“Oh.”
“But based on my intel, you know exactly who it was. She’s back in Denmark. Now that she’s fallen out of royal favor, I don’t expect we’ll be seeing her on these shores anytime soon.”
“Wait, how do you know that I know?”
A little smile plays at her lips. “Welcome to public life, Charlotte.”
Back downstairs, I mingle with guests, sipping a celebratory glass of champagne and doing my best to remember every single moment. Time flies, but at some point, India shows up with Clemmie Dubonnet in tow.
“You made it!” I say, giving her a hug. I look at Clemmie expectantly, waiting to be officially introduced.
“Um, Charlotte, this is Clemmie,” India says, sounding nervous. She flips her long blond hair back and forth.
“Hiya!” Clemmie says, leaning in to give me a single cheek kiss. “Congrats! This is major.” She looks around the room. “Oh, Poppy’s here! Be right back.”
India and I look at each other. She’s totally blushing.
“So?” I ask.
She clears her throat. “I . . . uh . . . that is . . .”
“Are you dating now? Like, for real?”
India blushes again. “Maybe. I think so. I’m not sure.”
I can’t help myself. “I’m never seen you like this!”
She shrugs, laughing a little.
“Even the great India Fraser is human, it seems,” I say teasingly.
“Sadly,” she responds.
“I’m proud of you. It’s kind of a big deal, coming here with Clemmie. All the photographers and everything.” Even though India hasn’t been in the closet per se, magazines like Tatler—who are obviously obsessed with her—have never gotten wind of her sexual orientation. Knowing the press, I expect all the society blogs will be abuzz tomorrow with photos of India and Clemmie hand in hand.
“I know,” India says, nodding. “Believe me.”
“But who cares what other people think, right?” I say, raising my chin in defiance. “Isn’t that the big lesson?”
“Wise words,” she says, smiling.
“Speaking of caring what everybody thinks, have you talked to Flossie or Tarquin? I want the dirt.”
India rolls her eyes. “Last time I saw Flossie was when she came to my room and yelled at me. Or she tried to—I slammed the door in her face. Oliver told Georgie that Tarquin didn’t even sit for his last exam—he just slunk away like a thief in the night.”
“Will he still graduate? Or will his daddy fix it for him, as always?”
India shrugs. “Who cares? Good riddance to them both.”
“Charlotte? Excuse me, do you have a minute?”
It’s another reporter. I look at India apologetically and she waves me off, going to find Clemmie.
An hour later, after I think my hand is going to fall off from getting pumped so many times and my voice is going to go hoarse from all the interviews, there’s a commotion at the door. Photographers are shouting over one another. There are so many flashes it looks like a lightning storm outside.
“What on earth . . . ?” the reporter I’m talking to says, turning her head. She gasps. “Oh my God.”
Libby and Edward walk into the room hand in hand. Libby looks around until she spots me, her face lighting up. The crowd parts, and Libby and Edward make their way to me, every eye in the room on the three of us. Through the window, the photographers jostle one another, faces and lenses pressed up against the glass.
“I can’t believe you guys actually came,” I say, allowing them both to hug me.
“Are you mad? I’d never miss this,” says Libby. “We wanted to support you.”
“But all the reporters. They’re going to be on you like vultures.”
He and Libby exchange a glance, some sort of telepathic conversation seemingly transmitting back and forth between the two of them. Edward nods. “Now that I’m eighteen, I plan to embrace public life, not run away from it. But on my terms.”
Libby squeezes his hand.
“Besides,” he says, “it was the least we could do for you.”
“This is major. The party is guaranteed to be front-page news now.”
“That’s the idea,” he says firmly. “I’ll go get us some drinks. You two catch up.”
“We’ll be in the corner,” says Libby.
“Even better, we can go upstairs,” I say, pointing to the stairwell that leads to the members-only club. We walk up to the dimly lit room, settling in on a sofa so we can talk in private.
“So,” I say. “I want to hear the latest details. Tell me everything.”
Her eyes fill with happy tears. “He said he loves me.”
“Yay!” I clap my hands together. “What did you say?”
“That I love him, too, of course,” she laughs. “I’ve been wanting to say it for ages. But I didn’t want to say it first.”
“Of course. Nana would have a coronary. Were all her lessons for nothing?” I joke.
“Well, I broke the cow rule,” Libby says. “And yet, magically, mysteriously, we’re still a couple.” We giggle.
“More importantly, we laid down some ground rules.”
“Such as?”
“Family comes first—which means you, Mum, and Dad. I don’t have to hold his hand at every bloody event. I can tell you whatever I want. He has to come to my events, not just me to his. And I’m applying to the photography program in Florence for my gap year.”
“Was that an issue?”
“He wanted me to go to Chile with him—but I’m not that into it. If we’re going to work, everything can’t be on his terms. We have to be equal partners, which means what I want is just as important.”
“Good for you!”
“We talked a lot about how much pressure it is, and how I don’t have anybody to confide in. And I promised him that you would be a vault and that you could be the one person I’d tell things to, and he said he would never doubt you again.”
“Atta boy. It’s baby steps, but it’s something.”
“Agreed—I think it’s going to make us so much stronger. We’re setting a real foundation to go the distance.”
“I’m so happy for you, Libs. And I’m proud of you for sticking up for yourself.” Libby’s sweet, but when push comes to shove, she’s made of steel. I have no doubt she has what it takes to navigate the choppy waters of being Edward’s girlfriend publicly.
She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and looks at me steadily. “I’m hoping it can be a new leaf for you and me, too. All our conversations this year have been about Edward. And then we spent half the year barely speaking to each other. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, this year has been pretty Edward-centric.”
“We would never pass the Bechdel test.”
“Huh?”
“It’s a movie thing. Anyhow, next year will be different. I’ll be home this summer before going on my gap year, and we’ll spend loads of time together. I’ll even let you beat me at tennis.”
“Oh, please,” I say. “You wish.”
“I need to do a better job being there for you. Sisters before misters, right?”