I stop and turn to face Vincent, who clears his throat twice, then says, "I'm afraid Princess Tessa was secretly recorded at her salon appointment earlier.”
“Doing what?” I say with a light chuckle. “Not dancing on a table again?”
“In this case, that may have been preferable. She was making some...rather bold statements."
Raising one eyebrow, I say, "What kind of bold statements?"
"Perhaps it's better if you just watch it yourself." Vincent holds his iPad up to me, avoiding eye contact.
I sigh, press play, and watch for the next two minutes as my wife not only declares that we are not hiring any nannies—a decision I didn't realize we had made—but also insults the upbringing of pretty much everyone we’re going to see an hour from now at the Prince Edward Hotel.
I won’t go into detail because you’ve probably seen the video, but I have to say the bit about the eggs stung a bit. Making my special Gordon Ramsay perfect scrambled eggs for Tessa is kind of our thing. She’s always said she loved it, but now it appears as though she's secretly decided I’m useless because of it. I hand the iPad back to Vincent, and we stare each other for an awkward moment.
"Well then, this should make this evening's event rather interesting.”
"Indeed. Good luck, Your Highness."
I spend the remainder of the walk to my suite trying to find a way to laugh it off, only to return to a sense of indignant anger. The shit part is that we’re not going to be able to have a discussion about any of this because in exactly seventeen minutes, I’m expected to be getting into a limousine with Gran, Arabella, and Tessa for the ride over to the hotel. My mantra as I ride the elevator up is, “Breathe. Stay calm. Do not get angry at your pregnant wife.”
When I walk through the door to our apartment, Tessa is already dressed in a black ball gown. Her hair is up, and she looks both lovely and very worried. Giving me a small wave, she says, "I imagine you've seen the video by now."
"Yes, a few minutes ago." I stride past her and down the hall to the bedroom.
Tessa follows me, her voice breaking as she talks. "I'm so sorry, Arthur. I feel horribly stupid."
"I’m sure you do, but try not to worry about it. It’s really not a big deal,” I say, making my way into the closet and grabbing a pair of boxer briefs from the drawer. “So, you’ve decided not to hire a nanny without consulting me? It’s fine. I’m sure you have a plan for how to manage everything."
I hurry into the bathroom and shut the door before she can respond. Once I’ve locked the door, I congratulate myself on staying so positive.See? I can do this. I can avoid doing or saying anything remotely critical to my wife for the rest of my life. I may not live as long on account of all the pent-up anger I’m bound to accumulate, but in the end it’ll all be worth it, won’t it?
Twelve minutes later, I’m showered, freshly shaved, and still no less hurt and angry than I was before. When I open the door to the bedroom, I see my tuxedo laid out on the bed for me.
Tessa sits next to it, looking very small. "I laid out your penguin suit for you. "
I glance at it, then at her, not wanting to accept her help at the moment. "Yes, thank you very much, but I'm going with the Armani tonight."
Gripping my towel around my waist, I stride away from her. I dress in silence, then turn to see her dabbing at the tops of her cheeks with her fingertips.
"Perhaps I should just stay home."
"You could do, but since the world saw you at the salon this afternoon, they’ll know you're not sick." Shaking my head in frustration, I open my mouth to say something, then close it and shake my head again.
"Oh God. You're so angry, you can't even speak to me."
"Not at all,” I say with a small shrug. “I just wish we had discussed the nanny thing before you announced it to the world.”
“I know I should have. I just...got carried away.”
“Clearly. No matter, though. What’s done is done.” I turn to the mirror and adjust my bow tie.
"Why aren’t you angry? I’ve really made a mess of things, and I said that very rude thing about you not being able to cook anything other than eggs. And I love your eggs. I do. But, I’ve gone and made it sound like you’re somehow not good enough for me, which in actual fact, it’s the other way around.”
“Come on, now. Don’t say things like that,” I say, feeling some of my anger slip away.
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“It couldn’t be further from the truth.” I walk over and lift her chin gently with my hand. “Wait a minute? You don’t seriously think you hurt my feelings about the eggs, do you?”
“Of course I did.”
