CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX – FINN
“They’re forbidden from talking about you, but nothing relating to Jasmine being your father’s daughter.” Alec slaps an envelope on the table in front of Hattie who, having been paying attention to editing her photos on her laptop, jumps at the noise it makes. “Sorry.”
She briefly glares at him. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said,” Alec replies, perching on the table and looking over at her. “The only restrictions on discussing specific family relationships refers to you, Harriet Sinclair, otherwise known as Hannah Porter. Jasmine’s name isn’t mentioned once.”
“How?” I ask, looking between them both. “Unless…”
“They really don’t know,” Hattie says, pushing her laptop away and reaching for the envelope.
Alec points at it. “Relevant bits are highlighted. Six lawyers have read this over the past five days, by the way.”
“That’s a bit overkill, isn’t it?”
“Not with how concerned he says you were.” He cocks his thumb in my direction. “It’s my duty to alleviate your worries, my lady.”
Another weary look gets shot his way. “How are you single with such smooth lines?”
“I find the notion of dating to be soul-crushingly boring,” Alec replies without missing a beat. “It’s my hope that one day a wife shall just appear on my doorstep, offer me marriage, and we’ll negotiate a mutual arrangement that benefits us both greatly.”
“Oh, a business merger. How romantic,” Hattie says flatly, scanning the sheets. “You’re right. I suppose because everyone believes Jasmine’s adopted, it’s not weird that she calls them mum and dad or that they refer to her as their daughter. If she were adopted, they would be, after all.”
“They did adopt her in a way,” Alec says. “Other sheet.”
“What?” I raise my eyebrows, leaning over to see.
“Well, William did. Rosalyn never did, because she’s never needed to. But since Jasmine moved into the Sinclair house well before she did, William needed to have legal documentation allowing him to have full legal and physical custody of her.”
“Wouldn’t Rosalyn have had to sign something?”
“You’d think. There’s no record of Jasmine’s birth in Askurg. We checked.”
Hattie’s eyebrows draw together in a deep frown that darkens her entire face. “So she’s not a citizen?”
“She is. Even if she were born outside the country, Rosalyn is a citizen, so she has it by birthright,” Alec explains. “And your father, too. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how they managed to pull it off.”
“Money. The root of all evil.” She pushes the papers away. “They paid someone off somewhere. I doubt we’ll ever find out, but the adoption papers don’t help us at all. All it does is back up their claim that she is adopted.”
“They aren’t adoption papers. I said they adopted her in a way.”
“Then explain what way,” I say dryly.
He waves his hand at me. “It’s just legal and physical custody. They never stood before a judge and finalised an adoption as Askurian law requires.”
“So…” Hattie pauses, and I can almost see the whirring of her brain as she puts the pieces together. “Is any of that public record?”
“Unlikely. We either need an insider to leak their true relationship to a journalist or Jasmine to do something ridiculous like upload her DNA to one of those genealogy websites.”
I won’t ask how he accessed something that isn’t public record.
Some things are better left buried.
Hattie and I both pause and look at each other before she shakes her head. “No, she’s dumb, but she’s not that dumb.”
“I’ll have someone look into it just in case.” I pull out my phone and send a message to Oscar ordering him to assign someone to it. “I’d rather we cover all our bases.”
Hattie sighs and turns back to her computer, minimising the screen she was looking at. “It would be so much easier if she did take one of those tests.”
Well, that’s a point we can all agree on.
The door swings open, and Mum walks in carrying a flat, rectangular box. Hattie has already seen her once today, but Alec hasn’t, and he gets to his feet to bow. Mum acknowledges him with a gentle nod of her head and a warm smile.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Nothing that concerns you,” she replies, setting the box on the table next to Hattie. “Here, darling. I brought you something to eat.”
“Thanks.” Hattie leans over and opens the box, revealing a tray of pastries. “I can’t eat all those.”
“I’m sure these two will help if they must.” Mum motions to us both.
“Nice to know you care about us,” I mutter.
“She’s busy. I’m keeping her fed,” Mum says without batting an eyelid, although she does pause to tap Alec’s hand away when he reaches for the box. “Not yet, Alecsander.”
I frown. “Why? What is she doing?” I look at Hattie. “What are you doing?”
“Ediddin’ phodos,” she replies around a mouthful of what appears to be a chocolate croissant.
“She’s taking photos of the palace and the grounds for our social media accounts. I see no reason for her to give up what she loves doing, so your father suggested this.” Mum pauses. “It’s part of our ‘modernisation’ thingy he’s got going on with the public relations department.”
“The government’s happy, too. The arts minister keeps texting me asking for updates,” Hattie adds. “So is public relations. It’s ‘good for my image’ and will ‘forge a connection with the public,’ apparently.”
When the hell did she speak to anyone at the government? When did this even happen?
“When did this happen?” Alec asks, eyeing me with amusement. “And did nobody tell your crown prince? He appears quite bamboozled.”
“He never asked.” Mum reaches forward and brushes something off Hattie’s cheek. “Eyelash.”
“Oh, thank you,” she replies, returning to the pastry box. She pauses, then looks over her shoulder at me. “Do you want one?”
“No, you carry on,” I say slowly, bewildered by the sight before me.
When did she become so entwined with royal life?
Not that I’m complaining. Far from it. I’m ecstatic she’s finding a place within the palace, especially a role that means she can do something she loves, as Mum said.
I’m just a little perturbed it’s all happened without me knowing.
But that’s mostly because I want to know everything about her all the time, so it’s more of a ‘me’ issue than anything else.
“Suit yourself.” She grabs another and offers the box to Alec. Unlike me, he’s shameless, and he plucks one away for himself and immediately starts eating.
“What are you all conspiring about in here?” Mum asks, perching on the edge of the table. “Causing trouble for the Sinclairs, I hope.”
“Always,” Alec says around a mouthful of food. “It’s our new favourite hobby.”
“Yes, you’re having a little too much fun, especially,” she says, making him flinch. “Are you done extracting your money from your many shell companies, Alecsander? Or are there a few more you haven’t told anyone about?”
“If I wanted people to know it was my money, they wouldn’t be shell companies,” he points out. “You only know about them because you mildly abused your authority as my queen to make me tell you.”
Mum sniffs, but there’s a smile in her eyes.
Mildly abused, my arse.
She threatened to revoke his title if he didn’t give her a full list.
She wouldn’t have actually done it, of course, as it would have meant taking it from one of her closest friends.
Then again, anything is possible with my mother.
Hattie stares at him over the top of her laptop screen. “Just how many investments have you made in his company? And how many have you withdrawn?”
“I’ve made more than I’ve withdrawn. For now,” he says slowly, then shrugs. “Like I said before, it was profitable. Now… not so much.”
“Insider trading is against the law,” Mum reminds him.
“And I’m not trading,” he retorts. “I’m not touching stocks.”
He has a point.
“If it weren’t for Harriet, I’d tell your mother.”
“I’m thirty-one-years-old,” he replies dryly. “And my mother hates Rosalyn almost as much as you do, so she’d just tell me to carry on messing with them.”
Mum bobs her head as if she’d forgotten that little nugget.
“Why?” Hattie asks around a mouthful of… something. Is that a doughnut?
Or was a doughnut, rather.
“There was an incident,” Mum begins slowly.
“It was shortly after Rosalyn married your father. I host a bi-monthly luncheon for some of the ladies within our circle, but occasionally, one of the ladies takes over if I’m too busy.
That particular luncheon was the responsibility of Alec’s mother, Arabella, as I’d been overseas for a state visit.
Rosalyn heard of them and assumed she would be invited, but she wasn’t and took it as a personal offense. ”
“It was a personal offense,” Alec drawls. “As if my mother would ever willingly put that woman in front of you.”
“That’s beside the point.” Mum barely suppresses her smile.
“Not everyone attends every luncheon, and I had long accepted that it would be for the best if I invited her to the next one I was hosting. Either way, Rosalyn contacted Arabella and kicked up quite the fuss. Arabella is very sweet, but…” She hesitates.
Alec smirks. “My mother has a temper so demonic that Satan himself would bow at her feet.”
“I was going to opt for ‘hot-blooded’ as the more diplomatic description.”
“I was merely attempting to portray my mother as accurately as possible for Hattie.”
“No, I get it,” Hattie says, then licks icing from her thumb. “I did think I wouldn’t want to piss her off when I met her at the ball.”
We all nod.
“I highly advise against it,” Mum says. “Anyway, as I’m sure you can imagine, Arabella has quite the influence by virtue of her own wealth and our families being so close.
After Rosalyn threatened to complain to me about it using the future in-laws card, I was forced to remove her from the luncheon list so I didn’t make my friends uncomfortable.
Honestly, I was rather pleased about that turn of events, even if I did briefly feel sorry for her for getting off on the wrong foot with Arabella. ”
“There’s no coming back from that,” I agree. “Do you remember when Katherine Porteous accidentally tripped on a hosepipe a gardener left lying around and splashed mud on her coat?”
Mum shudders. “She blamed poor Katherine more than she did the gardener. Said she should have watched where she was going which, yes, she’s correct, but the gardener really shouldn’t have left the hosepipe there.”
“I think she’s still traumatised,” Alec adds. “I saw her a few weeks ago at a meeting and—”
The door bursts open, cutting him off. Oscar pulls up short when he sees my mother, and we all stare at him for a moment before he bows.
“What are you doing?” Mum asks, standing up. “Stop bowing and tell us what you’ve rushed in here for, you scoundrel!”
He straightens so quickly he might as well have been electrocuted into it. “Oh, um, Your Majesty—”
“Spit it out, Oscar.”
“Aveline stuck her nose in,” he says quickly. “She crossed paths with Jasmine earlier today at a restaurant and… well, it didn’t end well.”
I swing my gaze from Oscar to Mum, noticing Alec doing the same. This could go one of two ways—his sister is someone you really would describe as hot-tempered, and not only is she hot-tempered, but she’s bad tempered.
So when he says she’s ‘stuck her nose in,’ it could mean anything.
“And what,” Mum says slowly. “Does that mean, Oscar Benedict Lindberg?”
I shudder. Not the full name.
Even Alec looks uncomfortable.
Hattie, though? No. She looks as if her favourite soap opera has just dropped right into her lap, and while Alec and I share a nervous glance, she reaches for another sweet treat from the box.
Oscar swallows. “She posted on one of my burners asking if anyone else has noticed how much Rosalyn and Jasmine look alike for an adopted mother and daughter.”
Mum’s eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn’t say a word.
“And it’s rather taken on a life of its own,” he continues, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “People are digging up all sorts of images of them and the rumour that they’re biologically related is growing some serious legs.”
Nobody speaks for a moment as his words sink in.
“The prevailing opinion is that they do look very alike, and they’re asking how it was never noticed before.”
“We had the same discussion,” Alec says, looking to me. “They’re different enough that you can’t see it at first glance, but once it’s pointed out, it’s obvious.”
I nod. “Even with William. She’s a solid blend of them both, whereas Hattie is practically a carbon copy of Francesca.”
Hattie’s lips curve into a small smile. “And thank God for that.”
“Well,” Mum says brightly, sitting back down and clasping her hands on her lap. “What do we do with this little gift we’ve been given?”
“Are you ill?” I ask, leaning back to look at her around Hattie’s back. “The drama that could come from this… What if they think it’s Hattie and retaliate?”
“Then I shall cut them off at the knees and tell the world their real relations myself,” she says darkly. “I’ve been more than tolerant of their shenanigans, but my patience has long been exhausted.”
“Mum—”
“After all, they’re more than happy to start rumours about Hattie’s paternity, so they shouldn’t have a problem with discussing Jasmine’s.” Her smile sends a chill through me.
Alec shudders. “Remind me never to piss you off, Your Majesty.”
She turns that cool smile on Alec, but there’s too much warmth in her eyes when she looks at him to believe it’s directed at him in any way. She opens her mouth to speak but stills, saying nothing, as her gaze slides towards the door.
I follow the path of her gaze, my stomach knotting.
“Your Maj—”
“Annette, if you’re here to tell us about Aveline Lindberg’s little side quest, we’re already aware.”
Annette blinks, but it doesn’t erase the worry from her expression.
That isn’t good.
The head of public relations is the most unflappable person I’ve ever met. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen her visibly upset, and this is by far the most bothered she’s ever been.
Even Hattie looks at her with worry. “Annette, are you all right?”
Annette swallows. “Your Majesty, perhaps we might speak alone?”
“All right, but make it quick.” She gets to her feet and sweeps past us. Oscar steps to the sided to allow her to pass, and both my mother and Annette disappear into the hallway, firmly closing the door behind them.
Tension fizzles through the air, and none of us say a word until the door opens again. They both walk back in, and every inch of worry and concern on Annette’s face has now transferred to my mother’s.
“Mum?”
“Harriet,” Mum says, ignoring me. “Would you come with us for a moment?”