David managed a chuckle. “Come in out of the rain. There’s room enough.”
Giles nodded with visible uncertainty. He was a large-framed man, and it looked like he was trying to ascertain whether or not he’d actually fit into David’s hut. But, slowly and awkwardly, he folded himself in through the plastic. David pulled his legs closer to allow room as the other man sat.
“See,” Giles huffed as he piled in, “this is why us old-timers eventually move to sleeping bags and tarps. Less cramped. You’ll figure that out, too, if you’re here long enough. Though I expect you won’t be.”
David smiled. Giles had been telling David that he didn’t belong here from the first time they’d met. Which, in a homeless camp, was actually a compliment.
And, for the first time, David was starting to believe him. But it was going to be an uphill battle.
“Mick told me you were looking for a job,” Giles said. He carried on him the arresting odor of hard liquor, an almost visible fog that seemed to fill the shelter, but his words were crisper and clearer than usual.
Probably doesn’t have the money to buy any hooch. Which can be dangerous, when you’re that far in.
“That’s right,” David replied. “Low-level jobs in a high-level area. I’m hoping the qualifications will even out.”
“The area of the palace, correct? Mick told me about your, uh, master plan.”
“Not much mastery to it, I’m afraid.” David glanced back down at the dozen or so circled jobs. He’d be lucky if even one of them would be willing to interview him, much less hire him.
“I picked up on that.” Giles grinned. “What’s your strategy for getting hired?”
David shrugged. “Mick said he had a guy who could put together some fake documents. Use an assumed name and, well, try to shine in the interview process? Oh, and pray that no one recognizes me. That’s important.”
He had a few thoughts in mind to that end: glasses, colored contacts, a haircut, maybe some hair dye.
Pretty similar to what Katy had to do back in Cambridge.
“So, if you get one of these jobs, what’s the next step? As in, how does it get you closer to your princess?”
“Um.” David hadn’t expected everyone in the camp to be quite so cozy with his personal mission. Or, rather, his romantic inclinations. It was an uncomfortable reality. And as for the plan . . .”I’m kind of hoping for a lucky break.”
Giles stared at David blankly. “A lucky break,” he repeated in a flat tone.
David already knew what he was getting at. “I know, I know.” He anxiously ran a hand through his hair. “But I imagine she does some shopping or dining around the palace. It’s not impossible that I’d run into her.”
“Within the next week and a half?”
David sighed.
“Before she leaves off to Esserby. With her fiancé,” Giles went on, hammering out his point. “Out of your life. Forever.”
“This is just the first step in the plan,” David replied, embarrassed. “I’m hoping to figure it out as I go.”
Giles took a deep breath, and David looked down, realizing how futile it all was. What was he hoping to do? How often did busboys rub elbows with honored palace guests, anyway? But the alternative—Mick’s plan—had been even dumber.
The palace was probably the last place in the world that would hire David, behind even the White House or NASA. David was more recognizable in London than anywhere else; he’d grown up here, after all. Not to mention how many Londoners had royal-mania; people here had followed the Lorrellian scandal more closely than most. And background and reference checks at the palace would be incredibly stringent. Were Mick’s connections good enough to con the palace? No, that plan, though it had much better odds of getting him close to the princess, was also completely off the table at the moment.
“I don’t see another option,” David confessed despondently to Giles. “I know this idea is a stretch, but it’s all I’ve got currently.”
Giles nodded slowly as a long silence stretched between them.
“David,” he started gently, “I know I don’t look like much now. A tramp. A drinker. A sad old man without much of a future.”
David waited, trying to see where the older man was going.
“But I had quite the past,” Giles finished. “If you need a job, don’t go to a con man. Come to the businessman.” He stared off into space, not quite meeting David’s eyes, but a rare little smile curved his lips.
David cocked his head, intrigued but still confused. “What are you getting at?” he asked.
“My old company did antique restoration for a, shall we say, eclectic clientele. The woman in charge of palace staffing was one of our best customers. And we had a great professional relationship.”
David could almost feel his face light up.
“I think, even after everything, that she would be willing to meet with you on my recommendation. If you can get a good enough disguise and impeccable fake documents, that is.”
His heart thumping madly in his chest, David considered his next steps. He needed to move quickly. And he would have to rely on the help of more than one friend.
“Thank you,” he said. “And . . . it looks like I need to talk to Mick.”
* * *
“Sorry, dear. Haven’t seen him. Is everything all right? Bit late for you to be up, isn’t it?”
David didn’t stop to explain to Ms. Jenson. Instead, he made his way to the other side of the camp, where dozens of homeless people—many of whom David had never even met—tried to live. It was the dodgier side, comparatively speaking, so David tried to avoid it.
But Mick wasn’t quite as choosy.
David jogged through the car park, past the burning barrel and its usual cast of characters, down a rocky embankment, and through a large hole in a chain-link fence.
Soon he was among strangers in shabby clothing, puffing desperately on damp cigarettes and speaking coarsely to each other.
“Mick? Has anyone seen Mick?”
People turned to look at David inquisitively, but no one responded. So he kept going, pushing through the throngs, hoping to spot Mick’s thin, gangly form himself.
But what he found instead was much stranger.
David’s jog slowed to a wary amble, and he squinted to make out the sight before him. An olive-skinned woman with dark hair was stopping and speaking to every tramp she passed, presumably asking questions, since most people shook their heads or waved her along. It looked like she was on the same type of search mission that David was.
But, unlike David, it was crystal clear that she didn’t belong in the camp..
The woman was petite, svelte, with clear skin and an alert manner, wearing a camel jacket and fitted trousers. Her hair had the bouncy curl that could only be achieved through visits to expensive salons. She had probably left all of her jewelry at home for this venture, but David could tell at once that she wasn’t the type to settle for costume baubles.
Her aesthetic screamed privilege.
So why was she here?
As David took another suspicious step, and the woman’s familiar, Spanish-accented voice reached his ears, the answer became apparent.
“Rosen. David Rosen. Have you seen him?”
David stopped in his tracks. He was only ten yards or so from the woman.
“Dark hair. Semitic. Tall.”
The young man she was speaking to turned away disinterestedly, so that when the woman looked up, she locked eyes with David. David, who, even in the dark and badly in need of a haircut and shave, was obviously dark-haired, Semitic, and tall.
The woman furrowed her brow and then took a few purposeful strides toward David.
“Señor Rosen?”
The memory of that voice seemed to rush back to him from another life. The Spanish accent. The casual haughtiness.
“Mia Cantor,” David said carefully.
Mia nodded, coming to stand before him. Then she smiled playfully. �
��You’re not an easy man to find, Señor. And finding people is my job, so you can take that as a compliment.”
10
Katy
Katy had taken to waking up before the sunrise. The still darkness of early morning brought her a small amount of solace during times of stress and uncertainty.
But today, it wasn’t quite enough.
Katy stretched her legs from her seat on a wooden bench in the palace’s rose garden. She wiggled her toes within her nude heels, trying to breathe life back into her bloodless digits. She’d been sitting in the garden for an hour or longer, afloat in her muddled thoughts as the sun came up over London. But even this early, and with no one around, she’d still had to dress in formal attire—though it wasn’t exactly a palace policy, it was certainly the expected standard. What she wouldn’t give to be able to wear a comfy pair of sweatpants and some sneakers.
She tried to imagine what her mother would say if she walked up and saw Katy so underdressed in an ally kingdom. The queen would probably faint. Katy smirked to herself at the ridiculous thought.
Fainting over a T-shirt. That must be the height of a first-world problem.
In the gentle morning sun, the English roses and white lilies began to gently open, emitting more of their sweet scent. Katy took a deep breath. She was glad to finally have a dry, bright day in London. It reminded her of Southern Lorria, if a bit colder. And Katy always liked being reminded of home.
With the sensation back in her legs, she stood and began to make her way through the garden again. It was a beautiful place, with ivy-draped trellises, archways dripping with peach-colored roses, and the calming babble of fountain water. The spring was just beginning to warm up, and the rainbow array of flowers that covered the garden beds were in their early bloom.
Oliver hadn’t been as interested in the garden as Katy was. He preferred overgrown, unmitigated nature, he’d said—not topiaries and genetically modified roses. But Katy wasn’t so picky. Beauty was beauty. Calm was calm.
And, frankly, silence was golden. She didn’t very much mind not having company on her daily strolls.
A butterfly floated over the stone path in front of Katy, and she watched it go with interest. Fat, industrious honeybees buzzed in the flowerbeds on either side of her. Songbirds serenaded each other in the dogwood trees. In the garden, Katy felt like everything was okay. She could push her anxieties about marriage and custom out of her mind and focus instead on the beauty around her.
But the feeling always came to an end. Now, as morning teatime was approaching, Katy knew she would have to leave her safe place again. The engagement party was only days away. As definitive as she thought the event planning to be, she knew that royal planners always found some new detail to obsess over as long as there was still time to spare. There would be more planning, more tastings, more decisions.
And, of course, more time to guiltily spend with her future in-laws. The fact that they were kind and good, and obviously loved Oliver very much, served to make Katy feel even worse about her cold feet. Even if his mother seemed subtly obsessed with planting the idea of a large, happy family . . .
She sighed and continued her walk.
“Princess?”
Katy turned in surprise to face a meek servant dressed in the formal uniform of the palace. The young woman bowed in Katy’s direction and, though it wasn’t the custom, Katy bowed her head back, and received a smile in return.
“My apologies for disturbing your walk, Princess Katerina. But you received a letter in yesterday’s post. I apologize for the delay.”
Katy’s brow furrowed in mild confusion as the servant handed her a sealed envelope. She took it in her right hand, flipping it over to see that it was addressed to “Princess Katy” in neat script.
“Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance, Princess.” The servant bowed and retreated back through the winding path of the garden.
Katy watched her go for a few seconds before turning back to the letter. Princess Katy. That wasn’t a combination she was used to seeing. And the return address was in Tehran.
She slid her finger under the seal and broke it before pulling out a handwritten letter.
“Princess Katy,” it began. “I hope you’re doing well. I saw the news about your engagement. Congrats!”
It definitely wasn’t a formal letter.
“We both send our best. Now for the reason I’m writing. I wasn’t sure if I should send this letter, but I had to try.”
Katy squinted at the lines.
“As you might’ve heard, David was released from prison.”
Katy’s breath caught. She read on, trying to understand.
“I’m not sure how you feel about everything, but I can guess that it’s probably not good. I didn’t get the chance to say it in person, but I’m really sorry for everything that you went through back then. I’m sure it was a tough time.”
Katy was swaying slightly on her feet as she read.
“I don’t know if you even want to think of David ever again. Probably not. But I really want to find him, and I can’t get hold of him in any way. His old phone number no longer works, and he doesn’t answer emails. I know it’s a long shot, but if you’ve heard from him or have any contact info, can you please call me? My number is below. I’ll understand if I don’t hear from you, though. Miss you. Hope all is well.”
The letter was signed in the same neat script at the bottom: Zeke.
David’s college roommate and best friend from back at Harvard.
For a moment, flashes of memories good and bad flooded through Katy’s mind. But, as it always did when her thoughts wandered into forbidden territory, with a wrench, a prevailing numbness took over. Call it self-defense or callousness or cowardice; that feeling protected Katy when she needed it most.
And she definitely felt like she needed that protection now.
She pushed her ex-boyfriend’s name out of her head and instead tried to focus on his best friend. Katy remembered Zeke as a bit goofy and awkward, but inherently genuine and loyal. He and the unnamed ex had always gotten along so well. They’d complemented each other perfectly: one charming and poised, and the other . . . well, Zeke.
What had Zeke’s time since Harvard been like? Katy had been too swept up in her own turmoil to consider the other people she’d left behind. The girls in her shared campus house. Her professors. The drama club. The friends and family of her ex . . .
She scanned the letter again, trying at once to find clues and to ignore the names her heart couldn’t handle. “We both” made it sound like Zeke was still with his Harvard girlfriend, Nur, whom he’d asked out right after drama club one day in her and Cassie’s second year. Katy hoped so—they’d been so happy together. Perhaps they were engaged now. Perhaps already wed. He was living in Tehran, where Katy seemed to recall he was from. Surely he lived a full and interesting life.
Yet here he was, five years later, with the same—for lack of a better word—longing that Katy felt.
Zeke’s number at the bottom was written with such purposeful neatness and clarity that it momentarily broke Katy’s heart. It was obvious that he really wanted her to call. But she didn’t have news for him. Was it worth calling and reopening those old wounds if all it accomplished was disappointment? Zeke was asking about things that could be painful and humiliating to dredge back up. He’d even said himself that he would understand if she didn’t want to get into it.
Standing there in the garden, morning tea forgotten, Katy weighed her options. She hadn’t talked to Zeke in years. He had no way of knowing that she’d even gotten his letter. And he’d assured her that she didn’t have to call if it’d be too “tough.” She had no obligations. No reason to call him back.
But Zeke was a lovely person who was just looking for his friend. Maybe he’d been looking for years. Katy didn’t know anything about her ex and his . . . sentencing. She’d avoided all the news, all the details, had tried at all costs to keep from
adding just one more layer of the pain, humiliation, anxiety, and worry that had been trying to tear her heart down during that period of her life. Who knew how long he had even been out? How long Zeke had been searching for him?
Didn’t Zeke deserve the small thing he’d asked for: a phone call with a bit of closure?
Katy pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket and looked back at the letter in her other hand. It was a simple gesture, really. Just punching in a few numbers and hitting dial. But it felt so hard.
She swallowed and hit the button.
The phone rang four or five times in Katy’s hand, long enough that she began to quietly, shamefully hope that no one would pick up. But on the sixth ring . . .
“Hello?”
Katy immediately recognized the chipper, accented voice, but politeness had her asking anyway.
“Is this Zeke?”
There was a pause on the other end. And then, “Is this who I think it is?”
She took in a deep breath. “This is Katy.”
“Katy!” Zeke’s voice was friendly and happy, as if he was hearing from an old friend with whom he’d never really lost touch. Katy’s heart was warmed to hear it. “Oh, I’m so glad you called. Did you get my letter?”
Katy paused, and before she could answer, Zeke went on.
“Oh. Um. Obviously.” He chuckled, a bit nervously. “Sorry, I wasn’t really expecting to hear from you, so I’m a little, uh . . . flustered.”
Regaining a bit of her composure at his obvious awkwardness, Katy tried to allay his nerves. “Yes, I did get your letter,” she said with a little chuckle. “I saw that you mentioned Nur. How is she?”
“Great, great! We’ve been married for a few years. I’m actually, uh, expecting. Well, she’s expecting. A baby, that is. Mine.”
Katy couldn’t help but smile, both at the good news and the awkward delivery. Zeke was almost just as she remembered him—but perhaps more contented.
“That’s wonderful, Zeke. I’m so happy to hear it. Please extend my sentiments to Nur for me.”
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