Chapter 10 #2
I was taken aback. Oliver and I were close, yes.
But to have Leroy acknowledge my influence on his son was more meaningful than he could know.
Leroy was a man of few words. Instead of sucking up all the air in a room with a loud, boisterous personality, he was quiet and reserved, observing even the smallest details that many didn’t notice.
He was not effusive with his praise, rather doling out compliments only when they were most earned.
It was a trait that he and my dad had shared.
“Well, time to put on my king hat and make some small talk.” He patted me on the back and stalked over to where the press sat.
“I think he’ll pull out of all this within two weeks,” Rosalind piped up beside me, her eyes following Oliver as he moved around the room.
“No, he won't.” I looked down at her. She was a very bright young girl, but she still didn’t understand Oliver’s love for his family and the sacrifice he was making to save her from this very predicament.
“I’ll bet you fifty euros he chooses that golden-haired one, the teacher.” Evelyn stuck out her hand to shake Rosalind’s. I blinked at them. Those two were always into something together.
“Double or nothing, he chooses the American,” Rosalind retorted. Where did she even learn to talk like that?
Something twisted in my gut. It must have been the residual guilt from the dream and what happened in my shower.
“You both are awful, you know that, right?” I tried to plaster on my sternest face.
“Want in?” Evelyn asked.
“Gram, he can’t bet with us!” Rosie exclaimed. “He has insider info and has too much sway. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Oh, Rosie,” I laughed, grabbing the bottom of the braid hanging over her shoulder. “I would think you’d know better by now. That old bird,” I pointed to Evelyn, “is the hustler of all hustlers. You never bet against her.”
“Hey,” Evelyn narrowed her eyes at me and rapped her cane on the floor. “Mind your own business, Knox. I have to school the next generation somehow.”
I laughed loudly and moved to the front row to take my seat.
“Ms. Thorne. John Astor, Wexstone Daily. If chosen to be our queen, do you think you could put aside your personal bias for your family to make sure the other businesses of the kingdom get your full attention and you don’t unfairly favor the forestry department?”
Sabine Thorne, well-known environmentalist and daughter of one of the country’s largest flower producers, cocked a well-shaped eyebrow.
“Well, John, I think my family has made a name for themselves on their own two feet for over three hundred years. We will do fine with or without the extra money from the forestry department. Can you say the same thing about your own column funded by the palace?”
I chuckled. I always loved when that dick John Astor got his ass handed to him.
“Ms. Levy, Sasha Cabot from The Independent. What makes you think that you are qualified to run our country?”
“I don’t know that I am, Ms. Cabot.” Adelaide let a saccharine smile roll across her face as she tucked her hair behind her ear.
“I think someone else would be much better. I think His Highness would be better off choosing someone who knows the ins and outs of the court.” I heard Evelyn huff as the loud click of fingers against keyboards filled the room.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Renata chimed in, pursing her lips. Today they were painted in a garish shade of pink that clashed with her red hair. “As someone who has been around the court her entire life, I fully believe that I have the knowledge to run this kingdom well.”
Mr. Astor stood quickly to cut off Renata.
Anger flashed in her eyes before turning back to her fake, sweet facade.
She and her cronies, Gemma Rousseau-Wu and Ginny Wu-Murphy, first cousins who had attended prep school with us, were clearly annoyed that most of the questions this morning had been directed toward the suitors who were not already a part of the royal court.
I had tried to keep my eyes on Oliver as he moderated the press conference.
But I couldn’t help when my gaze trailed to Birdie, just two seats to Oliver’s left.
Every time I looked at her, a wave of guilt crashed over me.
She looked like sunshine sitting on the stage in a bright yellow high-necked day dress.
The belt at her middle accentuated her hourglass figure, and my fingers flexed at the thought of how Dream Knox had dug his fingers into that waist as she rode him.
Ugh. I had to stop this. Birdie was here to court Oliver. I just needed to buy myself some time to let the memory of the previous night’s dream wear away.
Astor turned to Mellie Schneider, a writer for Kingdom Magazine who looked distinctly uncomfortable in her charcoal pencil skirt and heels. “Ms. Schneider. Should you be chosen to be the prince’s bride, do you plan to leave your career in favor of raising his children?”
Mellie stiffened, her face paling. I wanted to punch Astor; he had a long-standing rivalry with Kingdom Magazine and certainly had only asked that in hopes that their best writer would leave.
Birdie glanced at Mellie in the chair beside her. As Mellie opened her mouth, searching for a response, Birdie jumped in.
“Excuse me. Mr. Astor, was it? Might I ask, do you have any children?”
Astor blanched. “I don’t see how that is at all—”
“Answer the question please, John,” Oliver said.
“We have three children, yes,” Astor answered, cowed by the authority ringing in Oliver’s voice.
“And did you leave your job to care for them?” Birdie asked calmly, though fire flashed in her eyes. The room was silent.
“Well…no,” Astor stammered.
“Then I don’t see why you should ask such a question of Ms. Schneider. In this day and age, I would hope an accomplished journalist such as yourself would see that it is more than possible for a woman to be a mother and a wife and have her own career.”
Astor sank back into his chair, his face flushed. Mellie looked to Birdie, gratitude on her face.
“Ms. Hamilton,” another voice spoke up. “Alistair Davies, Pine Times. Your mother passed when you were a teenager, and your father could not be reached for comment. Do you think your rocky family life would hinder your ability to help run the country?”
My stomach sank as my head whipped around to spot the lanky, pimple-faced man who had asked the question. She had also lost her mom as a teenager? Of all the things for us to have in common, being in the Dead Parent Club together was not what I would have wanted.
“Um…” Birdie cleared her throat, a mixture of surprise and panic on her face. “I, um…” she stammered, fingers toying nervously with her bracelet.
I briefly considered going back there to give Alistair Davies a piece of my mind.
How dare he bring up something that was clearly so traumatic in this way?
Before I could react, Oliver stepped in.
“I think that’s enough questions for now.
” A flurry of protest came from the reporters.
“You can thank Mr. Astor and Mr. Davies for ending this press conference with their inappropriate inquiries. We will not be moving forward with any further questions.” He stood, then paused.
“One last thing you should all note,” he said slowly, looking around the room to each reporter.
“This country could use a fresh perspective. We could all use a shake up from the old traditions. So, whether my future partner is an American,” he gestured to Birdie, “or a schoolteacher,” he nodded to Adelaide, “or a baker,” he motioned toward the round-faced blonde on his right, “or one of the other beautiful women here who have spent their whole lives around the court, there will be changes. I suggest you prepare accordingly.”
I wanted to give him a standing ovation. There’s my best friend. This was the next king the country needed, not some palatable kiss-ass. I looked at Evelyn to find pride radiating from her every pore.
“That’s my boy,” she whispered.
“That will be all. You are dismissed,” Oliver said, striding from the room.