Peace Out Bitches,
The Future Mrs. Will Banks (AKA Hannah Goble)
COMMENTS:
WillGirl25: I heard she went into King Winston’s office and screamed until he agreed to it. Apparently, it was so loud, one of the staffers had to go home with a migraine.
Reply: FutureMrsBanks: Wouldn’t surprise me. She’s an awful person. All that charity work is just for show.
RealHouseWivesRock: I have a friend over at ABN who said that someone at ANN told her they didn’t even know about the date until after the announcement. Now, they’re all screwed, scrambling to get everything set up in time.
Reply: FutureMrsBanks: Wow. I’m totally checking my sources over there. We’ve got to get the word out on this story. Will needs to know who she really is before it’s too late.
Chapter 8
Four-Year-Old Heartbreakers, Fruit Forks, and Hot to Trot Dance Instructors…
Will
“Wouldyou like to take a break, sir?" Gregory asks with an overly-bright smile to hide what I'm sure is a significant level of disappointment.
I started my royal protocol lessons early this morning, and so far, I doubt anyone would call me a quick study. We’re in the Petite Ballroom at the palace where various stations have been set up for me to practice bowing, eating various meals from a simple tea to state dinners, and ballroom dancing. I cannot think of a time I’ve enjoyed less than this one—and I’m including the night I spent in a ravine in the jungle with my ankle so badly broken, my right foot was aiming back at me. So, it’s been a bad, bad day.
“Thanks, Gregory. I could use a break,” I say before walking over to the refreshment cart and pouring myself a tall glass of water. I hope I’m drinking it properly, although somehow, I doubt it. After a few long gulps, I turn toward the round table with eight different place settings for me to memorize. I stroll over and start with number one, which is the six-course state dinner setup. I stare at the unusual cutlery, wishing they could just use sporks and knives, which is really all you need to eat any meal. I glance over at Gregory, who is sitting on a chair at the far end of the ballroom with his eyes closed, clearly worn out from the amount of patience I require.
Honestly, I can't remember a time when I felt this stupid. Reynard, my bodyguard, has been standing near the main entrance with a hopeful smile the entire time. Every once in a while, he gives me the thumbs-up. I know he's trying to be encouraging, but the truth is, having a witness as I repeatedly fail isn't exactly making me feel better.
I dig into the inside pocket of my suit jacket (attire which I was told was mandatory in the Petite Ballroom) and pull out the small flipchart Gregory made me. I spend the next couple of minutes on the cutlery identification page trying to memorize the difference between a fish fork and a fruit fork. It’s subtle, believe me. My phone buzzes and I take it out and see a message from Emma:Hey wanker,don’t forget to call Clara. It’s her birthday today.
Nuts. I totally would have forgotten. Thank goodness for Emma. As much as we irritate each other, she’s a good egg. I tell Gregory I need to make a quick call and make my way out into the hallway. I smile as I hit send on the video chat, excited to see the familiar faces of my family. After a moment, Harrison’s face lights up the screen. He grins and says, “Hey, you remembered!”
“Of course I did,” I lie.
“So it’s just a coincidence that Emma sent you a text about it a few seconds ago.”
Emma’s face appears on the screen. “Haha! You’re so busted!”
“Brilliant,” I say. Did I say Emma was a good egg? I meant good and rotten.
Harrison shakes his head at me, but he’s smiling so I’m sure he’s not bothered by his forgetful brother. “Let me put the birthday girl on.”
A moment later, my adorable redheaded niece grins at me. My heart squeezes at her chubby little face. I can’t believe she’s four already. She looks so much older than the last time I saw her. Guilt rips through me, but I tell myself not to worry. I’ll see my family soon enough. Besides, she and I have such a strong bond, nothing could break it. I’m definitely her favourite uncle. “Happy birthday, Clara!” I say, waving into my phone screen.
Clara narrows her eyes and says, “Who’s him?”
Who’s him? She doesn’t know me? That can’t be.They’re outside, so the screen is probably too dark to see me.
Harrison comes into view now, looking flustered. “You know Uncle Will, sweetheart. Daddy’s little brother?”
She stares up at him and shakes her head. Oh wow. This hurts. My only niece doesn’t know me?
I hear the sound of my sister-in-law, Libby, letting out an uncomfortable laugh, then she comes into view. “He and Auntie Arabella are the ones who sent you your giant teddy bear—Mr. Snuggles.”
Clara looks back at me and says, “Thank you for the bear, Mr. Will.” Then she takes off across the yard, leaving her parents with identical shocked expressions.
“Sorry, Will,” Libby says. “Of course she knows who you are. She’s just so excited about her party.”
“Totally,” Harrison adds, nodding vigorously. “She’s also…in a bit of a mood today. Overstimulated.”
