“But Queen Catalina bided her time and ruled for sixty years, my dear.”
“So you’re going to kill the prime minister in his sleep?” I ask.
She never softens her smile. “No. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the power of patience. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see the Chinese ambassador and I need a moment of his time.”
I have new respect for the woman who is walking away from me. Her hips sway beneath her long black gown. Her blue wrap catches the light. She is a guest at the palace, but there is no doubt she is the belle of the ball.
I feel exceedingly glad she’s on my side.
I also feel very much alone as I stand in the crowd of people, looking up at a painting of two dead little princes, wishing that I could talk to Jamie.
I could call him, send him a text. But it’s not his voice or his words that I miss — it’s him. It’s not being alone. It’s having someone to step in between me and the strange looks, to change the subject and tell me that I’m doing fine.
But I shouldn’t miss my brother so badly. It’s almost like I’ve conjured him — or someone just like him — out of thin air because instantly I feel a hand on my arm. I hear Alexei say, “Hello, Gracie.”
Jamie is the only person I allow to call me Gracie. Sure, other people (like my grandfather) do it too, but Jamie is the only one who has my explicit permission. I’m tempted to remind Alexei of this fact, but as soon as I turn to face him, all I can think is that Alexei is here. Alexei is looking at me. And Alexei is wearing a tux.
“You look very lovely this evening.”
His accent is heavier as he says it. And being all slicked and shaved and tuxedoed like he is, a more gullible girl might be impressed — she might even swoon a little. But whatever swooning I’m doing is entirely tight-dress related. I swear it is.
“Hello, Alexei. I was just going to powder my nose, and —”
“Not so fast.”
I’m turning away when he catches my arm, pulls me to him. His arm goes around my waist. His other hand takes mine and before I realize what is happening, we’re dancing.
“I’m not talking to you,” I tell him. “And you’re not talking to me either if that look you didn’t give me a while ago is any indication.”
“Whatever you say.”
“In fact, I’m sick of you.”
“Okay.”
“I’m just —”
“You seem to be struggling with the concept of ‘not talking,’ aren’t you, Grace? Or perhaps my English is not as good as I think it is.”
We’re spinning, and I watch the ballroom pass. The royals in their receiving line, the musicians, the long tables filled with food. I know there are other couples around us, but they feel like distant blurs. Only Alexei is solid and sure. Between my tight dress and aching feet and swirling head, he may be the only thing keeping me steady.
And I kind of hate him for it. Or maybe I just hate myself.
“You do look nice tonight, Grace. Being clean and bruise-free seems to agree with you. Are you enjoying the party?”
True to my word, I stay silent.
Alexei gives a short laugh and talks on, his accent thicker.
“Most posts aren’t like this, you know. Embassy life is not usually so … glamorous. But Adria is different, my father says. It is like the old days here, with their balls and their beautiful embassies. Some say it is because it is good for tourism — that it is an act and they have an image to protect. But I do not know. In any case, you and I are very lucky that our families are posted here.”
“I’m not listening to you,” I say, looking over his shoulder and refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t have to pay attention to you. Or mind you. Or care about your opinion.” Finally, I do find his eyes. I’m staring right into them when I say, “You are not my brother.”
I expect this to hurt Alexei, wound him in some way. But he just laughs at me like I’m hilarious with my attempts to be my own person.
“I am your brother’s proxy, Grace.” He pulls me tighter. “And in the diplomatic corps we take proxy responsibilities very seriously.”
Alexei has known me for most of my life. And he still sees me as a child. But it could be worse, I realize. He could see what I turned into.
The song ends and we stop moving, but Alexei is still holding me.
“Grace, I …” he starts, and then he drops me.
I don’t fall. But when his arm leaves my waist I stumble for a moment, struggling to stay upright while my numb feet find their place beneath me.
He’s looking around like he’s been caught sneaking out, breaking into Iran, doing the kind of stupid stuff that is usually reserved for me.
“What was —” I start.
He cuts me off. “I must go, Grace. Excuse me.”
He gives me a real, actual bow and pushes away just as the quartet begins to play again. I can’t stop myself from calling out, “You really have a hard time making up your mind, you know?”
But Alexei is already gone.
I step off the floor that is filling rapidly with dancing couples. It’s like a minefield of swirling, moving silk and sparkling sequins. I’m more than a little relieved to make it to the edge.
I scan the room, looking for Alexei, but he is nowhere to be seen. Even when Noah approaches, I can’t stop looking.
“Well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a lady,” Noah teases, but I’m too busy scanning the crowd, looking for answers.
“Where did he go?” I ask.
“Who?”
“Alexei. He was here and then he just disappeared.”
“Oh, Alexei.” Noah doesn’t sound surprised. He eyes me skeptically. “Et tu, Grace?”
“What?” I ask, distracted and annoyed.
“Nothing.” Noah shakes his head. “There he goes.” He points to the big, sweeping staircase. Alexei’s figure is unmistakable as he climbs.
“Just remember who your best friend is!” Noah says as I turn to leave. But then I stop and spin back for a moment, stand on my tiptoes, and give Noah a kiss on the cheek. He blushes, happy.
“Save me a dance,” I tell him, even though I’m pretty sure it’s the pink dress talking, not me.
And then I turn and dash off through the crowded hall.