Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
ANDI
After donning the gown I selected three weeks ago, I sit quietly while Mareike adds the finishing touches to my hair. Henrik, the Grand Duchess’s current favorite designer, pauses beside my chair on his way out. “You are quiet, today, darling.”
I muster a smile. “I’m ready to go home. Back to Rotheberg. I wish—” I break off, not sure what to wish for. I’ve already severed ties with the monarchy—as much as I can while still being part of the family. I could have refused to come for Aunt Karolina’s big announcement. Or I could have left before the Gala. But my entire family is here, and they mean everything to me.
Or almost everything. I imagine Reece in his log cabin and draw strength from that relationship. We’ve stayed in touch, calling almost every day, but even a video call doesn’t feel the same as being together. I’ve realized during our time apart that I don’t want to do this ever again, but I’m not going to blurt that out over the phone.
My other problem, of course, is I have nowhere else to go. I can’t return to the US until my visa is approved, and while all of Europe is my oyster, traveling on my own holds little interest for me now, even though the Grand Duchess has released the stranglehold on my trust fund. I just want to go home.
Henrik pats me on the shoulder, kisses my cheek, and whirls out of the room. He’s an engaging man, but he’s not really a friend. One of the hard things about being a princess is figuring out who’s here for you and who’s here for themselves. Most people fall into the second category.
On the other hand, in some ways, it’s easier as royalty. One can assume everyone wants something and make people work harder to prove they’re true friends. That’s what my aunt, and my cousin Tori, recommend, but that attitude depresses me. I’m a glass half full girl.
When Mareike finishes anchoring the tiara to the tiny braids beneath my teased hair, I thank her for her help and rise. My ankle wobbles—my sparkly, stiletto platforms offer less support than the Converse I wore in Oregon. Here in Freiberg, the Grand Duchess requires dress shoes, but I’ve stuck with flats and blocky low heels.
But the Gala requires glamor, and Henrik has provided. My dress—green to match the lower parts of my hair that I refused to dye, is slinky without revealing too much skin. Aunt Karolina will not approve, but it meets her guidelines—neckline not to reveal the clavicle, hem to the floor, no slits above the knee, sleeves required. I snicker under my breath as I gaze at the form-fitting, sparkly green gown. The high collar with a deep slit to the center of my chest follows the letter of the law as does the side slit. Somehow Henrik made even the long, tight sleeves sexy.
One advantage to being out of the succession: the Grand Duchess doesn’t select my wardrobe anymore. She might try to hem me in, but given a little wiggle room, I can endure. And even flourish.
I grab my matching clutch and stride out of the room. Last year, my friends Eva and Lina dressed with me, but today I’m solo. And that’s perfect for #IndependentAndi. I pause in front of a massive, dark portrait of my frowning great-great-grandmother, making a duck face at my phone as I snap a selfie. Then I add my hashtags and schedule it to post later tonight. As good as I look in this dress, I don’t want to spoil my grand entrance.
Not that I’ll be making the usual grand entrance. Tori, Teo, and the rest of the family will process through the crowd to the doors at the top of the wide stairs, then knock for admittance. It’s a ritual I’ve participated in most of my life. One I’ll never experience again, now that I’m out of the succession. Not one I’ll miss too much, but it means I have to make my way to the party early and alone.
I head down the steps to the entry hall where a driver waits for me—but not Frederik who has always driven us. I thought he’d take me over to the palace then return for the rest of the family. But this driver has dark, wavy hair, and his broad shoulders fill out a stylish tuxedo coat. Then my feet falter. That’s not a driver pacing across the marble tiles. I stumble down a few more steps, clutching the ornate banister in disbelief. “Reece?”