Email from Rory Stone, Assistant to Sebastian

RE: Elocution Instruction

Tessa,

I need you to contact me immediately regarding your elocution lessons. If you have not made arrangements to have someone from the palace provide you with instruction, you will need to book a date with me right away. I have very little time but Sebastian has grave concerns in this regard, especially now that you have decided not to cooperate as far as your body mass index goes.

Yours,

Rory

Reply to Rory Stone

RE: RE: Elocution Instruction

Dear Rory,

Thank you for your interest in my elocution lessons. Please assure Sebastian that I am receiving intensive ongoing instruction via palace staff, in addition to my own research and careful study of the subject, so there is no need for me to take up your time.

Warmest wishes,

Tessa Sharpe

* * *

“What are you watching, Tessa?” My dad stands at the doorway to the television room, holding a beer, clearly wanting to watch football. It’s Sunday afternoon and I know there’s a game on by now.

“My Fair Lady. You know, the one with Audrey Hepburn.”

He seats himself on the couch next to me.

“I remember this one. I’m surprised you’d be interested in it, though.” He cracks his beer open and takes a swig.

“It’s research,” I say, jotting down a note about posture that Professor Higgins gives Eliza Doolittle.

“For what?” my dad asks as he plants himself in his armchair.

“For being a princess. I’m supposed to be taking some princess classes but I haven’t had time, so I figured I’d cheat a little.”

“Huh.”

“My Fair Lady! Oh, why didn’t you tell me this was on?” My mum hurries in and sits next to me on the couch.

We watch in silence for about twenty minutes. “Is he worth all this?” my dad says suddenly.

My head snaps back a little and I turn to him. “Of course, he is. He’s incredible.”

“He’s just a man, like the rest of us,” my dad says.

“Reuben, he’s a prince,” my mum cries. “Worth it?! She’ll never have to even think about money again, let alone worry about it. She’ll never have dishpan hands or dirt under her fingernails.”

My dad shakes his head and stares at the telly. “Still seems to me that she’s being asked to give up a lot for all of it.”

A sense of righteous indignation comes over me. “Arthur hasn’t asked me to do any of this. He hasn’t asked me to change in any way. I’m doing this so that I won’t make a complete arse of myself wherever I go.”

“Fair enough then,” my dad says with a small shrug. “Just don’t go and get all dull on me, okay? You’re an incredible girl. I’d hate to see those people steal your spark.”

I swallow the lump that forms at the back of my throat. “I won’t. I just want to learn enough so I can fit in with the blue bloods when I need to.”

My dad nods. “Well, in that case, I suspect you’ll need to do more than just watch this movie.”

“Of course, I will. I plan to re-watch The Crown next.”

“That’ll do it.” He stands and pats me on the shoulder before he leaves the room. “Yup.”

* * *

I’ve been spending a lot more time at the palace since Christmas, both as Arthur and Arabella’s guest. Arabella has very kindly offered to coach me in elocution and posture and has patiently been going over the do’s and don’ts of fine dining, which is a huge relief, since they don’t really go into the details on The Crown.

Today, I’m in Arabella’s apartment and she’s giving me a quick lesson on greeting visiting dignitaries before Arthur and I go out for dinner. I had no idea how complicated the simple act of saying hello could be, but it turns out there is a mind-boggling set of rules about where to stand and customs to follow, which cultures are insulted by bowing, and which are insulted by a lack of bowing, who should speak first (the answer is never me), and how to respond appropriately to a wide variety of greetings. With only two months until the wedding, I’m feeling a great deal of pressure to get all this straight.

“When all else fails, say nothing and smile.” Arabella nods confidently. “You’ll be fine.”

“Have you ever seen me in public?”

Arabella laughs and pats my arm, reminding me of a young version of her grandmother. “You’ll be fine. You may have the odd mishap, but who cares? It’s endearing.”

“Tell that to the #IHateTessa people.”

“Oh, yes. I saw that. Awfully shitty, whoever they are. If only there was a way to stop them.”

“We’d have to know who they are first.” I sigh. “And the chances of doing that are slim to none.”

She looks up at the ceiling for a moment, then says, “I wonder if that’s true?”

“What?”

A knowing look crosses her face, and she says, “You leave it with me. I may have a way of figuring it out. Now, back to your posh lessons: I have some time this weekend. If you’d like, we could go over everything again.”

“Oh, I wish I could, but my friend Nikki is taking me on a hens’ weekend.”

“Hens’ weekend? I’ve never gone on one of those. Are they so fun? They sound so fun.” She positively beams with excitement as she waits for my answer.

“Well, I’ve only been on one before, and it was a little bit on the wild side. We ended up in Amsterdam and I’m afraid the bride-to-be lost her passport. Oh, and her virginity. Whoops!”

“Sounds delightful.” The look on her face says what she’s far too polite to allow to come out of her mouth. She would love to come along.

I’m torn, knowing that Nikki is looking forward to having me all to herself without any of my new people to distract from our last hoorah together. But, on the other hand, this sweet young princess is staring up at me, hoping to have a regular-girl experience for the first time in her life. As my future sister-in-law and new friend, I feel as though I can hardly say no. “You wouldn’t be free this weekend to come along, would you?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly impose. It just sounds like fun is all.” She shakes her head and does her best not to look disappointed.

“You wouldn’t be imposing. It would be wonderful to have you. I just have to check and see if we can get a plane ticket for you.”

“Plane ticket? Where are you going?”

“If you can believe it, I’ve been talked into going to Ibiza.”

“Oh, I love it there! You’ll have the best time,” she says, then her face grows serious. “Not to nag, but I’m assuming you’ve cleared this with Vincent and arranged to have your bodyguard with you?”

Oh, bugger. “No. I didn’t think we’d need him since I don’t think anyone will recognize me where we’re going.”

“They’ll never let you go. Not without your bodyguard.”

I suddenly feel quite hot and yucky. Nikki is counting on me to make this trip happen and I can’t afford to buy Xavier a ticket or pay for a hotel room for him. But Arabella’s right. I can’t exactly go alone. Vincent’s words come back to me from the day they assigned Xavier to watch over me. “Each addition to the Royal Family is both a blessing and a liability. Liability in the sense that, as human beings, you are vulnerable to attack or kidnapping. As the consort to the future king, you will be at especially high risk, even at this early stage of your relationship. If anyone wanted to get to the Royal Family they could choose to do it through you, which is why you must never be without a security detail. To do otherwise would be a reckless and irresponsible affront to the family.”

My cheeks flush with humiliation at having to admit my financial status to a princess. No matter how close we’ve become over the past few weeks, I know she can’t relate to what I’m about to say. “I’m afraid I didn’t really think this through. I didn’t ask Nikki to book him into the hotel and I definitely can’t afford to pay for him to come.”

She gives me an understanding smile even though I know she can’t possibly know how this feels. “Not to worry. I’ll book our private jet for you and get you an incredible deal on a nice hotel.”

“No, I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that.”

“I want to do this for you, Tessa. Consider it a very belated Christmas gift.”

“I’ll only accept if you’ll come with us.”

Arabella’s face lights up and she claps her hands together. “Ooh, yes! I was hoping you’d ask.”

* * *

Text from Me to Nikki: What are you doing right now? I need to have a chat.

My phone rings immediately and I answer.

“Let me guess, you need to cancel this weekend,” Nikki says sulkily.

I can’t blame her. In the past weeks there have been a string of cancellations from my end, due to work or due to the wedding.

“Never,” I say in my best ‘that’s crazy talk’ voice. “There’s just a slight glitch with the plan. Turns out I’m not allowed to go anywhere without Xavier. The Royal Family would consider it a reckless and irresponsible act of defiance.”

“Oh, well if Hottie McGuns has to come, that’s okay by me. As long as you aren’t cancelling—or worse—suggesting your new bestie, Arabella, comes with us.”

“She’s not my bestie. You are and that’s never going to change.” My toes clench with trepidation. “But, on that note, I may have just invited her.”

“What? You promised it would be just the two of us.”

“I know, and I’m very sorry. My plans for the weekend came up when she was giving me my posh lesson, and one thing led to another, and before I knew it I was inviting her. Please don’t be mad. If you were there, you would’ve seen that only an absolute bitch would have been able to resist.”

“Sometimes life requires you to be an absolute bitch, Tessa.”

“I know, I’m just not very good at it.” I pause for a moment and Nikki says nothing, which means she’s really mad. “You’ll really love her, I promise. She’s very sweet and harmless and innocent. Think of it like an act of charity. I mean, just try to imagine that type of upbringing. She’s probably never even tried a cigarette before. Her entire life has been carefully coordinated and controlled by other people. Plus, there’s a particularly wonderful silver lining if she joined us.”

“Which would be…”

“We get to take the family’s private jet and she’ll set us up with an incredible deal on what I’m certain will be a fabulous hotel.”

“You really should have led with that.”

* * *

The flight to Ibiza is a little under two and a half hours. Just enough time for Arabella, Nikki, and me to polish off two bottles of Champagne while watching Bridesmaids on the big screen on the private jet. Traveling by private jet is nice, by the way. You don’t have to suffer the humiliation of removing your shoes at security, because you don’t even go through security. You just drive right up to the plane and then step aboard, and a very lovely flight attendant hands you a cold drink and a hot towel to freshen up.

The limo ride over to the airport was a little awkward, though, with me trying to bridge the gap between Nikki and Arabella, who have very little in common other than both being permanent fixtures in my life. It’s strange the way that women can be territorial over their close friends, and Nikki is no exception. She greeted Arabella with a slight nod then followed it up with the stink eye, and mumbled something that sounded like thank you for providing transportation.

But now that we’ve polished off two bottles of Nicolas Feuillatte Champagne the two seem to be in cahoots, insisting that we hit a nightclub as soon as we land instead of going to the hotel. Xavier and Arabella’s bodyguard, an older man called Bellford, sit at the back of the plane. Every once in a while I remember that they’re there listening to us laugh and ogle John Hamm and Chris O’Dowd.

When the plane touches down, I have a feeling I may be the one with the clearest head of the three of us. I decide a speech is in order, to ensure things don’t get out of hand. I stand and sway a little while I hold up one finger at the girls. “Now, ladies, we’re going to have a great time but not too wild. No public nudity, no men coming back to our hotel room, no getting arrested. I’m talking to you, Nik—”

“Boooorrrrring!” Arabella calls out.

Nikki makes a loud pffft sound at me and grabs Arabella by the arm. “She can be really dull at times. That’s why she needs me.” She stands and pulls Arabella up with her. They lean on each other as they stumble to the front of the plane.

Bellford hurries to catch up with her, muttering something that sounds like ‘I’m too old for this shit.’

* * *

“This is Veronica Platt at the ABNC news desk, Sunday morning edition. Shocking news out of Ibiza this morning as Princess Arabella, Tessa Sharpe, and another unidentified Avonian citizen were arrested last night after an incident at a downtown nightclub. Giles Bigly has just arrived on-scene and has more on this story.”

“Good morning, Veronica. I’m standing in front of Amnesia, considered one of the hottest nightclubs here on the island, where it appears things may have gotten very out of hand last night. With me now is Carlos Santos, a bartender who was on shift and witnessed the entire incident.”

The camera pans out to include a very tired-looking man with black hair and a tight white T-shirt.

“Mr. Santos, tell us what happened last night.”

“First, let me say I’ve been a bartender for over twelve years now and I’ve never seen something like I did last night,” he begins in a thick Spanish accent. “The three women came in with a group of about thirty people that they apparently pick up off the streets as they are walking from their hotel. The one who they call the princess is buying drinks for everybody all evening. But, the one with the pink hair, she is the crazy one. She make everybody dance, even the people who don’t want to. Like, there is a man in the club with only one leg—she make him dance. She’s a little bit scary, that one. She make all the men take off their shirts, even the one-legged man, who has a very good upper body, probably from, you know, trying to hold himself up on one leg. That’s gotta be hard.”

Giles nods smartly. “I’m sure it would be, but can you fast-forward to the moment where things got really out of hand?”

“Yes, of course. The one they call the princess gets up on the bar, which happens, you know.” Carlos shrugs. “And we let them, because they wearing skirts so it’s nice for us. Then the pink one gets up, too, and she pulls the one-legged man up, then her other friend—the blonde one—who has no business being on a bar. She cannot keep control of her legs and arms the way an adult should be able to do. So, they’re dancing to a terrible song that they make the DJ play. They sing along, screeching about holding on for one more day, I don’t know, but they’re singing loudly and dancing and the blonde one kicks the glasses off the bar and onto the floor.

“So, there is broken glass everywhere and we try to tell them get down. We have to fix this but then she loses her balance and knocks the man with the one leg off the bar and onto the floor with the broken glass. And remember, they take his shirt earlier so there’s blood everywhere. People are screaming. The man with the one leg tries to get up and it’s just disgusting—his back now, okay…” Carlos winces and shakes his head.

“Then, one of the security guards that come in with the ladies—they’re tall, big men with suits on so I know they’re bodyguards—he tries to take the princess down off of the bar but she say no. She don’t want to go because her song is not over. You know how the ladies are about their songs.

“So, the pink-hair one jump on him and knocks him down onto the floor and the glass cut his…” Carlos gestures behind himself with one hand. “…buttocks. We call the ambulance and have to shut everything down. My boss is angry because we kick everybody out and we can’t make no more money. So, he say to the princess, “You pay now for all the drinks you buy, and everything you break.” And then the princess say she don’t got any money with her even though she’s been buying drinks for the whole club all night. She say that the bodyguard who just leave in the ambulance has her money. So, we call the police and have them arrested.”

“Thank you, Mr. Santos, for that very thorough account of the incident,” Giles says. The camera pans back to him. “There you have it, Veronica. A bizarre turn of events last night that has us wondering if trouble will always follow Tessa Sharpe, even when she’s queen one day.”

The screen splits to show Veronica sitting behind the news desk on the left side and Giles standing in front of the club on the right. Veronica nods, looking very concerned. “Yes, Giles, one has to wonder. It brings to mind the whole Brooke is Better movement.”

“Indeed. She certainly would never have been embroiled in this type of debacle.” Giles nods.

“And Giles, this situation could have more serious implications on an international- relations level, could it not?”

“Yes. We have to remember that trade talks between Spain and Avonia have not gone well as of late, with the king having made some rather disparaging remarks about the Spanish Prime Minister a few months back. It seems as though some top-level government officials are seeing Princess Arabella’s actions as an affront to Spain.”

“Oh, dear. This is not good.”

“No, it’s not. It’s likely why the princess and her two companions are still being held at this time, even though officials from the palace have made attempts to make reparations earlier this morning.”

“Giles, I assume you’ll have more on this as it unfolds.”

“Yes, Veronica. I’ll be heading to the police station as soon as I sign off to find out more.”

“Excellent.” The feed from Spain cuts off and Veronica’s face fills the entire screen. “Stay with us, because after this break we’ll be joined by Nigel Wood for a full fashion critique of Princess Arabella and Tessa Sharpe’s wardrobe choices last night.”