Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
ANDI
Teo and I sit on a cold metal bench in the football stadium. At halftime, the Rotheberg Fighting Edelweiss are losing 14 to 20 to the Sisters’ Outlaws. Americans have the strangest team mascots. A tiny flower against a horse. Most of the spectators have abandoned their seats to buy candy and chat, so we have the bench to ourselves.
I sip my Coke Zero and prop an unladylike elbow on my knee. Leaning my chin on my palm, I sigh.
“That was dramatic,” Teo says in German. When we’re alone, we usually revert to our native language.
I give him a glare. “Dramatic times call for dramatic responses. I don’t know what to do.”
“You have the whole European Union to choose from. You don’t have to go back to Freiberg.”
“I still need a job to live in any of those places. And I have to leave the US?” Even though I know the answer, I try to make it a question.
He nods. “That’s what the palace legal team says. No exceptions just because you’re no longer official. Unless you want to apply for US citizenship, and even then, you’ll need to leave the country.”
I sigh again. “Thanks for checking. Even though I said you shouldn’t.” I refuse to speak with anyone from the palace, but Teo has a better relationship.
He pats my shoulder. “I’m your big brother. I’m not going to let you fail completely. Which is an important lesson.”
Sitting up, I fix him with a narrow-eyed glare. “Lesson?”
He shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Think about it, Andi. Do you really think the palace wants the media splashing a homeless former princess on the front pages?”
I blink. “Are you saying I’m too big to fail? That I should blackmail the palace with threats to go public if they don’t bankroll me?”
“Blackmail never ends well. But I am saying you have some leverage if you want to renegotiate your current status. You stormed out of Freiberg so fast last fall that you left all your cards on the table. You may not be a working member of the family anymore, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do something of value for the crown that will earn you an allowance. The Grand Duchess needs good PR.”
“They seem like two sides of the same coin. ‘Pay me so I don’t tarnish your reputation,’ or ‘Pay me to improve your rep…’ Okay, I see the difference. But I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to Aunt Karolina. She’ll be so… smug.”
“You need to return from a place of strength. Get back on your accounts. Reawaken your following, and offer it as a platform to the crown’s PR. And once you repair that relationship, they won’t hold your trust fund hostage anymore.”
“They shouldn’t be able to do that at all.”
“You forget, Auntie is the government—in part—and you’re outside the country. If you were home, you could probably access the funds, but she can stop the bank from releasing them to a foreign entity.”
The gears start turning in my mind. I built my current following on my art. I made no secret of my royal status but didn’t focus on it. Maybe I can pivot that art account to appeal to a broader audience. Become one of those influencers who people follow because of who they are, not what they do. Like Steve and Jenna from Demo and Reno. If their comments section is any indication, most of their viewers have never done a renovation and don’t intend to. They watch for the drama—the interaction between Steve and Jenna.
Excitement zings up my spine. “I need to get Reece on my feed.”
“What?”
I tell him about the renovation show. “A lot of viewers watch that show because of the fights.”
“You think Reece will fight with you on YouTube?” Teo snorts. “I don’t think you know him very well. Besides, you have to leave the country in three weeks.”
I slump in defeat. “Good point.”
The band launches into the Rotheberg fight song, effectively ending the conversation. Spectators flood into the stands. As the cheerleaders and a tall, skinny kid dressed as a flower with a gold scarf and boxing gloves take the field, I let my mind wander.
When I’m creating art, I find my canvas and let it tell me what to create. Usually, it’s vintage clothing, but sometimes it’s a piece of furniture or even a discarded item. One of my most famous pieces is a broken door I salvaged and painted. Videos of that door went viral and built my following to unexpected heights.
But how many people followed me for my art? I suspect a fair number were there because the work was done by a princess. Now that I no longer have the glamor of royalty, will my followers stay? It’s one of the reasons I haven’t posted in ages.
The other reason is my fear that my following will surge because I snubbed the Grand Duchess of Freiberg. I call it the Harry and Meghan effect. People love to see how the rebels will fare. And while my rebellion is not as spectacular as walking away from Queen Elizabeth, I’m sure that factor will attract an audience. I don’t want to be known for my relationship with the crown—or lack thereof.
Which is probably silly to worry about. My status with the palace will always factor into my popularity. I should look on the notoriety as a gift that normal people don’t get—a boost to my visibility to be exploited. Look at Maddi Holmes, who’s famous only for being actor Nick Holmes’s daughter. Why should my connection to the palace be any different?
Around me, people leap to their feet, cheering. A pair of athletes in the blue and gold uniforms do a silly dance in the endzone. Touchdown, I guess. I’ve never been a huge fan of American football, but the positive energy of the crowd brings me out of my funk. I return my neighbor’s high five and settle in to watch the rest of the game.
* * *
The third quarter touchdown and extra point put the Edelweiss in the lead which they barely maintain through the final seconds. At the whistle, the stands erupt, students flowing onto the field to carry the players back to their locker room. Someone drags Teo away, and he promises to meet me at home. I follow the remaining crowd up the metal steps to the parking lot at the top.
The temperature dropped dramatically during the game, and the heat baked into the parking lot’s blacktop is no match for the biting mountain night. Shoving my cold fingers into my hoodie pockets, I weave between the chattering fans, nodding and saying hello to the few who remember me from my time here. No one attempts to engage me in conversation—they’re all making plans with friends or climbing into their vehicles and heading home. Even though I’ve lived in Rotheberg for a few weeks every year most of my life, I’m definitely still an outsider unless Hans or Teo are with me.
I round a familiar-looking blue pickup to find Reece leaning against the Rusty Pumpkin’s driver-side door. “You didn’t have to move out.”
“Good evening to you, too, Mr. Turner.” I drop a mocking curtsey.
“Why did you leave?”
I close my mouth, my teeth clicking loudly. “Why do you care?”
“You walked out without a word.”
“I left a note.” I cock my head. “That’s a tiny house. It will be too crowded with four people. And you don’t want an outsider getting in the way.”
“There’s plenty of room.”
“Maybe I don’t like sharing a bathroom with strangers.” Stepping forward, I press my shoulder against his arm and shove him down the side of the car.
As I click my key at the lock, he turns to face me, still leaning against the Pumpkin’s back quarter panel. My car is small, so he’s close—too close. Heat rolls off him, surrounding me in a little pocket of warmth. Resisting the urge to snuggle closer, I yank the door handle.
Of course, the Rusty Pumpkin chooses this moment to earn her title. The door refuses to open. I click the button multiple times, but it doesn’t help. She’s a fickle beast. Or veggie.
Reece’s hand curls around mine on the handle. “Can I help with that?”
“I don’t know, can you?” The words come out sharper than I intended.
He takes the key and slides it into the lock. “Sometimes auto-locks on these older cars stop working.” The key turns reluctantly, and the button in the door rises slowly instead of popping open. “You’ll probably have to use the key from now on. I’m not sure why you bother locking it.” He pulls out the key and offers it to me.
“In Freiberg, it’s illegal to leave a car unlocked.” Or so Teo tells me. I never had a car back home. Public transportation makes driving a private vehicle mostly unnecessary, and the palace provided a car and driver for official events. I learned to drive my grandfather’s old Mercedes on the palace property, but it’s never been an activity I enjoyed. Even here in the US, I prefer to be a passenger.
But Reece nods as if this makes sense. “I don’t think that’s a thing here. And no one is going to steal… this.”
I lift my chin and pat the Pumpkin’s roof. “Don’t talk about her that way.”
Was that a laugh?
He rubs the back of his neck. “Look. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you my parents were coming. I didn’t think they’d be here until next month.”
After I’m gone. I channel my inner princess and give him a regal head bow. “I never told you when my parents came to town, either, so apology accepted. Of course, I wasn’t expecting you to live with them.”
He chokes a bit then pushes on. “So, you’ll come back?”
I shake my head. “That’s unnecessary. I’ve moved my stuff into Teo’s place, and I’ll stay there until I return to Freiberg. But I’ll finish the job at the house.”
“I can pay you.” He takes a step back and shoves his hand through his hair. “I mean, since I’m not providing room and board anymore, I’ll pay you a fair wage.”
Missing his warmth, I brace my shoulders in an attempt to fend off a shiver. And brace my heart against the disappointment. He sees our relationship as a monetary transaction, not even a friendship. I wish I could afford to spurn his offer, but a few extra dollars will give me a little more wiggle room while I renegotiate my relationship with the palace.
Which I’ve now decided to do. I’ve been operating under the assumption “independence” meant steering completely clear of the royal family. But Teo’s suggestion challenged that assumption. Surely an exchange of skill for income is still independence. It’s called a job, and independent people work them every day. Why not work one I’m good at—social media. Even if it is for the crown.
“Thank you. I’ll see you Monday.” Before my emotions can overwhelm my new reasonable attitude, I climb into the car and pull the door shut with a final-sounding thud.
Then I have to open it again to free my seatbelt.
Reece closes the door for me, somehow managing to engage the reluctant catch without slamming it. He presses his fingertips against the glass and pats it in a move that feels almost like a caress.
I jerk the car into gear, nearly stalling it as I lurch across the deserted parking lot. When I circle around to the exit, I see Reece standing alone beside his truck, his hand still raised in a wave. The image sticks with me on the way home, bringing a lump to my throat. Why does “independence” have to mean “alone”?