"High praise."
"It's the best I can offer at this stage.Take it or leave it."
"I'll take it."He hesitated, then added: "About the luggage situation.I meant what I said.I'll have my people look into it."
"And if it turns out someone in the palace is targeting me?"
"Then I'll handle it."
"Handle it how?"
"However necessary."There was something in his voice that reminded me he wasn't just a prince who looked good in rolled-up sleeves.He was someone who'd grown up with power and knew how to use it."You're my wife, Betty.Whatever else is complicated between us, that's real.And I protect what's mine."
The possessiveness should have annoyed me.Instead, it sent a little shiver down my spine that I chose not to examine too closely.
"I'm not yours," I said, but it came out softer than I intended.
"You're my wife."
"That's not the same thing."
"No," he agreed."It's not.But it's a start."
He didn't try to kiss me goodnight.I told myself I was relieved about that.I told myself the slight disappointment I was experiencing was just the wine talking.
"Goodnight, Archie."
"Goodnight, Betty.Sleep well."
I slipped into my room and closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment while my heart rate returned to normal.
This was going to be complicated.This was going to be messy and confusing and probably painful in ways I couldn't predict.
But as I changed out of my funeral dress and climbed into the enormous canopied bed that was now mine for the next six months, I realized something surprising.I was looking forward to seeing him tomorrow.
Despite the exhaustion weighing down my limbs, however sleep wouldn’t come.After an hour of staring at the canopy, I gave up and pulled on the robe Carmela had left for me.Maybe a walk would help.The palace had to have a kitchen somewhere, and I had a sudden craving for warm milk or tea or anything that might quiet my racing thoughts.
The corridors were dim at this hour, lit by wall sconces that cast golden pools of light every few meters.I passed through a gallery I half-recognized from my arrival tour, following what I hoped was the general direction of the kitchens.
That's when I heard the voices.
"...simply not what we expected."Queen Isabelle's clipped tones were unmistakable, even muffled by the partially open door ahead.
I should have kept walking.I should have announced my presence or turned around or done anything except freeze in the shadows like a child eavesdropping on her parents.
"The Grand Duchess assured us she'd been thoroughly vetted, Your Majesty."That was an older woman's voice.Signora Benedetti, perhaps.Carmela's aunt, the head housekeeper.
"Vetted for what?Her coffee-making abilities?"A pause, and I heard the clink of porcelain against saucer."She's completely unprepared.No training, no polish, no understanding of what this life requires.And the luggage disaster only confirms it.A proper princess would have had a contingency wardrobe.She would have anticipated problems and planned accordingly."
My face burned.The luggage disaster wasn't my fault.Someone had deliberately sabotaged my clothes, and here was the Queen blaming me for not being psychic about it.
"She does seem to be trying, Your Majesty.Carmela says she's been asking questions, wanting to learn."
"Trying isn't enough.Not when the alliance depends on her being competent."Another pause."The Condesa Maria would have been better prepared.She was raised for this.She understands duty, protocol, sacrifice.This American girl thinks she can smile her way through six months and go back to her coffee shop."
"The Condesa is no longer an option, Your Majesty.The Valdorian connection was essential for the American base agreement."
"I'm aware."Queen Isabelle's voice carried a bitter edge."That doesn't mean I have to pretend this marriage is anything other than a political necessity saddled with an inadequate partner.My son deserves better than a woman who can't even maintain her own wardrobe."
