by Emma Grey
It’s something she wouldn’t even contemplate – this secrecy, and Reuben’s suggested crazy deception – except for the promise she’d made to Olivia, right at the end. Belle wouldn’t be half as committed to her royal role if it wasn’t for her sister’s death-bed plea that she’d use it for good. If it wasn’t for the promise Belle had made, she’d ditch the whole thing. She’d step down, bow out, and come out, and follow her own heart instead of being so loyal to her sister’s . . .
And now her best friend has planted an idea in her head that might mean she could have her cake and eat it, too. Fulfil her promise to Olivia, and behind the scenes be free to follow her own heart, in secret. It isn’t the same as being open about who she really is in public, and it still hurts like crazy that she can’t do that . . . but isn’t it something?
And isn’t it safe?
‘Belle?’
Angie is standing there patiently, hoping for an explanation. There is so much that Belle wants to say and can’t. And not just about Reuben and his elaborate idea. She folds the official letter and puts it back into the envelope, then sets it down on the desk near the window.
If she is right about the way Angie feels about Reuben, this step will potentially tear them all apart. Angie will hate her. Worse, she can’t possibly admit her true feelings, now. Not when Angie is so clearly besotted with her boss!
‘I’m sure Reuben will explain everything when he’s back,’ she says, hating how cryptic she’s being.
Angie’s body language tells its usual thousand words. A thousand totally colourful words that leave nothing to the imagination. But, in this case, she doesn’t just let her body do the talking. She’s seething and it boils over.
‘It’s okay, Belle! I know he’s your best friend. You don’t have to constantly make the point and put me in my place.’ Tiny red spots appear on Angie’s cheeks as she talks. She is livid. It looks exactly like the irrational, angry response of a person wildly in love. And if she’s this mad now, how much worse will it be when she finds out about this plan? Belle can’t even think about it!
‘Sorry,’ Angie says unexpectedly. And next she’s blinking furiously and doing everything she can not to cry. ‘It’s not you,’ she says.
But it is me, Belle thinks awkwardly. This is awful! Can she really get in the way like this?
It’s so hard! She can’t allow herself to be paired off by her parents with some demanding foreign knight, or duke, or prince or WHATEVER. She also can’t quit! She made a death-bed promise that she’d stay this course.
She can’t come out. Not publicly without the approval of her parents, whose official line might be ‘love is love’, but apparently love is only love when you’re everyone else in the country and not their own daughter. And what about Reuben? She knows he’s only doing this because he’s heartbroken. Tilly lied to him about who she was, and now she’s photographed with Jack in public? And she slammed him in the interview with Max O’Neill. She’s just about the only person in this whole scenario whom Belle doesn’t feel sorry for.
‘Reuben is the nicest and most generous person I know,’ Angie says. She’s skim-reading the newspaper article about Tilly’s fangirl past. ‘How could she deceive him like this? I am officially enraged!’
That’s obvious, Belle thinks. And what if the deception went full throttle in another direction? How enraged would Angie be then? Maybe they could talk her through it without her hating them both. It’s not like Belle and Reuben would hold each other back romantically . . . each would be free privately. It would just be a convenient public face.
Angie sweeps strands of blonde hair out of her eyes, the way she always does. It’s gorgeous. Maybe she would get over Reuben in time . . . Maybe then, once she looks up . . .
But how do fairy tales happen when you’re already a princess? Don’t they only happen to normal girls? Belle can’t risk any more heartbreak where Angie’s concerned. She’s got to stop entertaining this impossible fantasy. This is one of those imperfect situations where, on balance, maybe this seemingly insane idea of Reuben’s is the best of a bad lot of options.
‘Superfan at thirteen,’ Angie chuckles darkly. ‘Nothing is really as it seems, Belle. Is it?’ Her phone beeps with an incoming text.
Belle glances at her. Heart thudding. This is the moment, right here. Angie has handed her the perfect segue into which she should insert a true declaration of her feelings. But is she strong enough to risk it?
Chapter 52
Angie, can you arrange a meeting with Belle, please? And request one with her parents.
What’s he up to? Angie looks at the text and thinks it’s a bizarrely formal request when Reuben could just go straight to Belle like he normally does. Frustrating!
‘Reuben wants to meet you, like in a proper meeting. And he wants to meet with your parents.’
Belle seems taken aback, like she’d been about to lead this conversation down a completely different path and now she can’t. Her shoulders slump, and she walks to the window and stares thoughtfully out of it. ‘This is so messed up,’ she whispers.
‘What is?’
Belle turns. Angie can tell she’s trying to compose herself – and she is practised at that. Her entire life has been an exercise in artificial body language. Angie’s known Belle a long time, from way back when she was a lot less like a two-dimensional princess and a lot more like a normal, rounded, flawed human being. When she was actually a whole lot of fun.
‘Can we sit?’ Belle asks, like she needs Angie’s permission, which seems the wrong way around. They settle on Reuben’s couch, and Belle looks thoughtful. Nervous. She takes a deep breath.
‘Olivia loved all of this,’ she begins. Wow. Belle almost never talks about her sister. ‘This life. Royalty. She was the gold standard. The real deal. She was perfect.’
Nobody’s perfect, Angie wants to argue, but doesn’t because you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead. But seriously, Belle’s relationship with perfection is exactly what’s wrong with her. Always so together. Always well behaved. Everything that grinds Angie’s gears about Belle is linked to just how unrealistically perfect she always tries to be. It’s like she totally sold out on the person she once was, and downgraded to a model of herself that’s way less interesting. It’s infuriating to watch.
‘Olivia was my buffer,’ Belle explains. ‘She stood between me and all the things I didn’t want to be. When she was alive, I could be myself. She was a proper-enough princess for both of us.’
Something clicks, and Angie starts to see why Belle’s personal standards are so high. She’s trying to be two people at once.
‘If she was still alive, things would be so different.’ Belle’s expression is all over the place, and Angie catches a glimpse through a window that’s been shut for years. She wants to pull the curtains back! Wants to throw open the shutters and let in the fresh air and bright light. And she desperately wants to know what Belle means. What would be different?
Belle unexpectedly takes Angie’s hand, and Angie has no time to process the zing from the touch of her skin before Belle says, ‘If Olivia was still here, doing this job, I’d make very different choices. I would go totally off script. I’d wing it. I’d study and travel and get a job doing something that really mattered. Not all these endless, pointless functions, waving and hand-shaking and smiling and nodding like these conversations are anything other than completely meaningless small talk, most of the time. I hate it.’
Angie knows instinctively that she wants in with Belle’s off-script life. Even hinting at it, Belle looks like a different person. A real person, and not a plastic, fake-smiling mannequin that looks incredible in designer dresses. It’s like someone has breathed life back into her.
‘My sister wanted to change the world,’ Belle says. ‘She made me promise I’d follow through on her big ideas, but I haven’t. I’m just a glorified celebrity. I’m such a fraud, Angie!’
Belle throws herself against the back of the
leather couch and slumps into it, like a sulky teenager. The movement makes the seat of the couch dip, and Angie finds herself tumbling in closer to Belle, the way they used to sit after school, hanging out watching movies and gossiping about boys. Although, come to think of it, there was only ever one boy they talked about. And not in an obsessive way. She smiles as she remembers how superior they felt over Reuben’s real fangirls. She and Belle were so proud to be drawn into his orbit by a real, sensible, platonic friendship and not some crazy infatuation. They never really got what the fuss was about. He was gorgeous, obviously. Well, technically . . .
‘Sorry!’ Angie says, apologising for her sudden proximity to Belle.
Belle says nothing. Nor does she shift aside. Angie swears a moment passes between them. But what sort of moment? This is totally uncharted territory. Surely she’s imagining it?
But no! She can see something flicker in Belle’s eyes, too. The way she saw it flicker once before, a very long time ago.
‘The only thing I’ve changed so far is me,’ Belle whispers. The confessional intimacy and the whispering is making Angie’s heart race. Part of her wants to escape, but she’s completely unable to move. ‘I stepped off my own path, straight onto Olivia’s. My parents, in their grief over losing her, forced me into the space Olivia left, bit by bit, until there was nothing left of me. I changed everything about myself, just trying to measure up. If things had been different, we wouldn’t be sitting here now, having this conversation. I wouldn’t be in this life at all. I might not have even met you . . .’
Belle is actually crying now, and Angie isn’t sure exactly what to do. She tucks her leg up underneath herself so she can face Belle more directly on the couch. Then she does something she hasn’t done in years, and puts a hand tentatively on Belle’s shoulder.
‘Can I give you a hug?’ she asks. It sounds so absurdly pathetic, given the scale of the problem Belle’s describing, but as Angie can’t overhaul the monarchy for Belle, or bring Olivia back —
Belle shuts her eyes and dissolves willingly into Angie’s arms. Angie can feel her sobbing silently against her shoulder. Is it sobbing? Or is she trembling?
Reuben’s clock is ticking loudly on the mantelpiece. Every second feels like it’s elongating, like there’s a tear in the fabric of time, and Angie is aware of the life in every cell of her body, and in Belle’s.
‘Where did you and I go wrong?’ Belle whispers a few seconds later.
Belle pulls away slowly as she asks the question – wisps of blonde hair tangling in brown, their cheeks brushing softly while Angie’s heart pounds as their eyes meet . . . and she thinks of the smouldering emotion that’s played out between them for years. Irritation. Wasn’t it?
Ever since . . . when, exactly? That night of the debate at school? She forages through her memory, trying to recapture the details. They’d been on fire. They could have conquered the world together. And then, they’d somehow . . . collided? Fallen . . .
It had felt like this.
She shivers and pulls away from Belle, a mirror of the way she had backed off then, and now she remembers why.
Fear.
Of exactly what, she hadn’t been sure at the time, only that it was something powerful and dangerous and she’d gone too far down a path that night that had terrified her. Even thinking about it now makes her heart race and her skin prickle with heat and trepidation and something else she doesn’t dare name, because her brain hasn’t caught up with her body yet.
‘I’ve let you down,’ Belle says.
Noo! Angie wants to explain that it’s not Belle. It’s her! There’s something wrong with her perspective on things. She’s totally mixed up. But saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ sounds like an excuse people use in romantic relationships. Not friendships. She can only imagine what Belle would make of that.
‘I ruined things with you,’ Belle says, crying.
‘We can fix it!’ Angie promises. And suddenly she wants to, more than anything.
‘I’ve messed things up with you, and I’m becoming exactly the sort of celebrity princess Olivia despised. All these years of trying to be more like her, I’ve grown even further from the direction she was heading. Yet, here I am, about to capitulate to another ludicrous situation for “appearances”.’
What ludicrous situation?
‘Reuben and I . . .’ Belle begins, faltering.
Whatever Belle is about to admit, Angie doesn’t want to hear it. The idea of Belle and Reuben ties her up in knots, every time. Always has. The closer they’ve become over the years, the more suspicious Angie has been that there’s more than a platonic friendship between them, and the more ferociously opposed to that friendship she has become.
Belle’s fingers brush Angie’s leg as she reaches for a tissue and Angie all but leaps off the couch in response. What is wrong with her? This is no time to let down her guard.
‘Reuben’s had a crazy idea,’ Belle explains.
Angie is busy having a crazy idea of her own, though. Kat had said she had noticed Angie’s body language whenever the group was together. She’d called her out on it, in private, but even she had got it wrong. What had her exact words been? It suddenly seems important to remember.
‘Just go with it,’ Kat had said. ‘It’s unconventional, but don’t assume you’re not good enough. I fell for someone totally out of my reach, too, and look where it led me.’
Kat had been comparing Angie’s situation with her own with Angus, and talking about Reuben and it being unconventional because he’s Angie’s boss. And a pop star, and therefore totally out of her reach. She meant Reuben, and his being in the A-list versus Angie’s not being in any list to speak of. It was Reuben whom Kat meant. Wasn’t it?
‘Angie, I think I know how you feel,’ Belle says. ‘It’s actually pretty obvious.’
What? This conversation has to stop. Immediately! Kat had assured Angie nobody else had noticed! Angie had assumed Kat had misread Angie’s vibes and had thought she’d detected a secret crush on Reuben. She’d let Kat believe it, because it conveniently hid the truth and gave her an outlet to express what she really felt. But what if it was Belle who Kat was referring to all along? Is she insane, suggesting Angie go for it? Belle isn’t gay!
‘I can explain,’ Angie says, making a very hasty promise to herself. She stands and paces while she tries to work out how to untangle herself from whatever it is that is unfolding here. At the same time, she’s becoming increasingly conscious that a part of her – a big part, the main part, possibly all of her – wants to become even more tangled than she already is and throw caution to the wind and just ask.
‘I know how it looks,’ she says, which is basically an outright lie to stall for time. ‘You’ve got to understand, Belle,’ she goes on, ‘all these years together . . . It’s not what you think!’
Her words are ambiguous. She knows that, but she can’t seem to do any better.
Belle looks understandably confused.
Angie isn’t deliberately trying to make it difficult, but this whole thing is brewing into somewhat of an emotional state of emergency. She cannot admit to a perfectly straight princess that she appears to have developed . . . no, remembered, from forever ago . . . that she has some sort of . . . How would she even put it without causing major offence? Attraction?
She stops pacing and looks at Belle. This is not just attraction. She’s felt that before, with other girls. This is way more than that. Belle is sitting attentively on the couch, watching her expectantly, looking ever so slightly dishevelled from their fleeting embrace and sweeping a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear the way she never does, because her hair is always flawless.
Help!
‘I don’t know what you and Reuben are cooking up together,’ Angie says, desperate for any topic that might shift the focus away from how jittery she feels, in both the scariest and the best of ways.
‘Angie, about that. About . . . how you feel. I thought —’
&
nbsp; ‘Whatever you thought was wrong,’ Angie says quickly. Her delivery is swift, precise and designed to end the conversation, fast.
Belle frowns. ‘So, you’d be completely okay if Reuben and I . . .’
‘Oh, yes!’ Angie says, aware that she’s gushing now – and saying exactly the opposite of the truth, because . . . love.
WAIT.
‘It’s not your standard sort of relationship,’ Belle is pointing out.
LOVE?
‘Reuben would still be free,’ Belle says. ‘You know, to pursue . . .’
She’s waiting for Angie to fill in the blanks, but Angie doesn’t get the point at all.
‘His career?’ Angie tries.
‘No . . .’
What, then? Or whom? Tilly? Angie knew the Royal Family and celebrities in general could be messed up, but this whole thing is morphing into a fiasco of previously unheard-of proportions, even from the gutter press!
‘I get it, Belle,’ she says. She totally doesn’t, but she’s going to bluff her way through the rest of this conversation in an attempt to buy herself the time and space she desperately needs to sort out whatever is going on inside her head, because this is unprecedented. It feels like all the familiar markers by which Angie quite successfully navigates her life are suddenly missing, and she’s washed up somewhere totally unfamiliar. Somewhere enticing but daunting.
‘I really need to talk to Reuben,’ Angie says urgently. ‘Do you mind? I have something immensely important to discuss that I should have said to him a while ago, and it really can’t wait. Not for another second.’
She’s aware that she must seem rude, and possibly deranged, but she grabs her jacket and keys and leaves the room in a screaming rush, not caring in this moment whom she’s slamming the door on, or how much of a princess she thinks she is, or what anyone actually feels, least of all herself, because all she really wants to do right now is run.