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PRINCESS’S DIAMOND DUTY

Kim Lawrence

CHAPTER ONE

Paris

THE PHOTOGRAPHER WHO had been making pretty women look prettier all evening smiled to himself as the Oliver twins took their places at the foot of the sweeping staircase. It would require no skill on his part to make the Princesses look pretty, and no filters would be involved.

Tall slender brunettes, individually they were stunning. As a double act, the identical twins were spectacular. His photographer’s eye could see that the one in the blue dress was half an inch taller and had slightly less up top, but these were little details that only a professional eye would notice.

He could only find one fault.

‘Pity you didn’t go for matching outfits.’

‘We haven’t worn matching outfits, except by accident, since… Actually, we have never worn matching outfits and why can’t we be photographed separately like everyone else?’

The photographer looked confused by her question.

‘Leave it, Elsie. Let’s just get this over with, and please don’t start with, We are not duplicates, we are individuals—two people born on the same day who happen to look alike.’

‘I do not sound anything like that.’

‘Blue dress?’

Elsie rolled her eyes and tried to look docile.

‘Could you just take a step that way…good girl.’ The background drowned out the sound of Elsie’s teeth grating. ‘And green dress, if you turn…excellent, smile, girls!’

The photographer’s bright encouraging smile faltered as blue dress fixed him with a dead-eyed killer stare.

‘Ladies…erm women… Princesses?’

‘For God’s sake, Elsie, just smile for the poor man, if you want this to be over this century!’

‘Easy for you to say—the camera loves you,’ her twin grumbled, fighting off a smile before putting her hand on her hip and striking an exaggerated pose.

‘You either got it or you don’t and I,’ Emily boasted, mirroring her twin’s pose minus the comic overexaggeration, ‘have got it.’ Her grin faded. ‘Seriously, Elsie, just pretend you’re having a good time.’

By the time the photographer had announced himself satisfied with the results, Elsie’s patience was at breaking point and the muscles in her cheeks were aching with maintaining a forced toothy smile.

‘Now, was that so hard?’

‘Agonising.’

‘You’re being a pain, you know that, Elsie? You’re not even trying to enjoy yourself!’

‘Enjoy myself? Are you serious, green dress, this is a Debutante Ball.’ Her blue eyes drifted around the room in disgust. ‘I have literally never seen so many titles and tiaras and nepo babies in one room in my life!’

She and Emily were not the only representatives of European royalty but they were outnumbered by Hollywood royalty and daughters of the new aristocracy, where money and influence was status.

Emily grinned, her hand going to the paste tiara on her head—a similar one sat on Elsie’s glossy dark head, though Elsie’s was already askew. The originals, along with most of the Royal jewellery, had been sold off not long after they were born to repair the Palace roof which, twenty years on, still hadn’t been repaired because their parents always found something more useful to spend extra cash on. The last recipient of the roof fund was the extension to the hospital paediatric ward.

‘Keep things in proportion—no one’s trying to marry us off to Royalty.’

Elsie’s frown smoothed at the private joke. Ever since they had learnt of its existence, the ancient codicil, a law that no one had bothered to repeal, presumably because it had been so stupid, had become a running gag, a source of much hilarity to the twins.

‘So, Pa, have we got it right between all the thees and thous? Does this mean if one of us doesn’t marry a king you’ll be booted off the throne…?’