16. “It Ain’t Me” - Kygo Selemz Gomez
“It Ain’t Me” - Kygo + Selemz Gomez
Because we’re getting married in less than a month, Henry and I don’t have time for the traditional royal wedding tour across Wesbourne.
Instead, the Crown is throwing a large garden party in honor of our engagement and has allowed members of the public to apply for an invitation.
There were over one hundred thousand applications. Of those, seven thousand were approved.
The sprawling green behind the palace has hosted hundreds of parties over the years and will serve as the place for our official presentation as an engaged couple this afternoon.
Through the window of my sitting room, I can already see a large crowd has gathered.
In their pastel dresses and hats, the women look like a box of French macarons spilled across the lawn, and the men like Cinderella’s coachmen with their morning coats and top hats.
Large floral arrangements dot the grass.
The crowning glory is a long white tent, open on one side, where guests will be able to help themselves to a buffet of tea and finger sandwiches.
Despite the nausea that’s been plaguing me ever since this whole thing started, excitement bubbles up inside me as I watch the people congregating.
They are here to see me, and soon I will be responsible for their welfare as citizens.
I will protect their rights and do my best to make Wesbourne a nation they can continue to be proud of.
I give my reflection in the mirror one final glance, adjust the pleated skirt of my pale pink day dress, and, satisfied that I look the part of a queen-in-waiting, leave to join the rest of the royal family.
They’re waiting near the formal back entrance.
Henry and his father both look dashing in their long tails, hats tucked under their arms, and Olivia and Rosalind glow like spring blooms in their sage and lavender dresses and fascinators.
Even the coat of the royal chocolate Labrador gleams as he sits at William’s side like a page boy.
Beatrice is not down yet. At least there’s something I can depend on.
A few minutes later she appears, not remorseful in the least about her tardiness, but wearing a smile so blinding I nearly squint.
She’s wearing a snug-fitting baby-blue gown with puffed sleeves, the hemline falling far below the acceptable knee-length and hitting her midcalf.
The reason for this seemingly demure choice soon becomes apparent.
A long slit inches its way up the side of her dress and stops daringly short of revealing more than her beautifully tanned thigh as she moves.
A miniskirt would be more modest. My sister has no intention of giving up without a fight.
The crowd awaiting us outside is a welcome distraction.
After our small processional, people clapping on either side of the informal aisle, I wind my way through them, greeting both dignitaries and average citizens, chatting with members of Parliament and stay-at-home mums. A group of university students excitedly exclaims that my “modern fairy-tale romance” is extremely swoon worthy.
I offer them a tight-lipped smile. More like modern Gothic horror.
When my hand threatens mutiny if it has to shake one more person’s, I retreat to a grouping of trees, desperate for a few minutes to myself.
Although we were encouraged to greet guests individually to cover more ground, I can’t help but notice the natural pairings that have emerged from our cobbled-together family.
Olivia and Rosalind’s long-time friendship has drawn them together, the queen subtly showing my mother the ropes.
King William isn’t a people person, but he’s accompanied everywhere by his dog, Argos.
And then there’s Henry and Beatrice. They have spent nearly the entire party together so far, linking arms, giggling together, and looking to all the world like they are the ones getting married. The now familiar pang of homesickness punctures my stomach.
I watch them talk with a small group of people near the tea tent. Bea places her hand on Henry’s arm and tosses her head back to laugh at something he says. They look divine together, a couple you’d see splashed on magazine covers and billboards.
My nails dig into my palm. I release the tight grip and toss the contents of my teacup into the nearby hedge.
“He’s a damn fool.” The voice startles me, and I find King William standing just behind my shoulder, Argos faithfully pressed to his side.
I process his words and turn back to see who he’s talking about. He’s staring in the same direction I was, where Henry and Beatrice have moved into the tent and are collecting a small array of sandwiches on a plate.
I decide against voicing my agreement and instead lick my lips several times. I will probably never get used to having lipstick caked onto them. “It’s been a good turnout, don’t you think?”
The king grunts, and I wonder if it’s his usual contribution to conversation. He hands a sandwich to Argos, who swallows it in one entire gulp. “I’ve told him to keep his nose clean until I’m blue in the face, but it doesn’t do any good,” he says.
I look into my empty teacup, unsure what response he hopes to get from me. “He’s never cared much about his image, sir.”
“Like I said, a damn fool.”
“Do you think the press will run a smear campaign?”
Just last week, rumors that the crown princess of Norway is having a dalliance made it to the front pages of all the major tabloids.
A select few reporters and camera crews have been allowed access to this event, and they’re sliding through the crowd like slippery eels.
For the first time, I’m relieved that Beck turned down my offer of trying to maintain a relationship.
William scoffs. “They have to run their stories past us before publishing. It’s outside these gates you should be worried about.
Out there we have little to no control. Free press and all that hogwash.
” He takes a long drink from the cup in his hand.
The scent that wafts toward me testifies to it being something other than tea.
“You think I should be worried, then?” I turn to fully look at him.
He returns my gaze with a hard one of his own. “Henry will never stay satisfied with one woman. May as well look the other way.”
My mouth drops open at his insinuation. Does he think I’m interested in Henry romantically? “I beg your pardon, sir, I—”
“The staff knows better than to talk. It’s not too difficult to get what you want.”
Confusion settles over me like a fog. “I’m not sure I understand you, sir.”
His attention has returned to the crowd. Henry and Bea are once again floating through it as though they’re in an ad for a bloody timeshare in Bora Bora. Unexpectedly, William swings his eyes back to me, his gaze hard as flint. “Better find your happiness somewhere else.”
I take a step backward. “And where do you suggest I look for it?”
“I understand you left a fiancé behind.”
“That is correct.” I reach down and stroke Argos’s velvety head. He presses his muzzle into my palm, begging for more.
“Is he discreet?”
“I’m sorry, how is that relevant?”
From the corner of my eye, I see William lift his shoulders in a shrug. “Like I said, with enough discretion, you can have what you want.” He drains the dregs of his cup.
He is seriously suggesting I start an affair with Beck. Obviously, that thought has occurred to me already, but I never expected to hear it suggested so blatantly, and certainly not by a member of the Crown.
Before I can think of anything to say, Henry approaches us from behind. A strange feeling washes over me, like a child in a grocery store spotting his mum after thinking her gone. Which is unexpected, considering I want to strangle him at the moment.
“What’s going on?” Henry asks, giving his father a wary look. Argos whines and comes over to lick Henry’s hand. Bea has unglued herself from his side and is nowhere to be seen.
William bristles at his son’s interference. “Just giving Celia a bit of advice.”
Henry looks to me for confirmation.
“We were just talking,” I say, and avert my eyes. I have no intention of getting in the middle of whatever beef they have with each other.
“Leave her alone, Father.” Henry’s voice carries a sharp edge, and I imagine it pricking my skin, a bead of blood oozing out.
“Need I remind you who you’re speaking to?” William hisses, giving a swift tug on his morning coat. “Not that you’ve ever had a sense of propriety between your ears.”
I clear my throat rather loudly at the sight of a photographer making his way toward us. No matter what William says, I don’t trust the press further than I can throw them, which, looking at the beefy man wielding the camera, wouldn’t be far. “It might be time to wrap up this discussion,” I say.
With a glance at the photographer and a surly one in Henry’s direction, the king turns and walks away. Argos follows closely at his heels. Relief steals over me as I watch him retreat. My energy has drained away like suds at the bottom of the shower.
The photographer gestures for Henry and me to move closer together. I try to step away as soon as he’s captured his shots, but Henry’s arm remains snug around my waist.
“Get your hand off me.”
He lowers it slowly. “Relax. What did my father actually want?”
“He was giving me a few tips on happiness.”
Henry snorts and kicks at the grass with the toe of his dress shoe. “What the hell does he know about being happy?”
“Nothing, if his face is any indication.”
“And how did he advise you to be happy?” He takes a sip from his teacup, and I wonder if he’s smuggled in something stronger as well.
“He suggested I take Beck as a lover.”
Henry chokes on his tea—it is, in fact, tea. “Good god,” he says once he’s caught his breath. “And he says I have no scruples.”
I rub a thumb along the gilded handle of my teacup. “Guess I don’t either.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought about it long before he suggested it.”
Henry stares at me. He seems to think I live in a box—a very tiny, secure box that doesn’t allow room for hormones or emotions of any kind. “And?”
“And what?”
“Are you going to do it?”
“No.”
“Conscience get the best of you?”
“Apparently, Beck’s conscience is loftier than mine.”
“You actually asked him?” The look on Henry’s face tells me he’d be less surprised if I’d thrown my tea at him.
“Yes, Henry, I did.” Irritation seeps into me like water in a leaky boat. “Not that it’s any of your business. But rest assured, he wasn’t interested.”
“He’s a fool.”
I consider telling Henry his father made the same comment about him just a few minutes ago. Instead I say, “What’s the deal with your dad? Is he always like that?”
I didn’t see William much when I was younger. He was always attending events or meetings when I visited the palace. In recent years, we’ve had minimal interactions, and they are always in public. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a conversation alone with him before today.
“You mean charming, gracious, and full of sunshine?”
I smile in spite of myself. “I assume you’re his usual victim?”
You could cut yourself on the sharp edge of Henry’s jawline. “That became my role the minute I was born. But don’t worry,” he adds, his face brightening. “I make sure he never runs out of ammo.”
Our conversation is cut short as someone pulls him aside, and I can’t help but feel like he isn’t telling me everything.
I nearly walked in on an argument between him and his father last week.
I was on my way to the massive library, but the sound of raised voices stopped me right before I entered the room.
I had no intention of eavesdropping, but when I heard the two of them arguing inside, curiosity got the best of me.
William sounded angry. “Do I need to remind you of what will happen if you let this get out of control?”
“I’m well aware, Father,” Henry said. “Nothing has changed.”
“We both know the temptation anything in a skirt poses for you. Your reputation speaks louder than your words.”
“Well, I learned from the best, didn’t I?” Henry again.
“Don’t patronize me,” the king yelled. There was a sound of a thump, like palms slapping a table. “I’ll be watching you.” I imagined him jabbing his finger at his son. “And you know exactly what I’ll do if you break our agreement.”
Afraid they were about to leave the room, I scurried down the hallway.
My guess is Henry and his father both have some deep-seated issues to deal with, and neither will appreciate me sticking my nose in.
But just how deep do those issues run, and what kind of fallout will result if they’re ever addressed?