As if it's not bad enough that Victoria must leave behind the man of her dreams and throw out her happy ending, Queen Gabriella is trying to make every aspect of it miserable. And as a princess in a foreign land, there truly isn't much that Victoria can do in response.
But there are a few things.
Victoria rips open her luggage right there, while she's standing in the hallway. She pulls out one of her nightgowns, the sort that no one wants to admit she owns. It was bought for Victoria on the eve of her sixteenth birthday, in preparation for her eventual husband. Even at such an early stage in her life, Queen Gabriella had been determined to find the perfect husband for Victoria.
And now, that planning is going to be the Queen's undoing.
It's childish, Victoria knows. She's also aware of the fact that she will later regret doing this.
But in that moment, she can only think about the note the Queen had left for her.
Try to dress nicely. Just because he's all right wedding a whore doesn't mean you must flaunt it at every turn.
She pulls off her green gown. She throws off her bra. She leaves both of them laying on the hotel floor. She pulls on the nightgown. It's a skimpy thing, with a deep neckline and a lot of cleavage showing. Gauzy, blue fabric clings to her full breasts, and it stops at the middle of her thighs. Three thin ribbon straps hold it up over her shoulder.
It's not comfortable. Even thinking about stepping outside wearing this makes Victoria blush. The newspapers will have a field day over it. But then, they will continue to extort this no matter what Victoria wears or how she behaves.
And so, the young princess thinks that, if she's going to have to deal with this, if she must really accept her fate, then it's only fair to give her mother a reason to put the plan in action.
Victoria leaves her luggage in the hallway. She walks into the elevator with her head held up high. The music is low and steady. It helps ease her pounding heart.
Thankfully, the lobby is mostly empty. The resort is only for influential, high-end guests. And with the King and Queen in town, the entire second floor had been declared off-limits to others.
There is a young man standing behind the counter. He's tall and lanky, nothing like Matt at all. She's slightly disappointed, Victoria admits to herself. As a young teenager, there were countless nights spent watching cheesy romance movies and reading sordid novels about true love's first kiss. The thought that Matt would show up here, while unlikely, was also one she couldn't quite avoid.
After all, he has no idea their exit out of the country has been rescheduled for today. He has no idea that they will never be able to see each other again, to touch each other again, or to kiss each other again.
She walks up to the front counter, determined, and slams her palms down on the desk. “I was wondering about the breakfast you offer?”
The man blinks. He stares blatantly at Victoria's breasts. “Yes?”
“Well,” says Victoria, trying hard not to feel too self-aware. “Can you tell me about it?”
“Oh, right. Okay, so we have a breakfast buffet you can hit up. It's just down the hallway, and you've already paid for the room so you can basically get whatever you want from it. The only rule is that you can't take it outside the dining area.”
“Do you know what they have there?”
“Eggs,” says the young man. He can't quit staring at Victoria's breasts. “I know there are, like, five types of eggs. And probably some meats. Sausage and bacon and stuff like that.”
The eggs are acceptable, but her mother has always been very insistent that there should be no bacon in Victoria's diet, ever.
She smiles at the nameless young man, thanks him, and flounces off into the dining hall.
# # #
The dining hall is quiet enough. Victoria piles her plate up with greasy strips of bacon, cheese covered eggs, sausage, and hash browns. Rather than water or tea, she gets a cup of orange juice to go with her meal.
Several tables are set up, and Victoria sits in the one closest to the window so she can make sure there's no chance of missing her limo. People stare at her, open-mouthed and gawking. It's strange.
“This is worth it,” mutters Victoria under her breath. She pops another piece of bacon in her mouth. It's so salty that it makes her smile. The grease leaves smears on her fingers. “This will be completely worth the look on her face. Mother will never be able to live this down!”
For nearly an hour, Victoria sits in the dining hall, snacking on bacon and self-consciously tugging at the ribbon-made straps of her nightgown. It's so strange walking around with so much skin showing and briefly, she wonders if Matt would disapprove of so many other people seeing so much of her cleavage and bare skin.
The thought only enhances her sour mood. In the end, it doesn't matter what Matt thinks. No matter how much she loves him—no matter how much she longs for him—there will simply never be a chance for them to be together. It is nothing but a fraud, those stories where true love triumphs all else. It doesn't happen in the real world.
And so, when the limo pulls up in front of the hotel, Victoria wipes her hands off neatly on the napkin, stands up, nods at the man behind the counter, and steps outside. It's cool. The crisp autumn air leaves goosebumps on her skin, an awful sort of chill she just isn't used to. Princesses aren't meant to dress like this, and they aren't meant to walk around like this.
Still, she nods when the driver gets out. He's a tall, lanky man with coke-bottle glasses and high cheekbones. The top three buttons of his white button-up shirt are undone, and his jacket isn't hooked up in the front. Still, he nods at Victoria and walks around to meet her.
“Princess Victoria,” he says, his voice sickly sweet. There's a distinctly familiar accent to his words, but Victoria can't think of where he might be from. “It's a wonder to meet you. I'm so glad to have been given the privilege of driving you to the airport.”
“It's very nice to meet you, as well.” Victoria smiles at the man. His eyes stare firmly at her face, rather than drifting to her breasts or the bare flesh of her thighs. “Thank you for picking me up.”
“Do you have luggage?”
“No, I don't.”
“All right,” says the man. “Well, my name is Kenny, and I'm going to be your driver for the day. Are you ready to leave now, or do you need a few more moments?”
“No,” says Victoria. “We can go now. I must not miss my flight. It would make things rather difficult as far as getting home is concerned.”
Kenny smiles at her, but there's something distinctly poisonous about the look. “Of course. I'm simply doing my job, Princess Victoria. But don't worry, the traffic is very light today. We should make good time.”
Kenny is still talking when he opens up the passenger door in the back row of the limo. Victoria smiles at him and goes to step inside, but at the last moment, she realizes the limo isn't empty.
“Wait,” squeals Victoria, scrambling backwards. A hand lands between her shoulder blades. Kenny shoves at the princess, and the man in the limo grabs her by the wrist and pulls her inside.