"Perhaps a ten-pound preemie will be on the way," Giles chuckles.
Zachary laughs along, then says, “No doubt. Other people online are suggesting that Arabella is actually a royal nightmare who bullied everyone into making this happen onherpreferred timeline.”
Shaking his head, Giles says, “Shocking, really. She has this snow-white reputation, but maybe she’s a bit of a wolf in a sheep’s skin.”
“Could be.”
“Is anyone siding with Princess Arabella on this?”
“No. It appears as though the Internet has decided she’s just this side of being canceled.”
"Wow,” Giles says. “Zachary, there is more to this story that has come as quite a surprise to the kingdom. Can you fill us in on that?"
Zachary narrows his eyes. "Which bit exactly?"
“Thenetworkbit," Giles says through gritted teeth.
"Oh, right, yes. It seems as though, rather than going with the traditional network, us here at ABN, Princess Arabella and William Banks have sold the exclusive right to their wedding-airing production to our sister network, ANN, or the Avonian Nature Network for those who are not familiar, for an undisclosed amount."
"That seems a rather odd choice for a wedding, does it not?" Giles asks, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"Indeed, but perhaps less so when you think about the fact that William Banks is their most popular personality. We’re not sure exactly how this deal came about, but there are those who suspect that William is the driving force behind this. Perhaps because he's got a definite familiarity with the executives and staff at ANN."
"Interesting," Giles says. "If that is, in fact, how this happened, it would seem that this is one groom who definitely wants to be a driving force behind his wedding, rather than someone who merely shows up in time for the nuptials."
"One blogger suggested that ANN is the perfect network due to their experience in large-scale live productions such as theirWorld's Best Survivor Challenge. They certainly do have several crews who are adept at pulling things together on location without the luxury of having a lot of time to set up. They call it guerrilla filming and possibly it could work for a wedding, I suppose."
"A guerilla royal wedding? How odd, indeed.”
“Quite right. Well, we’ll certainly find out soon enough if they can pull it off, won't we?"
“Indeed, we will. It’ll be sink or swim for ANN because an estimated 1.5 billion people will be watching,” Zachary adds.
Giles smiles confidently. “Exciting news. Keep it here on ABN News as we count down to the big day and keep you abreast of every detail as this story unfolds."
“I, for one, am going to be very curious to see whether or not the bridezilla assumption comes to fruition.”
“As are most people,” Giles answers. “We did see her fiery side when she shoved Dylan Sinclair, the now-vice president of programming at ANN, to the ground. So it’s not entirely impossible to imagine that this normally-docile young woman may have a real fiery side when it comes to the most important day in any woman’s life.”
Footage of Arabella reaching up and shoving Dylan in the face starts to roll, ending with Dylan sliding backwards in the mud. When the clip ends, the split screen with the two newsmen appears again.
Giles shakes his head and laughs. “I’ll never get sick of that clip. Is it bad of me to admit that?”
“Probably, but I must confess I share your opinion,” Zachary answers.
“Okay, thanks, Zachary,” Giles says as his face fills the screen. “That was Zachary Jones live on location at Valcourt Palace. Up next, a fundraiser for the Valcourt Kite Flyers Association ends in tangled kites and a giant brawl. We’ll have that and tomorrow’s weather forecast after these messages.”
"Bloody bastards," I say under my breath even though I'm alone. I dig around the covers on my bed to find the remote and shut off the TV, then toss the remote to the foot of the bed. I imitate Giles. "I'll never get sick of the clip. Hardy-har-har, what very funny men."
Why did I watch that? I had to know that the media was going to find a way to make me look terrible, and of course they did. Sighing, I lift my lap desk up and set it to the side, then climb off the bed and go in search of some ice cream.
I'm supposed to be preparing for my first meeting with the production team and our wedding planning team tomorrow. Dylan must have gotten over how ‘miffed’ she was at me for making the announcement because she had both teams set up within a couple of hours. I didn’t mean it when I wrote it, but she really is a bit of a miracle worker.
The woman in charge of the wedding, a seasoned event planner named Imogen Arbuckle, emailed a lengthy list of questions for Will and me to answer before we meet. Will is at the ABN Studios tonight as a guest judge onAvonia's Got Talent, so I imagine he'll be up very late tonight filling in this inane questionnaire. We’re not supposed to share answers with each other because Imogen says it's her job to take both of our dreams and make them a blended reality — whatever the hell that means.
To be honest, I’m a little out of sorts after our argument the other day. We managed to leave things on a good note, but I still can’t help but feel like I’m messing everything up. The last thing I wanted to do was upset anyone. Well, Dylan, I suppose. I definitely don’t mind her being the injured party for once. But that’s it. Instead, I have put Will into a total panic to be ready in time,andI offended his family with the stupid handbooks. What was I thinking? Argh!
I grab a spoon out of the drawer, slam it shut, then take a pint of Chunky Choco Monkey out of the freezer, rip the lid off, toss it in the sink, then take the entire carton back to bed with me. When I climb into bed, the stupid newscast—if you can call that trash the news—pops into my mind again. "Bridezilla?! How about a fiercely protective fiancée looking out for her man? How about that for a news story?"
