After three hours of whirlwind activity, during which time I've been poked, prodded, pinched, measured, painted, straightened, and jabbed, I'm still not convinced that I look like a princess, but I definitely don’t look like the same antiques consultant who first entered the country a few days ago.

Eileen called to arrange for Shelly's stylist, Rick Evans, to meet us. At least, I guess she did, because suddenly he was there. When he arrived, he wasn't just carrying a pair of shoes, but also had his arms full of an assortment of different clothing options, which he promptly started shoving me into. Whenever he liked something, he barked an order to the three assistants trailing in his wake.

While Ricky fussed with my clothing, a pretty young woman with long red hair and a thick gold ring through her lower lip appeared with the biggest box of cosmetics I've ever seen. She shoved me into a chair and went to work painting my face.

Now I have a fully painted-on face, that I've been assured will look fantastic on tonight’s news programs when they air footage from the press conference – and hair that's not only straightened but pulled back in an impossibly elegant twist.

My feet have been tucked into a pair of sedate black pumps that probably – definitely – cost more than my plane ticket here. After discarding one option after another, Rick finally settled on a shell pink suit and paired it with a demure string of pearls he'd borrowed from Shelly.

Looking in the mirror, I must admit that I look prettier, more polished, and slimmer than I've ever looked before. What I don't know is if I like the appearance. I guess I was comfortable with the old me.

A door swings open and Tessa bursts into the room.

She skids to a halt and takes in my appearance. She points at my shoes. "No matter what else happens," she says in a deadly serious voice. "Those are great shoes and make marrying Prince Lucas worthwhile."

Leave it to Tessa to find the silver lining. And she’s right. The shoes are great.

Her eyes meet mine and her brow furrows with concern. "How are you holding up."

I reach up and toy with the strand of pearls, rolling them between my fingers. "I'm not sure. Everything –"

I take a deep breath. “– Everything is happening so fast. I feel like Alice."

Tessa takes a seat. "Feeling overwhelmed?"

I nod. "I don't know what to focus on. And I have no control over anything."

Tessa, more than anyone alive, knows how much I need to be in control. She knows how the stress of being shuffled from one foster home to another, of never knowing what was going to happen at the next house, has taken a toll. She knew because she was in the same situation, only worse, since she'd had a special needs brother to worry about as well.

She stands and puts both arms on my shoulders and stares directly into my eyes. "I promise you, you have nothing to worry about. Just look for something to cling to, something that acts like a buoy in the middle of the ocean, a fixed point."

It’s an exercise we used growing up. Our foster parent had been a psychologist and taught us it in an attempt to help us better cope with the stress of moving from one location to another.

Tessa cocks her head to one side. "If it were me, I'd latch onto that new husband of yours."

"But I don't know him."

God, how could I have been so stupid as to marry Lucas. Just because he made my body feel things I never imagined possible. The thought makes me blush.

Tessa's eyes narrow. She pokes my sternum. "I see that blush. As soon as there's time, I want to hear all about it."

'There's not much to tell," I mutter.

"I doubt that, but there's not time to argue. C'mon. I promised that bossy, stick woman. Elsie ... Emily ... Erlene ..."

"Eileen," I supply.

"Whatever –," Tessa has clearly already labeled her as non-important. "I told her I'd have you where you need to be in-" she looks at her watch, "about a minute and a half."

Tessa leads me out of the room and into a narrow hallway.

"Focus on Lucas. Not only are you married to him, but this situation is his making, and he knows how to navigate these particular waters better than you can possibly hope to at this point."

We reach a small, curtained off area. Through a human sized gap in the curtains I see all of Lucas family sitting quietly while Eileen stands behind a microphone, talking to the crowd.

Butterflies dance in my stomach. I take a step backwards, teetering on my unfamiliar high heels.

"I can't do this."