My parents.My birth parents.Looking young and happy and completely unaware that they were going to die before they got a chance to truly life.
I walked closer to the painting, studying every detail.Catherine's smile, Philippe's protective hand on her shoulder, the way they looked at each other like they were sharing a private joke.They looked like people I would have liked to know.
They looked like people I was never going to get the chance to know.
What would my life have been like had they lived and I grew up a princess? Would I know Prince Falcieri? Would we have been betrothed at a young age? Would I be more worried about Russian aggression and feel a deep responsibility to the Valdorian people? It was all so strange to think about.
I sank into the chair beneath the portrait and pulled out my phone to call Mom and Dad again.I needed to hear their voices.But first, I had to figure out how to tell them I was getting married to a prince for six months.
This was definitely not covered in any of the life skills classes I'd taken at community college.Though to be fair, neither was "what to do when you discover you're secretly royalty" or "how to prevent international incidents through strategic marriage."
Maybe I should suggest they add those to the curriculum.
CHAPTER 4
Archie
The Valdorian stableswere impressive, though not quite up to Solmarina standards.Not that I was keeping score.(I was absolutely keeping score.) Still, whoever designed them understood horses: high ceilings, proper ventilation, and stalls spacious enough for the kind of bloodstock that belonged in a royal facility.I'd arrived an hour early to inspect the horses and choose appropriate mounts, playing my role as visiting riding instructor to the hilt.
The Grand Duchess had been surprisingly cooperative when I'd suggested this arrangement."You want to evaluate her yourself," she'd said with that knowing smile that made me wonder exactly how transparent my motives were."Very wise.Better to know what you're dealing with before the wedding."
What I was dealing with, according to the surveillance reports, was an American barista with zero equestrian experience and a tendency toward sarcasm.Not exactly the profile of someone who could handle royal life, but I needed to see for myself before condemning my future to an incompatible marriage.
The sound of footsteps on cobblestone announced her arrival.I turned from the mare I'd been examining to see Princess Bettina of Valdoria walking into my temporary domain, and my first thought was that the surveillance photos hadn't done her justice.
She was prettier in person.Not in the polished, artificial way of most women I met, who seemed to have been assembled from a catalog of approved royal accessories.Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, she wore jeans that actually fit her instead of whatever designer nonsense was currently fashionable, and she moved with a natural confidence that couldn't be taught at finishing school.
She was also looking around the stables like she'd never seen a horse in person before, which was probably accurate.Her expression suggested she was trying to decide if these enormous creatures were going to eat her.
"Princess Bettina?"I said, adopting the slightly deferential tone expected of palace staff."I'm Peter.I'll be your riding instructor."
Peter.My middle name as an alias had seemed clever when I'd thought of it.Now it just felt like the beginning of a lie I wasn't sure I wanted to tell.
"Just Betty, please."She approached me with the cautious expression of someone entering unfamiliar territory."And I should probably warn you up front that I've never actually been on a horse.Is that going to be a problem?"
Never been on a horse.I'd known this intellectually, but hearing her say it out loud made me realize exactly how far removed her life had been from anything resembling royal preparation.She'd probably never had to memorize the correct order of precedence for seating at state dinners either.Lucky woman.
