“Thank you for all of your hard work today,” I said to the team who had spent hours measuring, fixing, and sewing me into the gorgeous dress.
As I looked at myself in the floor-length mirror, an emotion that I hadn’t felt in a long time came washing over me: I was beautiful. I had avoided prom and other formal dances growing up because my family never had the money. I preferred to pretend that school dances were too cliché to attend, turning down any boys who asked me. I never imagined that this would be my first time wearing a formal gown.
The thought that I could see myself this way and be dressed in couture for the rest of my life if I married Prince Oliver was fleeting, but it still made me feel…well, that wasn’t worth pondering on right then.Soak this in. Enjoy this experience.
The 1950s Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud was warm but a little cramped as Carter, the Alexander family’s driver, drove Vince, Bronson, and me to the palace. Wexstone’s countryside continued to awe me. I hoped the wonder of this country would never wear off.
We took one last turn around a snow-covered mountain and onto a straight stretch of road as the palace came into view.
Large, black wrought-iron gates opened to an expansivedrive leading to the four-story building. Countless windows lined the stone walls. Pristine snow covered the lawn, not marred by even a single footprint. Crystal-clear water bubbled out of an alabaster fountain, which had to be heated. It was exactly what little girls and boys dreamed of when thinking of far-off kingdoms and Prince Charming.
My stomach flipped at the thought of seeing Prince Oliver and Knox again. I needed to see some familiar faces to remind myself that this was real and not some fantasy I had stumbled upon.
I wondered what it was like for the prince to grow up in the palace. Did he run the halls and play hide and seek? Did he have a favorite corner to read in? What was dinner like? Did they sit at a large table that could hold dozens of guests or did they dine as a family in a private dining room?
And Knox. Did he live here as well? Did he ever feel half as nervous as I was when he approached the palace?The man is so cocky, he probably never feels nervous about anything.
Bronson interrupted my thoughts. “Vincent told me he reviewed the members of the royal family with you. I trust he discussed your fellow contestants as well?” I didn’t miss the doubt in his voice that belied his use of the word “trust.”
“Yes, he did,” I assured. “Let’s see. There’s Mellie Schneider—she’s a journalist. Sabine Thorne is an environmentalist, right?” Vince nodded encouragingly. I continued. “Adelaide Levy is a primary-school teacher. Cora Maximo is a baker. Three of the women are from titled families: Gemma Rousseau-Wu, Ginny Wu-Murphy, and Renata…” I trailed off, unable to remember her last name.
“Raines. Yes. That will do.” Bronson’s voice was clipped as he dismissed the conversation.
The car came to a stop, and I took one final deep breath. This was happening. Itwas go time.
Vince reached over and gave my hand a light squeeze. “You’re going to do amazingly,” he said reassuringly.
“I hope so. I’m a little nervous.”
“What’s there to be nervous about? It’s just your entire reputation and our entire house name at stake,” Bronson quipped dryly.
I turned to look at him over my shoulder. “Exactly, what’s there to lose, right?” I replied in a sugary voice.
Bronson scowled and shook his head as he ran his hands over his face. I resisted the urge to say, “Watch out, your face might get stuck like that.”
“I’m sorry, but you walked right into that,” I said instead. “I promise that’s my last sarcastic comment of the night.”Out loud. To you.I smiled.
Our car crept forward as those in front of us let out their passengers and turned back down the drive. A red carpet lined the walkway to the palace’s front doors. What looked like a hundred reporters and paparazzi swarmed each side of the carpet, snapping photos and calling out questions. Vince and Bronson had prepared me for their presence, but seeing them made me swallow hard.
“Just remember,” Vince said softly, “if you don’t want to answer a question…”
“No comment,” I finished.
“Exactly. Here we go.”
Cameras flashed and snapped as the car door opened. I pulled my faux-fur shawl around my shoulders and stepped onto the carpet.
A breeze hit as I smoothed my dress out. It was ungodly cold in Wexstone—the type of cold I was used to from Michigan winters, but still often made me wish I lived on a beach instead. I drew the shawl tighter as I looked up at the palace.
I didn’t have much time to take in its beauty before I was hit by a torrent of questions.
“Who are you wearing?”
“Is this your first time in Wexstone?”
“How did you meet His Royal Highness?”
“Have you been sleeping with the prince?”
