“A writing retreat.”
“Not that sillyBattling Kingsthing still?”
So nice to know she cares. “Clash of Crowns, and yes. Now, what exactly did Leo do this time?”
She instantly shifts gears back to full drama mode. “You really don't know what's happened?”
“Haven't the faintest.”
“It's Arthur. He's broken off his engagement with that awful girl.”
She’s referring to Prince Arthur, the heir apparent of Avonia and a former classmate of mine. “Really? With the wedding only weeks away?” I say. “Well, I can't say I'm surprised. They did rather rush things.”
“Especially since he was about to rush into marriage with someone so very low class,” she says, lowering her voice to a whisper, as if somehow the volume will reduce the nastiness of her words. “There was a photo spread of her family home inThe Weekly World Newslast week. They havegarden gnomes.”
I gasp, feigning shock as I stare out the window at the ocean below. “Notgarden gnomes. So, itwasdoomed from the start.”
“I can do without the sarcasm, Pierce. And here I thought for once we were on the same page.”
“We are, just perhaps not for the same reasons.” I dislike Arthur’s choice in brides because she’s a horrid blogger who makes her money writing about how much she hates royals of any kind. She’s written especially awful things about Arthur himself, and as a loyal friend, it’s not something I can easily overlook.
But therealreason I’m against this particular coupling is no different than why I’m opposed to every other marriage—because it’s a monumental misstep. There’s no such thing as lasting love—just temporary insanity followed either by divorce or fifty years of waiting for your spouse to kick off so you can get back to watching what you want on the telly.
“… ring him up and be there to support him during this difficult time.”
I suddenly realize my mother has been talking without me hearing a word of it, but there's really no point because the only reason she called is because I have a connection that can help improve her own position in amongst the other Botox cobras at the country club.
“Arthur knows how to reach me if he wants. Now, if that’s all, I should go.”
“Fine. If this little vacation is more important to you than your best friend’s welfare, I guess you should carry on as though nothing is happening,” my mother sniffs.
Best friend is definitely stretching it. Arthur and I see each other a couple of times a year at most. As fond as we are of one another, it’s not like we’ve had slumber parties and told each other our deepest darkest secrets. I could mention this to my mother, but there really is no point. She believes what she wants to, and at the moment, she wants to believe I can parlay Arthur’s breakup into a closer relationship with him soshecan be the one with the inside scoop on spa day.
She sniffs again, no doubt hoping I’ll ask if she’s crying. She’s not and I won’t. I can picture her right now laying on her gold velvet chaise in her private bedroom—the massive three thousand square-foot suite which she does not share with my father. She is likely fanning herself like a Victorian duchess whose overly cinched bodice is making her feel faint.
“It's not a vacation, mother. It's a work trip—”
“Somoneyis more important than your dearest childhood friend. Now, Pierce, I don't think that's how I raised you.”
Yes. Yes, it is. “Just exactly why does this matter so much to you?”
“Because it’s atragedy.”
“That's exactly what you said when theyannouncedtheir engagement.”
“Oh, not about them breaking it off. Aboutthe weddingbeing cancelled. I've had the entire house redone because of all the parties we were to throw surrounding the big event. Not to mention the dress I've had Stella toiling away on for months.”
Ahh…there it is. “Thatistragic. Hopefully he’ll find a new bride before your dress goes out of style.”
“I should have known better than to call you for sympathy.”
Truer words were never spoken. “You should have called Leopold. He has a lot more patience than I do.”
“I tried him first, but he didn’t pick up. Have you heard from him lately?”
“No, I haven’t, but I'm sure the little birds you have everywhere are keeping you abreast of his every movement.”
That's not entirely true. I did receive a rather incoherent text message from my little brother two nights ago—something about the ‘meaning of life, perky tits, and happiness.’ Needless to say, I haven't gotten back to him. The less I have to do with Leo, the easier my life tends to be. As fond as I am of him, he's a bit of a mess, and since I have my own shit to work out, it's not like I’m in any position to play his keeper.
