I wake to the sound of voices, muffled but raised. Like they belong to people who are trying to yell as quietly as possible. For a second, I’m confused. The sky beyond the window is still dark, and then I reach down and feel the soft pink gown that I’m still wrapped inside. A tuxedo jacket lies across me. It smells like Alexei. And that’s when I know why the voices can’t stop shouting.
“Someone should have brought her home,” Grandpa says.
“We tried,” Ms. Chancellor explains. “Noah said he would escort her, but she left him at the palace.”
Slowly I sit upright on a bed that’s not my own. I place my feet on the rug and creep toward the door as softly as I can.
“Is she hurt?” Grandpa asks, but the question is met by silence. “Is she?”
It takes a moment for Alexei to say, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen Grace like that. She was not herself.” Then Alexei mumbles something in Russian. “I have to tell Jamie.”
“No!” Grandpa snaps.
“He is my best friend, sir. It is my duty.”
“I know it feels that way, young man,” Grandpa says, softer now. “But, please, let us handle it. Her father … well, we all thought the worst of it was over.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Alexei says slowly. It’s like he’s almost afraid when he finishes, “The worst of what?”
I’m almost to the door. It’s open just a crack, and I can see Alexei in the small sitting room that constitutes the outer chamber of my grandfather’s suite. His tie is undone and his sleeves are rolled up. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. Then I realize with a start that he has — he’s seen the ghost of me. Of the girl who was never supposed to follow me across the ocean.
“Grace has had a difficult time of it, young man,” Grandpa says with a slap on his back. “She’s not the same Gracie who used to tag after you and Jamie, I’m afraid.”
“Yeah,” I say, pushing open the door. “Seeing your mother murdered in front of your eyes will do that.”
“Grace.” Ms. Chancellor spins on me, shocked. “We thought you were —”
“Unconscious?” I guess. “Insane?”
“Resting, dear.” She starts toward me but suddenly stops. “You should be resting.”
I look right at my grandfather.
“I saw him tonight, Grandpa. I saw the man who killed her. The man with the scar. He was there. He was at the palace and … I saw him.” I take a deep breath. “I saw the man who killed my mother.”
For a second, no one speaks. Not one of them dares to move. It’s like they are afraid of me. I’m a house of cards and any quick movement — sudden breath — might send me crashing to the ground.
“Somebody say something!” I shout.
Grandpa turns slowly toward Alexei and takes his hand. “Thank you for bringing her home, young man. We will see to Grace from here.”
That’s Alexei’s cue. There’s no doubt he’s been dismissed. And yet he stands there, looking at me. It’s like he doesn’t trust himself to leave me alone. Or, more likely, that he doesn’t trust me to be alone.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m fine.”
I’m not fine, but no one says so. He just walks to the door of the sitting room.
“Good night, everyone.” He looks at us all in turn. For just a second, his gaze lingers on me. “Sleep well.”
And then he’s gone. Not for the first time, I want to chase after him. To see where the boys go when they disappear. But Ms. Chancellor closes the door firmly behind him, and I know that I can’t follow. They don’t want him to hear what comes next. Like most streets, on Embassy Row you never let your neighbors hear you fighting.
“Gracie,” Grandpa tells me, his big Southern voice booming in the small room. “Now, I don’t know what you thought you saw tonight —”
“I saw him. I saw the Scarred Man.”
“You saw no such thing!” Grandpa yells, but then he seems to regret it. He’s a diplomat. He knows there is a time and place for strength and a time and place for tenderness. But heads of state are one thing. It’s been a long time since he’s tried to raise a teenage girl.
“You were tired, sweetheart. Confused. You don’t know what you saw,” he tells me.
“How do you know? You weren’t there. You haven’t been anywhere near me since she died.”
This wounds him, I can tell. And that alone makes me happy.
“Grace, dear, let’s take you to your room. Get you out of that dress,” Ms. Chancellor tries. “You’ll feel so much better after a hot bath and —”
“I don’t need a bath!” I’m shouting now. I can’t help it. “I need someone to listen to me! I need someone to believe me.”
I cross the room in two long strides and then I’m gripping my grandfather’s vest. I have to make him see me — see that I’m not lying. See that I’m not the girl they’d warned him I’d become. I have to make somebody understand.
“He’s real, Grandpa. And he’s here. I saw him!”
“There is no Scarred Man, Gracie.”
“You don’t know that,” I snap.
“Of course I know that. Who do you think paid for the doctors?” As soon as the words are out, he regrets them.
I recoil. “I’m sorry. I never meant to be such an expensive inconvenience,” I say, letting him go. I no longer want to touch him. I don’t even want to look at him.
“Now, Gracie, sweetheart. Hear me out. You were so young.”
“I was thirteen,” I counter, but he talks on.
“It was traumatic. You were confused. Your mother …” And then his voice cracks. He can’t look at me anymore. “Your mother’s death was an accident, Grace. It was terrible and tragic, but it was an accident all the same.”
“I know what I saw,” I tell him.
“The police scoured all the footage from the nearby security cameras. There was no sign of any man. There was no evidence of foul play.”
“The bullet wound in her chest seemed like pretty good evidence to me,” I say.
“You know there was no bullet wound, Grace. We’ve told you that. I saw the autopsy report myself, and the coroner’s findings were very clear.”
“But —” I start, but then my grandfather interrupts with a shout.
“It was an accident!” His face is red. I can’t tell if he wants to scream or cry. Probably both. I am talking about his daughter, after all. “It was an accident, Gracie. An accident.”
When he says the word one final time, it is almost a whisper.
“Think about it, Grace.” Ms. Chancellor’s voice is soft. She tries to smooth my hair, but I jerk away. “You’re still jet-lagged. I know you haven’t been sleeping well. You’re exhausted.”
“I know I’m exhausted! That’s why I didn’t say anything when —”
When I saw him in Iran, I think, but dare not say.
“When what?” Grandpa snaps.
“When I was at the party,” I finish meekly. “But now I know it was him. I know it.”
“Forget about the Scarred Man, Gracie. Make your peace. Let her go.” He tries to calm himself. At least his voice is softer when he turns to look out the window at the city lights, the small sliver of inky black sea. “I’ve had to let her go.”
I could protest. The words are rising up inside my throat. I want to throw open the window and yell out into the street — run around the wall, announcing the truth to the entire city. But no one will believe me.
“Can I go to bed now?” I ask. I try to smooth the skirt of my dress that was so pretty once. So lovely. But it’s ruined now. There’s no use in standing there, being reminded of it over and over.