Romancing the Throne

by Nadine Jolie Courtney

  “I get it.” Of course, I don’t, really.

  “I wasn’t trying to ignore you or avoid you. But I think you were right. We probably weren’t that well suited for each other, personality-wise. Plus, you deserve somebody who can give you loads of time.”

  “It’s okay. Thank you.”

  We smile at each other and, for a moment, I feel a wave of sadness. He really is a decent guy. I stand up. “I should go. Better sneak out before they do dorm check.”

  “This was nice,” he says, smiling.

  “Friends?” I ask.

  “Friends.”

  I look again at the photos of the two of us on his notice board, and he follows my gaze. “Do you want them?” he asks.

  “Oh! Do you mind? I know how you are with pictures and privacy—but they are cute.”

  He walks over and untacks the three pictures from the wall, handing them to me. “I trust you—they’re yours.” Somehow, the moment feels symbolic in more ways than one.

  We give each other an awkward hug. When I exit Edward’s room, I say, “Bye, Simon!” to the closed door across the hall. I know he’s snooping.

  As I hurry down the steps toward the front doors of Stuart Hall, I run into Robert coming out of the common room. He looks surprised to find me coming down from the rooms.

  “Charlotte? What were you doing upstairs?”

  “Crap.”

  “That bad to see me, huh?”

  “No.” I laugh. “It’s just—don’t you have to report me now?”

  He looks around, making sure the coast is clear. “Come on.” I walk down the steps toward him and he takes me by the elbow, hurrying me out of the front door until we’re standing outside Stuart. “What’s to report?” he asks. “I saw you coming from the common areas. No big deal.”

  “You’re the best.”

  He grins and gives me a small bow before returning inside.

  As I walk back to my residence hall, I’m relieved that Edward and I are on friendly terms. It’ll make things much more convenient for our friends. What a disaster if we pitted everybody against each other. So much more mature this way.

  I head back to my dorm to give Libby the full scoop.

  fourteen

  Winter is my favorite time of year at Sussex Park. Once the snow starts falling in early December, it sticks to the bare tree branches and coats the rolling lawns. The main quad looks like something out of a postcard, the student center sets up a hot cocoa station, and students roast chestnuts by the fire. It gets dark by three thirty p.m, and the whole campus has a romantic feeling, as if it’s a Christmas poem come to life. Snow fell early this year, so I’m shivering in the flakes, holding my books against my coat for warmth while scurrying to the library after dinner.

  The Sussex Park library was modeled after the Bodleian at Oxford. It’s all mahogany wood and high, vaulted ceilings, with stained-glass windows depicting key scenes from the Bible. The main chamber features row upon row of long wooden tables for communal studying, with several smaller rooms for private studying in cubicles.

  I look for a quiet nook in one of the smaller rooms, away from the hustle and bustle of the students stage-whispering to each other at the long tables. Every year, I tell myself that this is going to be the year I buckle down and focus on my studies . . . and every year, I find myself in early December panicking about my low marks. This year is particularly bad: I’ve lost the plot in several classes and am coming dangerously close to failing maths. History and graphic design are the only classes where my marks are decent.

  I find a quiet space in the back corner of a room by the stacks. A few minutes after I sit down, I hear laughing.

  It’s Libby’s voice. And she’s not alone.

  I stand up, peering over the cubicle.

  Libby sits at a cubicle across the room. She’s visible in profile, but I can’t see the guy she’s with. She looks up at him through her lashes, giggling flirtatiously. The guy puts his hand on her arm.

  “Stop it,” she says. “We’re supposed to be studying.”

  I push my chair back before I can help myself and walk over to them.

  “What do we have here?” I ask.

  Libby and David look up at me, both surprised.

  “Hey, Charlotte,” David says.

  “David? But I thought you were . . .” For some reason, I expected to find Edward.

  “Devastatingly handsome? The most charming bloke you’ve ever met? Brilliant like a Nobel Prize winner? Don’t stop now.”

  “Nothing,” I say, chastened.

  “Do you want to sit with us?” Libby asks, pulling up a chair. “It might be boring for you. We’re going over our history homework.”

  “No,” I say, pointing back to my cubicle. “I’m drowning in assignments. I heard your voices and wanted to come say hi. Just a little break.”

  “Okay, well, hi and bye!” David says.

  “Should I stop by your room after we’re done here?” she asks.

  “Sure,” I say. I go back to my cubicle and try to work, but my brain is racing a million miles a minute.

  Libby and David?

  A couple of hours later, after finishing an assignment for English, India and I are lounging in her room when I bring it up.

  “Are you sure you weren’t confused? She’s been helping him with his homework all term. She’s everybody’s resident tutor, apparently. She should start charging tuition.”

  “I saw it with my own two eyes! He was flirting with her—but that’s nothing new. What’s crazy is she was flirting back.”

  “Maybe she’s getting her footing,” India says. “You say she’s never had a boyfriend?”

  “Right.”

  “Everybody has to start somewhere, I suppose. Huh. I thought she had better taste than that.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “They could be kind of cute together. He’s silly and sweet. At least he’s not Tarquin.”

  India looks at me as if I’ve grown a third eyeball. “But David? I thought you had better taste than that.”

  India’s not smoking, but I stand up and rummage through her goodie drawer, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting up. Weirdly, I feel like celebrating.

  “Do you mind?” I ask after I’ve already lit the cigarette.

  She shrugs.

  I walk on my knees over to the window, pushing the panes out and letting the blast of cold air stab me in the face. Strains of old-school Radiohead play on her music dock.

  “Libby and David. You know—it could work. He’ll loosen her up, bring out her silly side.”

  “I don’t think Libby needs much prodding,” India says. “It’s hard for you to see it because you’re her sister. But she’s already done a one-eighty from when she arrived on campus.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Abso-lutely. Do you remember how shy she was those first few weeks? She barely spoke. She’s so much more relaxed—much more comfortable in her own skin. She even makes jokes! Thank God for that wardrobe revamp, too. She doesn’t look like some refugee from a Nirvana video anymore.”

  “She’s pretty, right?”

  India raises an eyebrow. “You’re joking if you have to ask. She’s bloody gorgeous.”

  “That’s what I thought.” I take another drag, satisfied. “Good. Looks like all’s well that ends well.”

  “Kind of funny,” India says. “Reversal of fortune.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean: the second you stop dating Edward, Libby gets a guy.”

  I shrug. “Good for her! I’m swearing off dating for at least a few months. I need a little ‘me’ time, you know?”

  India nods. “Story of my life.”

  “Even now?” I ask. “I thought you might be seeing somebody. Who’s the lucky girl?”

  She looks at me, smiling enigmatically. “What makes you think there’s somebody?”

  “Oh, please,” I say. “You think you’re all mysterious but I see right through you.” />
  “A lady never tells,” she says, brushing her hair from side to side over her shoulders in mock snootiness.

  “Well, I’m no lady,” I say.

  “And that’s exactly why I love you.”

  “Seriously? Not a peep? I can tell you’re hiding something!”

  But India just smiles again, pulling out a bottle of sauvignon blanc from her drawer. “More wine?”

  The following weekend, after our house Christmas parties, the group meets at Donatella for the last dinner before break. The last week of school is all about nose-to-the-grindstone studying, so we arrange our farewell get-together for the weekend before. Most of us are scheduled to leave campus to go home the second our last exam is finished.

  I’m sitting between Edward and India at one end of the table in Donatella’s small private room. Apologizing to Edward seems to have made all the difference in the world—he and I are on great terms now. Everything feels easy again, like at the beginning of the year when Libby first arrived on campus.

  Speaking of Libby: she’s tipsy. Like, really tipsy.

  We’ve all been into the wine tonight, excited to let off steam before diving into the madness of final exams. But where Libby normally stops after one, maybe two glasses, tonight she’s refilling her glass over and over.

  Earlier, I threw on a casual but cute outfit—skinny jeans, a boxy blouse, and a chunky jeweled necklace, plus a leather jacket—and went by Libby’s room early, thinking maybe I could help her pick out an outfit. No need: she was all ready to go. Her blue-and-white patterned pleated dress is so cute I want to borrow it, and she’s paired it with sheer black tights, her trusty army jacket, and short black booties. It strikes the right note of sexy and self-assured.

  The duckling has turned into a swan.

  I lean over to Edward, poking him. “Get a load of Libby and David.”

  “What about them?” he asks, stopping mid-sip and putting his glass of wine down.

  “I think they’re going to pull.”

  At this, Edward starts laughing. “You’re mental. There’s no way Libby would get with him in a million years. Never.”

  “That’s what I thought, too,” I say. “But then I saw them in the library last week.”

  “The library? What was David doing in the library?”

  Across from me, India glances up from her phone and shoots me a look. It seems like she wants me to stop talking, but I can’t begin to understand why.

  “Right? But they were totally flirting. I know!” I say in response to the shocked expression on his face. “I didn’t believe it, either. But I heard them before I saw them—and trust me, she was chatting him up right back.”

  “That’s surprising,” says Edward. He takes another sip of wine, and I follow suit, refilling his glass, then India’s, and finally mine.

  “Totally. But, you know, Libby’s never had a boyfriend. I’m sure she’s told you that.”

  If he knows, his face doesn’t betray anything.

  “I bet he’s a harmless diversion. A way to get a snog in, but nothing serious,” I continue.

  We all look down the table at Libby and David. She’s leaning into him, he’s touching her, and the two of them are laughing at each other’s jokes.

  Edward bristles. “I don’t think they’re a good idea together.”

  India shoots me another look. This one is easier to read. It says: I told you so.

  “Why not?” I ask tentatively. “They’re just having fun. What’s the big deal?”

  “He’s not good enough for her.”

  “He’s good enough for us to be friends with,” I point out.

  “Yeah, but being friends is different. He’s too much of an idiot for her to actually date.”

  My feminist instincts start to prickle. “It’s not your place to decide who Libby should and shouldn’t get with. And what’s the big deal if she wants to hook up with David? At least it’s not Tarquin. She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”

  Edward looks visibly frustrated.

  “Anyhow,” I say, irritated that this conversation has taken a weird turn, “it’s not a big deal. She’s rat-arsed. They’ll probably snog for five seconds and won’t even remember it tomorrow.”

  “I don’t like it,” Edward says, still fixated. “She’ll get hurt.”

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “They’re not a good fit. I could see you with him, but not her.”

  I’m beyond offended. “Weren’t you just telling me how he’s not good enough for her? But he’s good enough for me? Oh, gee. Thanks a bunch.”

  He rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “It sounded like exactly what you meant.”

  “I meant that you’d know how to handle him. Libby’s never even kissed a guy. She needs somebody who respects her.”

  I look at him sourly.

  “David’s bound to try something with her. She needs somebody looking after her right now, not cheering on some drunken hookup. I don’t like it.”

  “You’re not her dad. And, frankly, this entire conversation is irritating me.”

  “Well, anyhow, I think—” Edward starts to say, but I push my chair back with a scrape, interrupting him.

  “I’m going to the loo.”

  In the ladies’ room, I wash my hands, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Why can’t Edward get a clue? Saying that David is good enough for me but not good enough for Libby? That was rude. And implying that I’m not looking after my sister? I stalk back out of the ladies’, ready to give him another piece of my mind, when India intercepts me.

  “Take it down a notch,” she says. “Let’s go outside and have a ciggie.”

  We go on the back porch and share a cigarette while I vent.

  “He’s so full of himself. And I don’t appreciate him mansplaining my sister’s love life!”

  India nods.

  “It’s like we never even dated!”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” India asks. “It’s the only way we can all hang out with no awkwardness.”

  “Yeah, but when Edward starts insulting me, it is awkward.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” India says soothingly. “That’s not what he meant. He wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “Why are you sticking up for him? And what was with all those bloody looks you kept shooting me?”

  India shakes her head. “You’re a smart girl, Charlotte, but sometimes you are shockingly obtuse.”

  “Whatever.” I shrug, plucking the cigarette from her fingers and taking a deep drag. “I can’t wait for Christmas. I’m sick of this place. I need a break from Sussex Park.”

  “Let’s go back inside,” she says, patting me on the back.

  But when we go back inside, Libby and Edward are both gone.

  “Where are they?” I ask David, sinking into Libby’s former seat. Flossie and Tarquin look over at me with interest.

  “Who?” David asks, looking unsteady. He’s plastered.

  “Libby. Edward. Where’d they go?”

  “Outside,” says Flossie, leaning over. “They were in the corner whispering, and then they got up and left.”

  David shrugs. “What Flossie said.”

  I stand up again. “Be right back.”

  “Are you going after them?” Tarquin asks.

  Flossie shoots him a look. “Butt out.”

  “I’m just going to check on Libby and make sure she’s okay. She’s had a lot to drink.”

  I walk through the restaurant, weaving my way through the crowded tables and doing my best not to collide with the waiters. For some reason, I have a panicked feeling in the pit of my stomach—like if I don’t make it to Libby in time, something will happen.

  I reach the entry vestibule, about to push through the doors and step outside, when I see Libby and Edward through the window. They’re standing together on the pavement in front of the restaurant, the moonlight reflecting off their faces.

  Whe
n Edward and I were dating, he was so much taller than I was that I had to stand on my tiptoes just to kiss him. But his height matches Libby’s perfectly—they look like two halves of a matched set.

  I’m about to go outside and crack a self-deprecating joke about being a Peeping Tom when Edward reaches out and brushes Libby’s hand with his.

  What the HELL?

  She looks surprised, her eyebrows raised, her arms by her sides. He’s murmuring something indecipherable. He puts his other hand on the small of Libby’s back. As they talk, she reaches up and puts her hand on his face. He leans down, kissing her gently. Libby stands still. She seems paralyzed.

  I feel paralyzed, too.

  But after a few seconds of Edward leaning down into her, she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him back.

  A cold wave of shock pours over my body.

  “What the hell is going on?” I say, bursting through the door.

  The two of them jump back, startled.

  “Charlotte,” Libby says. “It was just . . . we just . . .” She looks terrified. “Are you okay?”

  “How could you two do this?”

  Edward looks guilty, stuffing his hands into his jeans. “Um . . .”

  My heart is pounding. I feel oddly vindicated—obviously everything they told me these past few months has been nothing but lies. “So you two were hooking up behind my back.”

  “No!” says Libby. “It wasn’t like that, I swear! Edward and I came out here to talk, and . . .” Her words are coming out all in a rush and her voice is an octave higher than usual. “I’m so sorry, Charlotte. Please don’t be mad.”

  I look back and forth between the two of them. I can’t decide if I want to cry or scream, but all I know is I have to get out of here.

  I push through them, marching down the road back to campus, ignoring Libby’s calls of “Charlotte! Please!”

  It’s not until I’m back in the safety of my dorm room that I collapse onto my bed, unleashing the betrayal and confusion in a flood of tears.

  Nothing will ever be the same.

  fifteen

  Every year, our family throws a lavish dinner on Christmas Eve. Sometimes extended family will drive in, but this year our only visitor will be Nana, my mum’s mum and our only living grandparent. She’s taking the train down from York.