“Look closely.”
Bending down, I watch the new fish swim around. “What? I can’t see anything.”
“That’s not Chester.”
Oh shit. I chuckle, trying to hide my shock. “What do you mean that’s not Chester?”
“You really can’t see it? Chester was going gray around his face and was much bigger than this fish.”
“I think you’ve been watching too many cozy mysteries.” I say with a light laugh. Tessa just stares at me.
“What are you suggesting? That Troy killed him and tried to replace him without telling us?” I straighten up with an amused look on my face.
“No, Troy would never do that.”
“Exactly. Have you eaten breakfast yet? Shall I call down for some pancakes?”
Tessa folds her arms over her belly and glares at me. “Troy would never do that. But you might.”
“What—”
Extending one arm, Tessa points to the kitchen counter, on which are the spoon and the Pet Life bag.
Oh, fuck.
***
“GOOD MORNING, VINCENT,” I say as I stop in front of his desk.
“Your Highness,” Vincent says without making eye contact. He continues to tap away at his keyboard, looking thoroughly annoyed.
“I...um...just wanted to thank you for your help last night. I know it was outside the scope of your duties, and I apologize for getting you involved in such an untoward act.”
“Yes. I’d appreciate it if that was the last time you request my involvement in such misguided decisions.”
“Won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Excellent,” he says, picking up a pen and writing something on his calendar. “How long did it take her to figure it out?”
“About a minute, I’d say. Maybe less.”
“Ah, I see. And would this be because you’re not married to someone with the IQ of a turnip, sir?”
“Pretty much,” I say, feeling utterly sheepish. “Turns out Chester was a geriatric fish, so his colours were fading, which I hadn’t noticed.”
“Whereas the princess...”
“Could tell immediately, yes,” I say with a little nod. “If you’d be willing to hear me out, I’d love to explain my reasoning at the time.”
Sitting back in his chair, Vincent gives me a steely look. “I’d actually like to hear this.”
“You’d be alone in that, I’m afraid,” I say, my mind flashing back to Tessa yelling over me when I tried to explain. “You see, it wasn’t really about the fish. It was about what I’m afraid is our incompatibility as far as parenting goes. Since Chester moved in, we’ve disagreed on how much to feed him. Recently, Tessa’s been drawing a comparison between what she perceives as me overfeeding Chester and her concerns that I’ll be overly indulgent with the babies.”
“So you didn’t want her to know she was right.”
“Exactly.”
“And now...?”
