“Guess who got a royal invite this morning?” Katee waved an ivory silk envelope engraved with the Monterran royal crest in my direction.
“Me?” I choked on the buttery croissant and greasy crumbs fell on my lap. The flaky croissants oozed with butter and glistening strawberry jam. Scrambled eggs and spicy sausages completed the morning meal along with fresh fruit, coffee, and juice.
If I kept eating like this, I’d never get up on the silks.
“The one and only.” Katee stood en pointe and then handed me the note with a graceful flourish. “It says right here, Signorina Afton Lane.”
Immediate silence fell over the breakfast table while everyone stared at me. Savannah, Finley, Katee. Everyone except Sloan. She looked down at her plate, but her fork didn’t move. Envy, surprise? No more than me. I knew what they were thinking. Who was this upstart Philly girl? First, I arrived two days ago in the royal limo. Now a royal letter. You’d think I’d get the royal stare down from the girls, but quite the opposite. Everyone spoke at once, giggling and swooning, and begging me to open it.
Except Finley.
She got from the table and left the room.
Pooh on her.
Emma nudged me and signed, Ignore her. She’s just jealous.
Hands shaking, I carefully opened the envelope so I wouldn’t tear the gold seal. I already had plans to frame the envelope when I got home. Inside, I found a handwritten note also engraved with the Monterran royal crest.
I scanned it quickly, but the words blurred.
“Tell us, Afton, what does it say?” Katee stood on her pointe shoes behind me trying to read over my shoulder. Sloan was especially quiet, as if the sight of the royal crest had upset her. I made a mental note to ask her later if she was okay.
“Don’t torture us, y’all!” Savannah pleaded. “Besides I’ve got buns in the oven and they’re gonna burn if you don’t hurry up and read it.”
I had to smile. I didn’t realize how curious the girls were. It hit me then I wasn’t the only one bitten by the fairy tale bug. Monterra did that to you. Sneaked up on you even when you slept. Like princesses in our cozy rooms each with its own fireplace. The pure white sheets hugged me like a second skin and I swear my pillow was as light as air.
I stared at the lovely handwriting and read the note out loud:
“My dear Afton,
“I am so pleased you changed your mind and accepted our invitation to perform at the festival. Emma, too. I am looking forward to meeting both of you! If you need anything, please do not hesitate to convey your wishes to Signor Vigo.
“Signed: Princess Katherina of Monterra.”
I pushed away my plate. I couldn’t eat another bite. Her Royal Highness wanted to meet me. And Emma, too. Now I was certain she was our mysterious benefactor, though I kept that to myself. Glowing, I tucked the note back into the envelope and smiled. Emma was smiling, too.
“What does the princess mean, ‘you changed your mind?’” Sloan asked carefully. Her question set me back a moment, but I don’t think she meant to embarrass me. She seemed more preoccupied with her own thoughts.
“I—I wasn’t sure I could get away from my teaching job,” I fibbed. No way would I tell her we didn’t have the extra money for Emma to come with me. I was certain I was the only performer here who had to scrounge for coins for subway fare under sofa cushions.
“I saw your video online and the festival is lucky to have y’all,” Savannah said, holding a tray of hot buns, and then added, “Lord, I hope I don’t disappoint y’all with my sweet goods. What do you think?”
She insisted we try her upside-down apple buns and sweet cinnamon espresso before we took off for this morning’s rehearsal. We took our meals at the hostel and spent every waking minute working on our routines in the big circus tent at the festival grounds.
I bit into the warm, gooey bun. I’ve never tasted such a perfect combo of crunch and sweetness that melted on my tongue. Soul-melty. Savannah was preparing a wedding-size-cake for her performance art, a confectionary castle made from candy and cake filled with cream.
“These are amazing, Savannah!” Katee said between bites.
“The best, Georgia girl,” I said, downing a second cup of strong espresso. Thick, sweet, and with a kick. I loved it.
“Thank y’all,” she said with a big grin. “I intend to put Monterra on the map as the best little baking kingdom in the world!”
With her big, blue eyes shining, Savannah begged for guinea pig tasters. Emma was happy to stay and oblige. Savannah hugged me, thanking me for loaning her my little sister. I had no doubt she would do all the talking and Emma the eating.
Fortunately, since our arrival, no one asked me why Emma didn’t speak. I was grateful to Signor Freddie who must have told them and they were all very respectful, even Finley, which surprised me.
After breakfast, the squeal of female voices filled the hostel. I still couldn’t believe they called this mini-palace a hostel. It was total chaos. The bunch of us girls running up and down the stairway, grabbing workout clothes and gym bags. We barely had time to breathe.
Only three days left until we performed on the last night of the festival. We had our own special circus tent set up to accommodate our different arts. I heard rumors that a big, Monterran star would open for us to add to the excitement, but I had no idea who it was.
Katee threw a jacket over her white tutu and black leotard and hung her pointe shoes over her shoulder. She caressed them like they were stitched from royal silk, making me wonder why they were so special to her.
Finley reappeared at the last minute, gliding down the staircase with her violin case strapped to her back. I rolled my eyes. That girl loved to make an entrance. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. We all agreed it was a good morning since she only made one sarcastic putdown when Sloan misplaced her notes for her performance reading. The violinist said it was no great loss to the literary world.
What surprised me was that Sloan had no comeback. She found the notes, but she seemed distracted. She was a New York lawyer in her day job, but her art was writing. She’d published a bestselling novel about a royal romance between an American girl and a duke that hit the international charts. Print, e-book, audio. Even more exciting, a video game for girls was in the works. It was a huge hit here in Monterra with her first print run in the thousands selling out within hours. Her performance in the festival revolved around a staged reading of an excerpt from her novel, Royal Affair, with dancers and musicians interpreting her story.
I could hardly wait.
Who doesn’t love a royal romance?
Not that it could happen to me. I’d freak out if a prince or somebody royal noticed me. Sure, it’s fun to dream.
But for girls like me, that’s as far as it goes.
* * * * *
A light rain bounced off my pink spandex leotard trimmed with sequins, making dark polka dots. I should go back and get my sweater, but the air was humid, prompting me to leave it behind. I wore blue jeans over my leotard and comfortable flats. I slung my backpack with my dried rosin and towels and other stuff over my shoulder and charged ahead. I decided to chance it and headed toward the festival grounds. I moved at a quick pace, the loose stones crunching under my feet as I followed the worn path winding through the woods.
I was anxious to test my rigging.
I had a tense moment yesterday when I climbed up on the silks. Something didn’t feel right. Loose. Shaky. I thought it was me. I still hadn’t gotten over kissing my Monterran knight. Never in my wildest fantasies did I ever think I’d kiss a gorgeous stranger. Despite the whir of doubts and revved up emotion that I was either a fool or the bravest girl in the kingdom, my brain swung back to reality.
I had a job to do.
Signor Freddie had a special team check my rigging and they texted me earlier that everything was a go and ready for me to rehearse. I was so excited to get up on the silks, I paid little attention to what was going around me. A squirrel scampered by. Birds singing. In Italian? I wondered, and then laughed at my dumb joke.
I was so into my own world, I didn’t see the woman at first.
But I heard the sound of footsteps behind me.
Then a sweet, floral scent. I sniffed. Strong, as if the wearer wrapped herself up in it. My nose twitched. I should have ignored it and kept going, but the sticky air made it even more pronounced. Familiar, somehow. As if I smelled it before.
Scent overkill wasn’t anything new to me. Emma was always filling her room with flowers she grew in the garden. I shrugged it off. I was eager to stretch out on the silks and rev up my body for what I hoped would be the best week of my life.
I’d hoped Ricco would show up with the other workmen yesterday but so far, not a rippling muscle in sight. Most likely, I was a one kiss wonder.
I picked up my pace, and for a teensy moment, I allowed myself the luxury of reliving my Monterran stud sighting. I wasn’t counting on seeing him again, but if I did—
Good heavens. What was this? A woman stood on the trail, staring at me so intently I had to stop and look at her. She wasn’t there a minute ago. Where did she come from? The path was narrow and the woods surrounding it were thick with overgrown brush. A secret path? She must be a local.
I looked closer.
Nope. She had to be a tourist in that getup. Floppy straw hat with fake flowers, long coat. Sunglasses. And rubber rain boots? I couldn’t see her face. Her eyes. I wanted to see her eyes. Were they empty? Sad? I didn’t catch a happy vibe from her, but I didn’t feel threatened either.
She didn’t make a move toward me, she just . . . . stood there.
“Excuse me, please,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “I can’t be late for rehearsal. It’s very important to me.” Why I had to explain myself to her, I don’t know. She didn’t move. “Excuse me, scusa!” I repeated in Italian.
She reached out with her hand to touch me. I jumped back. Weird. I got a funny, shaky feeling just then. I noticed she kept her other hand close to her body, never moving it.
“Are you in trouble? Can I help you?” I asked, telling myself not to worry. If I wasn’t already nervous about appearing before TRH (Their Royal Highnesses) without embarrassing myself, I didn’t need a strange woman adding to my nerves short circuiting.
She shook her head, biting her lip. Then she took a step back, then two. As if she knew I was nervous and forced herself not to come any closer. Oh, God, was she stalking me? I’ve heard stories about people becoming obsessed with film stars, but a girl on the silks? One thing I did know. She’d come looking for me. Confronted me, and seen whatever she came to see.
And now the show was over.
She turned and ran back into the undergrowth.
I blinked. Then again. This was getting weirder and weirder.
I was beginning to think this fairy tale had a dark side. The woman had attitude, like she was in charge of the situation, and I had no choice but to let her have her way. Uppity, wasn’t she? Then I remembered what Ricco said about Monterrans being friendly and I tried to shake it off.
She’s just curious. A little strange, but harmless.
It’s amazing what we do to rationalize a situation because we don’t want to face it. I’d met her stare with my own, never backing down. But I didn’t push her either. I wanted her to go, leave, be done with it. I had the chance of a lifetime to make something out of myself and I didn’t want to blow it because a lonely woman had nothing better to do than stalk the performers.
I made a mental note to ask the other girls if they’d seen her.
Shaking off the moment, I headed down the path, picking up my pace. I called in a favor to myself to get my mojo back. You know, the I-was-a-good-girl-and-didn’t-blow-my-budget routine we all use to boost ourselves up when we’re down.
Still, I had the creepiest feeling the woman followed me and was hiding somewhere, watching me when I entered the tent and kicked off my flats. I always enter the ring right foot first, a habit I’ve had since I was a kid.
I looked over my shoulder. I didn’t see her.
But I got a whiff of the same strong, scent I smelled earlier as I started my thirty-minute warmup, stretching and getting the kinks out. I’d smelled it yesterday, too, but I chalked it up to belonging to another performer. I know now it didn’t.
When I was ready, I rubbed my sweaty hands up and down my hips, and then covered my palms with dried rosin to keep my grip strong. I grabbed the red silks and scrambled up the flowing fabric, wrapping them around my feet and wrists. I shivered on my way up. It was chilly in the tent. I could hear the soft sound of raindrops beating against the heavy canvas. I didn’t mind. I thought the gentle rain added to the event like a magical mist. Then I heard storm clouds rumbling in the distance. Big, fat ones.
A bad omen?
Not here in Monterra.
Not in my fairy tale you don’t.