They don't continue the conversation, and Victoria doesn't get her own room. Not at that hotel or the next one or any of the others. She is kept under an invisible lock and key. The chain around her neck has finally been pulled taut, until there's barely room to breathe.
Victoria blames her constant nausea on the stress of suddenly being watched twenty-four/seven. The clock hands move too slowly. The trip through the States seems to stretch on forever.
Each day that passes is worse than the last. Victoria's bones feel like they don't fit inside of her body. She scrubs at her face, constantly trying to reapply concealer so the shadows under her eyes don't show.
“Hurry up,” urges her mother. “We have to be there in ten minutes.”
“I'm almost done,” assures Victoria. “Just give me another moment.”
“Victoria,” says Gabriella. “Let's go. We cannot afford to be late again.”
Victoria snorts. “You say that like I'm the reason we were late last time. That was Father's fault.”
“Yes,” Daniel says amiably. “But it's going to be your fault this time if you don't hurry. And you know how much your mother detests being late.”
With a frustrated sigh, Victoria drops the makeup into the sink. She pats her pulled-up curls one last time, turns around, and nearly falls over when a wave of dizziness hits her. Victoria stumbles sideways, grabbing onto the sink in an effort to stop herself from falling.
It works but only just barely.
Gabriella finally pulls open the bathroom door. Ignoring her daughter's indignant squawk, she says, “We're leaving now.”
“Fine,” snaps Victoria. “Let's just go get this over with.”
Daniel takes his daughter by the arm and tells her, “Just remember to smile, darling. Things will be over before you know it, and then we'll all be right back at home.”
Victoria doubts it, but she doesn't argue. Instead, she settles in for a night of miserable conversations with other dignitaries, governors, and military officers.
What a fun way to spend her early twenties. She wishes she could be like other women her age. It sounds stupid even in her own mind because she only knows other dignitaries, like herself. The only thing she knows of normal girls are the hijinks shown in the media. Obviously, neither one is a good example of how a twenty-year-old leads her life.
But Matt—she cannot get him out of her mind. The man had been free, simply put. He had been free to make his own choices, no matter how rash or ignorant they might have seemed. He had been free, and she isn't, and it's horrible.
# # #
The bitter thoughts last long into the night, right up until she's introduced to Senator Banks’ wife, Cassandra. The woman is practically glowing, and she looks to be almost five months into her pregnancy.
Cassandra holds out one gloved hand. “It's a true pleasure to meet you. My, in the presence of a true princess!”
Victoria gives the woman a small smile. Her gaze keeps going back to the bulge of Cassandra's stomach.
The woman follows her gaze and her smile becomes that much wider. “I'm hoping she grows up to be just like you.”
“She?”
“I couldn't wait,” says Cassandra with a tittering laugh. “We had the doctors tell us, soon as they could. No, this little bugger is going to be a princess, just like you.”
A princess.
The word sinks claws into Victoria's mind. She closes her eyes, draws in a deep breath, and tries not to be sick.
Just like you.
It's impossible to get a moment to sneak away. In the end, Victoria ends up paying the teenage daughter of one of the other party attendees to run out to a nearby store and pick up a package of pregnancy testers.
As soon as the girl comes back, Victoria excuses herself to the bathroom with as much decorum as she can muster. It's hard because she feels a little bit like she's about to fall apart.
It's already been a week and a half since she last saw Matt, and there has been no one before him, and there has been no one since him.
The little pink line just confirms her fears.
She's pregnant with the child of a Georgia biker. The world spins around her. Victoria slumps down onto the toilet, her gown falling around her legs like some sort of broken shield.
Broken—that's a good word to describe her right now. Victoria feels like she's shattered, like a porcelain doll that's been pushed off a high shelf, too broken apart to actually be fixed. Each breath is harder than the last, until she's hyperventilating into her own hands, and the tears won't stop falling.
Music from the main room filters into the bathroom.
The sad lyrics make Victoria's heart twist up that much more, until the tears blur her vision and her hands smear her makeup. She is not sure how long she spends in there, curled up on herself, still clutching the positive pregnancy strip.
Eventually, she pushes herself up, steeling herself, but there's no one else in the bathroom. The young princess goes over to the mirror and stares at her reflection.
It's strange, seeing that ruddy-faced girl looking back at her. She has nowhere to go and no one to turn to. But the feeling isn't unusual. She never has anyone to turn to. It's obvious, to her at least, that this is a problem she's going to have to face on her own. It's obvious there will be no fixing this with other people's help.
“It's okay,” says Victoria to her reflection. “You can take care of yourself. You can take care of this.”
She doesn't know how, but in that moment, the only thing that really matters is getting herself presentable once more. She washes her face and uses the remover in her purse to get rid of the mascara smeared under her eyes. After that, it's almost easy. There's makeup in her purse, always, and Victoria can make herself look beautiful no matter what.
She resolves, in that moment, that no one will know.
No one will ever know.