I stand for a moment and watch him back out from his spot and make a sharp turn, spitting up gravel with his back tires as he goes.
Oh, Arabella, you idiot, what have you done?
11
Princesses Under Pressure, Scuba Masks, and Ill-Timed Ships Coming In…
Will
I lie in bed,trying to ignore the strange brushing sounds and the scent of bleach wafting in from under the door. It’s a little after seven and I could use another couple of hours of sleep, having tossed and turned until well after two in the morning. Plucking my phone off the nightstand, I check to see if Arabella has tried to reach me. Huh, she hasn’t, but there are several unread messages from my family on our group text.
Emma:Umm, are you still saving up for that ring? Because if so, after that show, I’m thinking you need to go two-carat minimum. Ouch!
Libby:It wasn’t THAT bad. How are you and Arabella doing? Everything all right? Did you unwind with a glass of wine after? Maybe managed to laugh it off?
Harrison:Oh, it was bad, all right. I’m guessing awkward goodbye as soon as the show ended and you haven’t heard from her since.
Pierce:Sorry, Libby, I’m with Harrison and Emma on this one. Yikes. Waste of oxygen? I don’t even know if it’s possible to erase that little gem from their minds. BTW, how’d the cognac go over? And the gin?
Libby:Don’t listen to them, Will. You two will be just fine. Every couple has their challenges.
Rosy:Cuddle Bear, come home where you’ve got lots of people who love you. (Assuming you broke up already. You did, didn’t you?)
Ugh, I hope we didn’t. Sighing, I send Arabella a quick text:Are you up yet?
Arabella:Yup. Already finished ballet, showered, ate, and am now heading into an emergency meeting with the advisors.
Me: Wow. Productive princess. I’m still in bed. Do you have a minute to talk?
My phone rings, and I swipe to answer it when I see Arabella’s face light up the screen. “Good morning,” she says. “I just want to say how bad I feel about the show. I’m sick about it.”
“Me too. I barely slept last night,” I say, feeling utterly deflated. “I didn’t mean any of those things I said.”
“Oh, I know that,” she says with a forced chuckle. “I mean, really, you don’t think I meant any of the things I said, do you? It would hardly be fair of me to hold you to what you said that day either. It was a horribly stressful and unusual situation for both of us.”
“Glad we agree. The last thing I want is for some silly TV show to come between us.”
“It won’t. You and I are going to be fine,” Arabella says.
“Definitely.” I turn over in bed and prop myself up on one elbow. “I wish you were here with me right now.”
“Me too.”
“This whole thing is hard enough without us having to spend our nights apart,” I say. “I miss you so much.”
I hear a voice in the background, then Arabella covers the mouthpiece of her phone and I hear her murmur something. When she comes back on the line, she says, “Darling, I really must run. The meeting’s about to begin.”
That thought makes my gut churn. “God, I hate like hell that you have to face that alone. I should really be there.”
“Oh, no, I’m afraid that wouldn’t make it easier, to be honest,” she says. “But never mind. I can handle myself.”
There’s something about her tone that sounds slightly defensive. “I know you can, Belle. Of all the princesses I’ve dated, you’re the toughest.”
She chuckles a little, and the sound makes me feel approximately one percent better about what has happened. “God, I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart,” I answer, not wanting to say goodbye. “Listen, I know you’ve got a tough day ahead, but I want to take you to MacGillivray Bluff for a picnic tonight. It’s supposed to be a warm evening and it’s super secluded. Just the two of us. I’ll plan everything and pack us some supper. All you have to do is come along.”
“That sounds like the very thing we need—some time to be truly alone,” Arabella says.
