“Quite.” James looks thoughtful. He leans back, elbow on the armrest. The top button of his pale blue shirt is unfastened. “Have you considered kidnapping her?”
“What?” I glance over at him, startled. My wine sloshes in its glass as I turn to look at him more intently because he’s obviously lost the plot. And the night is young. “Kidnapping who?”
“Your sister,” he says with a shrug. “You know, Freja.”
“And do what with her?” I ask, indulging his line of questioning out of sheer fascination. Who knows what James envisions. Not that I have any real plans to kidnap my sister. Probably getting this plan out of James is like staring into the sun by choice. “I’m fresh out of dungeons.”
“What, you don’t have a dungeon here?” James looks shocked.
“Kidnapping is illegal,” Ethan reminds James mildly, who waves him off. “By the way.”
“Details. It would keep her from going to America,” James reasons, “and in the meantime, you make it a condition of her release she’s coronated as the Queen she was destined to be in the summer and leaves you well alone.”
“I knew telling you all about this was a mistake. By the way, we don’t technically coronate anyone anymore, not for over one hundred fifty years—it’s basically a big celebration since the formalities are done.” I do my best to look threatening. “And if any of you breathe a word of this entire debacle…”
James shrugs easily. “My lips are sealed.”
Sacha and Ethan nod.
“No, you did the right thing,” Ethan exchanges looks with Sacha. Unreadable looks. Then Ethan turns to me. “I hope it’s a mistake.”
“Not as much as I do. I hope I’m still drunk from the other night and it’s all a dream I want to forget. Or nightmare. God.” While I rake my fingers through my hair, Sacha leans over to top up my wine since it’s run dangerously low. I sip wine from my topped-up glass.
“Since kidnapping’s out, no thanks to Theo turned all legal over there,” James drawls, forlorn, “what else is there?”
“What else is there?” Ethan exclaims with concern. “There are plenty of other options, I’m sure, that don’t involve taking prisoners.”
“Can I convince her to annul her marriage?” I muse. If only. “The trouble is she’s sound of mind and it would be hard to build up a convincing case. Except for this shotgun marriage business, that is.”
“What if you burn her marriage certificate?” Frankie tries with a grin.
“This isn’t the medieval ages,” James chides. “That won’t work.”
“Now you’re going to be reasonable, James?” Ethan shakes his head. “A moment ago you were advocating for kidnappings like we’re running a royalty cartel.”
“He’s right, though. The marriage certificate’s got to be registered on a computer somewhere,” I say darkly. “Unless we spring a heist with some hackers, I suspect that cancelling her wedding ourselves is out.”
“Just talk to her again, Theo,” Ethan advises. Which, on the surface, appears to be a reasonable course of action. But Freja’s being totally unreasonable, which means I need equally unreasonable solutions to my problems.
“Didn’t go well last time. What’s to say it’s going to go better a second time?” I slump into the cushions, propping my feet up on the low coffee table, already mourning my freedom.
“Add the element of time. She’ll come round,” Ethan tries optimistically. But even he doesn’t sound convinced.
“And if she doesn’t?” I ask meaningfully. “My life is over. And my career. And so is working with you, Ethan. Plus, my reputation is in ruins.”
Everyone falls quiet.
“That last part does sound like a Regency romance I read last week,” James tells me. “What do ruined heroines and heroes do, anyway?”
“Fuck if I know. Get married, I guess. Leave town.” I shake my head, scowling down at my wineglass as if the whole situation is the merlot’s fault. Some vineyard somewhere has a lot to answer for. Leaving town even for a few days has a lot of appeal all of a sudden. “I can’t even keep a boyfriend, remember? And I don’t want to leave London for good—that’s the whole point.”
Ethan gives me a sympathetic look. The worry in his eyes is his tell, though, that he knows I’m fucked. I know I’m doomed.
James nods slowly. “Or hire a PR firm to spin it for you.”
I groan. “No PR firm.”
“Well, then that leaves getting married or leaving town,” James says lightly. “I’d say inherit a fortune—but you’ve already got that covered.”
