Text from Mum: Tessa, it’s your mother. Call me as soon as you get back to Avonia. Your father and I are beside ourselves with worry. Oh, and have yourself checked for lice before you come back home. Grace next door said those Spanish jails are famous for lice.

Text from Noah: I can’t believe you went on your hens’ weekend without inviting Nina. She’s very hurt, although she’s pretending to be glad since you wound up in jail. Your invitation to join her ladies book club has now been officially rescinded (so there is a silver lining to everything). Is Arthur still planning to marry you after causing an international incident? Let me know as soon as possible, because if the wedding’s off I can get really cheap flights to Disney World that week but I have to buy them right away.

Email from Hazel

Subject Line: Behind the Scenes Look at Spanish Prison Nightmare

Dear Tessa,

Are you all right, dear? If so, please call me as soon as your plane touches down. There has got to be an exclusive for us here.

Yours,

Hazel

Email from Me to Hazel

Subject Line: Re: Behind the Scenes Look at Spanish Prison Nightmare

Dear Hazel,

We weren’t exactly in a Spanish prison, but rather a holding cell in the police station. It was very clean and not uncomfortable, really. The officers were most accommodating and, in fact, offered us water, tea, and breakfast this morning. Although I would love to offer an exclusive to The Weekly Observer on this weekend’s events, I’m afraid it’s more likely that the palace will put out an official statement and no further mention will be made of this weekend publicly.

Thank you in advance for your understanding on this matter,

Tessa

Email from Hazel

Subject Line: Re: Re: Behind the Scenes Look at Spanish Prison Nightmare

Phew! So glad to hear that you’re okay and weren’t violated or otherwise abused. Please ensure the Palace Officials that The Weekly Observer will be most cooperative in allowing an advanced read of any article on the matter.

* * *

Well, this is just perfect. The one time that the king is actually in town is right when I’m not only completely exhausted and extremely hung over, but I’ve also gone and caused an international incident. Arthur (who I may or may not ever speak to again, I’m not sure), Arabella, and I are in the back of the limo heading toward the palace after having dropped Nikki off at her flat. I would’ve given my favourite pair of Jimmy Choos (well, my only pair, really) to stay at Nikki’s so I could pass out on the couch for about forty hours or so. Instead, I’m listening to one side of a very tense conversation between Arthur and the king’s chief adviser, Damien.

“You will do no such thing.” Pause. “No.” Pause. “Absolutely not. They will not be dressed down.” Pause. “Out of the question.” Pause. “This is nothing like Harry.” Pause. “First of all, they’re not twenty years old—they’re grown women. Second, you’ll note none of them was wearing a Nazi uniform.” Pause. “We’re just about at the palace. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Gratitude edges out some of my anger as I listen to him defend us. When he hangs up, I say, “Thank you.”

Arthur looks at me with disdain. “I’m merely trying to avoid further embarrassment.”

So, I guess we’re not about to make up after all.

Sighing, Arthur says, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Tessa, Ben will take you home as soon as he drops us off. Arabella, just go straight to your apartment. I’ll deal with this and let you know how it turns out.”

“Umm, no,” I say. “I caused the problem. I should bloody well fix it or no one in that palace will ever respect me again.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I’m afraid that ship may have sailed.”

“Arthur!” Arabella says. “That was an unkind thing to say.”

“Well, excuse me,” he snaps. “But I’m a little out of patience at the moment. You’ve made a mess. The best thing you can do is allow me to manage the situation from here on out.”

The limo stops in front of the palace and Arthur pushes the intercom button. “Ben, please take Ms. Sharpe home.”

I lean over him and say, “No, thank you, Ben. That won’t be necessary.”

Arthur and I glare at each other, then I say, “I broke it. I’ll fix it.”

“No, you won’t. I promise you, you will only make it much worse,” he says. “There’s a certain way of handling these situations and I don’t have the time to school you on it before we walk in there.”

“No, I won’t?” My voice rises. “Did you just tell me what I was going to do?”

“Quite the opposite. I told you what you aren’t going to do.”

“Same thing.”

“If you think it’s the same, then you really don’t belong in that meeting.”

Arabella gasps. “How dare you talk to Tessa this way?!”

He doesn’t even bother to look at her, but keeps his eyes on me while he says, “I’ve traveled all the way from the northern tip of Avonia to Ibiza and back today, leaving my friends behind. I’ve groveled to the Prime Minister of Spain. The one thing I’m asking you to do is to stay out of it and let me handle it for you.”

“And that’s the one thing I can’t let you do. I know how to apologize, I know how to keep my mouth shut, and I know how to agree to whatever is needed in order to control some of the damage.” I set my jaw. “Now, I’m not going to stand behind you while you fight my battles, so if you don’t mind please get out of my way.”

“It’s your funeral.”

“Fine. Bring on the bagpipes.”

* * *

In hindsight, insisting on attending the meeting wasn’t the smartest of the choices I’ve made. Things didn’t go quite the way I had hoped. I had expected to be able to make a humble and heartfelt apology to the king in the presence of a couple of his advisors, have him accept, then leave triumphant. Instead, I walked into a room of over twenty people in suits, several of whom serve on the public relations team, and none of whom would address me directly. I then sat through lengthy security footage of the entire incident which caused me to feel quite nauseated, at which point I began burping loudly and repeatedly. The next humiliating twenty minutes were spent watching various news reports from around the globe, including translations of what the Spanish media had to say on the matter. And I don’t think I have to tell you that none of it was even the slightest bit flattering. Apparently, I have earned a new nickname—’The Countess of Catastrophes’—for obvious reasons.

Oh, and it turns out that a bookie in Monte Carlo has set up a pool giving three to one odds that Arthur and I will break up before the wedding, and four to one odds that Arthur will end up married to Brooke. They’ve had so many people betting, their website crashed, so that’s lovely to hear.

Arthur, who was so pissed about me insisting on attending, barely looked at me when the entire humiliating meeting was over. He walked me as far as his office, keeping an unusually wide distance between us, then told me that he needed to go straight to work to put the final touches on the trade deal with Spain, so he trusted I could show myself out.

I’m now in the staff washroom, standing in front of the long counter, staring at the disaster that is me in the mirror, hoping no one else comes in. I need to collect myself so I won’t start bawling the moment I get in the car with Xavier. In a matter of a few hours, I’ve managed to horribly injure an already-physically disabled man, humiliate myself, start an international scandal, and piss off my fiancé beyond measure.

The door swings open and in walks none other than Brooke Beddingfield. Well, isn’t that the cherry on top of my shit sundae?

“Tessa, I was hoping I’d run into you.” She rushes over and gives me a hug, clearly just so I can smell her amazingly delicious perfume that she probably bottles herself. “You poor, poor girl. I can’t believe what bad luck you’ve got.”

“Oh, hi Brooke.” I pull back and nod. “Yes, it’s been quite the weekend.”

“I can tell just by looking at you that you’ve been through hell. You should be home in bed.”

“Thanks, yeah. I’m going home now, actually.”

“Good. Go lie down. Rest. Replenish those fluids.” She turns to the mirror, sets her Yves Saint Laurent Classic handbag on the counter, then fixes hairs that are not now nor ever will be out of place. “I can’t even imagine the pressure you must be under. The entire world watching you, waiting for you to succeed or fail. How are you coping with it all?”

“Apparently not that well.” I put some soap on my hands, turn on the tap, then immediately regret it. Why didn’t I just walk out? “What are you doing in town?”

“It’s my dad’s birthday. The big six-oh. I’m throwing him a huge party.” She gives me a dazzling smile, then her expression morphs back to sympathy. “But this has got to be so hard for the two of you. The media scrutiny, those ridiculous Twitter battles, and now this. It must wear on you both terribly. Arthur tried to deny it when I slept over, but I finally managed to get him talking about his many concerns. I really let him unload, you know? So important. But then, in the end, he said there’s no point in worrying about things you can’t change. He said, ‘Yes, it’s true that Tessa will always be a mechanic’s daughter and probably also very accident-prone, but it doesn’t mean she’s not a good person.’”

I turn off the tap and dry my hands on a towel, my entire body going numb as I listen to her speak. I’m trying to process all the shitty things that she’s saying, but there are just too many of them and I’m struggling to figure out what to focus on first. The part about her staying the night comes to mind immediately. “I’m sorry, when exactly did you stay over?”

Brooke gasps and puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid I’ve spoken out of turn. I just assumed Arthur would tell you that we were stranded together during the ice storm.”

“It must’ve slipped his mind,” I say, turning the tap back on and starting to wash my hands again so I don’t have to make eye contact. The hands again? Really, Tessa? She’s going to think you have OCD. “We’re both just so busy all the time.”

“I’m sure that’s why.”

When I glance up at her she’s giving me a smug grin that I wouldn’t mind slapping off her beautiful face. “Anyway, please don’t be angry with him. I’m afraid we had too much wine and he just really needed to unburden himself about some of the stresses that come along with getting married. He doesn’t really have a lot of people he can talk to about something so intimate, and he knows he can trust me.”

“Well, that’s a great comfort for me, Brooke. Arthur needs true friends.” Oh, I think my posh lessons are paying off because what I really meant was ‘go fuck yourself.’

“Well, I should really run. I’m here to see if Winston will bring his bagpipes to the party. He has such the hidden talent, doesn’t he?” She gives herself a quick once-over, presumably finding everything perfectly perfect, then plucks her bag off the counter. “And don’t worry about this silly scandal. It’ll blow over. Just keep reminding yourself how lucky you are to have landed Arthur. He’s beyond the whole package—gorgeous, refined, athletic, intelligent, future king. And, as if that weren’t enough, he makes the most delicious eggs I’ve ever had.”

“Yup. That’s him,” I bark as the door swings closed behind her.

So much for calming down. When I walked in I was teary, and now I’ve added ragey to the mix. Breathe, Tessa, breathe.

I know I should go home. I do. I should walk out the front door, go home, shower for about two hours, then sleep for twenty so I’ll calm down enough to discuss this whole thing rationally with Arthur. But sometimes a girl’s so angry, she storms past her fiancé’s assistants to his assistant, then past his assistant, and marches right into his office, bringing hell with her.

Arthur, who is sitting at his desk, looking very busy and important, glances up at me without a smile. “I thought you would have left by now.”

My legs carry me to his desk with a sense of purpose. “I was on my way out when I ran into Brooke. I thought I should swing by your office and tell you that I’m not going to look the other way while you carry on with Dr. I’m-So-Perfect.”

“Carry on…? What are you talking about?” His face fills with confusion. Oh, he’s good at the lying. He might even be ‘hashtag better than Barrett’ at it.

I tilt my head and stare at him from under my eyebrows. “I’m talking about your little sleepover. You remember, the one with the cooking of the eggs and the drinking of the wine?”

The door closes behind me and I realize Vincent must have done it. I cringe internally with embarrassment then get right back to being furious.

Arthur’s mouth falls open. Busted. “I can—”

Holding up one finger, I hiss, “Oh, do not say it. Do not say you can explain because I’ve got that little speech memorized from my days with Barrett.” I put on a mocking tone and say, “‘We’re just friends. Nothing happened. It didn’t mean anything.’”

Arthur’s tone remains even and calm, which only serves to irritates the shit out of me right now. “We are just old friends and nothing did happen.”

“Oh, something happened all right,” I spit out. “You got wasted and told her how terrible it is to be getting married to a commoner.”

Arthur closes his eyes for a second and purses his lips. “I never said that. I was just talking about the Internet trolls.”

“You didn’t say the bit about me being an accident-prone mechanic’s daughter?”

“Yes, but that’s out of context.”

“What could possibly be the right context for that?” I shout. “You know what? Don’t answer that. It really doesn’t matter because I’m not going to be with someone who lies to me.”

“Now, wait. I didn’t lie—”

“You just didn’t tell me, right? Totally different.” Sarcasm drips from my tongue. I turn on my heel and start for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Back where I belong.”

Instead of going home, where I know the press will be waiting, I have Xavier drive me to Nikki’s. I stand on the sidewalk and push the buzzer, holding it for over a minute before I hear her voice. “This better be life or death.”

My voice cracks. “It’s me. Let me in.”

When I get to her flat on the second floor, I dissolve.

Nikki, who’s in her jammies already, doesn’t say anything, but just wraps her arms around me and lets me sob for a minute. When I feel like I can talk, I pull back and make my way to the couch to sit down.

“Did you guys break up?”

I shake my head. “No, but I think we’re going to.”

“Oh, hon. I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”

“It was awful. Humiliating on so many levels. Arthur wouldn’t even look at me the entire time, so everyone there knows he’s furious with me.” I sniffle and Nikki hurries over to the kitchen to retrieve a box of tissues.

“As if that weren’t bad enough, when I was leaving, that witch, Brooke Beddingfield, showed up at the palace—looking and smelling perfect, of course. She told me that she slept over at the palace during the ice storm and she and Arthur got really drunk and he ‘unburdened’ himself about how stressed out he is to be marrying someone so far out of his class, which is just really shitty on so many levels.”

“Wait. Back up. That’s too much information to process. They had a sleepover?”

“Apparently.”

“Like a sleepover with naked tickle fights sort of sleepover, or she just happened to have slept in one of the five thousand bedrooms at the palace?”

“It’s five hundred and I don’t know. Either way, he kept it from me and I’m pissed.” My stomach clenches at the thought of them doing anything naked. I take a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t think I can marry him, Nikki. Not if he’s going around telling people like her that he’s having second thoughts about me. It’s just such a betrayal.” My voice cracks. “And you know the worst part? He made her eggs, Nikki. Eggs.”

“Umm, of everything you’ve just told me, that doesn’t seem like the worst part to me.”

“You don’t get it. That’s our thing. His and mine. He makes these delicious eggs and I pretend it’s the only reason I’m with him. But now that’s ruined because he made them for her.”

“Ahh…and he kept it from you.”

“And he kept it from me.”

“Is it possible she’s lying?”

“At this point I’d say anything is possible, but I’m pretty sure she stayed the night—and I know without a doubt that he lied about it.” I sigh. “Oh, shit, I just realized something. Remember how he’s been on his phone at all hours for the past few months? All secretive?”

“That son of a bitch. If he’s messing around on you, I’m going to slice off his jewels with my thinning scissors. Hand to God.”