Chapter Eleven
Making Snails
I really did it.
I take a moment to look around the reception classroom, where Bella has not only read a story about Sloane the Snail, but is in the middle of creating snails with the children. Members of the Royal Rota are taking pictures and filming her with the children as I sit back and watch with a sense of pride.
This is my art project. I designed it, thinking of how to translate the book into a fun craft for children. I figured out how to make a snail out of construction paper and pipe cleaners. I prepped all the pieces with Bella yesterday, and now I’m watching the children excitedly put their own creative touches on the snails with crayons. They’re all chatting happily about what they are doing and how they are making their own snails special.
I can’t thank Bella enough for this opportunity. I told her so last night at dinner, but I feel the need to tell her again. Because seeing the children’s reaction to this?
My idea was a good one.
I know my excitement should be tempered by the fact that this is a children’s art project. It’s a snail made of construction paper and it’s not life-changing, blah blah blah. But it’s been so long since one of my ideas has been embraced that this really means something to me.
“Look, Violet,” a little boy says to me, “my snail has big swirly eyes!”
I glance down at Barnaby, who is sitting next to me. His snail has large eyes that are swirled with crazy red and white circles, and one thought goes through my head.
That snail is stoned.
I repress the bubble of laughter that threatens to come up in my throat and smile brightly at him. “I love his eyes!” I declare excitedly.
I select another crayon and begin drawing designs on the strip of paper that is going to be my snail’s shell. I’m with a table of children, all of them eagerly working on their own projects.
The girl next to me reaches across me, but lets out a huge sneeze, followed by a croupy fit of coughing.
Which isn’t covered by her hand, of course.
I cringe. I swear I can practically feel her sick germs land all over me.
“Ava, remember to cover your mouth when you cough,” the teacher reminds her.
Well, that’s a warning that has come a bit late,I think.
Ava picks up a silver crayon, begins to colour with it, then sneezes again.
I begin a mantra in my head: I will not get Ava’s cold. I will not get Ava’s cold. I will not get Ava’s cold.
“You should try silver,” she says, holding out the crayon to me.
ICK!
My first reaction is to decline it, but when I see the excited look on her little face, I can’t. “I think that’s a great idea, thank you,” I say, inwardly cringing as I accept the crayon from her.
Okay. I can use the crayon, and as soon as we’ve finished crafting, I’ll scrub my hands for five minutes.
And whatever happens, I cannot touch my face until I do the decontamination scrub.
The rest of the hour goes by quickly, with the kids even asking if they can make more than one snail, which makes me so, so happy. Before I know it, the children are getting ready to go outside for break time, all of them giving Bella big hugs before they leave. I even get a few hugs, and of course, the biggest one is from Ava, who tells me she really likes my red hair.
Okay. The sickness risk was worth it for this sweet little girl.
The members of the Royal Rota leave, and now it’s me, Bella, and her new assistant, Carlee, in the classroom.
“That went really well,” Bella says, her blue eyes dancing. “Did you see how much they loved the book? And they were so excited to make snails afterwards!”
“The kids always get so excited to meet you,” Carlee says, her toffee-coloured eyes sparkling.
Bella laughs. “I always feel like I’m a bit of a disappointment to this age group. I’m not a Disney princess.”
“But you’re a real princess and that’s very exciting,” I say.
She blushes. “I just hope they all leave wanting to read more. It brought me so much joy when I was younger and became such an escape as I got older. If this day sparks that love within them, that’s all I could ever hope for.”
“I’m sure you’ve done that,” Carlee says. “And now your diary is officially closed of royal duties until you come back from Canada.”
I grin. Bella and Camden are leaving for Canada in a few days, and it’s her first time to meet his family in person. They’re also going to the United States to attend the wedding of Camden’s brother, Gavin, in Oregon.
“I’m so excited to go and experience Camden’s life back in Canada,” Bella says eagerly. “And meet his family and friends there, too.”
“It’s a huge step,” I say, smiling at her.
“It is. And the best part? I’m ready for it. I’m nervous, of course, because I want all of them to like me, but I’m so ready to be a part of his life in Canada like he has been a part of mine here.”
Carlee clears her throat. “I’m going to check my voicemails and meet you outside,” she says, nodding at us.
“Thank you, Carlee.” Bella smiles at the brunette.
“My pleasure,” she replies, exiting the classroom.
“I just need to pack up a few things, then I’ll be ready,” I say. As soon as Carlee shuts the door behind her, I smile at Bella. “Okay, tell me the details behind that hire. You have a twenty-three-year-old American assisting you? How did that happen?”
Carlee is brand new to the team at St. James’s Palace, and Bella brought her onboard merely two weeks ago.
“I wanted someone who didn’t have the perspective of the old guard,” Bella says. “She graduated with a degree in digital marketing and media from a small university in Vermont, but you should see her experience. Carlee has done so much! Would you believe when she was sixteen she was running her school’s social media department?”
I gather up the leftover strips of construction paper and put them back into the plastic tub I brought with my art supplies. My happy feeling over paper snails begins to sink as I think about what Carlee was doing when she was sixteen.
“Wow,” I say, trying to ignore the feeling of not being good enough that is trying to fight through the surface.
“And every summer, she was doing internships with all kinds of companies and organisations to get a broad work experience,” Bella continues. “She’s supersmart and ambitious. I technically hired her to be my assistant, but she’s already planning my personal social-media strategy and will soon be implementing the content there. I’m so lucky to have her. In fact, Xander wants to meet her and pick her brain on stuff. But I told him under no circumstances is he allowed to steal her from me.”
“No, people like Carlee are hard to find,” I say, moving to another table and gathering up supplies.
Bella stacks up some papers at the table she is at, oblivious to my internal torment. “I think she’s really going to help me be better at what I do. And now that I’ve discovered my true calling, that’s all I want. To be the best I can be in promoting my causes and shining a light on them.”
True calling.
As in not wandering around your family’s gift shop wondering if the tea towels should be refolded in a new way or asking for a beehive, only to be told you’re too flaky to handle the responsibility of it.
“Violet?”
I blink. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
Bella’s blue eyes study me with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Oh yes,” I say, absently rubbing my hand across my nose as it itches. “Just lost in thought.”
“Are you sure? You look sad,” she says, her voice soft.
“Do I? Oh no, I promise I’m not.” I force a cheerful smile on my face. Bella is a new friend. The last thing I want to do is burden her with my problems, or worse, paint the picture that I’m an incompetent flake. Especially after hearing how much she regards Carlee for being so driven and smart.
“Well, I know we’re still getting to know each other, but I want you to know you can always talk to me about anything, okay?”
She’s so sincere and kind, I’m nearly tempted to take her up on her offer.
Nearly.
“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate that more than you know.”
I look around the room for anything else that might need to be packed up.
“Are we ready?” Bella asks.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Just let me wash my hands before we leave. You know how kids are,” she says. “I’ve learnt this since becoming a working royal. You will get sick if you don’t do this.”
I freeze. I forgot to wash my hands after touching Ava’s crayons.
I just touched my nose.
GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
“Um, yes, good idea,” I say, trying to convince myself that the odds of me getting sick are very small.
Minute, probably.
I need a plan to ward this off. I wash my hands after Bella and vow that as soon as we’re in the car, I’m going to google things to prevent sickness. Does orange juice work? Or is that a myth?
Either way, I’ll chug it and do whatever else is suggested.
Because I have a hot date with Noah on Friday. And I’m not going to miss it.
* * *
I push my trolley around the shop, loading up on everything I could find on how to ward off a cold. I had Bella’s driver drop me at the supermarket near my house, and I’ll do my shopping and walk home.
So far I have vitamin C, vitamin D, and zinc in my trolley. Ironically, honey was listed as something to improve respiratory symptoms, so score another point for my beehive and the goodness of bees. I also know I need to hydrate like mad, so I bought some fresh oranges to slice up and add to my water.
I should get some lozenges just in case I get a sore throat, I muse. I turn my trolley around and head towards the aisle with the medications and cold remedies. As I do, my phone buzzes inside my bag. It’s a text from Noah, and as soon as I see his name, a little thrill jolts through me. I swipe open his message:
I hope everything went well this afternoon and the kids loved your project, but I’m pretty sure I know they did.
I stop pushing my trolley so I can text him back:
The event was a success and lots of paper snails were made. Thank you for asking.
Noah Darby is typing …
I resume pushing my trolley whilst he sends another message to me. I reach the lozenges and study my options. Hmm. Lemon and honey. Blackcurrant. Cherry. I suppose I should get a strong one with menthol for the worst-case scenario. Not that I’m going to get sick—BECAUSE I AM NOT—this is just being prepared. Oh, I’d better get tissues, too. I go back to that aisle and add some of those to my trolley, and then I think I’m ready to check out.
I go to the self-checkout lanes and find one open. I’m nearly finished scanning my items when my phone buzzes again. I retrieve my phone as I’m on my way out of the supermarket and glance down at the screen. It’s another message from Noah:
Guess what I’m doing? I’m looking for a place to rent in Dorset for next weekend.
My pulse quickens. I text him back:
Noah. You’re aware I live in a house with seventy-five rooms? You can stay with us. No different than you did last weekend.
Noah Darby is typing …
NO I WILL NOT. Violet. I want to date you. I can’t stay at your family’s house.
I stop walking and lean against a shop-front window so I can text easier:
Noah. Don’t be ridiculous. You are always welcome to stay at my house.
Noah Darby is typing …
That’s 1) Too weird with your parents and twin brother there, I don’t care how many rooms you have in that house. 2) I’ll have to be on my best behaviour because of #1, and when I’m with you, I don’t always want to be a gentleman.
Ooh! Forget my stomach tipping upside down. Now I feel nothing but hot after reading Noah’s sexy text.
I send him one last message before I start walking home:
Then we’re in agreement that I don’t always want you to be a gentleman, either, Noah Darby.
I grin wickedly. Let’s see how he answers.
Noah Darby is typing ….
I’m glad to see we agree on that.
Ooh!
I drop my phone back into my bag, otherwise there’s a good chance I’ll spend the next hour here on the street sending flirty texts to Noah, and begin walking home.
And I can’t help but hope that a certain shy footballer decides not to be a complete gentleman on our date tomorrow night, I think with a grin.