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 mother, 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.”
“I get it.” Of course, I don’t, really.
“I wasn’t trying to ignore you or avoid you. But I think you were right. We probably weren’t that well suited for each other, personality-wise. Plus, you deserve somebody who can give you loads of time.”
“It’s okay. Thank you.”
We smile at each other and, for a moment, I feel a wave of sadness. He really is a decent guy. I stand up. “I should go. Better sneak out before they do dorm check.”
“This was nice,” he says, smiling.
“Friends?” I ask.
“Friends.”
I look again at the photos of the two of us on his notice board, and he follows my gaze. “Do you want them?” he asks.
“Oh! Do you mind? I know how you are with pictures and privacy—but they are cute.”
He walks over and untacks the three pictures from the wall, handing them to me. “I trust you—they’re yours.” Somehow, the moment feels symbolic in more ways than one.
We give each other an awkward hug. When I exit Edward’s room, I say, “Bye, Simon!” to the closed door across the hall. I know he’s snooping.
As I hurry down the steps toward the front doors of Stuart Hall, I run into Robert coming out of the common room. He looks surprised to find me coming down from the rooms.
“Charlotte? What were you doing upstairs?”
“Crap.”
“That bad to see me, huh?”
“No.” I laugh. “It’s just—don’t you have to report me now?”
He looks around, making sure the coast is clear. “Come on.” I walk down the steps toward him and he takes me by the elbow, hurrying me out of the front door until we’re standing outside Stuart. “What’s to report?” he asks. “I saw you coming from the common areas. No big deal.”
“You’re the best.”
He grins and gives me a small bow before returning inside.
As I walk back to my residence hall, I’m relieved that Edward and I are on friendly terms. It’ll make things much more convenient for our friends. What a disaster if we pitted everybody against each other. So much more mature this way.
I head back to my dorm to give Libby the full scoop.
fourteen
Winter is my favorite time of year at Sussex Park. Once the snow starts falling in early December, it sticks to the bare tree branches and coats the rolling lawns. The main quad looks like something out of a postcard, the student center sets up a hot cocoa station, and students roast chestnuts by the fire. It gets dark by three thirty p.m, and the whole campus has a romantic feeling, as if it’s a Christmas poem come to life. Snow fell early this year, so I’m shivering in the flakes, holding my books against my coat for warmth while scurrying to the library after dinner.