Washed Up Royal

by Karr, Kim

  I sit back with a sigh, and for the first time since landing, take in my surroundings. The States. I haven’t been here in ages. Not since my mother died more than three years ago, to be exact. I almost wish I could go back in time and be that carefree college girl all over again when taking the crown wasn’t what was on my mind nor was ruling a country.

  Rachel attempts to crank the engine, but it takes a few tries before she does. The sound it makes is one of desperation, like it really wants to be put out pasture, but is being forced to work instead.

  Once the car is running, she drives out of the parking lot with studied precision. As she reaches into the flap of the sun visor and grabs the parking ticket, she tells me, “Pretend you’re sleeping while I pay the toll.”

  Leaning my head against the glass, I close my eyes and start second-guessing what I’m doing. I don’t really want to get married because I have to, which is why I broke up with Maximus. I want to get married because I want to.

  Princesses don’t pick their destiny—their destiny picks them.

  After Rachel pulls through the station, she says, “It’s okay now.”

  I want to keep my eyes closed but open them and try to push all that nonsense I was thinking about from my brain.

  “So,” Ava says, “What’s the plan? Is this going to be like The Bachelor where men vie for the Princess’s hand in marriage?”

  From the back I watch as Rachel turns her head and glares at her. “No, this is serious.”

  My shoulders move restlessly as I butt in. “Or about as serious as soliciting a playboy husband of royal blood can be.”

  I’ve never considered myself arrogant or vain, but this has really messed with my psyche.

  Rachel rolls the window down even though the July weather is a bit warm. “As serious as we make it, I suppose.” The absolution in her voice reminds me just how serious this is and how desperate I am.

  Ava says nothing more and instead lets the sweet sound of jazz fill the gap as we drive to an estate that makes the set of The Bachelor look like Cinderella’s humble attic bedroom.

  The biggest difference—I don’t have a fairy Godmother nor am I wearing glass slippers—and there absolutely is no Prince Charming coming to save me.

  OVER THE BRIDGE

  The Newport Pell Bridge graces postcards and is on the back of the Rhode Island state quarter. I know this because Maximus minored in architecture at University while he majored in business.

  Ava rolls down her window as soon as we hit the center of it and so do I. From here I spot boats and yachts mooring in the harbor and the incredible green landmass of Gould Island, but the true prize is the lighthouse on Rose Island.

  “I can’t believe Newport is trendy now,” Ava groans from the front seat when the car’s tires hit the city by the sea.

  “It’s because the Hamptons are too overcrowded,” Rachel tells her.

  “Pretty soon Newport will be, too, then what?”

  “Then everyone will summer in Alexandria,” she says as she turns onto Ledge Road, and we all laugh.

  When Rachel pulls in the drive and the Georgian revival home comes into view, Ava squeals. “Oh my God, this is what you call a cottage?”

  Between the bars of the gate, the ‘cottage’ looks larger than I remember. Then again, it is, in fact, one of the Newport Mansions. The enormous façade glistening with its aged brick, massive peaks, and three graceful stories.

  “Are we on the infamous Cliff Walk?” Ava asks, her neck craning upward as if she might be able to see over the hedges.

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Oh, my God! Cliff Walk! I can’t believe I’ve lived in Providence for the past four years and never walked it. How long is it anyway?”

  “About six and a half miles long,” Rachel tells her, entering a code into the keypad at the gate. “It practically spans the entire length of Newport.”

  The gate opens and her eyes grow even wider. “That will make for a terrific run in the mornings,” Ava tells her and I don’t have to see Rachel’s face to know she’s rolling her eyes. She hates running.

  “I’ll join you,” I tell her.

  From back here all I can see is the shake of her head. “I’m sorry Princess, but even though we’re here in the States, you absolutely cannot go out in public without a bodyguard.”

  “Here in the States,” her sister mocks. “What? Is Rhode Island the jungle compared to Alexandria?”

  Rachel starts to drive through the entrance. “No, she should never be alone, and we’ve already broken enough rules that if she’s found, her uncle will have enough ammunition to have her locked away in a tower for a very long time.”

  “True, there are a lot of crazies around, and a royal kidnapping would be very bad,” Ava replies.

  My heart starts to pound. I have been reckless, and I am putting myself and my country in danger. I do need to be mindful of what I do or my uncle will, most definitely, have my head—on a silver platter.

  “Maximus is still working on arranging this and keeping your location hush-hush at the same time.” Rachel explains to us, “We can’t have a fleet of men with earpieces following you around or you will be discovered. Someone suitable should be arriving, though, in the next couple of days.”

  Sighing, I glance out the window. My time to myself has passed, but I had fun while it lasted.

  Fun.

  I had more than fun.

  A bird chirping draws my attention to the yard. The grass is mowed in perfect lines and when all the trellised flowers in bold colors of pink, saffron, scarlet, sapphire, and purple come into view, the car comes to a stop.

  Almost immediately, I feel a sense of loss I haven’t felt before. The only time I’ve been here has been with Maximus. Now he’s off doing what it is he’s doing and I’m playing a game of The Bachelor, as Ava put it.

  “Here’s the keys,” Rachel says to Ava.

  “Just leave them on the dash.”

  “Ava, you can’t do that. Someone will steal your car.”

  “Here,” she laughs. “I don’t think so.”

  The clink tells me Rachel has given in. That’s unusual, but obviously not worth the argument.

  When the door opens, I am surrounded by silence. No sound from the world outside except the crashing waves not that far in the distance and those singing birds. Nothing to mar nature’s beauty. My gaze drifts to the sea. This place is like a painting outlined in blue with powder-puff clouds.

  So similar to Alexandria and yet so different at the very same time.

  As soon as we all get out, I stretch and see William, the house manager, in his royal blue polo shirt hurrying over to us. He’s signed a non-disclosure agreement, as have the minimal staff remaining at the house. Maximus downsized to help keep my anonymity.

  I’m not sure why he’s being so helpful but I think it’s because he feels guilty about feeling so relieved not to have to get married.

  You see because our marriage was arranged by both of our parents, it was mandated by custom that we carry through with the vows. However, since my father passed and I broke off our engagement, he doesn’t have to suffer the wrath of his own father’s disapproval.

  “Hello, Your Royal Highness,” William greets, “Prince Maximus asked that I prepare the blue room for you, if that meets your pleasure?”

  The gleam in his eye tells me he likes the idea of visitors. “Yes, that will be fine, William. And these are my…” I pause a moment.

  Rachel takes it from there. “Staff, we’re the Princess’s staff. I’m her private secretary, and,” she points to Ava, “she’s her…stylist.”

  Ava’s entire face lights up.

  “It’s a pleasure.” William bows.

  “Yes,” I agree, “And they will need rooms as well.”

  “Anywhere for us will be fine,” Rachel assures him.

  “Yes, of course, most certainly. The east wing I rather think,” he says. “I will have your luggage delivered to your rooms straig
ht away.”

  Biting my lip, I want to laugh at the sight awaiting him. He’s going to need a crane to get that load upstairs.

  “Your first candidate will be here at seven,” Rachel whispers in my ear as we walk up the large white apron of marble stairs to the porch landing.

  After a quick glance at my watch, I jerk my eyes in her direction. “That’s so soon.”

  “Yes, which is why I’ve been trying to prep you for days,” she reminds me quietly.

  William opens the massive iron door and after he ushers us in, he leads us to the drawing room that overlooks the water. All three of us breeze through the large entrance and come to an immediate halt.

  So much color, one appears to tumble right into the next color and the next as well. It streaks and spills over white walls, white carpet, and white upholstery. It’s as if the room is an abstract painting in itself. “This room has been redecorated,” I say out loud just as William is bowing to leave.

  The crease of his brows as his body resumes its upright position isn’t meant for me to see, but I catch it none-the-less. “Yes, Your Royal Highness, the Prince’s step-mother has been redecorating.”

  Maximus’s step-mother is the Queen. Queen Genevieve to be proper, and it doesn’t get past me that William doesn’t refer to her that way.

  Looking around some more, I feel a little remorseful for those who have to spend too much time in this room.

  It looks like color threw up everywhere.

  Pillows, paintings, and statues are all so very opulent against the pristine white background. “Oh, she’s been here in the States? I hadn’t realized.”

  He shakes his head. “No, she’s been tele-advising with an interior designer.”

  My brows shoot up. The new Queen of Casanovia is a very demanding woman and I can only imagine how painful the experience of working with her must be. “Yes, of course,” I tell him. “Well, it looks,” I search for something positive to say, “so very new.”

  “Thank you,” he says, choosing to accept that as a compliment. “There are refreshments on the table near the sofa and tea will be served shortly.”

  “Thank you, William.”

  Slowly turning in place, I’m scanning the fuchsia silk curtains when Rachel lets out a gasp. My head darts to where she’s pointing. To the larger-than-life-size portrait over the white marble fireplace of the Queen of Casanovia in a very sultry gown lying on a chaise with the skin of her thigh exposed due to a very long slit in her dress.

  “How very scandalous for a royal,” Ava comments, obviously keeping herself abreast when it comes to all matters of the Vespa Isles, or just the rumors, anyway.

  Yes, indeed, I think. Maximus will not be happy to see that painting whenever he returns. The talk of the Queen having a somewhat sordid past is hard enough to shoulder, and the picture makes the lady of the night gossip seem so very true.

  Pivoting away, I find Aperol Spritzes and Avocado Tartines on the coffee table. While I grab a flute, Ava heads right toward the liquor cabinet.

  “Hold on.” With one hand on her sister’s arm, Rachel leads her right back to the sofa. “Sit. Both of you. I mean it.”

  After taking a small sip of my drink, I do as instructed, and after grabbing a plate of food, Ava does the same.

  “Your first candidate is Prince Rainer of Wimberly. He might not be right for the position, but he has the most impressive credentials, so I think he’s worth talking to.”

  Wiping her mouth with one of the monogrammed napkins from the table, Ava asks, “Please don’t tell me you surfed Tinder for these guys.”

  “Tinder?” I ask.

  “It’s a dating site,” she tells me. “A pretty popular one. I joined just a week ago after my breakup. I can show you how it works if you’d like?”

  Rachel is shaking her head. “No, no, no. Princesses do not search Tinder.”

  “Then where did you find the men you have lined up for her to meet?”

  Casting her eyes away, she responds with, “I queried profiles of all of them on Twitter and Facebook if you must know, and Google was a big help.”

  My hand goes up. “Hold on. Back up. You said he’s studying, not that he has studied,” I say, taking a gulp of my drink this time. “Does that mean the first candidate is still in school?”

  “Yes, he is, but in his defense, his field of study is very complex.”

  Ava makes a sound like she’s snoring and I fall back on the sofa. “Oh, God, please tell me he can at least drink in the United States.”

  “I’d say that and then some.” Ava hands me her phone where she’s brought up his profile and I glance at it.

  Rainer Archibald Casire is the younger son of Caroline, Princess of Burgetti, and her second husband, Archibald Casire. Casire is the sixteenth in the line of succession to the Wimberly throne.

  Age:

  36

  Birthplace:

  La Collett, Wimberly

  Profession:

  Philosophy

  Rachel is right—he does fit the criteria for the perfect husband to present to parliament, but only because his profession isn’t actually a hobby like yachtsman or sailor or racecar driver. They really hate that.

  “Here’s his picture,” Ava shouts, shoving her phone in my face.

  With my stomach twisting, I dart my gaze away. “Please. I’d rather not know what he looks like. I think meeting these men sight unseen will help me have a more positive outlook when it comes to the possibility of our union.”

  “Yes, in some cases, ignorance is bliss,” Ava smarts, and I don’t like the sound of that one bit.

  Rachel claps her hands and draws my attention back toward her and her sister. “Focus. We need to focus,” she says. “You need to shower and get ready.” She points to me. “And I have to arrange for a quiet dinner out on the veranda.”

  Ava’s hand goes up in the air and I have to bite back my grin. “Since I’ve been appointed the royal stylist for the summer, I will help the Princess get ready, but please don’t make me do anything with the word arrange in it.”

  The humor continues when Rachel glares at her, but Ava pays no mind as she flutters away. “I’m going to check on William and my things,” she says to me. “I’ll meet you in the green room.”

  “It’s the blue room,” Rachel corrects.

  She circles her fingers in the air. “Yes, I knew that.”

  “Everything okay with you, Princess? You seem…sad. Or at least sadder,” Rachel asks when we’re alone.

  “I’m fine. A little tired. It’s just been a strange day, that’s all.”

  “Would you rather I cancel?” Rachel asks anxiously. “I can call and request he come for tea tomorrow, instead.”

  I shake my head. “No, let’s do it straight away as you’ve planned.” I only have the summer to pick a husband and groom him to meet Parliament. Something tells me that’s not going to be nearly long enough. Besides, chances are good these candidates don’t know the slightest thing about the time in which afternoon tea is traditionally served. They’ll be looking for a tee time, instead, I am certain. Yes, I’ll have a lot of work to do to meet Parliament’s high standards.

  Parliament.

  The bain of my existence.

  Their rules.

  Their threats.

  Their expectations.

  Rumors of worry concerning the line of succession coming to an end have surfaced. Now, I have to worry about a royal heir and I don’t even have a royal husband.

  Princesses carry on the family line.

  When I catch myself gnawing on what is left of my thumbnail, I link my fingers tightly and think about how this is going to be a very interesting summer, especially when I left my gumption in Paris.

  “Good,” Rachel says and draws me back to the conversation, “because, have you ever tried getting a royal to interview for a position?” she asks.

  I just stare at her.

  “You know what, don’t answer that. But let me tell you
, it is just as difficult as it sounds.”

  Starting for my bedroom, I’m at the door when Rachel calls out to me once more. “Princess.”

  Turning on my toes, I look at her. “Yes.”

  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “To shower? Yes.”

  She shakes her head. “I mean to marry someone you don’t love?”

  When I meet her gaze, none of my earlier trepidation eases from my chest. “It is my duty.”

  Then unbidden images of my soccer player come to mind, and that unease seems to grow even stronger. No, he is what I want, but this is what I need.

  Because it’s the only way I’ll be able to sit on the throne.

  And that is the only way I can make a difference.

  SPOTTED

  The Alexandria Gossiper

  Royal Watch Breaking News

  Also found on royalgirl.net

  THE PRINCE & PRINCESS UNITE

  By Ophelia Heart

  Hey Royal Lovers!!!

  O here, and I have news for you. A French paparazzo took a photo of Princess Victoria sunbathing topless on the Riviera with none other than our beloved Prince Maximus Montgomery of Casanovia.

  Were the rumors of their breakup fabricated to throw us off?

  Have they wed in private?

  And is this their honeymoon?

  Oh how I can only hope.

  The Palace has refused to comment.

  Why?

  I for one want to know.

  Don’t you?

  Tweet me and let me know what you think.

  BEHIND DOOR #1

  At precisely seven p.m., the tranquil ding-dong of the formal bell announces his arrival. I would take a sip of my water if I thought I could get it past the lump of apprehension growing in my throat.