“Your Highness, I’ve got Phillip Crawford from your father’s office on the line for you. I’m assuming since you’re still en route, you have a few moments of privacy to take his call.”
“Certainly,” I say, unable to think of a good excuse to say no.
“Very good.”
There’s a click on the line, then I hear Phillip Crawford’s voice. “Princess Arabella, I trust you read our statement regarding your unfortunate comments last night.”
Oh, sod off, Crawford. “Yes, thank you. I was just going over it.”
“Excellent. Should you be approached by the press whilst in Vienna, please refrain from making any comments on the matter, other than to restate your awareness of your fortunate position, then redirect to your purpose at the conference.”
“Yes, obviously,” I say. “But it shouldn’t be an issue. I’m sure no one in Austria will give two hoots about some comment I made.”
“I’m afraid that’s not the case. We have it on good authority that a rather large group of journalists are awaiting your arrival in front of the UN building, so stick to the script.”
My heart sinks. Of course this would happen. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes, actually. We’ve got some concerns about the outcome of the conference. We’ve seen drafts of possible branding and it seems a bit…aggressive. We’d like to suggest some changes for you to bring forward as the Avonian ambassador.”
“No, thank you, Phillip. I’m confident that the good people at the United Nations have it covered. They likely don’t need a senior royal adviser to assist them.” I won’t say especially not a man, but we’re all thinking it, no?
Phillip clears his throat. “Yes, well, as long as you are part of the royal family, we do need to be cautious in terms of the types of statements that we make so as not to cause offence. We specifically object to the phrases ‘join the fight’ and the repeated use of the word ‘demand’ in reference to the desires of the organization. We’d like to see the wording softened so as not to evoke images of revolution and/or violence.”
Oh for…I amsonot having this conversation with him. “Sorry Phillip, you’re cutting out. I think I might be losing you, but I’ll definitely take your comments under advisement.”
With that, I hang up and toss my phone into my handbag. As if anyone at that conference will care what the likes of Phillip Crawford has to say. Come to think of it, they probably won’t care whatIhave to say either. It’s not like I’ve faced any real oppression in my life. Oh no, I can’t wear spiky heels. Who cares?
I’m about to attend a conference filled with incredibly inspiring women who have overcome the most horrific of circumstances, fought for their very survival, and faced racism and inequality every day of their lives. And here I am, Princess Precious, who had the nerve to whine about not having enough freedom. If I even have one friend among these women, I’ll be shocked.
Closing my eyes for a second, I wish with everything in me that Will were here with me, holding my hand. Not because Ineeda man. Obviously I don’t. I’m perfectly capable of weathering this storm on my own—I hope—but it would certainly beniceto have somebody in my corner. Although, after what I’ve accused him of, I’m not sure he’ll ever be in my corner again, and I really wouldn’t blame him. Just the thought of him makes my throat feel thick with guilt.
I take my phone out of my bag and read his text for the thirtieth time since I woke and saw it.Leaving Thailand now. Flying straight to Vienna so we can talk. Kenneth is heading to London, so I’ll be going commercial which means it’ll take 26 hours including stopovers to get there.
God, I wish he’d made the tone more clear. Is it a “I’m rushing to you because I’m madly in love with you and I can’t stand another minute with this problem between us” text, or is it a “I’m flying directly to Vienna to end it in person” text?
That’s the kind of man he is. He’d want to do it in person, wouldn’t he? He has a deep sense of honour, in spite of what Arthur thinks. He also would want to get it over with immediately so he could get on with life. Will’s the kind of man who’d just say it, like one would rip off a Band-Aid. No big flowery preamble. Just, “We’re over.”
I tried calling him, even though I knew it was no use. He’ll be virtually unreachable until he gets here. If only I could somehow teleport myself onto his plane (looking gorgeous, obviously) so we could talk and kiss and make up properly. Well, not properly on a commercial flight, because those bathrooms aren’t exactly sanitary or made for romance and the last thing I need is another scandal. The point is, I’m desperate to see him.
We pull up in front of the building and I realize I was meant to be familiarizing myself with the itinerary for the next few days. God, I really am pathetic. Unable to focus on truly vital topics because I’ve had a row with my boyfriend. Maybe the advisors were right, and I’m not really cut out for doing anything of high-level importance in the world.
I sigh, hating myself for not being better than this.
The car stops and I see a group of reporters standing around on the sidewalk, a few of them peering through the tinted windows, presumably looking for me. My driver, Norm, lowers the privacy glass. “Do you want us to take you around to the back, Your Highness?”
That isso tempting.“No, it’s best if I just get this over with.” Even though it will suck so hard. “Thank you though.”
Bellford, who is in the passenger seat, turns to me. “In that case, Miss, give me a moment to check the crowd over.”
I nod at him and he gets out. I sit and wait, my heart rattling my ribcage and my palms going clammy. He taps on the window, then opens the door for me.
I grab my briefcase and mutter, “Come on, dummy. Put on your big girl knickers and get on with it.”
18
With Deepest Apologies to Bear Grylls
Will
