Chapter 23
It isn’t simply the fact that I don’t have anything in my wardrobe—washed or piling up in my laundry bin—that screams “ball
at a Scottish castle.” It isn’t just that I’m still recovering from my impromptu night in Stratford-upon-Avon, even though
that was days ago. There’s a strange tension in the air. Caro’s been in my cottage for a whole minute, and she hasn’t said
a word. By now, she should’ve told me at least eight different stories and I should’ve had to ask her to translate a bevy
of words.
“Is it okay if I put my stuff down on your bed?” she asks. She’s holding a garment bag and smaller bag, presumably full of
hair accessories and makeup.
“Of course.” I walk over to my wardrobe, willing one of my casual summer dresses I got on sale at H people
notice things. Like Caro said, people talk.
Caro gives up on her accessories and flops down onto my bed.
“I really thought we were friends, Hannah. After everything I’ve told you about me and Duffie, I thought you might open up to me too.
Instead, you’ve said nothing. Nothing about your life back in America, nothing about what’s clearly going on here.
You told me you and Finn kissed ages ago and then never mentioned him again. It’s like you don’t trust me.”
My mind is racing through images of Finn and Gigi and Dean and my parents and Beatrice and the royal family and back to Finn.
I nearly tell her I barely trust anyone anymore. But then I’d have to tell her why.
My hesitancy to refute her claim has gone on for too long, and Caro mumbles, “Never mind. Maybe I should go.”
“Don’t go.” The request comes out soft and quiet, but it’s sincere. I sit down on the bed next to her. “You know I came to
Scotland for the job with Margaret MacIntyre that didn’t pan out. I came for another reason too.”
Normally, Caro would insert a joke here or tease me to get me to say more. Instead, she’s silent. It’s a side of her I haven’t
experienced all summer, and I’m starting to understand the depth of her hurt. Caro hasn’t done anything to me except be my
friend and try to get to know me. I’m the problem here. It’s time for me to make it right. To start with the truth about why
I’m at Inveresk Castle.
I play with a loose thread on my shorts. “There was an additional piece of motivation to get out of the US for a while.”
I take a shuddery breath because apparently I’m not done crying about Gigi yet.
I wonder if I ever will be. I tell Caro everything: how I found out she and Dean were sneaking around behind my back, how I confronted them; the fact that the person I thought would be my best friend for life is someone I don’t speak to anymore.
Caro listens. Ever empathetic, her face reflects my own emotions.
And then she tells me about the time she discovered her mom’s boyfriend was cheating and how she was the one to break the news.
How awful it was. Throughout the conversation, the ice between us gets chipped away.
But when we get to the end, there’s still hurt in her eyes.
“Caro, I—” A knock at the door interrupts my apology. I open it and see a young man I vaguely recognize as the porter who
helped me with my luggage the first day I arrived at the castle. He’s holding a large, flat white box with a white silk ribbon.
“For you,” he says.
I thank him and take it. When I turn around, Caro is staring suspiciously at both me and this box.
“What is that?” she asks.
I shrug. My hands are shaking, my mind jumbled. I truly don’t know what’s in this box, but chances are it’s a gift from Finn.
Choosing to open it in front of Caro is risky—and another step in the right direction. Trusting her with my past that exists
in another country wasn’t hard and I want to trust her with this too.
I set the box down and blurt out, “I had sex with Finn.”
Caro’s responding laugh is a full-bellied cackle. She falls onto the bed. Through wheezes, she yells, “I knew it! ”
“No you didn’t—and what do you mean?” I ask, feeling immediate relief at being able to finally talk about this monumental
thing that’s been happening in secret.
“Babe, you’d know if you ever actually participated in the WhatsApp group chat. Everyone’s been sharing ‘Finnah’ sightings.”
“Finnah?” I ask.
“Your portmanteau, babe. Yours and the prince’s. The juiciest day of all in the group chat was the day you called in ‘sick’
and Finn had disappeared on ‘royal business’ that no one seemed to know about and wasn’t in the royal calendar. And then,
coincidentally, you both reappeared at the same time.”
It was naive of me to think no one would clock any of the time we’ve been spending together. Sneaking around, as hot as it
was at times, had a shelf life. And now that I know I’m falling in love with Finn, I’m craving something real with him.
The bubbles of energy created between Caro and me from my confession pop. I don’t just owe her the truth, I owe her an apology.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” I say. “I’m sorry I missed our shopping date. You’ve been an absolute gem to me, and I’ve been—”
“A brick wall,” Caro supplies.
“Yeah.”
“I appreciate it. And that you finally told me the truth. None of that must’ve been easy to say.” Just when the mood is growing
too heavy, she suddenly shakes my shoulders dramatically and cries, “Just let me love you, for god’s sake!”
I laugh and pull her in for a hug. Caro could be a friend for life if I let her. And I really want to let her. “I’m sorry
again about being a brick wall.”
“Ah, you’ve been a charming one,” she says, giving me a squeeze and letting me go. “We’re all rooting for you two, you know.
The whole group chat.”
“You are?” This comes as a surprise. Sure, the staff have all been lovely to me. Still, I assumed everyone else would see
Beatrice as a much better match.
“Of course, you daft cow.” We laugh and she eyes the box in my breakfast nook. “Now, if you don’t open that box immediately,
I’m gonna tear it open myself.”
I retrieve the box so we can open it together. I pull at the silk ribbon and lift the lid. Inside is a blush-pink dress that
just so happens to match my pink Chucks. Not a coincidence, I think.
I stand and press the gown against my body. It has a structured bodice with a sweetheart neck. Lace floral appliqués in subtle
creams cascade in flattering places from the bodice down the luxurious tulle of the full skirt.
“Oh my days,” Caro says, bringing her hands to her mouth.
“I know.” The gown even smells good. I think the tissue paper it came in is scented.
“I can’t believe he sent you a gown because he knew you didn’t have anything to wear tonight.” She clutches her heart dramatically.
“That’s the most romantic thing. Ever.”
We finish getting ready together. There’s a newfound ease and intimacy to our friendship that carries echoes of Gigi. A bittersweet
feeling. Like a magician, Caro somehow arranges my blond hair into a sexy, tousled updo. She does my makeup, leaning into
Hollywood glamour, and I watch in awe as she transforms her own lids into a smoky sunset that goes perfectly with her turquoise
party dress.
Caro and I help each other choose a perfume for tonight and take one more look at ourselves in the bathroom mirror.
“Ready?” Caro says, adjusting a vintage pearl clip in her hair.
“Ready,” I say. And I am. I’m ready for Finn. I’m ready for everything.