CHAPTER 10 #2
"Because you deserve to be happy. And because..." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Because making you unhappy would make me unhappy. We're connected now, whether either of us planned it or not."
"That's either sweet or manipulative. I haven't decided which."
"I'll let you know when you figure it out."
The car wound through narrow streets lined with whitewashed buildings and overflowing flower boxes. Local residents stopped to watch our convoy pass, some waving, others just staring with open curiosity. I was going to have to get used to being stared at.
"One more thing," Archie said as we began climbing toward what I assumed was the palace. "Before we get there."
"Yes?"
"Whatever happens with my mother, whatever she says or implies or judges silently with her eyebrows, don't let her intimidate you. She respects people who stand their ground."
"And if I can't stand my ground? If I crumble under the pressure of European royal disapproval?"
"You won't. You faced down Madame Delacroix's croissant training without breaking. Queen Isabelle will be a breeze by comparison."
"You clearly haven't seen me with royalty."
"I've been watching you with royalty for days. You held your own at our wedding reception while furious with me, which is no small feat. You'll be fine."
The compliment caught me off guard. It was the kind of thing Peter would have said, genuine and supportive, and for a moment I forgot that Peter and Archie were the same person wearing different masks.
Then I remembered, and the pleased sensation shifted into something more complicated.
The palace came into view, and I forgot to be conflicted because my brain was too busy short-circuiting.
It wasn't just a palace. It was a palace that looked like it had been designed by someone who'd seen a fairy tale illustration and said "Yes, but bigger and with more towers.
" White stone walls gleamed in the afternoon sun.
Blue-domed roofs dotted the skyline like something out of a travel magazine.
Gardens cascaded down the hillside in terraces of green and color.
"That's where you live?" My voice came out slightly strangled.
"That's where we live. For the next six months, at least."
"It has actual turrets."
"Three of them. The north tower has the best view of the harbor."
"I'm going to live in a place with turrets. I went from a studio apartment above a laundromat to turrets."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"I genuinely don't know."
The car passed through an ornate gate and pulled into a courtyard that was roughly the size of my entire neighborhood back home.
Staff had assembled in a formal receiving line, all of them wearing expressions of polite welcome that probably concealed wild curiosity about the American barista who'd married their prince.
"Ready?" Archie asked.
"No."
"Good. Honesty. I appreciate that."
"Don't get used to it. I'm planning to lie about how much I'm enjoying myself for the entire six months."
"As long as you're not lying to yourself."
I shot him a look, but there wasn't any malice in his expression. Just something that looked almost like concern.
A footman opened the car door, and Archie stepped out first, then turned to offer me his hand. I took it because refusing would have looked petty in front of all these people, and also because I wasn't entirely sure my legs would work without assistance.
His grip was warm and steady, and when I emerged from the car, he didn't immediately let go. Instead, he tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow, a gesture that probably looked romantic to the assembled staff but was actually just keeping me upright.
"Smile," he murmured near my ear. "You're the new princess. They're excited to meet you."
"They're excited to assess whether I'm going to be a disaster."
"Same thing. Just smile and nod. I'll do most of the talking."
We proceeded down the receiving line, and I deployed every scrap of princess training Madame Delacroix had drilled into me. Gracious nod here. Appropriate smile there. Trying not to look like I was going to vomit from nerves.
The head housekeeper, a silver-haired woman named Signora Benedetti, welcomed us with formal warmth and introduced a small army of staff members whose names I immediately forgot.
A man named Roberto appeared to be some kind of household manager, and he rattled off information about schedules and meal times and room assignments with the air of someone who had memorized an encyclopedia and was eager to share.
By the time we entered the palace itself, I was running on fumes and determination.
The interior was just as overwhelming as the exterior.
Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Ceilings painted with classical scenes that probably belonged in museums. Everything beautiful, everything expensive, everything designed to make visitors feel like they were walking through a work of art rather than a home.
"The Blue Room complex has been prepared for Your Highness," Roberto explained as we walked. "It consists of a bedroom, sitting room, private study, and dressing room, with an en-suite bathroom. The rooms have been recently redecorated in anticipation of your arrival."
We stopped outside a set of double doors that looked like they belonged in a palace. Which, technically, they did.
"I'll leave you to settle in," Archie said. "Dinner is at seven-thirty, just the two of us. I thought we could have a quiet evening to talk."
"Talk about what?"
"Whatever you want. Strategy for meeting my mother. Your questions about how things work here. Your ongoing anger at me." He offered a slight smile. "I'm flexible."
"And what should I wear for this talking dinner?"
"Something comfortable. We're eating in my private dining room, not the state rooms."
"You have a private dining room?"
"Perks of being born into this." He paused.
"Roberto can answer any questions you have about the layout or the household routines.
Petra will continue as your lady's maid, of course, but Carmela Benedetti will assist her with anything specific to the Solmarian palace.
She's the head housekeeper's niece. Good.
Patient. She won't judge you for not knowing things. "
"Unlike some people."
"I never judged you for not knowing things."
"You judged me for plenty of other things."
"I judged you for things that turned out to be entirely my own projections and insecurities, and I've apologized for that. Repeatedly."
"And I've accepted your apology. Reluctantly."
"I'll take reluctantly."
He started to walk away, then turned back. "Betty?"
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here."
"Even though I'm going to be hostile and suspicious for the foreseeable future?"
"Even though. This place could use someone who's not afraid to be angry when anger is warranted."
He smiled when he said it, and for just a second, I saw Peter again. The man who'd made me laugh in the stables. The man who'd looked at me like I was a person instead of a problem.
The man I'd been starting to fall for before everything went sideways.
After he disappeared around the corner, I stood outside my new rooms with Roberto, trying to process everything that had just happened. The flight. The conversation. The confusing mixture of fury and attraction that I couldn't seem to shake no matter how hard I tried.
Six months suddenly seemed like both an eternity and nowhere near enough time.
"Shall we, Your Highness?" Roberto asked, his professional expression giving away nothing about what he thought of this whole arrangement.
I took a deep breath and nodded. "Let's see my new prison. Sorry, I mean palace suite. Same thing, really."
If Roberto had any opinions about that comment, he kept them to himself.
He opened the doors, and I stepped into what could only be described as the most beautiful cage in the world.
The Blue Room complex was spectacular. The bedroom was larger than my entire apartment back home, with a canopied bed and windows that offered sweeping views of the Mediterranean.
The sitting room was furnished with antiques that probably required special insurance.
The dressing room was bigger than most people's bedrooms.
It was also completely impersonal. Beautiful, expensive, and as welcoming as a luxury hotel room.
"Your luggage should arrive shortly," Roberto said. "Is there anything else you require?"
"Just about six months' worth of patience and the ability to stop finding my husband attractive when I'm supposed to be angry at him."
Roberto's expression flickered, just for a moment, with something that might have been sympathy. "Those skills do develop with practice, Your Highness."
"Here's hoping."
After Roberto left, I wandered through my new temporary home, trying to get a feel for the space. Everything was elegant and intimidating. The bathroom alone was larger than most bedrooms, with a tub that could easily fit three people and fixtures that looked like they'd been designed by artists.
I was examining the sitting room, running my fingers along the silk upholstery of a chair that probably cost more than my car, when I heard a soft knock at the door.
A young woman entered carrying what looked like the first load of my luggage, and she was clearly struggling with cases that had been packed for a full European royal wardrobe.
"Your Highness, I'm Carmela Benedetti. I'll be assisting Petra with your wardrobe and schedule while you're here. She asked me to start unpacking while she coordinates with Captain Steiner on the security arrangements."
Carmela looked to be around my age, with dark hair pulled back in a neat bun and the kind of quietly competent air that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing even if I didn't.
"Please, just Betty. And thank you for helping with this whole situation."
"Of course, Your Highness." She didn't manage to drop the title, but something in her expression softened slightly. "I've unpacked your evening wear for tonight's dinner, and I thought we might discuss your wardrobe needs for the rest of the week."
She gestured toward the dressing room, where my suitcases were arranged in neat rows.
"How long have you worked at the palace?" I asked, following her.
"Five years, Your Highness. I started as an assistant to my aunt and worked my way up to this position."
"And what exactly does this position involve?"
"Wardrobe coordination, scheduling assistance, and general support for your adjustment to royal life."
I needed a full-time instructor in how to exist appropriately. At this rate, I was going to need a whole department.
Carmela opened the first suitcase and immediately frowned. "Your Highness, there's been some kind of accident with your luggage."
I looked over her shoulder and saw what she meant. Half of my carefully packed clothes were soaking wet, and the other half looked like they'd been crammed in by someone having a tantrum.
"What happened?"
"It appears there was some kind of leak in the cargo hold. I'm so sorry, this is highly unusual. We'll have everything cleaned and pressed immediately, of course."
I picked up what had been a silk blouse that morning. It was now a soggy, wrinkled mess that would probably never recover.
"How much of it is damaged?"
Carmela was going through the cases one by one. "Most of your casual wear and about half of your formal pieces."
"So I'm starting my new life as a Solmarian princess with a wardrobe that looks like it went through a hurricane."
"We'll contact the designers immediately. They can have replacement pieces here within days."
"Days during which I'll be meeting the queen dressed like a disaster victim."
"I'm sure we can find appropriate items for you to borrow until your replacements arrive."
Borrowing clothes. Fantastic. This day just kept getting better.
"How often do these luggage accidents happen?"
"Never, Your Highness. This is completely unprecedented."
I looked at the soggy remains of my carefully curated princess wardrobe and a prickle of suspicion crawl up my spine. The convenient timing. The thoroughness of the damage. The way it hit almost everything except a few basic pieces.
"Carmela," I said slowly, "in your experience, do leaks in cargo holds usually manage to damage half of someone's wardrobe while leaving the other half mostly untouched?"
She hesitated, and that hesitation told me everything I needed to know.
"I wouldn't want to speculate, Your Highness."
"But if you were going to speculate?"
"I would say that cargo hold leaks typically affect luggage more... uniformly."
So someone had gone through my suitcases. Someone had destroyed half my clothes. Someone wanted me to arrive at my new home looking like I couldn't dress myself properly.
The question was who. And why.
"Well," I said finally, "I guess we'll just have to make the best of it. What do you suggest for tonight's dinner?"
Carmela had already pulled out one of the few dresses that had escaped damage, a simple black sheath that was appropriate for evening wear but not exactly what I'd planned to wear for my first formal dinner as Princess of Solmarina.
"This should work beautifully, Your Highness. Very elegant."
"If by elegant you mean 'the only thing I own that isn't completely destroyed,' then yes. Very elegant indeed."
As Carmela began hanging up the salvageable pieces, I thought about mentioning my suspicions to Archie. Then I remembered that I was supposed to be angry at him, not running to him with my problems.
Although... if someone was sabotaging me, that seemed like the kind of thing my husband should probably know about. Even if I was furious with him. Even if trusting him went against every instinct I currently had.
Six months in a palace with potential saboteurs, a disapproving queen, and a husband I simultaneously wanted to kiss and kill.
What could possibly go wrong?