Well, some stag do this turned out to be. Only three of my friends were able to make it for a weekend of hunting, drinking, and playing poker up at the castle. Timothy, an old mate from university, who has taken control of his father’s shipping company in Ireland; Kyle, a duke from England, who is living off his parents’ estate and basically has nothing to do ever; and my best friend, Chaz Williams, who I almost never get to see because he married an American and moved to New York so they can raise their children on McDonald’s fries and super-sized sodas.

We had to skip out on the hunting because, apparently, it’s not hunting season—so if we do go, we’d get slapped with some big fines and I’ll be made out to be a monster by the animal rights people. So, we decided to start with a poker game first. Only, it turns out none of us are very good at poker, which makes for a rather dissatisfying time. If only Gran were here…

Next, we relive our uni days by walking all the way from the castle into the village to the pub so we can stumble our way home later. It takes just over an hour to get there on foot. By the time we reach the village, we’ve all remembered how utterly unenjoyable it is to go for a long walk on a cold, drizzly day. But at least on the walk home, we’ll be too drunk and numb to notice the weather.

I open the old wooden door, feeling the rush of warm air, and calling, “Let the fun begin, boys!”

I turn and shriek like a girl as a terrifying clown who’s making balloon animals, greets us with a creepy grin. The twenty or so children, who are running in circles and screaming (probably because they’re scared and don’t know why their idiot parents are just chatting and sipping pints when there’s a clear and present danger in their midst), stop when I shriek and start laughing and pointing at me.

It turns out the pub is now used to host children’s parties every Saturday afternoon. So, we end up next door at a little ‘café, sipping tea and eating dainty sandwiches (which is all they serve at this time of day) while we wait for Ben to come pick us up.

Once we return to the castle the group has a little more vigor, having now been fed and warmed with a nice cuppa.

Time to party!

We make ourselves comfortable in the living room in front of a roaring fire. I turn on the telly so we can watch football and then mix us up some strong drinks. It doesn’t take long for the four of us to drift off to sleep, tired from the long walk and the cold air. Mrs. Potts wakes me around dinner time.

“I didn’t know if I should disturb you, but I’m afraid it’s after eight p.m. and I’d like to go home soon.”

Oh, God, we’ve been sleeping for over three hours.

“Okay, boys!” I stand and clap my hands. “Rally time! We’ve had tea. We’ve napped. Time to eat meat and drink our faces off!”

Timothy snorts as he opens his eyes, while Kyle mumbles for me to ‘feck off.’

I jostle Chaz, who is snoring loudly. He jerks to sitting, shouting, “I wasn’t sleeping, Janica! I was listening!”

Okaayyy...

* * *

By the time dinner ends, it’s clear that there’s no fun to be had this weekend. Timothy spends the entire meal sexting his new girlfriend, then disappears to his room ‘to get something.’ It’s been close to an hour and he hasn’t returned, so I’m pretty sure I know what he’s up to. Kyle’s gone, having gone back to town to try his luck with the waitress at the café. It doesn’t really matter anyway because I find myself distracted by another round of Twitter for Idiots, and after a few drinks I end up spilling the beans to Chaz about what I’ve been doing with my non-existent free time.

“Seriously, Arthur?”

“I’m afraid so. I know I should delete the account but I can’t seem to bring myself to stop.” I hand him my phone, relieved to have a friend as I unburden myself. “Look at this. Whoever it is, they keep digging up old pictures of Brooke and me.”

He stares for a moment at a photo of us at a nightclub in Paris. His face lights up. “Oh, I remember that night. You took that little blonde back to your room.”

“Umm, the Swiss one. Yes. Very fun.”

Chaz’s smile fades and he holds the phone closer to his face. “Huh.”

“What?”

“I took this picture.”

“You can’t have.”

“I did. That’s my thumb, there at the bottom. I remember Brooke teasing me about it.”

My heart drops. “This means #IHateTessa is someone I know personally.”

Chaz nods. “Has to be. I’d never post anything of you on social media so they can’t have gotten it off the Web.”

“Shit. Could you have sent the pictures to anyone?”

“Well, yes, Brooke wanted all the photos of the trip—but it wouldn’t be her, would it?”

I shake my head. “No, there’s no way it’s her. She’d never do something so cruel. Besides, there’s never been anything between us. You know that.”

“I don’t know, Arthur—I think she’s always carried a torch for you.”

“She’s got a boyfriend.”

Chaz has a swig of whisky. “You’re probably right. And even if she did want you, I can’t see her being this brazen about it.”

“Or this stupid. I mean, if she got caught, things wouldn’t exactly end up with us together.” I rub the back of my neck, wishing I was sober enough to figure this out. “But I’ll still have to find a way to ask her. I’m going to see her next week. She’s asked me to film a commercial for Doctors of the World with her.”

“That’ll be a bit awkward, no?”

“Just a bit. What a fucking mess.” My phone pings and we both look down at the screen to see that #IHateTessa has just called #WeLoveTessa a bunch of low-brow morons.

Covering his mouth with his hand, he tries to stifle a laugh, then lets it go. “You…ha ha ha…are in a very public fight with someone you know…ha ha ha…but you’re both hiding behind secret identities.”

He has a good long laugh while I stare at him, unable to find the humour in it. Deciding to change the topic, I ask, “How’s married life?”

Chaz’s face falls and almost instantly he starts to sob uncontrollably. Well, fuck me, this took a quick turn.

“She’s awful. Just awful. Always watching. Always judging. Always calling me ‘darling.’ ‘Darling, that shirt doesn’t go with those trousers. No more beer, darling, you’re getting a bit of a ‘dad bod.’ Don’t hold the baby like that, darling, you’ll drop him.” He shakes his head. “Do you know how many times I’ve dropped one of our children? Zero! Zero times! Well, that’s not true, it’s twice actually, but both times he didn’t get hurt.”

Chaz looks at me with wild eyes. “Don’t get married, Arthur. It’s not worth the sex at the beginning.”

Vincent, who has accompanied us to the castle but refuses to take part in any of our celebrations on the grounds of maintaining a professional relationship, sidles up to me while Chaz pours his heart out. I catch a whiff of him, then turn just as he’s about to tap me on the shoulder.

“My apologies, Sir. I don’t mean to break up the party, but I’m afraid there is a rather urgent matter that requires your immediate attention.”

Thank Christ.

* * *

Well, this is a total shit-show, isn’t it? My bride-to-be, whom I’ve spent the past several months defending, has gone off and created a major scandal—and now I’m going to have to clean it up. If I’m honest, I’m rather pissed. I’m also a little envious that they were actually having a wild weekend while I was suffering through the world’s most boring stag do. I need new friends. I left without saying goodbye to Timothy, but not for lack of effort. When I approached his bedroom door, the sounds he was making told me it was better for me to just leave a note. Kyle, who struck out with the waitress, decided to stay behind with Chaz since I’m heading directly to the Prime Minister’s residence, followed by the police station, then straight back home. As soon as I said I needed to leave for Ibiza, Chaz started shaking his head furiously. “No way. There’s no way I can go there without risking a divorce.”

And that would be bad, because…?

I manage to sleep on the two-hour drive back to Valcourt, then once on the plane I shower, shave, and drink an entire pot of coffee to help sober me up for when the plane touches down. Whoever said that worked was full of shit, by the way. I’m now wide awake with my head spinning a bit. It’s very early in the morning when I arrive at the Prime Minister’s home, bearing a case of the finest Avonian ice wine from the north country.

Camera crews, who have obviously been alerted to my plans, wait outside the grounds of his house and surround the limo, taking photos and motioning for me to roll down the window as the gate slowly opens. Once inside, I’m asked to wait in a formal sitting room while the Prime Minister takes his sweet time finishing his breakfast. It’s a little show of power but not one that bothers me, because I would do the same were I in his position.

Our meeting is brief and, although it starts out tense, I manage to ease the situation by relating to him as a parent. Even though I don’t have children of my own, I play the whole irritated older brother bit, which works like a charm. We discuss how far apart our two nations are in the trade agreement, and I assure him that we’ve found some room to move. By the time he walks me to the door, he’s giving me advice about having a strong hand when it comes to the youngsters and keeping them in line. He walks outside with me and we stand together, smiling for the cameras. The reporters shout questions about Arabella and Tessa but I ignore them, saying useless things like, ‘I’m happy to have met with the Prime Minister today,’ and ‘Spain will always hold a special place in my heart.’

The media circus at the police station is far worse. As I get out of the car it occurs to me that this story is likely going to follow us for decades to come, and my mood starts to sour. I wave to Giles Bigly from ABNC, who’s standing by, ready to get his story. Ollie keeps the reporters at bay while I stride up the steps to the police station. I’m immediately greeted by the Inspector. “I’ll take you back to see the prisoners.”

Prisoners. You mean my sister, my future queen, and her best friend? “Thank you.”

Xavier stands guard just outside the cell. His face lights up when he sees me, and I wonder how he can possibly be so full of energy when he’s very likely been standing for over twelve hours straight. He must be on something, no? Like uppers mixed with steroids?

I find the three women huddled together on a single cot. Nikki is passed out, face down on the pillow, while Tessa stares down at the floor, chewing on her lip, her eye makeup spread all over the tops of her cheeks, and her hair absolutely wild. Arabella, whose eyes are swollen and red, shakes her head and mutters, “Fuckity-fuck.”

“Good morning, ladies. How’s your Hens’ weekend been so far? I trust it’s been relaxing.”

Arabella and Tessa jump up and start exclaiming their excitement to see me, quickly followed by explanations, apologies, and statements about how this isn’t their fault.

“Are you furious?” Tessa asks. “I would totally understand if you were furious.”

“Well, I would say that this weekend could have gone a lot better. For starters, I could still be at Didsby at my own stag do instead of spending the night en route so I could spring you from the hoosegow. Or, perhaps, if you had busted up a club in a country with which Avonia is not in the middle of tense trade negotiations, that would have been preferable. Or, say, if you hadn’t busted up a club at all…also good. Alternatively, you could have skipped the bit where you put two men in the hospital. That would have been a much more pleasing way to end the weekend.”

Tessa covers her mouth with one hand. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry, Arthur. I had no idea things would get so out of hand.”

“It’s my fault, completely,” Arabella says. “I’m the one who was trying to prove that I could be just as wild as anyone else.”

Tessa turns to her. “No, it’s my fault. I’m the one who broke all the glasses.”

“But that’s just because you’re clumsy.” Arabella turns to me. “She didn’t mean to kick all those glasses off the bar top. I meant to get very drunk and buy booze for the entire nightclub. Have you heard anything at all about how that one-legged man is doing? And Bellford?”

“Bellford will be fine. Pretty sure the one-legged chap is going to sue us and win.”

Tessa reaches through the bars and grips my hand with hers. “I feel just awful. I’ve ruined your weekend and embarrassed you horribly.”

“Not to mention you’ve embarrassed yourself yet again.” I shake my head. “Honestly, Tessa, it’s like you just invite trouble wherever you go. And it could so easily be avoided if you would just think.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. Tessa looks like I’ve just slapped her in the face. Xavier clears his throat. When I look at him he gestures with his head toward the door, where the Inspector is standing, listening to everything. Bollocks.

* * *

“I’m Veronica Platt at the ABNC news desk. At the top of the hour, security footage has been released of the now-infamous Amensia night club incident, which ended with Princess Arabella, Tessa Sharpe, and one other companion being arrested by the Spanish police. We’ll have the video for you next but first, do you know the signs that your hamster may be having a heart attack? It’s trickier to spot than you might think.”

* * *

The plane ride home is tense, to say the least. Arabella and Nikki shower first. Unfortunately for Tessa they use up all the water in the tank, leaving her with only some wipes with which to get all the nightclub and jail cell evidence off of her. I can tell by the look on her face that this hasn’t helped her mood. My sister and Nikki then go straight to sleep in the bed at the back of the plane, leaving Tessa in the main cabin with me and the bodyguards, as well as Vincent and two other assistants, Mary and Stephen, with whom I’m sitting as we try to find areas in the trade agreement that we can adjust in Spain’s favour, but every option comes with issues that will negatively affect Avonian businesses. This would be difficult enough were my head not pounding and my heart not aching.

Whenever I glance over at Tessa, who is sitting alone by the window, she’s staring out at the sky, no expression on her face. As angry as I am, I also want to comfort her. I know she didn’t mean for any of this to happen, and when I think about how harsh I was my gut aches.

About an hour into the trip, I can’t take it anymore. I need to go talk to her. I excuse myself and make my way over to her.

“Mind if I sit with you?” I ask, hoping she’ll say yes.

She shrugs one shoulder without looking at me, so I lower myself into the seat next to her.

“I owe you an apology.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I was wrong to speak to you the way I did.” I place my hand over hers, but she pulls it away and tucks it under her leg. “Tess, please look at me. I’m truly very sorry. Can we just forget about that and move on?”

“Just forget that you called me stupid in front of your sister and Xavier and some Spanish policeman?” Her voice is devoid of emotion and she keeps her gaze out the window at the pouring rain.

“I didn’t mean it that way; I meant—”

“That you can call me clumsy and foolish, then just say ‘sorry, shouldn’t have been a total arse to you, let’s move on?’”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. Arabella’s the one who called you clumsy.” I suddenly become aware of the silence throughout the rest of the cabin and I lower my voice. “I don’t understand why this has be a big fight between us. You made a mess of things. I wasn’t exactly gracious about having to clean it up. I’m apologizing for that. I would think you would understand why I was upset and accept my apology.”

“Well, you thought wrong, Your Highness. In case you weren’t aware, I’m not one of your employees. You can’t just say whatever the hell you want to me and expect me to smile and take it. If I’m to be your wife, I won’t be lectured like a child.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ollie and Xavier trying to make themselves appear very small in their seats. “Please lower your voice.”

Tessa’s head snaps back. “Did you seriously just order me to lower my voice right after I told you that you can’t lecture me?”

“You do realize you’re actually lecturing me about lecturing you.”

My phone rings. It’s the office of the Minister of Finance. Tessa hardens her gaze. “Do not pick that up.”

Honestly, I had no intention of picking it up until she told me not to, but something about her tone brought out the defiance in me. I lift the phone to my ear. “Peter, I have a feeling I know what this is about.”

“Just read your changes to the trade agreement. I need to go over them with you.”

“No problem. I’ve got nothing but time.”