“Oh, yes,” Mother answers for me. “No prevarication, I am told. And she signed the NDA as well. Surprisingly reasonable for a reality show contestant.”
I put down my fork. “She didn’t have to sign the NDA, you know. When I wrote to inform her that she was cleared to visit Mount Evor and meet Prince Richard, her reply was, and I quote, ‘Thanks, but no, thanks.’”
Marie-Louise adjusts her napkin.
Celeste picks at her fruit salad.
“Sounds like she’s turned the page on the whole thing,” Father comments.
“Oh yes!” Mother adds enthusiastically. “She’s back with that wedding singer ex-boyfriend of hers.”
Keeping an eye on Laura, are we?Looks like I’m not the only one who’s been pestering MESS for an update on my Key to the Key.
A soft crunch of gravel beneath shoes carries just enough weight to signal someone’s arrival. I turn to see who that is. The prime minister strides toward the sprawling chestnut tree shading our table.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” he declares. “Urgent business this morning. Took a little longer than I anticipated.”
He waves off the murmur of sympathy and takes the empty seat next to Marie-Louise.
The house cook appears immediately. “How would you like your eggs, sir?”
“Poached, please,” the PM replies.
The cook retreats to the kitchen.
“No sugar, no milk. Thank you,” the PM says to the maid pouring him some steaming coffee.
The table is quiet, as we all wait for him to set the tone for the rest of the brunch.
He turns his attention to me. “Lord de Bellay, I wanted to tell you personally that your work on the seventh key was remarkable.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He turns to Marie-Louise. “Just like your son’s, Lady d’Alenq. Mount Evor is fortunate to have a new generation of such quality.”
A flicker of pride lights up deep in my chest. I glance at my parents who look elated. I bet they took the prime minister’s words as an endorsement of their parenting.
“Antoine’s always been the perfect son,” Mother says to the PM. “He’s so responsible, so thoughtful! Never gives us a moment’s trouble.”
Everyone at the table except Celeste nods. Mother’s characterization is objectively true, which makes it bizarre that it should annoy me so much.
To make light, I bow ceremoniously. “Antoine the Perfect, worthy descendant of Fat Amalric, at your service!”
Everyone laughs including Celeste this time.
For a short while, we eat in silence.
Then I remember something I’ve been meaning to ask the PM. “Sir, any updates on Kurt Ozzi?”
“According to the latest report I received from MESS, he’s still undergoing rehabilitation after his heart attack,” the PM replies.
“Do you think he might finally give up, and let us be?” I ask. “Even the most relentless men have their limits.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice!” Marie-Louise exclaims.
The prime minister leans back in his chair. “I wish I could say yes. But Kurt has never been one to surrender easily. His megalomaniacal ego wouldn’t let him.”
Mother chimes in, “I don’t see him retreating gracefully, after all the damage he’s done, all his crimes against our royals…”
