by K. S. Thomas
I’m at a loss. “What happened?”
“Well, if you don’t know, the problem is even bigger than I anticipated,” she screeches. Then the line goes dead.
For several seconds, I just stare at my phone, gaping, hoping if enough time passes, this conversation will somehow make sense to me. When nothing changes, I close my eyes, take a breath and slide my phone into my pocket.
When I open my eyes again, the world makes sense. Monroe is sniffing a tulip. She giggles. And nothing else matters anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY
GREER
Once our new relationship settles in, Katia and I find a whole new rhythm. It’s like we develop a beautifully choreographed dance with Soren, moving perfectly in sync as we evade the queen’s efforts at every turn and then find ways to appease her. By the end of my first week at the castle, I’ve successfully avoided all the absurd history lessons and plans, dressed in her chosen garbs only on those occasions when I was accompanied by her and my future sister-in-law, Isobel (who seems nice enough even if she clearly isn’t forced to wear the town hag’s hand-me-downs) and even got to choose my own wedding cake. I had to give up peppadew peppers to do it, and surrender the entire menu to the queen, but it was worth it. Or it will be when I get to eat said cake.
Much to the queen’s dismay, Lachlan and I make it to our last Sunday before the wedding still engaged. And, having spent a fair amount of time together despite her efforts to achieve the contrary, I’m more confident than ever we will pull this off. I’m also fairly certain I stopped pretending somewhere along the way. Thankfully, I have more important things to worry about than sorting out my own messy heart, leaving me free to dwell in denial for the time being.
So, here I stand, in my closet, reviewing the queen’s choices for my special evening. They’re not as horribly bad as others I’ve worn, but they’re not exactly what I would choose for the occasion. If I had a choice.
“Worried he won’t stop dead in his tracks at the sight of you in one of those?” Katia teases, joining me in what we’ve dubbed ‘the room of doom’ given the queen’s intense interest in dressing me.
“I think we both know that kind of reaction is out no matter what I’m wearing,” I point out. “That kind of reaction requires not being in total control of your emotions every second of every day, and Lachlan is a stickler for that kind of control. I actually think it might be one of his superpowers.” Especially given he made so little use of it in New York. Clearly, it’s a skill he applies at will.
“You’re joking, right?” Katia half frowns half laughs, stuck in limbo as she tries to read my reaction.
“I’m completely serious.” I’m aware it’s a rare occasion, but it does happen.
“Prince Lachlan is so taken by you, he’s never in control of anything anytime you’re around.” This time, she laughs out loud.
“What are you talking about?” I shake my head at her. “He hardly even laughs at my jokes since we got here. All I ever get is his polite laugh, the kind most people save for things that aren’t funny. And I’ll have you know, I’m hilarious! If that’s not total self-control, I don’t know what is.
“Laughing isn’t what I’m talking about,” she says walking toward the rack to pull the first hanger down. I guess I’m going to try these things on. We might get lucky. One might look better on than hanging limp on the hanger. “I’m talking about how you obliterate every thought in the man’s head every time you walk into the room.” She holds the long champagne number up under my neck, giving us both a preview of what’s to come. It’s not promising. “You can’t tell me you’ve never noticed that. Never witnessed the way his eyes flash with a mild panic when reality catches up to him and he becomes aware he’s forgotten whatever he was thinking before you showed up.”
“The man has already promised me eternal love, Katia. You don’t need to go out of your way to boost my ego. It’s not that fragile,” I tease watching her peel the dress from her hanger before she hands it to me.
“That’s fine,” she jokes, walking out of the closet to give me some privacy while I change. “You can deny it all you like. I know what I see. It’s my specialty, you know. It’s why the queen chose me to be your assistant in the first place.”
“I thought it was the ease at which you could be blackmailed,” I call back, slipping out of the first ugly dress of my day. I had dance lessons this morning. The queen supervised so I wore something that resembles a circus tent and let Katia take credit.
“No.” Her voice echoes its way back to me through the high ceilings. “The opportunity for blackmail just meant she could use my talents to serve her needs. Without my skills of insight and observation, the ability to blackmail me would have been useless.”
I shrug, thinking it over while I move my head through the layers of lace and silk lining trying to get into this thing. The material is gorgeous, but the cut of the dress leaves much to be desired. “I guess that makes sense,” I mumble. “Explains why you’re so good at being the queen’s spy and why you make everyone else so nervous.”
She walks back in. She told me a few days ago, she timed me every time I tried on a new outfit that first morning with Simon, then calculated the average and now uses this to come and go from the closet every time I change clothes. It’s one of about a million ways I’ve discovered her levels of efficiency are far and beyond anything any normal human being would ever consider striving for. I like it. I want to take her home with me.
“That’s terrifying.” She stares at me, eyes wide.
“Should I bother stepping in front of the mirror?” I ask. I’ve made a habit of avoiding all reflective surfaces when trying on clothes here. At least until Katia gives the go ahead.
“You should not.” She hands me another dress. “Try this next.” Then she hands me my phone. “After you call Mallory. She’s been texting you so much, I think your phone might burst into flame if it has to accept another message from her.”
“Thanks.” I don’t know what I’m more nervous about. Trying on this next dress or reading Mal’s messages. I’ve barely talked to her in days, mostly because she’s been sending me ‘call me – it’s urgent texts’ since I got here, and I know her idea of urgent has nothing to do with any sort of time-pressed emergency and everything to do with her nosy ass wanting to know every little detail of my current life and thus the results of my bad choice to fake marry Lachlan. Which even I must admit, is starting to feel like it will wind up being one of the more tragic mistakes of my life.
“You’re starting to freak out my assistant,” I say the second I hear her answer.
“Good. I like to break people in before I deal with them in person. That way I’m less of a shock to their system.” Chase and Abbas are talking in the background, though I notice their voices get quieter the longer she’s silent. She must have been hanging out at their place when I called. “Is she there now?”
“No.” I plop down on the cushy chaise lounge, my favorite part of having an extra-large closet – it comes with its own furniture. “Are you back in our apartment, away from the boys and their curious ears?”
“Yep.” There’s a soft thud on her end and I imagine her dropping into our sofa, getting settled for our catch-up chat. “Go ahead.”
“Go ahead with what?” I’m not so much playing dumb as I’m playing it smart. I’m going to need a more specific direction before I spill my guts to her. No need to give her more ammunition to ridicule me with later than necessary.
“Go ahead and tell me how you’re in love with him and how I was right, and you were wrong, and this is the biggest mistake ever,” she rattles off her instructions.
“Oh. That.” Sounds like she about covered it. “I’m not really sure I have anything to add to that.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? I didn’t even ask you a question.” I reach down with my free hand, patting the carpet under the chaise. Somewhere under here should be an open bag of tortilla ch
ips. I left it for Cheese, but if he hasn’t helped himself to my offering yet, I could really go for a snack with this conversation.
“No, as in, no it’s not going to be that easy,” she scoffs. “You haven’t talked to me in a week. I’m boarding a plane in a few days and I have no idea what I’m walking into. I need to know. What am I walking into?”
“Very lovely accommodations at the prince’s castle?” Finally, my fingers touch foil. I’m so excited when I yank up the bag, I almost send chips flying across my closet.
“Linden has changed you,” she remarks dryly. “I feel like I don’t know you at all anymore.”
I open my mouth wide to fit three chips in at once. Then I crunch in surrender. “Fine. You need to hear me say it? I’ll say it.” I pause to swallow. “There’s a distinct possibility Lachlan is a little more wonderful than I anticipated, and all this real-life fairy-tale crap may be on occasion, ever so slightly, and profoundly annoyingly, messing with my head a teeny-tiny, itty-bitty – minuscule, really – bit.”
“That was almost acceptable,” Mal responds. I can hear her crunching away on something as well. “But I think you meant to say heart, not head.”
“No, I didn’t.” I’m sure of this part at least. “My heart and I haven’t been on speaking terms in years. There’s no telling what it feels about any of this. All my dealings are with the brain. And the body.” I add more chips to my mouth to muffle the words that need to follow. “My body is talking a lot. It’s not good, Mal. Not good at all.”
She laughs. “If you really think your heart is on mute here, you’re fucked no matter which way this turns.” I have half a mind to take offense, but she goes on before I can voice such feelings. “Since you’re set on denial, let’s switch to a problem we can actually solve. My plus one.”
“You mean in addition to Abbas?” I clarify what others would deem obvious.
“Abbas is not my plus one,” she insists adamantly.
“But he is coming to the wedding,” I point out. “And you are sleeping with him.”
“I don’t see how either statements are relevant to the topic.”
“Well, do you plan to stop sleeping with him the week of the wedding?” I ask, my mind half on the issue and half on searching the bag of chips in my lap for ones that aren’t yet broken in pieces.
“I can’t seem to go longer than three days without a fix, so that’s unlikely,” she says, and I can’t tell if she’s displeased with this fact or my inquiring about it.
I stop my search for chips that aren’t reduced to large crumbs. “Then I think both statements are very relevant to the topic.”
“Greer,” she whines. “Stop overcomplicating my life.”
“I’m actually trying to simplify it. The boy you’re sleeping with already RSVPed for the wedding. Bringing another one just because your invite says you can that would overcomplicate your life.”
She’s silent for all of three seconds before she makes another argument. “What if Abbas brings a plus one?”
“He’s not bringing a plus one,” I tell her, diving back into the bag. “He’s like, totally gaga over you. The only way he’s bringing someone else to the wedding is if you do. And even then, it would only be to stick it to you, not because he actually wanted to bring someone else.”
“Can you check?”
“Can I check if he RSVPed for a plus one?” I don’t need to check. I know he didn’t because Soren made a snide comment about not being surprised all my friends were single and unwanted. “He’s not bringing a plus one. You’re his plus one.”
She mulls it over. “I just think I would feel better if I came with someone else. Someone totally platonic. If I come alone, I’ll just end up spending all my time with Abbas and then the casual thing will get all confusing because of all the wedding fantasy vibes smogging up the air in Linden.”
I roll my eyes. Mostly because I know she can’t see it. Then, I surrender to her madness. “So, ask Josh to come.” Mal and Josh have been each other’s backups since college, though they never have been on an actual date. He ought to be perfect for this.
“I can’t,” she sighs. “He has a girlfriend. Some chick he went to high school with named Jennie.”
“Josh and Jennie.” I can practically hear her rolling her eyes back into her skull as I say it. “That’s adorable.”
“Is it?” She wouldn’t think so. Her nerdy science brain can’t get down with that kind of cutesy shit. “Seems a little too twinsy to me. But whatever. If he’s happy, I’m happy.”
That much I know is true. “Okay, well, if Josh is out, and you refuse to acknowledge Abbas as your date, where does that leave you?”
“In need of a matchmaker. Come on, Greer. You haven’t met a single knight or duke or lord you can hook me up with for your wedding spectacle?”
“The only single dude I hang with here is an angry little man named Soren.” I smirk to myself. “You know what, I’ll set it up. You’re perfect for each other.”
LACHLAN
“IT’S NOT A SPEECH TO address the nation,” Soren grumbles when he walks in the room, the second time in thirty minutes, to find I’m still right where he left me. At my desk, writing my formal introduction of Greer. “I know.” I lay down my pen and look up at him. “That’s why it’s so hard to write.”
“You’re overthinking this,” he insists, marching my way. “Let me see what you have so far.”
Begrudgingly, I hand him the sheet of paper. Ordinarily, this isn’t the sort of thing I’d want his input on, but I’m running out of time and I need someone outside of my own brain to help me sort out what I’m getting stuck on.
Soren takes a dramatic inhale, glares at me, and then begins to read. The longer he does, the more upsetting his face gets. Finally, he looks up. “You can’t use this.”
“Not any of it?” I knew there were issues, but I thought at least some parts were good enough to make the final draft.
“Not unless you want her to know you’re in love with her.”
“What are you talking about?” I shake my head, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. “I want everyone to think I’m in love with her. That’s the whole point here.”
“No.” He hands the speech back to me. “The point of this speech is that you’re actually in love with her. If you want to convince everyone that you are but keep her thinking that you’re still faking it, you have to rewrite it.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” I hold the paper in my hand, but now I can’t get myself to reread any of what I wrote.
“Saying what?” Soren looks as confused as I feel, only with less emotion. He’s confused, but clearly bored with this topic.
“That I’m in love with her.”
“Are you not aware that you are?” His nose twitches the way it does when he finds me mildly amusing, and he has to use his finger to push his glasses back into place when he’s done.
“I can’t be aware of something I’m not,” I say with all the air of a six-year-old winning an argument he doesn’t know he’s lost due to ignorance and immaturity. “And for the record, I really don’t appreciate people insisting I don’t know my own feelings, or how they pertain to Greer.”
He cocks a brow. “So, I’m not the first to tell you this.”
I see now I’ve said too much. He’ll never let it go now. “Chase might have come to the same conclusion before I left New York,” I mumble, spending a great deal of effort on smoothing out a piece of paper on my desk which was never crumpled to begin with. “And I’m pretty sure Abbas and their friend Mallory made similar assumptions.”
“Which one of us do you think doesn’t know you well enough to know what we’re talking about?” he asks, smirking. Nothing delights him more than being right about something.
“I think you all know me just fine.” I pick up my pen again. “I think you’re all just confused by my great acting skills.” I point at my speech. “And my talents for creative writing.”
“Fine.” He’s not really conceding. I can tell by his patronizing tone. “Do you think Greer is as easily confused as the rest of us?”
“I think Greer is a professional and she’s used to acting and reading scripts. So no,” I confirm, more for myself than Soren, “I don’t think she’ll get confused between what is real and what is pretend for sake of our arrangement.”
“I hope you’re right.” He nods at the paper between my hands. “Because convincing me that you’re in love with her when you’re not, doesn’t land me a broken heart down the road.”
“You don’t know, Greer,” I tell him, eyes settling in on my own words again. “Even if she believed my heart was in this, she wouldn’t let her own get anywhere near me.”
“If you believe that, I think maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know her.” He shakes his head and turns toward the door again. “I’m going to go occupy myself for another ten minutes. Then I’m coming back for you and that speech better be done.” He reaches the door handle and stalls. “Now might be a good time to start thinking about sticking to formal vows at your wedding. I don’t think either one of you could handle it if you wrote your own.”
Then he’s out in the hall, door falling shut behind him.
Silence returns. Briefly. Then my own thoughts explode in my head. To make matters worse, Soren’s voice starts ringing in my ears as well. I spend at least half my allotted time just trying to tune the craziness out and clear my head enough to finish writing my formal introduction before giving up on the efforts. Most of it is done, the closing I can always come up with on the spot. As Soren pointed out, it’s not a speech to address the nation. It’s more like a toast over dinner with my family. If I can swing one, I can clearly manage the other.
With a couple moments left to spare, I make a quick stop in Monroe’s room to visit with her. Despite my arguments, my stepmother insisted a formal dinner was no place for a toddler. The silver lining, is of course, that she won’t be subjected to the boring unpleasantness of dinner with my family which Greer and I will have to endure.