Chapter Thirty #2
I think of her as an in-patient for years, with Alexander in the visitors’ lounge waiting for her to let him back in.
I think of all the horrors she must have held over herself, all the guilt she must’ve wallowed in, and all the fear she must’ve felt—must still feel even to this day—and I press my cheek to hers and finally let her go.
“Just promise me that you and Alexander won’t be one of those couples,” I say, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “You know, the ones who forget everyone else once they’re married and only ever want to spend time with each other.”
I can tell from the look in her eyes that it takes her a beat to realize I’m joking, and when she does, her mouth widens into a smile, and she holds out her pinky to me. “Promise. Just as long as you promise me that you and Kit won’t be one of those couples, either.”
I hook her pinky with mine. “Promise. But that won’t be for at least another decade. Some of us like to take our time, you know.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Sure, kiddo. Does he know that?”
“Yes,” I say. “I think so. Probably.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” she teases, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “Either way, you’ve certainly found yourself a good—”
There’s a soft knock on the door, and my mom and I both look up in time to see Maisie poke her head inside. “Oh,” she says, her face falling right as my stomach drops. “I didn’t know…sorry. I’ll come back later.”
“No, no,” insists my mother. “Come on in, Maisie. I was hoping you’d be early. I want to see you and Evie wearing your dresses together.”
She was hoping Maisie would be early? I give my mother a betrayed look, but she ignores me as Maisie reluctantly slips inside. “Where’s Louis?”
“He’ll be back,” says my mom. “You can change in the other room. Your dress is hanging next to mine.”
Maisie nods, her eyes fixed on the rug as she scurries down the hall. As soon as the door clicks shut, I glare at my mom.
“You invited her here?” I hiss, keeping my voice down. “Why—”
“Because she’s your sister, and she’s already been through enough this past year,” says my mom, giving me a look that deflates the worst of my aggravation.
Or, quite possibly, panic. If Maisie was willing to go after me, there’s no telling what she might do to my mom the day before the wedding, and the urge to drag Maisie out of the room and throw her back into the main corridor is unfathomably strong.
“She’s been through enough?” I whisper, my voice squeaking. “No one’s tried to kill her three, maybe four times!”
My mother clasps my hands, her skin cool and smooth. “Evie. We have two choices here. We can take what happened at face value and never forgive her—”
“Yes, because she almost killed me,” I hiss again. Why does no one seem to understand that part?
“Or,” says my mom patiently, “we can look at it from her point of view.”
I gape at my mom. “Her point of view? She’s not the one who almost—”
“From what she told Alexander—and yes, I’m inclined to believe her, all things considered—she didn’t think you would drink it,” says my mom, brushing the backs of my hands with her thumbs in a calming rhythm.
“She was trying to buy herself more time. A stupid move, yes. A dangerous move, absolutely. She should’ve gone to your father the moment she discovered Ben’s note.
But people aren’t always rational, especially ones your age—”
I huff, but she ignores me.
“—and the three of you have had far too much weight on your shoulders, between you and Kit helping MI5 and Maisie having to carry the monarchy while Alexander was healing. We all make bad decisions sometimes. You can either hold it against her for the rest of your lives and make you both miserable, or you can try to find it in yourself to accept her apology and give her the chance to rebuild the trust between you.”
I clench my teeth so hard that a jolt of pain cuts through my jaw, and for a moment, I think I’ve cracked a tooth. “How am I supposed to trust her now? She could’ve killed me. If she’d hesitated for even a second—”
“But she didn’t,” says my mother. “And believe me, I certainly won’t be drinking anything she offers me for a great long while, either.
But we’re family now. And while you are under no obligation to put yourself in danger or in another uncomfortable situation, one lesson I hope you’ve taken from the way you’ve been treated by the public is that the truth isn’t always obvious from the surface.
And sometimes, all someone needs to be their best self is a chance to prove to you who they really are. ”
I stare at her. “You’re turning the past year and a half into a life lesson? For me?”
“I’m pretty sure reality’s already done that,” she says with a faint smile. “But it doesn’t hurt to be reminded every once in a while.”
I mutter a few curses—which I would normally never dare to say in front of either of my parents—but at last I glance at the still-closed door and try to swallow my anger and sense of betrayal. Neither goes down easily, but at least they make it past the lump in my throat.
“Fine. I’ll talk to her,” I mutter. “After the wedding tomorrow. I can’t handle another distraction. Everything’s fragile enough as it is, and if one tiny thing goes wrong—”
“I think I might be able to help with that,” says a small voice from the door, which is now cracked open. My first instinct is to lash out at the obvious fact that she was eavesdropping, but then again, how many times have I listened in on conversations in this place?
And so, with gritted teeth yet again, I spit out, “How?”
Maisie pushes the door wider until her gown shows—a gorgeous turquoise, emerald, and gold number, complementing the magenta, purple, and emerald dress I wear.
“I know Ben better than anyone, remember?” she says.
“If he doesn’t talk tomorrow, it could all be for nothing. I know how to make him talk.”
I eye her for a long moment. “You know what the plan is, then?” I say to Maisie, and she nods.
“Mostly. Daddy told me the broad strokes, and I heard Stephens talking to some of the PPOs about a few details. I’ve had nothing to do but think it over, and I have some ideas I would love to try.”
“Do any of them involve poisoned tea?” I say before I can stop myself, and Maisie’s expression once again collapses.
“I…Evan, I really am sorry,” she says, her voice low and crackling with what I think might actually be sincerity.
“I should’ve told you the moment he sent it.
It should’ve never gone as far as it did, but I didn’t know who I could trust. I didn’t know who might be watching me and working for him, and I knew if he told the world, at least some of them would believe him, and—” She stops herself and buries her face in her hands for a beat, then pulls away, as if that alone has done enough to compose her.
“It doesn’t matter. I did a terrible thing, and I will do whatever I can, for however long it takes, to prove to you that that wasn’t me.
That I never intended…” She trails off and takes another deep breath, her blue eyes meeting mine.
“Whatever it takes, Evan. Including helping you catch this arsehole. And after everything, if the public continues to believe him, then I won’t fight it.
We can just…let the crown go to your heirs instead.
As long as it doesn’t go to him, and as long as there’s some way we can be sisters again… that’s all I care about.”
I don’t believe her. Not fully, anyway, but the sincerity on her face, the pleading in her tone, and the blatant hope in her eyes—it’s almost too much, and if I didn’t know Maisie was a terrible actress, I wouldn’t believe her at all.
But she’s awful. And there’s no way she’s pulling this out of her arse if she doesn’t at least sort of mean it.
I take a deep breath and release it slowly, giving myself time to think.
My mom’s right—I don’t need to make any decisions right now.
I can let Maisie earn my trust back, if she even really wants to.
But a painful, hollow pit inside me is screaming to let her back in, even if I can’t fully trust her.
That she’s my sister, that anything she did under Ben’s coercion can’t count against her, and that if I can forgive Rosie, I can forgive Maisie.
And that hollow pit has a point.
Besides, the part of tomorrow that’s missing—the thing that doesn’t feel right, the cracks that Ben might very well find a way to slither through…as I stare at Maisie, as I stare at my sister, I’m positive she’ll know how to fill them. And trap Ben for good.
I don’t have to forgive her yet. But I still love her, and if I’m going to give her the chance to rebuild the trust between us, destroying a common enemy sounds like an excellent place to start.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s talk.”