38. Willa
Chapter thirty-eight
Willa
T he last week has been insane—insanely busy and insanely emotional. Aiden, Mum, and Maggie flew back to the States two days ago, but I'm glad they were here with me for the past week.
My interview aired last night on Belgrovinian national television, and Nick and I watched it alone in the living room of our cottage.
Leading up to the program's showtime, my anxiety was in overdrive. Besides Nick, I didn’t want anyone else around.
I wanted to watch my interview and gauge how well I’d done based solely on my own assessment.
I knew if anyone else—like Alex, Ellie or, heaven forbid, Queen Beatrice—watched it with me, I would scan their faces, scrutinize each of their micro-expressions, and overanalyze every word they uttered.
Then, my opinion of my performance would be shaped by their reactions, not my own.
Afterward, I felt confident. The interview was good. When it finished airing, Nick and I shut off our devices. I didn't want to jump online to see how different media outlets were reporting on the story.
Persuasive as always, Nick had many enjoyable ways of keeping me happily occupied last night, but this morning, a new day dawns. And with it comes the task that we put off yesterday. We have to gauge public opinion.
Was my interview successful in turning the tide of negative press or will it only churn up more lurid stories?
I tell myself that if my story helps even one other woman than it will be worth it, but…
But if telling my truth to the world doesn’t save my reputation, then my romance with Nick will become a sinking ship.
“It’s too early for your brain to already be thinking this hard.
” The warmth from Nick’s skin sinks into my body as he tightens his arm around my waist, drawing my back into his chest. His voice, extra raspy from sleep, whispers in my ear, and the erotic feeling of his breath on my neck sends a tingling shiver down my spine.
The pale light of early morning snakes in through the half-drawn curtains as I gaze over my shoulder at him.
On second thought, let's delay checking the news a little longer.
His hand roves down the contours of my side to rest on my hip, giving me a gentle squeeze. Nick kisses my cheek, the feeling of his soft lips and rough scruff on my skin has me purring.
Then he pops me on the ass and hops out of bed. Naked, he stretches his arms over his head before coming to stand before me, holding out his hands. “Come on, up you go, my darling.”
“What?” I cry. “Aren’t you going to finish what you started?”
With a wry twitching of his lips, Nick replies, “If recollection serves, I finished what I started several times last night.”
That, he did.
When I begin to whine for him to come back to bed, he stops me. Perching on the edge of the bed, he runs his hands over my cheeks. Bestowing a soft kiss on my mouth, he murmurs, “It’s time, Willa. ”
Rising from the bed for a second time, he tugs on a pair of joggers before holding out my robe. When I begrudgingly stand, he slips my arms through the holes and ties the sash around my waist. And then, because he’s Nick, he tweaks my nipple with a shit-eating grin.
I slap his hand away, grumpily. “Let’s get this over with.”
With the excitement of Anne Boleyn attending her own beheading, I trudge downstairs to brew a mug of coffee while we await news from the royal communications office.
“Why was I summoned this late in the evening?” Queen Beatrice laments loudly and immediately upon her arrival.
She saunters into Alex’s office, faltering only for a second when she spies Nick and me sitting on the couch at the rear of the office.
With an impervious sneer, she pivots, turning her attention to her eldest son.
“Alexander, are we here to discuss Wilhemina’s unsuitable behavior?
Really, the audacity to air her dirty laundry on television for the entire nation to feast upon. It’s grotesque.”
I bite the inside of my cheeks to stifle my smile.
I may have aired my laundry out, but I’ve emerged smelling like roses.
The pendulum of public opinion swung swiftly.
Article after article has heralded me for my bravery and honesty.
The communications office has been swamped with interview requests and there has been a flood of positive press and support online, especially among social media users.
And the best part is that more and more women are also choosing to share their stories of pregnancy loss. Charities have reached out thanking me because they've been inundated with donations.
While the queen may not approve of my tactics, they were highly effective.
Seated behind the behemoth antique wooden desk that was once his father’s, Alex does not rise or greet his mother. With one hand he points to a chair, indicating for her to sit. As Gerald moves to exit the office, Alex speaks for the first time.
“Gerald, why don’t you stay?”
He may have phrased it as a question, but it definitely sounds like a command.
Gerald bows his head and posts up along the side wall of the oblong room. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Alex withdraws a folder from his desk drawer. Slowly, he opens it, pulling out a single sheet of paper. He skims the paper before he hands it to his mother. "Read it."
“What is this—” she starts, her voice petulant, but then her eyes widen and her nostrils flare. Angrily, she rips the paper in half and then in half again before flinging the pieces onto the floor. “I will do no such thing!”
“Oh, but you will, Mother,” Nick says, stepping forward. Outwardly, he appears calm and confident, but I notice the small tells—the hand knotted into a fist, the thinning of his lips—that reveal his true feelings. He's steaming mad.
The queen doesn’t even look at her younger son, instead addressing Alex again.
“I expected better from you, Alexander. Your father and I didn’t raise you to cave to Nicholai’s immature demands.
” Briefly, she side-eyes Nick, shaking her head in disgust. “We tried our best with him, but we all know his judgment is lacking.”
“Actually, Mother, this has nothing to do with Nick's judgment and everything to do with yours. You will do as I instruct,” Alex’s voice is harsh and cold, brooking no argument. From the same folder, Alex withdraws two more sheets of paper and pushes them across the desk.
With a plaintive harrumph, the queen snatches them. Her face drains of color as her eyes dance across the documents.
“Yes, Mother. We have proof you are the mysterious source behind the tabloid article accusing Willa of being pregnant with Nick’s child. I know why you did it, obviously. But how you ever thought you’d get away with something so foolish, I’ll never understand.”
While the queen is intelligent and highly manipulative, she is not technologically savvy.
When she sent the email to the tabloid with Carisa’s doctored medical file, the queen assumed that creating a burner email account would be enough to cover her tracks.
Apparently, she has no understanding of how IP addresses work, so once Alex sicced the Royal Guard investigator onto the case, finding the evidence implicating the queen was as easy as stealing candy from a baby.
Especially since she didn’t delete the email from her computer.
“This—this simply isn’t true, Alexander! I did no such thing. This is rubbish! Absolute rubbish! Someone must have snuck into my office to send that email.”
“Stop talking.” Frustrated, Alex slams his fist down on the desk. “You will stop talking and begin listening. This conversation is not between a mother and her son. This conversation is between a king and his disloyal subject.”
I flinch at Alex’s words and Nick rests his hand upon my shoulder. Alex’s harsh rebuke is uttered in a tone just above a whisper and somehow, it’s more damaging than if he had yelled.
When I first learned of what Alex and Nick had planned for their mum, I felt a lot of guilt because I thought they were cutting her off because of how she’s treated me. However, once they explained exactly what they’d found, I understood that I was merely a small part of the reason.
“Fine, Your Majesty,” Queen Beatrice replies with a smile as fake as a Louis Vuitton handbag purchased from a back room of a warehouse in New York City. “Please enlighten me on your plans.”
“Under the guise of retiring, you will be exiled to the country house in Pointebleu to live near Ellie and her family. You will make a public statement about stepping down. You will no longer be a working royal. You will no longer speak to the media about anything related to the Crown.”
“Why would I agree to any of that?” She crosses her arms. With a raised brow, she adds, “It isn’t like you’ll actually share with the media that I might have been the one to leak the pregnancy story.
” Her eyes slide to the left, settling on Nick for a split second before she plays her trump card.
“After all, I’m not sure whether Nicholai’s reputation could weather another PR disaster if the truth came out about his relationship with Carisa Claridge and her pregnancy scare. ”
“Nor could your reputation withstand a public relations crisis if the truth came out about your numerous affairs and your ongoing, multi-year affair with your husband’s private secretary and trusted confidante.
” Alex leans back in his desk chair, steepling his fingers under his chin, feigning an air of contemplation as he watches Gerald.
“How do you think the world would react to that story?”
“You would never release that information, Alexander!”
“So, you don’t even deny it?”
Scrambling, she backtracks quickly. “Ah! Well—of course, I deny it, you silly boy! It goes without saying that none of what you said is true!” She pauses. “But even if it was, you’d never publicize that information because it would reflect negatively on our entire family. ”
“That may be,” Alex admits. “But I’ve also found out a few other things. You see, I discovered that Father was a prolific writer. Did you know that?”
Worry creeps into the queen’s face as she shakes her head slowly.
Alex nods, “He was. Father journaled every single night. Sometimes, he dashed off only a sentence or two, but other times, he would write pages. Reading his entries has given me the opportunity to relive important bits of our country’s history from his unique perspective.
” Alex pauses thoughtfully. “Since discovering Father’s hidden journals, I’ve been considering having them transcribed and added into the Library of Parliament for posterity.
Imagine how intriguing it will be for everyone, from scholars to schoolchildren, to have the opportunity to learn a whole new side of Belgrovinian history.
” Alex shrugs with pursed lips. “However, it would be unfortunate, of course, if those tasked with transcribing the journals were to come across some unsavory things. Personal things. Like, for instance, how, only a month after their honeymoon, the king found his young wife in bed with one of the equestrian trainers. Or how each of the king’s children were conceived via IVF because the king refused to be intimate with his wife after catching her cheating on him for the fourth time in as many years. ”
“You would never release those journals to the public!” The queen shrieks in outrage…and probably fear. “Our family’s image would never recover.”
“The family’s reputation might tarnish, but these days, the PR machines can do a helluva good job spinning the story and making you take the fall. And make no mistake, Mother, I’d throw you to the wolves to save the future of this monarchy.”
Clutching at the pearl necklace looped around her throat, Queen Beatrice rapidly opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water.
“Of course, I suppose I could put that project on the backburner for the time being.” Alex looks at Nick, remarking off-handedly, “I hear the weather on the coast near Pointebleu is gorgeous this time of year.”
Speaking softly, Gerald clears his throat. “Your Majesty, I’d like to say something if I can?”
“Go ahead.”
“What you say is true, I’m afraid,” Gerald admits.
“Gerald!” Queen Beatrice gasps, turning in her chair to face her lover.
A softness passes over his countenance when he glances at the queen. “No, Bea. I won’t continue lying.”
“You do realize that you’re confessing to treason?” Alex questions.
Squaring his shoulders, Gerald addresses Alex. “I do, sir. I’m sorry for my disloyalty to your father. That is a pain I live with daily, but I cannot regret the years I have spent loving your mother.”
“Stop!” Queen Beatrice cries out, wringing her hands. “Stop. I’ll go. I’ll move to the country estate. I’ll step down. I’ll never say another word. But please, Alexander…please don’t punish Gerald for my sins.” She slumps against the back of her chair, looking more defeated than I’ve ever seen her.
Good God, I think the queen might actually love Gerald. I really didn’t know she had it in her to love anyone other than herself.
When Nick and Alex told me about the queen’s long-lasting affair, I was shocked.
I probably shouldn’t have been since all she’s done is lie to me, but I still held out some modicum of hope, however slim, that the conversation we shared in the garden was based on some truth.
I never should have doubted Nick because he was correct in assuming that her story was just another ploy orchestrated by the queen to split us up .
She may have walked in on her husband having sex with her friend while she was pregnant with Alexander, but by that point in their marriage, the queen had already cheated on the king more times than he wanted to know about.
“Good, I was hoping we could come to an agreement.” Alex pushes yet another document across the desk. “Sign this.”
Without even reading it, the queen scrawls her name across the page and exits the office without another word.