Chapter 18
I pay closer attention to what I say, answering a few questions when people direct them at me, but mostly content to observe.
Especially Rodrick.
Is it strange that I feel as if I already know him somehow? If I had to guess, I’d say he’s dying to leave this place.
Not once has he smiled. I don’t think smiling or laughing is part of his nature. They seem like rare, accidental events.
He didn’t introduce me as Princess Jazmina but as a friend’s sister, and I think he hid my title to protect me, even though anyone from outside could easily connect the dots. Everyone knows he and Kaled are close.
After our kiss and the verbal rejection that followed, he’s barely spoken to me. Even though he answers politely when I ask something, I feel like he can’t wait to be rid of me.
I’ve decided I’m not going back to London with him on Monday. If he wants to unleash an army of bodyguards to tail me, fine, but I want to go back to my apartment tomorrow.
I need to call Josephine too and thank her for taking care of me that night. It’ll probably be the first and last frat party I’ll ever attend.
I asked Rodrick for a month before telling Kaled everything, but I’ve changed my mind. I’ll video-call my brother the moment I get home. It’s not fair that my cowardice puts Rodrick’s friendship with him at risk. Other than running away from the guards, I didn’t do anything wrong.
We’re standing in a circle of people, and I know he’ll soon go to the library with the host. Decisions about land, he told me.
When, a few minutes later, he excuses himself to take care of his duties, I take the opportunity to head to the restroom. I’m not even in need; I just want to be alone.
I walk down the grand hallway, and a maid approaches, asking if I need anything. When I tell her I’m looking for the restroom, she offers to show me the way.
No one needs to tell me these people are wealthy like my family. Luxury practically screams from the walls to the ceiling.
From what I overheard earlier, they also have noble titles, just like Rodrick.
I lock myself in a stall, lower the toilet lid, and sit to think.
Was it me who forced that kiss by asking him to hold me tighter? I don’t have enough life experience to know whether a man like him would fall for a provocation. Rodrick seems so powerful and experienced. But . . . what about everything he said afterward?
While we were kissing, he seemed to be enjoying it just as much as I was, but right after, he acted like he regretted it.
I sigh, confused. I need to talk to Josephine tomorrow. She’ll help me figure out this puzzle.
I’m about to get up when I hear two women talking.
“Do you think she’s the duke’s fiancée?”
Rodrick. They’re talking about Rodrick.
“Of course not! She’s a foreigner. Probably just a fling.”
My face burns, not just because she called me a fling, but because of what she said before. He’s engaged to someone?
The idea that I kissed another woman’s fiancé horrifies me.
“He would never mix his pure Scottish blood with a foreigner. The girl barely speaks our language. Her accent is terrible.”
Liar.
My English teacher always said my pronunciation was very clear. Sure, I get confused sometimes when people speak too fast, but I speak slowly and I’ve always been able to make myself understood.
“I’m certain she’s not the future duchess. I heard from a reliable source that MacQuoid is choosing between Elizabeth Boyd and Davina Gordon. He needs a wife before he turns thirty-seven, or he’ll lose his title.”
So he’s not officially engaged yet but about to be, which to me is basically the same thing. My decision to leave tomorrow is now sealed.
I step out of the stall and wash my hands without looking at them, even though I can see their awkward smiles in the mirror, probably realizing I heard their gossip. Hypocrites.
I leave without saying goodbye. Princess or not, I can’t swallow fake politeness, so to hell with manners.
I wander through the house, but after a while I can’t stand another shrill laugh and decide to move somewhere calmer.
“Your dress is beautiful,” a voice says behind me.
I’m wearing a simple black dress, spaghetti straps, knee-length. Even before moving to Europe permanently, I never wore Rheadur’s traditional clothing on these trips.
I turn around and see a girl who must be about fifteen. Red hair, very pretty, though a bit disheveled.
“Thank you very much.”
“It’s my mom’s dream that I dress like that. You look so perfect.”
“The cliché is true. Nobody’s perfect. Clothes don’t define you.”
“Tell that to Scottish high society. My name is Isla Murray.”
“Mine is—”
“Princess Jazmina Faheem. I Googled you.”
I freeze, unsure of what to say, now that my suspicion is confirmed that they could find out who I am instantly.
“I hope you’re not offended, but I thought your name was so pretty that when the duke introduced you, I memorized it and searched it online.”
“I’m not offended, just a little surprised you looked me up.”
She glances behind me. “Here comes your duke.”
“He’s not mine.”
“So you’re not the fiancée in the arrangement?” Her question confirms that what those women said wasn’t malicious gossip; it was simply the truth.
“No,” I say slowly, loud enough for Rodrick to hear as he approaches. “And I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting the duke’s bride-to-be yet.”
The guilty-shocked look on his face tells me everything: yes, he will soon be committed to someone.
“It was lovely meeting you, Princess Jazmina. I hope to see you again.”
I could tell her it’s improbable, but realistically? It’s impossible. Whether I’m under supervision or not, I will never let Rodrick drag me back to Scotland just to watch him romance his bride.
“The pleasure was mine, Isla. And don’t forget what I told you about appearances. You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you, Jazmina. I wish you lived here.” She surprises me by kissing my cheek before walking away.
“Ready to go?” he asks softly, as if afraid I’ll break.
I encase myself in the icy shell I’ve used my whole life with my father’s other wives and my half-sisters.
“More than ready.”