10. “The Great War” - Taylor Swift
“The Great War” - Taylor Swift
Henry’s bathroom is massive, with a sunken tub next to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, twin shower stalls—because why have one when you can have two?
—and a marble vanity that stretches the entire length of the space.
The mirror wall above it shows that my dress is just as wrinkled as I was afraid it would be, but that can’t be helped.
Smoothing it out as best I can, I toss Henry’s balled-up clothes in the hamper.
I place my hands on the marble counter and breathe—slow, lung-filling breaths just like my private yoga instructor teaches. It helps calm my pounding heart, but it can’t slow the thoughts racing around in my head.
I know Henry’s right. The threat is real.
If it wasn’t for his paranoia, I’d be in a coffin right now.
But that doesn’t negate the fact that he is just as much of a threat to me as a sniper is.
If I allow him even a grain of trust, he will use it to exploit me and leave me for dead.
I will not recover from another broken heart.
I walk to the window of the great room. The city looks the same as always. You’d never know the monarch had just narrowly escaped assassination. I pull my phone out of my bag, ignore the dozens of missed calls, and dial Maisie.
She answers on the first ring. “Oh my god! Are you okay? I’ve been so worried—”
“I’m fine,” I break in. “It looks like I’ll be staying at Henry’s penthouse for a few days until this whole thing blows over.”
“You’re staying with Henry?”
“Yeah.” I blow out a breath. “The security here is amazing, so . . .” No need for her to know I’m being kept against my will. “Could you bring my things, including all of the financial records? I may as well get to the bottom of this while I’m stuck here.”
“Of course. I’ll have Daphne pack your bags, and I’ll get everything from the office. What about Tundra?”
“Bring him too, please.” I completely forgot about him in the mayhem. What kind of dog mom am I? I don’t know what the Atlantis’s pet policy is, but since I’m currently being held hostage by its owner, he can either put up with my dog or let me go home.
Two hours later, Maisie appears at the door with coffee and three PPOs laden with bags. Tundra strains at his leash when he spots me.
Maisie releases him, and he vaults across the room toward me, making me nearly topple into the table in the foyer. We’ll need to work on his approach. I bury my face into his soft black fur. A month ago, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone told me a dog could be this therapeutic.
“Where do you want this stuff?” She hands me my latte. Henry’s security team doesn’t look excited about their new status as bellhops.
I realize I have no idea where Henry is intending for me to stay, nor do I know where he is. “Just drop everything there,” I say, motioning to the middle of the foyer. If he’s going to treat me like a prisoner, he can carry my bags himself.
The security officers seem uncertain but do as they’re told before quickly skirting out of the room. Tundra has lost interest in me and is sniffing the various objects in the great room.
I take a tentative sip of coffee, then raise my brows. “I’d forgotten what French vanilla tastes like.”
Maisie grins. “New coffee shop.”
“Thank you for that. And for bringing all of this. Although I don’t intend to stay more than a few days.” I arch a brow at the pile of suitcases. “You’ve packed enough for an entire year.”
“Not for the queen of Wesbourne,” she says. “We didn’t know what you’d need, so Daphne thought we should include different options.”
“And here I thought you brought my whole closet.”
Shrugging, she looks around. “I’m sure there’s room for it here. My god, this place is huge.”
“It’s ridiculous,” I say. “Wait until you see the master bath.”
If Maisie is surprised that I seem to know my way around Henry’s flat, she doesn’t say anything. I give her a brief tour of the rooms I’ve seen so far, and together we gape in awe. I may live in a palace, but it’s old, drafty, and its furnishings carry their value in age, not sleek beauty.
She runs her hand over the smooth curved edge of the bathtub. “I could sleep in here. No joke. Give me a duvet and a pillow, and I would 100 percent curl up in this a happy girl.”
We walk back through the master bedroom, where I draw her attention to the glass wall and away from the rumpled bedding.
Before we reach the door, she lays a hand on my arm.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about something. I’ve been waiting for the right time, and after everything that happened today, I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing, but they say time is fleeting, and it could have gone so wrong today, and I—”
“Maisie,” I say. “Just tell me.”
She takes a deep breath and bites her lip. “Okay. Remember I told you I met someone? Someone amazing?”
“Of course. I want to hear all about it.”
“Well, I—
“Celia!” The yell comes from the great room.
I roll my eyes. “Keep going.”
But before she can continue, we hear the sound of breaking glass. “Good god,” I mutter and stalk out there.
Henry is standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, a pile of broken ceramic at his feet, and tongue-lolling Tundra at his side. His irritated gaze collides with mine.
“Care to explain why there’s a dog in my house?”
I study him for a moment. “He’s mine.” Turning to Maisie, I say, “I’ll walk you to the door,” ignoring her curious glances as we walk to the foyer. I refuse to feed her fantasies that there will ever be anything between Henry and me besides hostility. Feeding hers only leads to feeding mine.
“Now tell me about this guy,” I say once we’re in the foyer.
“It can wait for another time. It looks like you have your hands full. I’ll be by tomorrow with your latte.”
“No, seriously.” I grab her arm. “I’ve got time.” Talking to Maisie means not talking to Henry.
She looks over my shoulder. “I’ve got a ton of stuff waiting for me at the office. But we’ll catch up soon, okay?”
After she leaves, I force myself to walk back to the great room, but Henry has disappeared, along with Tundra and the broken glass. I briefly wonder what it was he broke before landing on the more important question of what Henry has done with my dog.
I scan the large room before finally spotting them in the furthest corner, near a small sofa. Henry is sitting with Tundra between his legs. If the look on the dog’s face is any indication, he is receiving the world’s best pets.
“Glad to see you’re not holding a grudge,” I say as I move toward them.
Henry looks up but keeps his hands on the massive animal at his feet. “I’m not a monster. Who could stay mad at this guy?”
I pat my leg encouragingly, but Tundra only looks at me with calm indifference as Henry keeps stroking him. I scowl at both of them. “You’re not stealing my dog.”
Henry chuckles but doesn’t look the least bit remorseful. “I might. He clearly likes me more than you do.”
I like who you used to be.
“Tundra,” I say softly, and pat my leg again. “Come here, boy.” My cajoling has no effect until Henry finally releases him. Then he bounds over for his second serving of pets. And they say dogs are loyal.
Several hours later, the sky has turned black and is glowing with the lights of the city. I’ve settled into the corner of one of Henry’s sofas, Tundra at my feet, papers strewn upon every surface within arm’s length.
I still can’t make sense of the financial state of the royal household. How have royal families in the past managed to pay for multiple state dinners a year, not to mention designer wardrobes and luxury cars?
The Civil List covers about 20 percent of our annual budget, meaning I need to scrape together millions from somewhere to cover the rest, and that’s assuming we greatly reduce expenditures. I toss a stapled copy of last month’s expenses aside. This is a nightmare.
Henry walks into the room, carrying a bag of pretzels and a bowl of peanut M&Ms. He sets them on the coffee table and sits down next to me, a box of papers between us. “You got bored enough to rob a”—he picks up a sheet and scans it—“filing cabinet?”
“Very funny.” I yank it from his hand and place it back into the box. Trying to get this reorganized may be the death of me.
“What is all this?” he asks, reaching for a handful of pretzels.
“Just monarch-related things.”
“Since when is the monarch required to wade through boxes of financial papers?”
“Since today.” I study the page in my hand.
It shows that the previous royal family—Henry’s—received a very large income from outside the monarchy, but there are no details as to where it came from.
Likely an estate or two, but how they were able to generate that kind of money from a dying industry escapes me.
“Careful. I’ve heard that those furrows in your brow can become permanent if you hold them too long.”
I relax my forehead on instinct. My mother would suffer a collapsed artery if she could see me right now. “I’ll relax when you leave.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll help.”
“No, thanks.” I move the paper to the bottom of the stack in my lap.
“Come on, C. It’s late and you should be in bed.”
I shake my head and study the figures on another page. “I told you earlier. I won’t be able to sleep.”
“Then at least let me help.”
I toss the pile back into the box. I have no idea how I’m going to get to the bottom of this, and despite what I said, I’m exhausted.
I study Henry. He’s still wearing that soft sweater and his slutty glasses, both of which do funny things to my insides.
I look away. “Fine. Tell me how your family makes its money.”
He coughs into his fist. “Excuse me?”
“If you want to help, that’s what I need to know.”
“Why do you need to know that?”