“Four years at this school and I’ll never understand the point of those things,” she says. “As if I care about the dance team and its bloody bake sale.” She stops when she sees the look on my face. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You look constipated.”
“I need to talk to Edward,” I say, clenching my jaw and mentally preparing for battle.
When Edward exits—surprise, surprise—he’s deep in conversation with Libby. I march right up, interrupting him.
“Why didn’t you text me?” I demand.
“What?” he asks, sounding taken aback.
“You didn’t text me all day. What the hell?”
He blinks, looking around to see if anybody else is paying attention. Libby takes a step back, looking uncomfortable. Edward’s bodyguard is exiting the chapel, looking at me doubtfully but keeping his distance. “I did text you. Just now.”
“Not for, like, eighteen whole hours. I had a horrible day and you completely ignored me.”
India, Alice, Georgie, and Oliver exit the chapel, looking at me in alarm. I know I’m drawing attention—a cardinal sin—but I can’t help it.
Edward frowns. “Stop making a scene.”
“Well, then stop ignoring me.”
“Charlotte, you’re being rude.”
I start laughing. “That’s hilarious. I don’t think you quite understand the meaning of the word. Calling out somebody you’re dating on their BS isn’t rude. Rude is ignoring your girlfriend for an entire day, with no explanation. Rude is not comforting your girlfriend after she loses a huge game. Rude is suddenly spending all your free time with your girlfriend’s sister. Why don’t we talk about how rude you are?”
“This is a pretty big conversation,” says India quietly. “Why don’t you two go somewhere more private?” I ignore her.
“I’m sick of everybody walking on eggshells around you. Blessed Prince Edward, who can do no bloody wrong. Poor Prince Edward, who needs his privacy. Nobody calls you out—ever.”
His eye twitches. He inhales sharply before speaking. “Is that so?”
“Yes. That is so.”
He takes another deep breath. He seems to be struggling to control himself. “Charlotte. You don’t seem yourself right now. Why don’t we take a pause and talk about this later?”
“I don’t need more pauses from you. That’s all our bloody relationship has been lately—one giant pause.”
“Look,” he says through gritted teeth. “There are things you don’t understand.”
“Educate me.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve been distant recently, but I’m dealing with some family things—and I really don’t want to talk about it here and now.” If I weren’t so worked up, the force of his voice might cause me to take a step back. But that thing inside me I’m constantly trying to keep together has snapped—I’m beyond the point of no return.
“You don’t get a pass just because you’re royal,” I say. “You’re always banging on about how busy your family keeps you, but then you don’t confide in me and explain why. I’m totally in the dark—and what’s worse, you confided in Libby about it!”
I glance at her. She looks apprehensive.
“Relationships are give and take,” I say. “If you can’t hold up your end, then you shouldn’t be in a relationship at all.”
“I’m busy!” he says. “God, can’t you cut me some slack?”
“Kids. Somewhere else. Come on,” says India.
“Are you and Libby hooking up behind my back?”
Libby recoils as if I’ve slapped her. “What?”
Edward snorts. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Charlotte, c’mon,” Georgie whispers, drawing her fingers across her throat and making a slitting sound. “This is bananas.”
“Why don’t you just calm down, Bug,” Libby says soothingly. “Nothing is going on.”
“God, back off!” I shout. “You’re so irritating!”
She looks wounded. “You’re just as irritating.”
“I’m irritating you? That’s hilarious.” I swivel back to face Edward. “And I’m through being ignored. You and me are done.”
India stands off to the side, her head buried in her iPhone, now pretending as if nothing’s going on. Georgie has her hand over her mouth, looking at me in horror. Flossie and Alice watch everything unfold with barely disguised glee. All they need is a tub of popcorn.
“Wait, what?” Edward says in disbelief. “You’re breaking up with me?”
“You’re damn right I am. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before taking your girlfriend for granted.”
As he stands there looking stunned, I spin on my heel and flounce off.
I feel a heady mix of panic and elation, the thoughts tumbling around my brain as I have a silent conversation with myself.
Did I really just dump Edward?
That’ll teach him.
Has he ever been dumped before? I bet I’m the first.
Crap, I can’t believe I lost it on him.
Whatever, he deserves it.
I’m halfway down the lawn back toward Colvin when I hear Libby yelling my name.
“What is with you?” she asks, her chest rising and falling from running after me. “You’re acting bonkers. There’s nothing going on between me and Edward.”
“I wish you’d never come here,” I say coldly.
Her face falls. She stares at me, her eyes filling with tears, and I know I’ve gone too far.
She turns around and walks away.
“Can you believe them? The nerve. They deserve each other.”
India pours a cup of white wine, wordlessly handing it to me as I pace back and forth across her room. Flossie, Alice, and Georgie are sitting on the bed, eyes wide, watching me as if I might snap. The door is closed—and India never closes the door.
I suppose it’s only fair that they’re all treating me with kid gloves. They’ve never really seen this side of me.
India takes a sip of wine, not saying anything. The look she’s giving me is enough.
“I know,” I say. “You don’t have to tell me. I made a fool of myself.”
She shakes her head as if to say that she’s not getting involved.
“I shouldn’t have done that in public—but I reached a breaking point!”
“You broke, all right,” Flossie says. Georgie shoots her a look.
They stare back at me from the other side of the room.
“You’ve seen them!” I continue. “They’re always together. And he’s telling her all his secrets? He should be telling me. I’m his girlfriend, not her!”
“I don’t blame you for that part,” says Flossie. “Libby’s in the wrong there. You shouldn’t go after your sister’s boyfriend. It’s totally tacky.”
“Why is it Libby’s fault?” says Georgie. “That’s messed up. If anybody’s to blame, it’s Edward.”
India raises her hand slightly, as if calling for silence.
“Well, it takes two,” Georgie mutters quietly, chastened.
My shoulders fall. All the fight has gone out of me.
“I shouldn’t have lost it in public,” I say. “I couldn’t help myself.”
India nods. “Nobody’s perfect.”
“How bad was it?”
“Bad.”
I remember the shocked look on Edward’s face. “I don’t think anybody’s ever spoken to him like that.”
“It may have been a first,” India says.
“Are you going to text him or go over there?” Flossie asks.
“Huh?”
“Edward.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“When you apologize to him,” she says slowly, as if talking to a five-year-old.
“Um, I’m not apologizing to him.”
Flossie’s eyebrows nearly fly off her face. “Are you insane? But what if he cuts you out?”
“T
hen he bloody cuts me out. He should be apologizing to me. I wouldn’t have needed to lose it on him if he’d just treated me like a human being in the first place.”
Flossie nods slowly. “Actually . . . you may be right. He’s been totally ignoring you in favor of Libby. Screw it. Why should you apologize to him?”
“My mother never apologized to my father,” says Alice. “Of course, they’re divorced now.”
India shakes her head, rubbing her hand across her eyes as if she’s exhausted by this turn of events. “You’ve got balls, Charlotte. I’ll say that much for you.”
“What about Libby?” Georgie asks me.
My sister’s stricken face flashes in my head, and I feel ashamed. “I think I really hurt her feelings.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand, right?” says Alice. “She’s so dependable. She’s Libby.”
“Maybe,” I say, pulling out my phone. I start to craft an “I’m sorry” text, but India puts her hand on my arm.
“Nothing has happened between them.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know. You should apologize to her in person.”
I leave my cup of wine and stand up, dusting off my bum as I make my way to the door. “If I’m not back in an hour, send a search team after me,” I joke.
I walk upstairs one flight, knocking on Libby’s wooden door.
There’s no answer, so I knock again.
“Libby? It’s Charlotte.”
“Go away,” she says, her voice teary.
I ignore her, opening the door. She’s curled up in a ball on the bed.
“Go away,” she repeats.
She looks so vulnerable, her thin body shrunken into itself. Her face is pressed into the pillow, her glossy brown hair billowing around her head as if to protect her from insults and hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I say, sitting next to her and putting my hand on her back.
She flips over, turning to face me. Her cheeks are red and her nose is puffy. Her white pillowcase has streaks of black mascara on it. For a second, I think about how this means she’s wearing mascara now. “I didn’t do anything,” she says, sniffling. “Edward and I are just friends. You must know that.”
“I know,” I say soothingly.
“I would never go after your boyfriend, Charlotte.”
“I shouldn’t have accused you. I was jealous. I snapped. You’ve been spending time together, and he and I aren’t, and this year is really starting to get to me. I’m mad at him, not you.”
“The last thing I’d want to do is make you uncomfortable or overstep boundaries, Lotte,” she says, sitting up. “I wish you’d talked to me about it first so I could have taken a step back. I’m sorry.”
“It’s got nothing to do with you. I’m just being a cow.”
“Maybe a little bit,” she says, smiling through her tears. “Tiny cow. Baby cow.”
“I wanted us to have the best year ever, and now look at us. Me single, with everybody thinking I’m a crazy person, and you collapsed in tears looking like a hot mess. We’re a pair.”
Libby laughs, crying a little bit at the same time.
I reach out to play with her hair like when we were kids, plaiting a braid on the side of her temple. It’s thick and strong between my fingers. “I was a jerk.”
“No, you weren’t,” she says. “It breaks my heart to think that you were suffering in silence because of me.”
“It really threw me for a loop—him confiding in you and not me.”
Libby looks sad. “I’m sorry, Bug. I should have tried harder to see it your way. I get why it was hurtful.”
“Thanks, Button.” I almost ask her yet again to tell me what Edward said, but I decide to let it go. It’s beside the point.
We’re both silent for a minute. “So, what are you going to do about him?” she asks.
I sigh. “I don’t know. What do you think I should do?”
“Did you really want to break up? Were you serious?”
I consider the question. “You know what? Yes. I was serious—I am serious. We barely saw each other. We’re not into the same things. And apparently he doesn’t even feel comfortable enough to confide in me—” I put my hand up as Libby starts to say something. “I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty. It’s just the truth. I can’t be in that kind of relationship. I guess I’ve realized I’m not built like that.”
She nods. “You have to be true to yourself.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s just . . .”
“What?”
“Look,” she says. “You have a good thing going this year. Your friends love you. But everything revolves around Edward—he’s like the sun to them. It would be a shame to throw it all away because of your pride.”
I fiddle with her hair, taking it out of the plait and then rebraiding it. I see Libby’s point. Even if I don’t want to get back together with Edward romantically, I should still try to smooth things over. I’ve spent all this time building foundations and creating new friendships.
“Have I ever told you how smart you are?” I say, leaning on her for a hug.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asks. “You seem really calm considering you guys just broke up.”
“Honestly . . . he’s boring. I know I kept saying it wasn’t about him being a prince . . . but that’s not true. If he’d just been any old hot guy, I probably would have lost interest after three weeks. Although he is a dynamite kisser, so maybe not.”
She blushes.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, patting her arm. “Next! Who’ve you got for me, Sussex Park?”
I’m putting on a good show: of course my pride is wounded. Of course I’m a little sad about breaking up with Edward. But it’s not like the two of us were going to get married.
We’ll just be friends, and I’m sure everything will be fine.
I pull my jacket around my body as I walk across campus to Stuart Hall. The weather has changed and it’s seemingly dropped fifteen degrees overnight. Winter is in the air.
As I stand outside Stuart Hall, I look up at the dormitory. There are only a few lights on in the dark: most students are probably still at the dining hall, or maybe at the library. I’ll get in trouble if I’m spotted in the boys’ dormitory, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
I push open the door, looking both ways down the corridor to make sure the coast is clear before dashing up the marble steps toward the rooms. The carpet is red and well-worn, faded in the middle from years of footsteps.
Edward’s room is on the third floor. It’s nondescript—just like every other door from the outside. Nothing visible that says the future king of England lives here.
I knock on the door twice.
Immediately, the door across the hallway from Edward’s swings open.
“Everything all right?” It’s Simon, Edward’s personal protection officer. He frowns upon seeing me. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Sorry, Simon. I just really needed to talk to Edward.”
When I turn back, Edward’s standing in his own doorway, looking at me warily. “Yeah?”
“Sorry. Can we . . . ? Can I . . . ?” I hear footsteps on the stairs, and instead of waiting for Edward to invite me inside, I step through the door into his room. I’m half expecting something magical to happen: heroic rays of sunshine streaming through the window, a Gregorian choir chanting melodically.
“It’s okay, Simon,” Edward says. Simon looks at me suspiciously as Edward closes his door.
“So,” I say, looking around the room. It’s my first time inside. Edward always insisted we go to my residence hall. I wasn’t sure if it was chivalry on his part—he’d rather get in trouble than me—or a desire to protect his privacy. Now that I know better, I suspect the latter.
I try to look casual while my eyes sweep the small room. It looks like a normal guy’s room. The only hint of his royal status: a silver-framed photo of Edward with his father, King Henry, and m
other, Queen Madeline. “So,” he replies. “What’s up?”
“Can I sit down?” I point to the chair next to his desk. It has stacks of jumpers on it, but I’d rather sit there than the bed.
He shrugs, so I move the jumpers to the floor before sitting down.
“Look,” I say. “I guess I should apologize.”
Edward walks over to the bed and sits down opposite me. “Okay.”
“I didn’t handle it well.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Well, that’s why I’m here,” I say, my temper flaring. But the whole point of coming here is to apologize, not to get into another fight. For a moment I focus on the wall behind him, trying to buy time while calming myself down. On the notice board above his dresser, I’m surprised to see photos tacked up of the two of us at Huntshire, wearing our swimming costumes and acting silly by India’s pool. I point to them. “That was the best night.”
He nods. “Yeah, it was.”
“I was so nervous in the maze with you.”
“You were nervous?” He looks surprised.
“Of course!”
“I didn’t think anything made you nervous.”
“You said the same thing that night. Plenty of things make me nervous: My mum’s temper. Getting into university. Letting my family down. Coming here tonight.”
He cracks a tiny smile. “Thanks for coming.”
“I am sorry, Edward.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry, too.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. I ignored you too much.”
I flush, feeling a sense of validation. “We should have talked more.”
He nods. “Well . . . no use crying over spilled milk, as my dad says.” He’s silent for a few moments. “I guess I should have told you what’s been going on with me, rather than just disappearing. I don’t like to bother people with my family stuff.”
“But you talked to Libby about it,” I point out.
Irritation flickers briefly across his face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “She’s easy to talk to. And I barely scratched the surface.”
I don’t say anything, letting him continue.
“It’s just . . . a lot of things will change when I turn eighteen in a few months. They’re teaching me the ropes now. Letting me in on things I always wondered about but never knew. It’s like a brain dump—and I’m not supposed to talk about it. It’s a lot to take in.”
Romancing the Throne Page 15
