“Let’s not get carried away.”
The next morning, I was up at four a.m. to get to the ABN studios for a spot on their Breakfast Television show, where I showed a sleepy audience how to make a one-person emergency tent out of a garbage bag. Next, I hurried across town to judge a baking contest (the real winner was me because I hadn’t had time to eat before I got there). After that, I crammed for my spot as a guest commentator at the Valcourt United vs. London Bulldogs football match (which was a little harrowing since I’m not exactly an expert). Finally, I was off to the stadium for four hours to sit behind the sports desk and talk sports, then back to Dwight’s to drop into bed just after ten p.m. because this morning, I had to get right back on the promotional circuit.
But it’s a small price to pay because agreeing to all of that meant I got to watch the rest of the episodes in the editing booth and nix anything that would be humiliating for Arabella and/or her family. Each cut was a fight, but I came out victorious in all but two pretty minor things. I’m a little tired, what with the editing and PR work, but honestly, I feel positively victorious.
In a funny way, this whole crappy secret audio recording thing has helped me feel like I finally deserve her. Can I buy her a mansion and a fleet of luxury cars? Not yet. But I stepped up and protected her when she needed it most. The best part is, she didn’t have to experience the horrifying drama of it all because I was able to handle it without her knowing. Protecting her from the pain and sadness of it all and the absolute terror of having given away her mother’s secret is what a good boyfriend does. And I am that boyfriend—the kind who handles things, who eases the burdens of the one he loves. He does not make things worse.
I know now, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’ve got what it takes to be the husband she needs, which is why I’m at La Pearls Fine Jewelers at this very moment, about to pick out the perfect ring so I can propose to the perfect woman.
She’ll be flying in late this afternoon, and I’ve decided to do it tonight. It just makes sense, really, when you think about it, because we’re meant to be together and when you know it, you also know there is no point in waiting, not even one extra day. Because you want your life together to start as soon as possible.
It’s taken a lot to pull it all together—I had to enlist Dwight’s help in order to come up with the perfect plan. And he really came through in a very big way. Turns out, one of his fellow agent friends has a certain famous actor as a client who happens to have a secluded beach house an hour from Valcourt. I’m sorry I can’t tell you who he is because I’ve been sworn to secrecy. But I could give you a hint. He was in a certain movie called Inglourious Bastards. No, not Brad Pitt. This guy also won an Academy Award for his role in Django Unchained.
Anyway, his place is just sitting there empty and Dwight called his agent who called Christo—whoops! I almost said it. Anyway, turns out he’s a big fan of my show, so he said we absolutely could stay there as long as we want since he’s off filming a movie I can’t tell you about. Can you believe it though? He’s a fan of mine?
I’ve rented a Mercedes with dark tinted windows so I can sneak Arabella out of the palace without the press spotting us. I’ll whisk her up the coast, wine and dine her, and bam! Will you marry me? Yes, yes, I will.
And just like that, everything is going to be incredible.
But first, the ring.
I knew it would be impossible for me to pick it myself, so I’ve enlisted a crew—Dwight is here with me at the store, and I’m about to patch my family in via Zoom so they can help with my selection. Ah! There they are now.
“Hi guys!” I say as the faces of my brother, Harrison, his wife, Libby, my sister Emma, her husband, Pierce, and our de facto mum, Rosy Brown, all come into focus on my mobile screen.
The somewhat snooty salesman has gone to the back to bring out a tray of what he called ‘next level’ rings. When he returns, he glances at my phone and rolls his eyes. “Perfect. You’re shopping by committee because that’s always so efficient.”
Honestly, I’m in too good a mood to care how grumpy this guy is.
“Will, are you sure you’re ready for this?” Harrison asks, scrubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I mean, it was literally three weeks ago that you had to crash on your agent’s couch because you didn’t have the cash to get your own place.”
Surly Salesguy raises one eyebrow at me.
I chuckle nervously. “No, I was staying with Dwight because I was waiting for my big bonus check to come in, and it did.”
“But, blowing it on a ring, Cuddle Bear?” Rosy asks. “That girl’s got enough diamonds. You should put a downpayment on a house.”
“I can do that too, Rosy,” I say with a grin. “Dwight’s here…” I point the screen at him. “Say hello, Dwight.”
“Hello, family,” he says. “Don’t worry about Will. I’m keeping him out of trouble.”
“And he signed me for another set of commercials—this time for Merill’s—plus, we just landed a contract for a new survivor challenge competition that films in Greenland in two months. Arabella and I will compete as a team.”
“Greenland in November?” Emma asks, wrinkling up her nose. “What does Arabella think about that?”
“She doesn’t know yet, but trust me, she’ll be thrilled when she finds out. Absolutely thrilled. She’s been dying to get back out into the wild since she came home.”
Libby gives Harrison a swat on the arm. “I told you he knew what he was doing.”
“I can’t help it. I have to ask,” he says, rubbing his arm.
“No worries at all,” I say with a huge grin. “I totally get it. In fact, I’m glad you asked because I’m sure you were all wondering, so it’s best to get it out in the open. But now that we’ve set that issue aside, we can all get on with the big decision.”
Emma holds up her hand. “Have you narrowed down the styles at all?”
“Nope. I don’t have the first clue,” I say. “What do you guys think a woman like Arabella would absolutely love? Like, absolutely blow her mind because she loves it so much?”
“Well, considering that none of us really know her,” Emma says, “It would be difficult to say.”
“Okay, fair enough,” I say, nodding. “In that case, let me describe her for you. She’s like the warmth of the sun on a chilly winter’s morning. She’s like the most refined, elegant, sophisticated, well-educated, well-spoken woman I’ve ever met, but who also has this deliciously adventurous, kickass fierceness to her that is irresistible. She’s smart and witty and kind-hearted and sensitive and… caring…and she calls me on my bullshit, and I don’t know if any of this helps in picking out a square cut or emerald drop or whatever the hell these things are called, but I just can’t help but brag about her.” I glance at Dwight. “Do you think she’ll say yes? Because the more I think about how incredible she is, the less likely it seems that she’ll want to marry me.”
“Cuddle Bear! Of course she’ll say yes,” Rosy says. “You’re perfect. Any woman would be lucky to have you—royal or not.”
Emma glances at Rosy and rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far. Ask the salesman what their return policy is.”
Sales guy chimes in with, “One week, subject to damage.”
“William, have you thought of going with an antique? Something really special, maybe with a romantic history to it?” Pierce asks.
I nod. “Thought about it, but she’s just so modern and so ready to forge a new path for herself, I feel like something brand-new that’s never been worn before would be best. Something that says fresh start. It’s you and me in this forever.”
“Good Lord, Will, take it down a notch before we all start getting nauseous,” Harrison says.
“Righto, sorry,” I say. “I’m just beyond excited.”
“Yeah, we got that,” Emma says.
I aim the phone at the black velvet tray and smile down at the shiny rocks, each one absolutely dazzling under the bright
lights. God, those lights are hot. Or am I actually flushed with excitement?
My entire family starts talking at the same time, trying to point out which ring they like. The salesman sighs and speaks loudly in the general direction of my phone. “One at a time, if you please.”
There’s a pause, then they all start up again, and I find myself chuckling.
I’m giddy.
I mean, like actually giddy for maybe the first time in my entire life.
Best. Day. Ever.
23
Plagiarizing Your Potty-Mouthed Grandmother is Always a Good Idea…
Arabella
“Welcome, everyone, to our Equal Everywhere Wrap-up Session,” Malika says into the microphone.
We’re in a large, bowl-shaped auditorium and she, along with five other conference leaders, are on the stage, with the other ninety of us in the audience.
She pauses and looks around the room, smiling. “What a wonderful five days it’s been—sisterhood at its finest. We’ve made new friends, we’ve laughed, we’ve cried, we’ve healed, we’ve shared our experiences. But more than that, we’ve started down the path of changing the world for our daughters and granddaughters so they may never know a world where they are considered less than. Today, as we wrap-up, I’m going to call on those of you who haven’t yet said your piece, because it takes every voice to make a difference.”
Oh, crap. That’s me, isn’t it? Yup, she just gave me a wink. Bollocks.
“But, first, we’ll start with each of our breakout group leaders who will give us an overview of the most poignant ideas that surfaced as we peeled back the layers of the inequality onion.”
Phew! Thank God. I’ve got a few extra minutes to think. I’m sure something will come to me while I listen to everyone else’s ideas. Something I can tweak or change that could be of use.
The first group leader gets up and takes the podium. Okay, concentrate, Arabella.
“I want to start by saying what an honour it’s been to…”
Blah blah blah. Get on with it.
My mobile buzzes and I sneak it out of my pocket. Aww, a text from Will. Can’t wait to see you tonight. I have all sorts of plans for us. Are you still landing at six?
Me: Yup. This finishes at two. I miss you so much, I’ll literally sprint out of here.
I grin to myself, then glance up, only to make eye contact with Dr. Highbrow, who gives me the raised no brow. At least I think that’s what she’s doing. It’s so hard to tell from back here.
Straightening up, I set my expression to ‘very much paying attention’ and turn my eyes to the stage.
“…in conjunction with, not in opposition to, our male counterparts around the globe. The concept is to help men see what’s in it for them when we do well…”
I wonder what Will’s got planned. Whatever it is, I’ll love it. Gosh, how is it only eleven o’clock? Six p.m. is so far away. Focus, Arabella!
I should really take notes. I dig around in my briefcase and take out a pad of paper and a pen, disturbing the woman next to me. She purses her lips at me, and I whisper, “Sorry,” to her.
Okay, think. Think. What’s the best way to permanently solve inequality?
All right, so I managed to make it through the first half of the session without being called on. (Thank goodness, because inequality is a tough nut to crack.) I sat alone at the luncheon to give myself time to ponder. By dessert, all I’d come up with is, “Believe we can.” It’s shit, I know.
Now we’re back in the auditorium, trying to hash out a slogan we can use going forward. We’re running thirty minutes behind schedule, which means I’m going to have to duck out before it finishes so I can make my flight.
Oh, great, Dr. Sandra Snooty Pants is taking the stage. Of course she is, since she knows so much more than anyone else. I’d rather be up there than have to listen to her. Okay, so that’s a lie, but you get me on account of the fact that I’ve established how much I hate her.
“My fellow women…”
Her fellow women? Ironically sexist, no?
She goes on for nearly the entire twenty minutes I have left, which, quite honestly, is a huge relief. I can sneak out without having humiliated myself. I haven’t actually done anything of service either, but when those are your only two options, I’ll take the first one.
I gather my things, then stand, apologizing to each woman in my row while I sneak past them. I get to the aisle and am turning away from the stage and toward the exit, when Dr. No Brows says, “Oh, Princess Arabella. Sneaking out early?”
My entire body heats up with embarrassment and I turn to her. “I’m afraid I’m going to miss my flight.”
“That’s okay,” she says, with a nasty grin. “I’m guessing you didn’t have much to add to the conversation anyway.”
I stiffen up and stare at her. “Actually, I do.”
No, I bloody well don’t. Why the fuck did I say that?
“Really?” she asks. “Why don’t you come up and share with us?”
“Fine. I have a couple of minutes,” I say, walking slowly down the steps to the stage. My legs feel like two cooked spaghetti noodles, and for once, I’m glad I’m in boring one-inch heels. When I reach the front, she hands the mic down to me and I turn to the crowd and clear my throat.
“Good luck,” she whispers, but we all know she doesn’t mean it.
I stare around at the women in the room, feeling as out of place and on the spot as I ever have. Lunch feels heavy in my stomach and I’m cold and sweaty at the same time. “I um…my experience is not…I haven’t been…over these last few days I’ve been wondering if a good slogan might be…” Shit! Say something! “Fuck it,” I say into the mic.
A few gasps are heard from around the room, along with some giggles.
In for a penny, in for a pound…
Raising my voice, I say, “That’s obviously not an official UN slogan, but it could work as our own secret slogan to propel us forward in our mission. The truth is, as women, we care too much—about what men think and about what each other think…” I glance at Dr. Highbrow, who looks scandalized. “We worry about making sure we fit whatever mould our families and society deem acceptable. We concern ourselves with the happiness of everyone else in our lives without giving thought to what would make us feel fulfilled.”
I pause and look around, seeing some nods in my direction. Taking a deep breath, I decide to really go for it. “And…and, frankly, it’s all so stupid. I mean, think about it, if more women throughout history had found the guts to say ‘fuck it, I’m going to do what I want,’ men would be far more responsible, and children, far less helpless.”
Yes, I’m stealing from Gran, but I promise to include my own thoughts here as well. “If every woman in history hadn’t taken a backseat to every man, don’t you think the world would be a slightly better place? With more equality, more justice, fewer wars, and fewer weapons? I say the answer is yes, which is why I also think Fuck It is the attitude required by the times. Obviously, we could massage the wording in public, but the sentiment must remain. Because when our entire existence revolves around the fear that we might offend someone or that we won’t be liked by everyone we meet, or that we’re not thin enough or pretty enough, it leaves very little room in our lives for doing anything of consequence. Trust me, I know this one by heart because all I’ve done in my life is obsess over what other people think of me. Well, that, and follow rules laid out for me hundreds of years ago by the men in charge. I’ve been a very good princess, always doing what I was told instead of what I wished to do.
“In fact, this entire conference, I’ve let the fear of being criticized by all of you—women who are far more accomplished than me—stop me from participating because I was afraid of making a fool of myself. No more, I say. Fuck it!” I shout, this time being met by scattered cheering.
“Yes, fuck it! I refuse to do what countless generations of women have done—stay in my designated safe zone, trying to never o
ffend anyone. I need to hear my own voice and speak my own truth and stop listening to my father or my brother or any of the dozens of senior royal staff or the media with their opinions on every aspect of my life, or worrying about what Dr. No Brows – err, Highbrow – here has to say about me. Fuck it. I don’t really care what you think.” I look at her. “You’ve been most unwelcoming of me this entire time and I don’t appreciate it. Your judgment of me is both harmful and hypocritical, so fuck off because I’m going to go out there and live a great, big, juicy life filled with adventure and fun and celebration and laughter. I’m going to do important things and help other women who decide to rise up to their true destinies as laid out by no one else but themselves.”
I draw a deep breath, and smile as applause breaks out around the auditorium. I soak it in for a moment before realizing I’m going to miss my flight. “Thank you. Thank you. Now, I must run because I have a plane to catch and there’s no way I’m missing it because I haven’t seen my super hot boyfriend in weeks and I need to go get some.”
A few people cheer and others seem slightly offended, so I hold up one finger in the air as though punctuating a great speech and raise my voice again. “But I’m not rushing home because he’s expecting sex and I want to please him. I’m rushing home because sex is exactly what I want to do today!”
With that, I drop the mic and stride up the steps of the auditorium to the back doors where Bellford is waiting. Women in the aisle seats high-five me as I go, and I shout, “Yes, ladies! Fuck it!”
I stop so one of them can get a photo with me. “I refuse to let anyone plan even an hour of my life again! From now on, it’s my way or the highway!”
I run up the last few steps, push the door open, and rush out with Bellford next to me. Once we’re alone, I say, “Oh my God, I can’t believe I did that! What did you think? Too much cursing?”
Royally Wild (Crazy Royal Love Romantic Comedy Book 2) Page 18
