CHAPTER 16
Betty
I'd been stress-baking for three hours, which was how I knew I was handling the situation maturely and not at all like someone who wanted to set things on fire.
"Your Highness," Chef Marcello said carefully, surveying the counter covered in perfectly formed croissants, "we have enough pastries to feed the entire diplomatic corps."
"Good. Maybe if I feed them enough butter, they'll stop reading tabloids about my hot tub habits."
"The staff doesn't believe those stories."
"The staff has access to palace gossip, not international media." I rolled out another sheet of dough with more force than necessary. "By tomorrow morning, half of Europe will think I'm some kind of party girl who abandoned her devoted boyfriend for a crown."
"And the other half will think Prince Archibald is an idiot for believing in tabloid nonsense.
" Petra appeared in the doorway with a cup of coffee and a sympathetic expression.
She'd been with me since Valdoria, one of the few constants in a life that kept shifting under my feet. "Which, for the record, he is."
"He's not an idiot. He's just," I stopped, unable to finish the sentence in a way that didn't make me want to throw things.
"Jealous?" Petra suggested.
"Judgmental."
"Both can be true." She set the coffee in front of me. "Drink. You look like you need it more than I do."
I took a sip and nearly groaned. Someone had made it exactly how I liked it, strong enough to stand up on its own, with just enough cream to take the edge off. "Who made this?"
"Captain Steiner. She said you taught her the proper technique last week."
The fact that my security detail was making me comfort coffee would have been funny if I wasn't so miserable. "Tell her thank you."
"Tell her yourself. She's coordinating security for tonight's charity reception."
I'd forgotten about the reception. Of course there was a reception. There was always a reception, or a dinner, or some other event that required me to smile and curtsy and pretend my life wasn't actively imploding.
"Can I skip it?"
"Not unless you want to give the media more ammunition." Petra pulled up a chair. "The optics of you hiding after the scandal breaks would be worse than facing it head-on."
"I hate optics."
"Everyone hates optics. But you're royal now, so optics are your life."
Chef Marcello wiped flour from the counter with the kind of deliberate movements that suggested he was trying not to comment on the situation. He failed. "The Prince was in here earlier looking for you."
My hands stilled on the rolling pin. "What did he want?"
"He didn't say. Just asked if I'd seen you, looked disappointed when I said you hadn't been down yet, and left."
"Well, he can stay disappointed."
"He also asked me to make sure you ate something today. Said you tend to skip meals when you're upset."
That stopped me. Archie knew that about me. Had noticed it, remembered it, cared enough to mention it to the kitchen staff even while we were fighting.
I hated that it made my chest ache.
"I'll eat a croissant," I muttered, grabbing one from the cooling rack and taking an aggressive bite. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic," Chef Marcello said dryly. "Though I should warn you, Lord Viktor was also asking about your schedule."
"Why does Viktor care about my schedule?"
"He said something about wanting to help you prepare for tonight's event. Make sure you're ready for the media questions."
The thought of Viktor's careful concern made my skin crawl, though I couldn't explain why. He'd been nothing but helpful since arriving this morning. Sympathetic, even. But something about the way he looked at me felt like an evaluation I was failing.
"I don't need Viktor's help."
"That's what I told him," Petra said. "But he's waiting in the Blue Salon anyway. Says he has some talking points you should review before tonight."
I finished my croissant and brushed crumbs from my jeans. "Fine. Let's get this over with."
Viktor stood when I entered the salon, his expression perfectly calibrated to convey sympathetic concern. "Princess Bettina. How are you holding up?"
"I've been better."
"I can only imagine how difficult this must be." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Please, sit. I thought we should discuss how to handle tonight's reception."
I sat, feeling like I was back in high school being called to the principal's office. "I assume the strategy is smile, wave, and pretend my ex-boyfriend didn't just sell lies to international media."
"The strategy is to appear confident and unbothered. If the media sees you're affected by this, they'll keep pushing." He pulled out a tablet with what looked like prepared remarks. "I've drafted some responses to common questions you might encounter."
I scanned the document. It was full of diplomatic non-answers that managed to say nothing while sounding vaguely apologetic. "These make me sound guilty."
"They make you sound cautious. There's a difference."
"Is there? Because 'I regret any misunderstanding about my past relationships' sounds like I'm admitting I did something wrong."
"You're acknowledging that perception matters in your position."
"But the perception is based on lies."
Viktor's expression remained unreadable. "The truth is less important than how the story is received, Your Highness. You're learning that royal life requires a certain... flexibility with narrative."
The words settled wrong in my stomach. "I'm not going to lie about what happened."
"I'm not asking you to lie. I'm asking you to be strategic about what you confirm." He leaned forward slightly. "The Grand Duchess is concerned about how this reflects on Valdoria. Your credibility affects hers."
Guilt twisted in my chest. My grandmother had already lost so much, her daughter, her son-in-law, twenty years wondering what had happened to me. And now I was bringing scandal to her doorstep because some guy I'd barely dated wanted his fifteen minutes of fame.
"What does she want me to do?"
"Project confidence. Show that you're suited to your role despite what the tabloids claim.
" He paused. "I know this is difficult, Your Highness.
But you need to understand that your actions reflect on more than just yourself.
Every misstep, every scandal, makes people question whether this alliance was wise. "
"Are you saying I'm damaging the alliance?"
"I'm saying that others are starting to ask that question." His tone was gentle, almost regretful. "The incidents have been piling up. And now this. Some of our allied governments are wondering if perhaps the marriage was arranged too hastily."
"The marriage was arranged because Putin is threatening the Mediterranean."
"Yes, but political necessity doesn't mean the marriage itself was the right solution." He met my eyes. "I supported the Grand Duchess's decision initially. But I'm beginning to wonder if we should have considered other options."
The words landed like stones. "Other options meaning what?"
"Meaning there are multiple ways to build alliances.
Marriage is traditional, yes, but it's not the only path.
" He stood, smoothing his jacket. "I'm not suggesting anything drastic, Your Highness.
Simply that tonight's reception is an opportunity to prove that you're capable of this role.
To show the doubters that they're wrong about you. "
After he left, I sat alone in the Blue Salon, turning his words over in my mind. Viktor had been kind about it, but the message was clear: I was on probation. One more scandal, one more misstep, and people would start seriously questioning whether I should be here at all.
The unfairness of it made me want to scream. I hadn't asked for any of this. Hadn't asked to be kidnapped as a child, or discovered as an adult, or married off to prevent a war. And now I was being judged for having lived a normal life before I knew I was supposed to be royal.
But wallowing wasn't going to change anything. I had a reception to get through, media vultures to face, and a marriage to save from people who thought it was a mistake.
I found Carmela in my dressing room, already laying out options for tonight.
"The navy would be appropriately serious," she said, holding up a conservative dress with long sleeves and a high neckline. "Given the circumstances."
"The circumstances being that I need to look like a nun to prove I'm not a party girl?"
"The circumstances being that you need to look like a princess who isn't affected by tabloid nonsense." She set down the navy dress and pulled out something in deep emerald green. "Though if you want to make a statement, this says 'I have nothing to apologize for.'"
The emerald dress was beautiful, fitted bodice, elegant neckline, a skirt that would photograph well without being too dramatic. It looked confident without being aggressive, polished without seeming defensive.
"The green," I decided.
Carmela smiled. "Good choice, Your Highness."
Two hours later, I was standing in the palace's east gallery, dressed in emerald silk and trying not to look nervous. The reception was for a children's literacy foundation, which meant I'd be expected to read to actual children while photographers captured every moment for tomorrow's papers.
No pressure.
"Your Highness." Captain Steiner materialized at my elbow. "The Prince has arrived. He's in the greeting room."
I felt a little dizzy and sick to my stomach. Nerves. "Do I have to see him before the event?"
"You'll be greeting guests together. It's expected."
Of course it was. Because nothing about this day could be simple.
The greeting room was a small antechamber off the main gallery where Archie was adjusting his cufflinks with the kind of intense focus that suggested he was avoiding looking at the door. He glanced up when I entered, and something shifted in his expression.
"Betty."
"Archie."