Same with the necklace. It spent most of its life sitting in this box, untouched and unlooked at even when Geoffroy was alive. I only ever wore it on special occasions.
Well, a royal visit is one. And since this necklace is the most exquisite piece of jewelry I own, it’s only fitting that I wear it tonight to receive the royals at Fort Vauclairt.
I study my reflection in the mirror for a while.
Then, hands shaking, I take the necklace off and set it down on the dresser.
Maybe not tonight.
14
EVA
The roasted lamb is perfect. It’s moist, pink in the center, and fragrant with rosemary. Stéphanie has outdone herself. Not that I’ve tasted much of it. I’ve mostly pushed it around my plate while I focus on appearing relaxed and in control.
But inside, I’m a mess.
And for no good reason. Princess Felicia’s children and their spouses—well, perhaps except for Prince Theodor—are extremely easygoing. Also, I’ve met the royals countless times, including their visits to Fort Vauclairt. You’d think I’d stop getting nervous around them.
Yet, I worry.
About what?Pretty much everything! That they’ll hate the food. That the wine won’t be to their liking. That Millie will say something out of turn…
I remind myself that if any of that happens, it’ll still be fine. No one will berate me, slap me, or drag out a belt the moment our guests leave. But it doesn’t help. The reflex is too deeply wired, damn it!
I take a breath and force myself to tune back into Princess Lucie’s story, which everyone else seems to genuinely enjoy.
“So, I was juggling flaming torches at a kid’s birthday party in Lyon,” Lucie says, “when this kid runs straight at me and yells, ‘You suck!’”
Maximilian grins. “Tell them what happened next.”
“The same kid then tries to impress his friends by grabbing one of the torches,” Lucie goes on. “It was still burning.”
“No!” Millie gasps, eyes wide.
“Yep. I dropped everything, smothered the torch in my scarf, and the kid ran off screaming.” Lucie rolls her eyes. “I never got paid for that gig, by the way.”
Millie lets out a laugh, too loud for the setting.
Lucie opens her mouth to add something, but, to my horror, Millie speaks over her.
“That’s awful but kind of hilarious,” my daughter says, leaning in. “I had something similar happen when I helped at a puppet show in Aymon. There was this five-year-old who kept trying to punch the puppets and?—”
My stomach knots. I give her the stink eye, telegraphing,Stop talking right now! You’re interrupting royalty.
But she doesn’t look at me. Her eyes are fixed on Lucie.
“He got behind the stage and pulled the strings off the dragon,” she plows on, “so I had to improvise the rest of the show with a limp, floppy?—”
A suffocating wave of shame rises from the pit of my stomach, drowning out her words. My heart is racing. A part of me wants to scream at Millie to shut up already. But I won’t. Her manners may have lapsed, and her convoluted story drags on, but there’s no place, time, or circumstance in which I’d humiliate my baby like that.
I’m on the verge of self-combusting when Alex turns to Millie. “Hold that thought. I’d like to hear Princess Lucie’s punch line before I lose the thread entirely.”
He doesn’t raise his voice. His tone is friendly and calm, but there’s a shift in his expression—a subtle narrowing of the eyes, a faint tilt of his head. Quiet authority.
Millie stops. She looks at him, then picks up her water glass and takes a sip like nothing happened.
Lucie smiles, unfazed. “Well, the punch line was that my boss at the party agency was also my boyfriend.”
