Chapter 9 #2
was, especially tonight. The state dinner was going to be a meticulously orchestrated evening of diplomacy, elegance, and
cultural exchange, and both he and the Duke of Cumberland were expected to deliver speeches in front of government officials,
diplomats, and cultural leaders in a bid to strengthen diplomatic ties with the UK.
Jasper smiled, looking relieved. “Something like that,” he said again. “Actually, something exactly like that.”
Lauren glanced over at Norman, who was scrolling through his phone, either busy or pretending to look busy, Lauren couldn’t
tell.
“Okay,” Lauren said. “Here are a few things to remember before being seated. First, everyone loves to talk about themselves.
If you’re struggling, if you don’t know what to say, just ask a vague, open-ended question, like ‘What’s something from your
culture or work that you wish more people knew about?’”
“Is that what you told American presidents?” Jasper asked.
“I would have,” Lauren replied. “Because it works. But more importantly, just remember that everyone here—not just the team,
but everyone—is rooting for you. People are genuinely happy to have someone new in the mix, that you’re representing the family, the country,
and, on this visit, Her Majesty. They’re not out to trip you up, at least not today.”
Jasper nodded again, looking calmer and more thoughtful. “Quick, ask me a random question.”
Lauren didn’t hesitate. “Which sheep was your favorite?”
Jasper laughed, loud and true. “What?”
“You owned a sheep farm!” Lauren said, even though she was laughing, too. “C’mon. This should roll off the tongue.”
“Fine. It was Sweater Weather,” Jasper admitted.
“That’s literally the best name I’ve ever heard for a sheep,” Lauren said. “Why was she—wait, he?—the best?”
“When I took over the farm, the sheep there were Bluefaced Leicesters and Corriedales. Those breeds usually are responsible
for the wool used by decent clothing brands. But the gold standard comes from Merino—the absolute creme de la creme of wool—and
Sweater Weather was our first of many. She represented the moment I knew that farm was going to be something special. That
I had built something of my own. And she was lucky—a year later we won a contract with one of the biggest clothing manufacturers
in the world.”
“Is it normal for a wool farm owner to name their sheep?” Lauren asked.
“Of course! I loved being out there, never shied away from getting my hands dirty. They all had names. Ram-bo, Cottonball,
Woolbur. Fleece Witherspoon. I could go on . . .”
“Oh my God.” Lauren giggled.
“But Sweater Weather was stubborn as hel—as heck, and would literally yell at us when it was time to go in for the night.
And one time she escaped, ran into the house, and ate several pairs of socks before we realized what was happening.”
“Something about a sheep eating socks feels cannibalistic.”
“Sweater Weather played by her own rules,” Jasper replied.
“Well, she would probably be my favorite, too,” Lauren said. “I like a feisty lady. Okay, are you ready? What would Sweater
Weather do?”
“Eat socks,” they both said at the same time, and then Jasper took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Ready,” he said. “Thank you, Lauren.”
“Just doing my job,” she said. “And I’ll be with you for the first engagement today and then probably wrangling the press
into submission after that, but I’ll always be around if you need me.”
Jasper paused before saying, “Thank you,” again.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but the cars have arrived,” Norman interrupted. “We’ll take the service elevators down to the garage.”
Jasper glanced at Lauren. “Are you traveling with . . . ?”
“You? Yes. For the first engagement,” she said, gesturing toward the door. “But then I’m with comms and the press for the
dinner.”
“Noted,” Jasper said. “Well, off to the races, I guess. Here’s to no international incidents.”
Norman laughed nervously as he held the door open for both of them.
Despite Jasper nearly jinxing everything, he managed to remain cool and calm for both engagements during the day.
With Lauren’s help, of course. After hearing him recite/butcher the names of half the soccer players they would be meeting from the national team that morning, she had to quickly put an aide from the embassy on loudspeaker in the car to teach him how to pronounce each one properly before their car pulled up at the stadium.
Thankfully, he was a fast learner, and when the time arrived, he was ready to impress.
Lauren watched proudly as he grabbed the attention of every single person he spoke with.
At one point, he stood up to assist a female employee who briefly lost her balance on the pitch, and Lauren was nearly deafened by the rapid-fire camera clicks.
She could see Oscar out of the corner of her eye, taking notes frantically, and she assumed it to be a good sign that he was too busy reporting to rile her up again.
Still, though. She kind of missed it.
By the time they got to the state dinner at the president’s official residence (which was five minutes behind schedule due
to a reporter having to stop the bus to throw up from motion sickness), Lauren felt the giddy exhaustion from a hard job that
was well done. She and James stood off to the side as the duke greeted the prime minister and his wife, shaking heads and
bowing respectfully before posing for photos. His smile never wavered, not a hair was out of place, and his shirt (which Lauren
knew had been quickly switched out for a sweat-free one in the car on the way to the dinner) was pressed to perfection.
She had made this happen, Lauren realized. She had helped create this moment, and for the first time in a long while, she
felt like her old self again, like someone who not only knew how to do her job but how to do it better than everyone else.
Once the actual dinner began, Lauren retreated with the rest of the press corps to a separate space, where they were all given
rather unglamorous-looking boxed meals. She glanced around, trying to see if there were any left for her, but then she saw
Oscar waving her down with a box in his hand, and the glow from a job well-done transferred into something deeper and warmer.
“I saved one for you,” he said when she sat down next to him. “The rest of these beasts were acting like hyenas after doing
a juice cleanse. It’s every man—person, sorry—for themselves.”
Lauren took the disposable box from him. “Thanks,” she said. “Is it good?”
“It’s gluten-free, organic, and high in protein.”
She looked at him excitedly. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely not. It’s a turkey sandwich, crisps, and a slice of pretty unimpressive cake.”
“My favorite.” She popped open the box as Oscar turned back to his laptop. “Did you get some good stuff today?”
He nodded as he tossed a chip into his mouth. “Great stories,” he said. “Your boy is golden. This will be at least a week
of positive headlines and breathless op-eds.”
“And what about the second week?” she asked, taking a bite of her sandwich. It was dry and sort of tasteless and the best
thing she had eaten all day.
“Sadly I don’t control the media cycle,” he said. “You know what this lot gets like when they’re bored.”
“You one hundred percent control the media cycle!” Lauren pointed out. “You’re a journalist.”
“I’m just a minion,” he protested. “It all comes down to the editors and the people who click on the stories.”
Lauren rolled her eyes at that, too tired and hungry to argue with him, and when she looked back at him, he was gazing at
her with something like . . . fondness? Warmth?
“You did really well today, adding the duke to this,” he told her. “Seriously. People are actually showing up to see the royals
now. They almost look happy to see them. My entire TikTok feed is the Duke of Exeter walking in slow motion set to a sped-up Rihanna song. You might
be single-handedly saving the monarchy.”
“Well, that’s a little dramatic,” Lauren said, rolling her eyes, but inside she buzzed with happiness. “I just coordinated
appointments and got this bunch here.”
Oscar continued to look at her, though. “Lauren, I know that . . . I think . . .”
His phone suddenly buzzed, and they both looked at their own screens. “Sorry, I have to file this,” Oscar said. “My editor is throwing a fit about getting stuff online as soon as possible.”
“Go, file,” she said, standing up with her purse and boxed meal and feeling weirdly like an adult and a little kid at the
same time. “You know where to find me.”
“At Annabel’s?” he said, and this time Lauren did pause and turned to look at him.
“You tell me,” she replied with a small smile, then went back to her job.
Once they were all back at the hotel, Lauren took five minutes to wash her hands, refresh her lip gloss, and brush her hair
before heading back to Jasper’s suite to go over his itinerary for the following day. She honestly felt like doing a victory
lap, though, running around the hotel and high-fiving the housekeepers and valet and concierge. The early headlines coming
out of London were already glowing, with the duke at the center of it all:
DUKE DELIGHT: JASPER CHARMS SINGAPORE WITH ROYAL FLAIR
EXETER STUNS WITH ROYAL CHARM OFFENSIVE
DASHING DUKE SPARKS ROYAL FEVER IN SINGAPORE
She beamed as she checked her phone in the elevator, and once she arrived at Jasper’s door, Norman was already there with
his own cheerful grin.
This was truly a big day for Norman: first running, and now smiling?
“His Highness is in the entertainment den,” Norman said. “He just saw some of the headlines. I’m going to go and brief the
Duke of Cumberland,” he added.
“Oh, perfect,” Lauren said, but as soon as she saw the duke, she realized that it wasn’t perfect, not at all.
He was standing in the room, his tie loosened and the top two buttons of his shirt undone, his jacket tossed onto the couch.