Morning sunlight filters into the room. Victoria has been up for almost an hour. She's counted every last line on the ceiling by now, has run through every last scenario.
It's boiled down to this.
She's made a bad choice. No, more than that, she's made a horrible choice. Breaking out from under her mother's thumb, that's still something that she wants to do. But this? Sleeping around and getting close to someone like Matt?
It's not a good idea. Victoria is a princess, and that means she's going to be held to a higher standard. No matter what she does here, in Georgia, it's going to make no difference. Victoria is still going to have to get on that plane. She's going to have to finish her tour through the States. And then, when she returns home, she's going to have to get married.
Slowly, she sits up. She's careful not to move around too much, lest she wake up the slumbering biker beside her. The dress is a mess. The skirt still bears the mark of the night before, and her purse is nowhere to be seen.
It takes almost three minutes to find her high heels and the purse turns out to be sitting on the coffee table. A quick search through it reveals that everything is right where it's supposed to be.
This is for the best, thinks Victoria. I have to make choices, and they have to be good ones. Last night...was not a good choice.
She debates, for a moment, about leaving a note.
In the end, she decides that the best thing to do is just leave. This isn't right. She cannot do this to Matt. She cannot do this to her parents. More importantly, she cannot do this to herself.
All of her life, Victoria has craved freedom. More than that, though, she's craved love. That's what she's fighting her mother for, after all: love, not a cheap fling from a bar.
Victoria takes a deep breath. She smooths down the front of her ruined skirt and steps out into the flickering, fading light of the apartment hallway.
There's a dog sitting outside of one of the nearby doors. It's a large thing, with wide eyes and gray fur around his eyes. Victoria smiles at the thing; she's not allowed to have a pet due to her father's rather severe allergies.
As such, she resists the urge to pet it.
Again, another sacrifice made for her parents. Victoria wonders aloud, “Do they even know how much they ask of me?”
Of course, no one answers her, and she has no choice but to make her way down the stairs on her own. A gray-haired man has settled in behind the front desk. He glances up at her when she walks into the lobby and gives her a nod. “Morning. Need anything before you go?”
“Directions would be nice,” admits Victoria. “I had a friend drive me here last night, and I'm not entirely sure how to get back to my hotel.”
“Where are you staying?”
Victoria gives the man her address. He types a few things into the computer, keyboard clack clacking beneath arthritis twisted fingers.
Finally, he nods. “All right. You good with your memory, or do you need me to write it down?”
“No,” says Victoria. “I'm good at remembering.”
# # #
The walk back to the hotel seems more like a walk through a battlefield. It's longer than she expected. By the time she gets to the front lobby, there's going to be no way to avoid her parents, partly because the sun is up in the sky by now and partly because her father is standing there.
His face is red with anger. One fist slams down onto the front counter, successfully terrorizing the poor woman working on the other side. Her hair is hanging out of her bun. The name tag on the front of her gray shirt reads Marta.
“Father,” gasps Victoria. “What are you doing?”
Her father, Daniel, spins around. He looks livid. “Victoria? Victoria! Where have you been? No, I don't want to know! Not right now. Come here.”
Victoria pauses. Her lips draw into a thin line. “Father, quit bothering that poor woman. Why would she know anything about where I've been?”
Daniel sputters for a moment. He points one shaking finger at the hallway. “Go. Go to your room and wait there while I find your mother.”
“Father—”
“Now,” he hisses.
Victoria finds she has no choice but to listen. The hallway is empty. Her bedroom door is sitting partially open. She steps inside, eager for a few minutes to get herself together before the unavoidable meeting with her mother.
She slips out of her dress and changes into something more presentable. The cream and pale pink gown she chooses is her mother's favorite. Victoria hopes it might help sway her mother's mood.
“Victoria,” screeches Gabriella as she floats into the room. Her hair is a mess. She's still wearing her dressing gown from the night before. “Heavens, girl! What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I didn't want to spend all night here,” says Victoria, firmly. Then, in a softer voice, she adds, “But I should have left a note so you didn't worry.”
“Worry? Worry? Victoria, we thought you'd been taken!”
“I went out for a drink, Mother! That's it!”
Gabriella gasps, recoiling as if she's been slapped. “Drinking? Victoria!”
“It's the truth, Mother. That's what happened,” says Victoria firmly. “I'm not a child anymore. I'm not here to just be your little dress-up doll and do whatever you and Father say. I wanted to go out, so that's what I did.”
“I've had enough of this,” says Gabriella in a low voice. “Victoria, I've had enough of your disobedience. You say you aren't a child, but that's exactly how you act! To think running off like that is okay, that endangering yourself is okay, that's how a child behaves!”
Victoria bites her tongue. There's so much more she wants to say, but it's pointless. Her mother isn't listening.
Her mother never listens.
# # #
They leave first thing the next morning. Victoria is kept at her mother's side the entire trip. She is given no privacy, not even when they land on the ground and head to their next hotel. This one is a scheduled affair, the sort with a chauffeur and room service and marble floors.
Rather than enjoy the luxury of the building, Victoria finds it almost stifling. The young princess really hadn't been lying when she called Matt's apartment quaint—it was cute, real in a way this sort of place isn't.
When she was a child, Victoria loved trips like this. She would race through the halls like each new hotel was a fairytale castle of her own creation. There was wonder in every new crevice, in every new room.
Now, she finds it sterile.
With a sigh, she sits a little less than straight in the soft cushioned chair. Beside her, Gabriella scowls. “Don't slouch.”
“I'm not slouching.”
“Victoria, don't argue with me. You've already done enough damage by running off. So, please, try to act like a proper lady for once.”
Indignant, Victoria sits up, spine snapping straight. “Excuse me, for once?”
“For once,” repeats Gabriella. “Raising your voice, by the by, is far from proper. Keep it at room level.”
“I'm not going to whisper,” says Victoria, painted red lips twisting into a scowl. “You're being ridiculous!”
Daniel clears his throat. He holds up the key ring from his spot at the counter. There are two silver keys dangling from it, each one labeled with white numbers. As always, they're right next to each other.
Victoria stands up with a huff and smooths down the front of her skirt. “Great. Which room is mine?”
“We're sharing a room,” says Gabriella, taking one of the keys. “Your father will have a room to himself.”
Victoria spins around and stares at her mother with wide, uncomprehending eyes. “What?”
“You heard me,” says Gabriella. “I gave you my trust, Victoria, and you broke it. You not only went out on your own, in the middle of the night, but you went drinking. Do you know what could have happened to you? What could have happened to our country?”
“The country? Be honest, Mother, that's all you care about!”
“It's not all I care about,” snaps Gabriella. “But we are the rulers there. I am the queen, Victoria, and you are the princess. Our next in line! You have to set an example for the rest of country!”
“They don't care about us! We're a washed up title,” spits Victoria. The words won't quit coming once she starts to talk. “We're nothing more than a faceplate. They do whatever they want. They do whatever the rest of the world wants, too! We're nothing but a laughing stock! Oh, there they go again. There go the royal family with their high-collared gowns and their last century—”
Gabriella sighs. “Is this about the dresses, Victoria? Darling, we've been over this!”
“You've been over it,” spits Victoria. She raises a hand, about to jab a finger in her mother's direction, but Daniel clears his throat again.
“Ladies,” says the King. “I feel this is best a conversation that we continue in private.”
“I feel,” says Gabriella firmly, “this is best a conversation we don't continue at all.”