CHAPTER 21
Archie
I woke to sunlight streaming through the windows and Betty's hair spread across my chest. For a moment, I just lay there, listening to her breathe.
Her hand was curled against my ribs, her leg tangled with mine, and if I didn't think too hard about the fact that she'd told me last night this didn't change anything, I could almost pretend we were okay.
But we weren't okay. And pretending otherwise wouldn't make it true.
She stirred, making a soft sound of protest at consciousness, and she tensed as she remembered where she was. Whose bed she was in. What we'd done.
"Morning," I said.
She pulled back, putting immediate distance between us despite still being in my bed. "Morning."
"Sleep okay?"
"Fine." She sat up, pulling the sheet with her. "What time is it?"
"Just after eight."
"I should get dressed. We have investigating to do."
"Betty..."
"Don't." She slid out of bed, grabbing her discarded clothes from the floor. "Last night was... it happened. But it doesn't change anything. We're still just working together to catch whoever is sabotaging me."
"Right. Just colleagues."
"Exactly." But she wouldn't meet my eyes as she pulled on her sweatshirt.
I watched her dress, watched her rebuild the walls I'd felt crack last night when she'd said my name and held onto me like I was the only solid thing in her world.
And I knew with sudden, crushing certainty that apologizing wasn't enough.
That sleeping together hadn't fixed anything.
That if I wanted any chance of her choosing to stay, really stay, not just because she was trapped, I needed to do something more.
Something that would probably destroy me but might give her back what I'd taken.
"I need to take care of something this morning," I said. "Can we meet later? Say, eleven?"
"Investigation stuff?"
"Personal stuff. But it affects you. I'll explain when I see you."
She studied me with suspicion. "This isn't some princely gesture that's going to make things more complicated, is it?"
"Probably. But it's necessary anyway."
"I don’t know."
"Just trust me. Eleven o'clock, my study."
She left without agreeing, and I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself I wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of my life.
Or maybe not a mistake. Maybe just the right thing done too late.
I showered, dressed, and headed to my study, where I pulled up the contact information for the palace legal team. It was barely nine AM, but this couldn't wait.
"Your Highness." Lord Renaud, chief legal counsel, answered on the second ring. "How can I help you?"
"I need you to draw up annulment documents for my marriage to Princess Bettina."
Silence. Then: "I'm sorry, Your Highness, I must have misheard."
"You didn't mishear. I want the paperwork prepared that would dissolve my marriage to Princess Bettina and release her from all obligations to Solmarina."
"Your Highness, I must strongly advise against this. The political ramifications..."
"Are my concern, not yours. I'm not asking for your advice. I'm asking for the documents."
More silence. "Your Highness, an annulment of this marriage would require consent from both royal families, extensive legal proceedings, and would almost certainly result in the collapse of the Mediterranean alliance."
"I'm aware."
"And you still want me to proceed?"
"I want the documents prepared giving Princess Bettina the option to annul. She doesn't have to use them. But I want her to have the choice."
Lord Renaud made a sound that might have been a sigh or might have been suppressed protest. "It will take several hours to prepare the paperwork properly."
"That's fine. Have them ready by this afternoon."
"Your Highness, what about the Queen?"
"I’ll let her know. This is my decision, Lord Renaud. Do you need anything else from me?"
"Just your signature authorizing me to proceed."
"Send over the authorization form. I'll sign it immediately."
I hung up and stared at my computer screen, at the email that would arrive any moment asking me to confirm that yes, I wanted to destroy my marriage and probably the alliance in the process.
My phone rang. Roberto.
"Your Highness, Lord Viktor Beaumont is here requesting an urgent meeting. He has a guest with him, Princess Anastasia of Belarus."
My stomach sank. "Viktor brought Anastasia here?"
"Yes, sir. He says she's visiting as a diplomatic courtesy and would like to pay her respects to you and Princess Bettina."
Of course he did. Because Viktor was nothing if not strategically ruthless.
"When?"
"He's requesting ten o'clock. I can put him off if you'd prefer."
"No. Schedule it." If Viktor wanted to play games, I'd show him exactly how that would work out. "And Roberto? Make sure Princess Bettina is informed. This meeting concerns her."
"Understood, sir."
I spent the next forty minutes reviewing the authorization form for the annulment documents and signing my name to something that would likely haunt me for the rest of my life. Then I headed to the formal receiving room where Viktor had undoubtedly arranged this little ambush.
Betty arrived looking confused and wary. She'd changed into a simple dress, nothing formal, probably because she hadn't known this was a diplomatic meeting.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"Viktor brought Princess Anastasia for a visit. Diplomatic courtesy."
Her face went carefully blank. "The Russian princess."
"The one from the photos, yes."
"Why?"
"Because Viktor is trying to destabilize you. Show you what a 'proper' princess looks like. Make you feel inadequate." I caught her hand. "Don't let him."
She pulled away. "I can handle Viktor."
"I know you can. But this isn't about handling him. This is about him being manipulative and cruel."
"I'm aware." Her voice had gone cold. "Let's just get this over with."
Viktor entered with Princess Anastasia on his arm, and I had to admit the staging was effective.
Anastasia was stunning, tall, blonde, elegant in a way that came from generations of royal breeding and training.
She wore a simple but obviously expensive dress that probably cost more than most people's cars, and she moved with the unconscious grace of someone who'd never had to think about my posture.
Everything Betty wasn't. Everything Viktor wanted me to see.
"Your Highness." Viktor bowed. "Thank you for agreeing to meet on such short notice. May I present Her Imperial Highness, Princess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Belarus."
Anastasia smiled and executed a perfect curtsy. "Your Highness, it's an honor. And you must be Princess Bettina." She turned to Betty with what seemed like genuine warmth. "I've been so eager to meet you. The stories about your arrival have been fascinating."
Betty managed a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Your Imperial Highness. Welcome to Solmarina."
We settled into the formal chairs arranged for polite conversation, and I could feel Betty's tension radiating from across the small table.
"I hope you don't mind the intrusion," Anastasia said. "Lord Viktor mentioned you were here in the palace, and I couldn't resist the opportunity. I've been wanting to visit Solmarina for ages."
"What brings you to the Mediterranean?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
"Oh, several things. There's a racing event in Monaco next week, I have three horses competing. And I've been meaning to tour the region's equestrian facilities. Lord Viktor was kind enough to arrange introductions." She turned to Viktor with a grateful smile that seemed entirely genuine.
Of course she had horses. Of course Viktor had arranged this.
"You race horses?" Betty's voice was carefully controlled.
"I breed them, actually. Thoroughbreds, primarily, though I've been expanding into Lusitanos recently." Anastasia's entire face lit up. "Do you ride, Princess Bettina?"
"I'm learning."
"How wonderful! There's nothing quite like horses, is there? The connection, the trust, the partnership." She turned to me. "Lord Viktor mentioned you have an impressive stable here. Lusitanos and Andalusians, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Yes. I have a small breeding program."
"I'd love to see them, if that's not too forward. I'm always eager to learn from other breeders, especially with Iberian horses. The bloodlines are so fascinating."
And just like that, we were discussing horses. Bloodlines and conformation and training techniques and everything I'd spent years passionate about. Anastasia was knowledgeable and enthusiastic, asking intelligent questions about my breeding choices and offering insights from her own program.
I tried to include Betty in the conversation, but there was nothing for her to contribute.
She didn't know about bloodlines or competition standards or the difference between working Lusitanos and show Lusitanos.
She just sat there, watching Anastasia and me connect over a shared passion, her expression getting more closed with each passing minute.
Viktor watched too, satisfaction poorly concealed behind his diplomatic smile.
"Your mare is due to foal soon, isn't she?" Anastasia asked. "Azzurra, is that her name?"
"In the next few weeks, yes. How did you know?"
"Oh, I've been following your breeding program online.
The bloodlines you've developed are remarkable.
Combining the Portuguese working lines with Spanish elegance, it's exactly the kind of program I've been wanting to attempt myself.
" She leaned forward enthusiastically. "I'd love to discuss it further, if you have time.
Perhaps after the foal arrives? I'd be fascinated to see the result of your work. "
"Perhaps," I said, keeping my voice neutral.
"I should warn you, I'm terribly persistent when it comes to horses." She laughed, warm and genuine. "My staff says I'm impossible once I've decided I want to learn something."
I glanced at Betty, who was staring at her hands with the kind of intense focus that meant she was trying not to cry.