The more panicked Sarah becomes, the calmer Henry gets—she has that effect on him.
“But you got through it. Every interview—and you were charming and perfect. So today, Granny, Nicholas, Olivia and I will be the ones paraded out like zoo animals. While you stay here . . . and keep Ellie company.” When Henry glances at her, Ellie hops over.
“I’d appreciate that, Sarah. I’d hate to be here all alone. It’d be awkward.”
Liar. She’s comfortable in her lovely skin whether it’s on her own or standing in front of a stadium’s worth of people—it’s just how she is. But it’s good of her to try and help.
Lady Sarah gazes at Henry’s shiny shoes, her face heartbroken. “Do you ever think . . . that perhaps you should be with—”
“Do not even think of finishing that fucking sentence,” Henry warns.
“Why not?” She lifts her chin. “It’s the truth.”
“The truth?” Henry mocks. “The truth is I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you. I don’t know where I’d be or what I’d be doing, but I know it wouldn’t be pretty.”
“He’s right, you know, Sarah.” Prince Nicholas steps over to them. “Before you, Henry was an unmitigated disaster. Reckless, spoiled, self-destructive—”
“Thank you, Nicholas,” Henry says. “I think she gets the picture.”
Nicholas smacks his brother on the back and grins cheekily.
“Happy to help.”
Henry slips his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels, telling Sarah, “I could say the same thing, you know. You don’t think I know you’d be better off with someone whose everyday life doesn’t send you reeling into a panic attack?”
Sarah shakes her head. “No, that’s not true. I could never be better off with anyone else. I would never want to be. You’re mine, Henry, and I’m keeping you.”
They’d be disgusting to watch if they weren’t so damn sincere.
Sarah fidgets with the diamond engagement ring on her finger. “I’m just afraid that I’ll humiliate myself. That I’ll embarrass all of you.”
And Prince Nicholas is back. “You still don’t get it. There’s nothing you could do—literally nothing—that Henry hasn’t already done to embarrass us.” He shrugs. “We’re immortal; we’re immune.”
Henry looks at his brother. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
Nicholas’s green eyes practically dance. “I am, I know. I should try and stop, but I just can’t.”
“Okay, look,” Ellie says, moving aside the heavy crimson curtain and pointing out the window towards the balcony. “Do you see that potted plant in the corner, there? If you have to hurl, Sarah, do it there. Then, Liv will block you with her amazing, ever-expanding stomach—and no one will notice.”
“Or, most likely,” Olivia lifts the hem of her long, flowy polka-dotted skirt and moves closer to Ellie and Sarah, “I’ll be throwing up right along with you. Whoever called it morning sickness didn’t know their ass from their elbow because it ravages me all day long. They’ll probably call us the Puking Princesses in the press . . . but it’s got a catchy ring to it, so it could be worse.”
Sarah laughs along with them, looking less like the color of a dead oyster.
The Queen breezes into the room, wearing a beige skirt and matching jacket with a large ruby broach on the lapel. Her tall, blond personal secretary, Christopher, is behind her, clipboard in hand. And everything stops. The men in the room, myself included, bow and the ladies curtsy, as is required on the first occasion of the day when one encounters Her Majesty.
Ellie bends her knees and sinks down gracefully, lowering her head. Good girl. It upset her that she’d mucked up her first impression with Her Majesty at Nicholas and Olivia’s wedding. Some of the staff still talk about it—the legend of the tiny blonde who tackled the Queen.
“Are we ready?” the Queen asks no one in particular.
Henry steps forward. “Your Majesty, Sarah is—”
“Going to try her best,” Sarah finishes for him.
Henry gives her a questioning look, but Lady Sarah nods reassuringly. “I want to try. It will be all right.”
“Of course it will be all right,” the Queen agrees, as if by declaring it, circumstances wouldn’t dare to contradict her. “There’s no need to worry—no one will be looking at you. It will be as if the rest of us aren’t even there. They’ll all be examining Olivia’s bump.”
“The public interest is ferocious,” Christopher explains. “There are office pools around the city, wagering how much weight Duchess Olivia has put on each week.”
Olivia looks down at her growing belly. “Great.”
“Pay no attention to that, my dear.” The Queen moves in front of her, smiling with approval. “You look wonderful. Very healthy. I’m thrilled for you.” She smiles at Nicholas too. “Both of you.”
“Thank you, Queen Lenora.” Olivia takes her husband’s hand. “We couldn’t be happier.”
“Although,” the Queen goes on, “your due date is terribly close to Henry and Sarah’s wedding day. It’s important to spread these events out, you know. To maximize the positive coverage.”
Olivia rubs her stomach. “I’ll do my best.”
The Queen pats her forearm. “I know you will.”
“And in the future,” Nicholas adds, “we’ll be sure to keep the marital relations on a schedule more to Your Majesty’s liking.”
He’s being sarcastic. But either Queen Lenora doesn’t pick up on it or she’s giving it right back to him. Peas in a fucking pod, those two.
“That would be appreciated.” She nods. “Now, shall we?”
The Queen takes a few steps towards the balcony, stops and turns around—noticing Ellie for the first time. One thin eyebrow rises as Her Majesty walks a circle around the lass, checking her out from all angles.
Ellie lifts her head. “I’m Ellie Hammond, Your Majesty. It’s an honor to meet you again.”
“Yes, I remember you. You’re all grown up, aren’t you? Very lovely.”
“Thank you. Yes, I just graduated college—with my BA in psychology.”
“How nice.” Queen Lenora thinks for a moment before looking towards the balcony, then back to Ellie. “You may stand on the balcony beside your sister to greet the crowd with us. You are a relation by marriage, which endows you with certain privileges. We should remind everyone of that.”
Nicholas’s brow furrows.
And Ellie’s eyes go wide. “Holy sh—”
But she catches herself.
“I mean . . . yes, Your Majesty.” She curtsies again.
Once the Queen turns her back, Ellie’s eyes flare and her jaw drops. She looks at me, giving me an excited two-thumbs-up, bouncing in her shoes.
I give her a smile and nod.
And then, they walk out onto the balcony. While I stay inside—watching—as Ellie takes her place alongside the royal family. Where she belongs.
The next day, Prince Nicholas and the Queen are in the drawing room, playing chess. I stand in the hallway, hands behind my back. The door is open just enough for me to hear their conversation, and while I don’t tend to pay attention to chatter, the mention of one particular girl has me acting like a gossipy old biddy—hanging on every word.