surprised me. I met his eyes. “For doing what?”
“Defending you,” Edward explained. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“No, no,” I replied quickly. “I just know you were supposed to be... be nice to them.”
Edward frowned and turned his head to stare out the window of the moving car. “Even if you weren’t my wife, do you think I wouldn’t defend Villemont? I might not be a citizen, but it feels like I’ve been part of the country my whole life—since my father and I are so often there and have been friends of your family for so long. I feel... loyal—to Villemont, to your family.” He cleared his throat. “And of course to you.”
I stared at him, nearly blown away by the sincerity and the sentiment. I’d never really thought about it before. Obviously, since his father and mine had been best friends for so long, I was used to seeing Edward and his father. They’d seemed to be around most of my life—part of the backdrop of public events and private parties.
But I’d never really considered how Edward would feel about it. My sisters and I had always giggled because Edward had always come across as so pompous. We’d assumed he was always looking down his handsome nose at us.
But he’d felt connected to us. Loyal to us.
I was washed with a sudden wave of guilt.
“I’m sorry!” I burst out.
Edward turned back
to me in surprise. “For what?”
“For... I’m sorry. We... I... I used to think you were kind of a snob, that you looked down on us.”
Edward’s expression was strange—half-wistful and half something else. “Did you?”
“Yes. Because you never talked much to us, we thought you were...”
“An ass?”
“Yes.” I stared down at my hands, which were twisting nervously in my lap. “I’m sorry I was so wrong about you.”
He didn’t answer immediately. Then he reached over and covered my hands with one of his big, warm ones. “I never looked down on you.”
I let out a shaky sigh and smiled at him. “I’m glad.”
We didn’t say anything. I would have, but I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound too silly or sappy. I was feeling emotional, jittery, strangely nervous—and it wasn’t a normal feeling for me.
Edward didn’t seem inclined to speak, but that wasn’t unusual for him. He kept his hand on mine, though, for the rest of the car ride back home.
ON SATURDAY EVENING, Edward and I went to a formal banquet in the palace in honor of the visiting dignitaries from Spain.
The banquet went well—as well as those kinds of events ever go. It was beautifully prepared—choreographed, really—and there were no embarrassments, conflicts, or missteps.
In other words, it was very boring, but everything went as planned.
Afterward, Edward and I lingered in my father’s private study to chat with my family for a few minutes before we left.
Henry was out of the country—as he often was—and Amalie was in the States, so the members of my family included Lisette, my mother, and my father.
“It all went quite well,” my mother concluded in her crisp British accent, concluding her typical postmortem of formal events. “I was quite pleased.” She reached over to pat Lisette on the cheek lightly. “You performed nicely, my dear, although do try not to fade into the background quite so much. You are a Rothman and a princess of Villemont. Not a domestic.”
Lisette just turned twenty-one, and she was always the quietest of the family. She never liked public functions, and she was always so painfully shy at them that only recently had my mother even allowed her to attend an event like this. I’d always thought she was lovely in a distinct, nontraditional way—with thick, curly reddish-blond hair and very large eyes—but my mother was always fussing with her appearance, trying to get her to look more traditionally attractive.
This evening, Lisette’s hair was pulled back in a tight bun, causing her high cheekbones to stand out starkly and her eyes look far too big for her face.
I saw her wince slightly at my mother’s words, but she dropped her eyes and murmured she would try to do better next time.
“I thought she was great,” I said, instinctively supporting my sister since I knew how hard she’d probably tried to act confident this evening. “She definitely charmed Signor Cortez. I could see that very clearly.”
“Yes, yes,” my mother murmured, leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek. “I have no doubt she did. And you were as lovely as always—and thank you for not drinking milk. Your husband has been a good influence on you.”
I smiled, although I found this comment rather annoying. I’d chosen not to drink milk tonight on purpose, because I didn’t want my mother making faces at me. Edward had nothing to do with it.
“I’m happy for her to drink whatever she likes,” Edward said blandly.
“Of course, my dear boy.” My mother patted his arm with a smile I’m sure was supposed to be matronly.
She’d never been matronly—or at all maternal. She would always be excessively proud of her husband’s royal position and all the dignities and rituals that went along with it. But she loved us. I’d always known she had. And she did the best she could with us—given her nature. My sisters had often resented her, but I understood how she must feel, struggling to hold on to Villemont’s pride and place, in the face of a world who treated it as utterly unimportant.
My father was a good administrator and politician, but our nation wouldn’t be even as known and appreciated as we were if it weren’t for my mother.
“Thank you for coming,” she said to Edward when she finally stopped patting him on the arm. “Be careful on the drive back.”
“We will,” Edward said as I kissed my mother, and we all said goodbye as she left the room.
My father had been focused on his phone—probably looking over email that had come in during the banquet—but he lowered it now to shake Edward’s hand.
“It’s always good to see you, son. Are you taking care of my little girl?”
“Father,” I began.
“Of course I am, sir,” Edward replied with a little smile that proved he genuinely liked my father and didn’t mind the question. “Although she doesn’t need much taking care of.”
“She never did.”
All my life, my father was a busy man. I was never able to spend much time with him in casual interaction or simple recreation. But he’d always been far more affectionate than my mother, and I’d never doubted he loved me—even when weeks went by and I barely saw him except from a distance.
Now he smiled at me fondly and gave me a kiss on the cheek the way my mother had. “We miss you around here.”
“I’m here all the time.”
“It’s never enough.” With a chuckle, my father moved on to give Lisette a little hug. “You were wonderful this evening. Thank you for the effort.”
“You’re welcome,” Lisette said, blooming slightly under the praise.
When he’d finished saying good night, he went back to his desk—to work again, of course.
We took that as a sign to leave his study.
“I’ll walk you down to the car,” Lisette said, pulling slightly at the bun in her hair, as if it were bothering here.
I studied her face as we walked and realized she was still bothered by my mother’s words earlier. “You really did fine, Lisette,” I told her. “Please don’t worry about it.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve never been a wallflower.”
I started to object to this, but in many ways it was true. Social events had always come far easier for me than they did to Lisette. “You’re not a wallflower.”
“Yes, I am. I know I am. I don’t even really mind, except I don’t want to not be able to do my duties. But how am I supposed to not fade into the background. I’m fine when it’s just a few people I know, but these big groups of strangers paralyze me. The conversation goes so fast. Whenever I think of something to say, everyone has already moved onto something else.”
“Maybe you can think of things to say beforehand so you’re ready when the opportunity comes,” Edward said in a quiet tone I recognized now as his being careful, as if he were taking some sort of risk.
Lisette turned to look at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe you can think of three or four interesting topics you feel comfortable talking about. On different general subjects. Perhaps one about politics, one about culture, one personal anecdote, and... I don’t know... one about...”
“Books,” I put in, knowing most of Lisette’s interests. I’d taken hold of Edward’s arm as we walked without thinking since I was gratified with his taking time to give Lisette advice when I couldn’t think of anything to say.
Edward nodded. “Perfect. Books. Then, if there happens to be a hole in the conversation or a good lead-in to one of the topics, you’ll be ready with something to say.”
Lisette was frowning, but I could tell she was thinking this through. “Won’t it sound like I rehearsed it.”
“You don’t have to plan out a whole speech. Just think through the topic and things you might say about it.” Edward was speaking lightly, as if the conversation weren’t a very big deal. “You might even visualize yourself talking about the topics. It helps. Introverts do better when they don’t feel trapped and put on the
spot in social situations, so just make yourself a plan.”
“I’ll try it,” Lisette said, her big eyes gazing up at him with genuine appreciation. “Thank you.”
I squeezed his arm, wanting to thank him too but not wanting Lisette to feel like she was an object of charity.
“Are you an introvert too?” Lisette asked as we walked outside toward the waiting car.
“Yes,” Edward said, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “Of course I am.”
“Have you ever made plans of things to say?”
He gave my sister a little smile. “I still do.”
“But you always seem so suave and confident all the time,” Lisette breathed, looking in awe between Edward and me.
He chuckled. “Then my lifelong attempt to give that impression has been successful.”
I gave Lisette a big hug and told her to call me the following day, and then Edward helped me into the backseat of the car, climbing in beside me.
I looked back as we drove away. Lisette was still standing there, waving us off.
I felt a wave of sympathy and affection for my sister, and when I turned back to see that Edward was watching me, I experienced another wave of similar emotion for him.
“Thank you for that,” I said.
“For what?”
“You know what. For helping her.”
“I don’t know how much it helped her.”
“Of course it did. You could see so yourself. She’s always been so much shyer than the rest of us in the family, so I know she always felt kind of out of place, like she can’t quite live up to our social expectations. I think it really meant something to her that you could give her advice and not make her feel silly for being who she is.”
He murmured something wordless and glanced away, as if he were trying to shrug off the thanks but appreciated it anyway. When he turned back, he said, “I imagine it must be hard for her, so often forced into difficult social situations.”
“I guess it is.” I frowned, thinking it through. “Maybe I should talk to my father about it. Maybe we shouldn’t push her into so much. But she always asked to attend events. She always seemed to want to.”
