CHAPTER 16 #2
We stood there for a moment, the air between us thick with everything we'd said this morning and everything we hadn't. He looked tired, I realized. Like he hadn't slept since our fight.
"You look beautiful," he said finally.
"Thank you." I kept my voice neutral, professional. The way I'd talk to any diplomatic acquaintance. "Carmela helped me choose something appropriate for the occasion."
"The occasion being facing down media speculation about your allegedly wild past?"
"Something like that."
He moved closer, and I caught the scent of his cologne, the same one I'd been breathing in last night when his face was buried in my neck. The memory made my skin flush.
"Betty, about this morning..."
"We should get into position," I interrupted, not ready to hear whatever he was about to say. "The guests will be arriving soon."
"I was an ass."
"Yes, you were." I met his eyes. "But we don't have time for this conversation right now. We have a reception to get through."
"After, then. We need to talk."
"Maybe."
The doors opened and Elena appeared with her clipboard and her professional smile. "Your Highnesses, the first guests are arriving. Are we ready?"
"Ready," I said, before Archie could continue.
We took our positions at the entrance to the gallery, standing close enough that we looked united but not touching.
Every smile was performance. Every word was calculated.
And when Archie's hand settled on my lower back for a photograph, I felt the touch like electricity through the silk of my dress.
This was going to be a long evening.
The reception itself was less awful than I'd expected. The children were enthusiastic about the books I read to them, which helped. And the foundation director was a warm woman in her sixties who treated me like a person rather than a scandal waiting to happen.
"You have a wonderful way with the children, Your Highness," she said after I'd finished reading a story about a dragon who was afraid of heights. "Natural and warm. That can't be taught."
"Thank you. I used to volunteer at the library back home." The words came out before I could stop them. Back home. As if Oregon was still my home instead of this palace I was learning to navigate.
"Well, they're very lucky you chose to share that warmth with them." She patted my arm. "Don't let the nonsense in the papers get to you. Anyone with eyes can see you're exactly where you belong."
The kindness in her voice made my throat tight. "That's very generous of you."
"It's not generosity. It's observation." She glanced over at where Archie was talking to a group of donors. "And I've been watching your husband watch you all evening. That man is besotted."
I followed her gaze to find Archie looking directly at me with an expression I couldn't fully read. When our eyes met, he didn't look away.
"It's complicated," I said.
"Love usually is." She smiled. "But complicated doesn't mean impossible."
After the children's portion of the event ended, there was a reception for the adult donors. I was making my way through the crowd, shaking hands, and accepting compliments on my dress, when a woman in her forties approached with the kind of calculating smile that meant trouble.
"Princess Bettina, how lovely to finally meet you." Her accent was British, upper-class, and dripping with false warmth. "Lady Caroline Ashford. I'm a friend of Queen Isabelle's."
Of course she was. "Lady Caroline. Thank you for supporting the foundation."
"Oh, I wouldn't miss it. Especially not after today's exciting news." Her smile sharpened. "I imagine it must be difficult, having your past examined so publicly."
Every instinct screamed at me to make an excuse and walk away. But Viktor's words echoed in my head: Project confidence. Show that you're suited to your role.
"Not really," I said, keeping my voice light. "I'm proud of my past. I worked hard, put myself through college, and built a life I was happy with before I knew about my heritage."
"How admirable. Though one does wonder if perhaps more discretion might have been warranted in certain... social situations."
The implication was clear. She'd seen the photos. Everyone had seen the photos.
"You mean the skiing trip with my college friends?" I smiled pleasantly. "Yes, we had a wonderful time. Have you ever been skiing, Lady Caroline? The hot tubs are lovely after a day on the slopes."
"I'm sure they are. Though perhaps without quite so much photographic documentation."
"Well, when you're a normal college student, you don't generally anticipate that harmless photos will be used to attack you years later." I took a sip of my water. "But then again, I suppose that's the difference between living authentically and living in fear of how things might look."
Her eyes narrowed. "Some might say that royal life requires a certain... awareness of appearances."
"And some might say that royal life requires authenticity and genuine connection with people rather than performing for appearances." I leaned in slightly. "But I'm still new to this, so perhaps I'll learn to be more calculating with time."
I excused myself before she could respond, my heart hammering. I'd just been rude to one of the Queen's friends. Viktor would probably hear about this within the hour.
But I'd also stood up for myself instead of apologizing for existing. That had to count for something.
I retreated to a quieter corner of the gallery, needing a moment to breathe, when Archie appeared at my elbow.
"I saw you talking to Lady Caroline." His voice was unreadable.
"Did you also see me barely resisting the urge to throw my drink in her face?"
"I saw you handle an extremely difficult conversation with grace and dignity." He paused. "I also saw her walk away looking like she'd been outsmarted, which was satisfying to watch."
Despite everything, my lips twitched. "She implied I was careless with my reputation."
"She implied you were careless with your behavior. You corrected her by pointing out the difference between living your life and performing for critics." He looked at me seriously. "It was the right response."
"Your mother isn't going to think so."
"My mother isn't married to you. I am." He seemed to catch himself. "I mean, for however long we're doing this. Six months, or whatever."
The awkwardness in his voice would have been funny if it didn't make my chest ache. "Right. Six months."
A photographer approached, asking for a photo of us together. We moved closer, his arm sliding around my waist. The contact made me hyperaware of everywhere we were touching, his hand on my hip, the press of his shoulder against mine, the heat of him through our formal clothes.
"Smile," the photographer instructed.
We smiled. The camera flashed. Archie's thumb moved in a small circle against my waist, barely noticeable to anyone watching, but I felt it like a brand through the silk.
"Perfect," the photographer said, moving away to capture other guests.
Archie's hand didn't immediately leave my waist. "Betty, about this morning. The things I said—"
"Were hurtful and unfair, yes." I stepped away, needing distance before I did something stupid like lean into him. "But we're not doing this here."
"When, then?"
"I don't know. When I'm less angry. When you've figured out whether you actually believe I'm telling the truth or whether you're always going to wonder what else I'm hiding."
"I believe you."
"Do you? Because this morning you accused me of having a 'colorful romantic history' and lacking dignity and self-respect."
He winced. "I was jealous."
"You were cruel."
"I know." His voice dropped lower, meant only for me. "And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Betty. I looked at those photos and I couldn't think straight. All I could see was you with someone else, laughing and happy, and it made me crazy."
"You don't have a right to be jealous of my past."
"I know that too. But my brain didn't get the memo." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "You were right about the timing. Right about someone orchestrating this. And instead of standing with you, I made it worse."
The admission cost him something. I could see it in the tension of his shoulders, the set of his jaw. Archie wasn't used to being wrong, wasn't practiced at apologies. The fact that he was trying meant something.
It just didn't mean enough to erase the hurt.
"I need time," I said finally. "To think about what this means. About whether we can actually make this work or whether we're just going to keep hurting each other."
"How much time?"
"I don't know."
"Your Highness?" Viktor approached from across the gallery, his expression concerned. "Might I borrow you for a moment? There's a donor who specifically requested to meet you."
I glanced at Archie, who looked like he wanted to argue. But we were in public, surrounded by people who were watching our every interaction. This wasn't the time or place for the conversation we needed to have.
"Of course," I said to Viktor.
As I followed him across the gallery, Archie's gaze on my back was like a physical touch. When I glanced over my shoulder, he was still watching me, his expression unreadable.
The donor Viktor wanted me to meet turned out to be a duchess from Belgium who spent twenty minutes telling me about her own charitable work. She was kind and enthusiastic, and I managed to hold a decent conversation despite my brain being elsewhere.
By the time the reception ended, I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. I'd smiled for a thousand photographs, shaken hundreds of hands, and navigated countless conversations where people were trying to determine if I was scandal-ridden trash or a princess worth supporting.
I was walking back to my rooms when I passed the palace library and noticed light coming from under the door. Curious, I pushed it open and found Archie standing at one of the tall windows, looking out over the harbor.