“What if I can’t? What if he can’t?”
“He might know something without realizing it,” she says. “Keep your eyes and mind open, Gigi.”
I smirk. “I’ll remember to ask him if he’s had any cryptic dreams lately.”
“No need for sarcasm, child! I know it’s frustrating, but I believe in you. Don’t give up just yet!”
“I won’t,” I mutter.
“Now, let’s talk about your big birthday party!”
It’s the last thing I want to talk about right now, but I don’t have the heart to ask Mother to cancel the event. Seeing as my actual birthday is in two days, while I’m here, it was decided to push the celebration back to next week. I insisted we keep it small, just family and friends. Mother interpreted that to not only include the extended family, but also friends of hers and of my three siblings. We’re looking at 150 people, at least.
When the call ends at last, I stew in my morose thoughts for a few minutes, until I remember that Audrey must be ready by now, waiting for my call.
Get busy, Gigi!
Fifteen minutes later, Audrey and I join the others on the patio where Odile is bustling around, serving an array of breakfast fare. Quentin, a neat bandage gracing his forehead, and Henri are lending her a hand. The scent of fresh croissants, eggs, and something fruity wafts over me. I smile for the first time since last night’s bad news.
Audrey and I take two vacant seats at one of the tables and exchange pleasantries with the people around us. I bite into a buttered tartine and drink some coffee, and my misery loses some of its edge.
Henri plants himself at the head of the patio and surveys the assembly. “Welcome, everyone!”
Conversations die down and everyone turns to look at him. I do my best not to think about our zucchini-peeling episode last night.
“I hate giving speeches,” he says, his deep voice carrying over the clinking of cutlery. “So, I’ll just say I hope you’re ready for a week of learning, productivity, and fun!”
A gorgeous brunette of my age sitting next to Audrey whispers coyly while eyeing Henri, “Did you girls know our hostwas such a stud? Let me tell you, I’m ready for all thefunhe has to offer!”
“In addition to the writing sessions and good meals,” Henri continues, “we’ve planned excursions, sports, and other entertaining activities to make your stay here unforgettable!”
As we clap, he joins some guests at another table. Odile pours him some coffee.
The brunette introduces herself to the rest of our table as Emily, a former lingerie model turned cultural travel blogger.
“Oh, and I’m also a sketch artist,” she adds. “I use a mixture of photos and my own drawings to illustrate my posts. Instagram loves me.”
We all make appropriate sounds to show how impressed we are.
The man next to her is Florent, a poster boy for vegetarian activism with his skinny frame and long blond hair. He tells us about the eco-friendly fabrics he’s decked in and his love of hiking.
“Is it my turn now?” the woman on his right asks. “OK, my name is Virginie. I’m a retired librarian. I’ve channeled my passion for gardening into travel blogging with a focus on parks.”
She goes on about the specificities of her blog, and how she was able to build a following by simply writing about what she loves and connecting with like-minded. people. She’s petite with curly hair and freckles, the telltale sign of sunny hours spent outdoors. Her romantic floral pattern dress cinched at the waist makes her look like a character from a novel set in the 1940s.
My turn comes, and I introduce myself as Eugénie Delaroche from Monaco. “Delaroche” is one of the aliases the Valois-Montevor royals use when we travel abroad. It’s also my pen name.
“What kind of travel do you blog about?” Florent asks me.
“Luxury travel,” I say. “I’ve published five guidebooks so far in a series calledEurope on a Big Budget.”
Virginie stares at me, incredulous. “I’ve seen those books! I always thought they were written by some glitzy, showy upstart, but you don’t look like one.”
I don’t know if I should feel relieved that my efforts to tone down my wardrobe have been successful or offended that she’d assume I’d be a “showy upstart.”
Mind you, she said she’sseenmy books, notreadthem.
Sometimes, it bothers me that, even though we’re the oldest uninterrupted royal house in the world—older than the Danish one!—we can’t use our titles outside of Mount Evor. Being a country hidden from the general public is a boon, and we want to keep it that way, but it can be frustrating at times. When I signed with my publisher, my options were: use my real identity and have the book distributed in Mount Evor only or use an alias and go global. I chose the latter. At the end of the day, I’m OK with that.
