“Then maybe you should.”
It’s my turn to startle.
He looks away, before turning back to stare me in the eye. “You’re stuck, man. You’ve been mentally stuck in some early stage of grief for over two years now.”
Interesting observation.“And you have a recipe for unsticking me?”
He chews on his bottom lip. “I don’t, but there are people who do. Get help. I don’t know… See a therapist. Join a group.”
“And become a pathetic whiner who cries in public?”
“You don’t need to cry. Just talk.”
Before I can stop myself, I blurt out the truth, “I can’t talk about Stephen.”
We drink in silence.
“Fine, then don’t,” Leo says at length. “Keep him in your heart without talking about him. But do yourself a favor and turn the page on the rest.”
I know Leo means well. In fact, I don’t disagree with him. It would be dumb to deny that the most sensible course of action is to cherish Stephen’s memory without fixating on the circumstances of his death. That fixation has now poisoned every aspect of my life including my relationships and my worldview. What Donna did to Stephen has shifted the misgivings I’ve always had about the fairer sex to an antagonism that’s not healthy—or reasonable. I’m aware of that.
A part of me truly wishes I could go back to the way I was before. But in my twisted reality, that shameful, dirty, tragic morning is as fresh as if it were yesterday. It just won’t fade away, no matter how much time goes by.
Will that wound ever mend?
There are times when it looks like I can get on with my life. The pain goes away when Matteo says something involuntarily hilarious, or when I’m absorbed with work, or when I dance or spar with Margot Nolan. That last one is a recent, inexplicable addition.
But then something reminds me about the ugliness of that fateful morning, and the festering resumes. I go back to ruminating, overanalyzing, and wondering how none of us saw it coming. Could Mother or I have prevented it? Could she have been more vigilant with Dad? Could Celeste have seen through Donna? Could any of us have stopped Stephen from getting into his car? Is my ancient family’s previously spotless name marred forever? Do my fellow countrymen ridicule us behind our backs?
What does the royal family really think about mine? Does the Reigning Prince Richard despise the d’Alenqs? Do Max and Theodor make jokes about us? Did the lewdness of my father’s last moments shock Princess Felicia and the Dowager Princess Gertrude?
It shouldn’t, given Prince Benjamin’s “adventure.”
Gertrude’s younger son, Felicia’s late husband, had had an extramarital affair. Prince Arnaud was born of it. But Benny’s liaison had happened during his yearlong separation from Felicia, shortly after Theodor was born. Felicia, afflicted by a severe form of baby blues, banished Benny from the palace. He settled in Cannes where he met Arnaud’s mother. Later, Felicia got better, Benny groveled, she took him back, and they had two more kids. The couple lived happily ever after, until Kurt Ozzi had Benny poisoned, which resulted in a prolonged illness that killed him.
But in comparison, the royals’ scandal isn’t remotely as offensive as ours.
“Let it go,” Leo says, breaking me from my thoughts. “If not for your own sake, then for Matteo’s. Can you do that?”
“I know I should.”
“But will you?”
We look at each other.
His defeated expression tells me he sees the answer in my eyes.
CHAPTER10
MARGOT
It’s happening.
I peek into the Sky Hall through the narrow gap in the plywood set wall.
The technician’s flickering the lights to get the audience’s attention. Spotlights highlight the center of the hall. The hubbub gradually dies down. The fidgeting and shifting stop. When the audience is perfectly silent as if mesmerized, I know they’re ready. The technicians scurry around to do some last-minute fine-tunings and disappear through side doors. The musicians warm up playing softly to themselves and testing their instruments.
The first of our seven performances is about to begin. And begin it will with a ball.
