CHAPTER TWENTY – HATTIE
I’ve met more people tonight than I have in my entire life—and that includes my early teenage summers hawking my postcards to tourists for a pittance.
And I’m overwhelmed.
There’s no way I’ll ever remember the names or faces of half these people, no matter how intensely I study them. Just as well, because there’s a chance I may have zoned out through many of the conversations and just allowed myself to autopilot my way through them.
The only saving grace is the hell I know the Sinclairs are going through right now.
I am, of course, the hottest topic of the night. Not just the surprise announcement of our engagement, but because I’m here at all.
That’s what happens when you declare a living person to be dead.
It’s rather a shock when they show up walking and talking, perfectly healthy.
Jasmine has disappeared once or twice, only for Rosalyn to drag her back out.
I can almost hear her shrill voice in my ear, hissing to her about keeping up appearances and not letting her down.
Promising that she’ll fix it. Ever since Jas disappeared for the second time, she’s been stuck solely to her daughter’s side, smiling at others as if she knew it all along.
My father is fielding the same sort of questions. I’ve heard them—two years? Why didn’t he say? Why did everyone think Jasmine would marry Finn if I’d returned?
His answers… I don’t know what they are. I don’t care for them, either. Not a single iota of truth will be in any of his words, so they don’t matter to me. All his lies will eventually come to the surface, so he can say whatever he wants to make himself look good right now.
They higher they climb, the harder their fall will be.
And I want their landing to hurt.
So, let him. Let him lie. Let him spin his web and tangle himself in it. The more convoluted his lies, the more delight I’ll take in watching him try to get out of it later.
“Are you doing all right?” Finn asks.
“Um.” I lean in a bit closer. “Who was that again?”
“The shadow foreign minister,” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to my ear. “Jeanette Church. Takes great pleasure in opposing everything her counterpart in government says.”
“Right, right.” I press my lips together. Is that not part of the job description? “They’re all blurring into one right now.”
His hand is warm against my lower back as he rubs it reassuringly. “Don’t worry. You’ll come to learn who everyone is in time.” He pauses. “Ah, shit, here we go.”
Before I can ask what he’s on about, we’re approached by a man around my father’s age, and Finn tenses.
“Your Royal Highness,” the man says, bowing his head. “Miss Sinclair. May I extend my warmest congratulations to you both on this occasion. And of course, happy birthday.”
“Thank you, Mr Devereaux,” Finn replies. “I’m pleased to see you could make it.”
“Yes, I rearranged my schedule at my wife’s request.”
“Ah, where is your lovely wife?” There’s an edge to his tone that suggests his wife isn’t ‘lovely’ at all.
Mr Devereaux smiles, his cat-like blue eyes belying the warm tone of his voice. “She’s currently with my son’s future mother-in-law,” he replies.
“I didn’t realise Marco was engaged. Congratulations.”
“We’re hoping they’ll formalise their relationship soon.” The older man’s lips wrinkle, tightening his smile. “Although, my daughter is nearby…” He turns and looks over his shoulder. “Ah, Valentina! Come here.”
A young woman with black hair pinned in an elaborate updo turns, and the rich, royal blue of her dress moves like the waves. Recognition strikes me like an electric shock, because I know her.
I know her.
Her blue eyes, as bright as the sky at midday at the height of summer, are eyes I have dreamt about more times I can calculate right now.
Titi.
“Hello, Your Royal Highness.” She bobs into a small curtsey before Finn, then turns to me.
Something familiar flashes through her eyes, and she hesitates for the smallest moment before a wide smile stretches across her pretty face.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sinclair. I’m Valentina Devereaux.”
I swallow and hold out my hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Devereaux. Thank you for coming.”
“It’s my honour. Thank you for the invitation, and please, call me Valentina.”
“Ah, my wife is jostling for my attention,” Mr Devereaux says, making a show of looking over Finn’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you to your conversation. Please excuse me.”
He shuffles off before anyone can bid him goodbye, and Finn relaxes the second he’s gone.
“Good grief,” he mutters, looking at Valentina. “What’s he up to now?”
“Strict instructions to befriend your fiancée, given how badly I failed to seduce you.” Her eyes shine with mirth, and she turns her attention to me. “But I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Will it, Hattie?”
My hand flies to my mouth, almost of its own accord, and I blink at her dumbly for a moment. “Titi? It’s really you?”
“You made it home,” she says softly. “Thank God. I—I tried, but—”
Finn looks between us. “Do you know each other?”
Valentina presses her lips together and looks at him. “Ah. Yes. We… spent some time together… as children.”
His gaze bores into me, and I nod, then whisper, “Abroad.”
He tenses. “You mean…”
Kidnapped? In a foreign country? Saved from being trafficked by the selfish, greedy ambitions of one woman?
“Yes.”
Something fizzles in the air, something tight and uncomfortable, the kind of tension that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end.
“I see.” He slowly relaxes, turning his body in towards me. “Why don’t you take a short break and catch up, then?”
“I can do that?”
His gaze softens when he looks at me. “Of course, you can. It’s a lot in here, and I can see you need a short rest. Nobody will judge you, and if they do, I’ll set them straight.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, go.” He presses a kiss to my forehead and smiles down at me.
“Besides, the French Ambassador is trying to catch my attention, and that man can talk for England. Not that I’d ever say that in front of him.
” His eyes crinkle at the edges. “Coming to find you seems like a good excuse to escape him shortly.”
“Ah, I see, it’s like that,” I reply teasingly. “Then… Ti—Valentina?”
She smiles warmly. “I’m all yours.”
“Go to one of the sitting rooms.” His hand falls away from my back. “Or step outside for some air.”
“Air sounds good,” Valentina says, taking my arm. “Don’t worry, Your Royal Highness. She’s safe with me.”
Finn shakes his head, but a man I assume is the French Ambassador beelines towards him, and Valentina scoots me away.
“If we don’t go now, you’ll get suckered in and never leave,” she whispers into my ear. “That man could make conversation an Olympic sport.”
“I’ve had enough of that tonight,” I mutter.
She laughs, and it’s so like the one I remember from our early days together.
Before she realised her father wasn’t right behind her to take her home.
Before it sunk in that she might be stuck on that foreign island with us.
Before she realised that she, the proverbial princess of the Devereaux family, would have to do things she’d never imagined only to survive.
We step outside into the cooler night, and I hadn’t realised just how warm the ballroom was until just now.
The gentlest of breezes wafts through the air as we take a seat on a stone bench overlooking one of the many rose gardens in the palace.
The sweet scent of the flowers carries nature’s natural perfume, and I take a deep breath in, closing my eyes.
“Well,” Valentina says. “You aren’t the Sinclair we were all expecting.”
I swallow, letting my eyes flutter open. “I was hoping to make an entrance.”
“You succeeded,” she replies with a soft laugh. “And, ooh, Jasmine’s face… I apologise for saying so, but that was fucking beautiful.”
I peer across at her. “Not a fan?”
She puckers her lips, as if she’s trying to figure out what to say. “Forgive me, but no.”
“You and me both.”
“Oh, that makes this easier then.” Another, more relieved, laugh tinkles out of her. “You… made it home.”
I nod slowly. “It took a long time,” I say. “Ryan and I got lucky.”
“Ryan’s alive?”
“He’s in London. Taking over his father’s company. His brother actually runs a business here in St Peters. I owe everything to them. They’re the only reason I made it back to Askurg at all.” I pause. “The others… Franco, Sakura, Maeve…”
“How did you get out of there?”
“Would you believe me if I told you it was the shaman?”
“That crazy old lady Sayana made you pay just for a blessing every month?” She raises her eyebrows. “No, I wouldn’t.”
I smile and look out over the flowers. They’re visible thanks to the low lighting marking the pathways, and my eyes trace the dim outlines of the bushes like a grounding tool.
“When we turned fourteen, she made us pay out of the meagre earnings she let us keep. The shaman knew—she knew everything that was going on on that island. After Sayana was killed a couple of years later, she gave us back every penny and shoved us on a boat to her sister in a neighbouring village. Her sister was a local government official who was able to help us reach the mainland under the radar. We managed to contact Ryan’s dad, and he immediately flew out.
He didn’t have to help me, but he did. I owe him my life. ”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “She’s dead?”
“Yes. She pissed off one too many people.”
That’s it.
She doesn’t need to know more.
She doesn’t need to know Ryan was the one who killed her when he overheard her planning to sell me in exchange for one of her larger debts.
That’s a secret I will take to the grave.
“Good. She might have saved our lives in a fucked-up way, but…” She shakes her head. “She was a vile person.”
“Yeah. Both things can be true. We can be grateful she hid us while still being happy she was dead. It’s not exactly a black and white situation.”