Page 52 of Coronation
“Zelda, sweetie...” I recognize the voice of my agent, Cindy, who has clearly adopted the practiced, placating tone she typically uses for clients a lot more difficult than I am.
I grit my teeth to stop myself from snapping at her as I slump back in my seat, holding the phone to my ear and bitterly regretting picking up in the first place. “It’s really not a great time, Cindy.”
In the background, I can hear the sound of her keyboard clacking noisily. “This will only take a moment. I just got off the phone with the press people at Ashwell Palace.” All the air seems to have been sucked from my lungs. Davina mouths“what,”but all I can do is shake my head, staring at her through dry eyes as Cindy continues. “They invited us in for a meeting tomorrow to discuss next steps. I think they’re trying to capitalize on the situation, and we should hear them out. If you’re up for it, I’ll be on the next flight.”
“Capitalize on it? How would they even do that?” Admittedly, I’m not at my best right now, but I can’t imagine how Ashwell Palace could be interested in anything other than damage control.
“If I were to guess?” Cindy hums. “I would say they’re going to ask to keep it going, let you two be seen together, stirthe dating rumors. They have quite the cold fish on their hands, and something like this could do a lot to change public perception.”
Cold fish.
I wince, unsettled by the flicker of illogical protectiveness that rears inside me for the man who got me into this mess. “Can I call you back?”
“Sure, sweetie. We need to move fast on this, though. The press is circling, hoping for another Grace or Meghan moment.”
I hang up, staring over at Davina, my already battered mind blown to a million pieces. “The palace requested a meeting. I would have thought they’d want to distance themselves, but…” I trail off, pressing my hands to my face as another wave of nausea arrives, bringing with it the unnecessary reminder of how much messier this situation is about to get.
God, I’m cursed. I let looseone time,andthishappens. Parents should use me as a cautionary tale to scare their teenagers out of having sex.
On the table, my phone starts vibrating all over again. I watch through my fingers as Davina reaches over to take it and turns it off with a grim smile. “Okay.” She leans forward with an aura of determined reasonability. “I know you don’t want to talk about what happened between you and the king. Message received. Butsomethinghappened, and if you decide to go through with this pregnancy, given who you are, and who he is, it’s going to be a little difficult to hide whose baby this is.”
“I know.” My miserable retort is muffled by my hands, but I can’t bring myself to lower them just yet. Allowing my head to drop back, I look up at the ceiling, mind racing like an animal trapped in a cage, searching for a way out of all this, and becoming increasingly frantic as every turn proves as hopeless as the one before.
“Meet with the palace people. See what they have to say. You need all the information before you can make a decision.”
That’s good advice. Sensible. I bob my head. “Okay.”
Davina sighs. “I have to call in for some podcast interview in like fifteen minutes. Are you going to be okay by yourself? I can cancel.”
“No.” I let my hands fall back to my lap and lift my head, offering her a smile that probably isn’t even a little reassuring. “You should go. I think I’m going to go back to bed for a while.”
We both stand, and she pulls me into a tight hug, rubbing my back reassuringly. “Everything is going to turn out okay. I have a good feeling.”
I appreciate her optimism, but from my position, things are looking pretty bleak. “Thanks,” I whisper, following her to the door and opening it, half expecting to be blinded by flashes from cameras waiting just outside. There’s no one, though, and the hall is quiet as Davina heads back toward the elevators.
The sound of the door closing echoes through my empty suite as I come back inside, hovering in the little entry hall. The positive pregnancy test is sitting on the table, along with the newspaper Davina brought with her, with King Benedict’s decidedlynoticy expression right on the front page.
I don’t want to look at either of them right now. The last thing I need is a visual reminder of how deeply I fucked up. So, I walk past them, dragging my heavy limbs into the bedroom, and collapsing onto the unmade bed.
There is probably a swarm of reporters down on the street, and voicemails building up on my phone, and big, life-changing decisions to be made. All of that needs to be handled, butI just can’t.
My eyes burn as I drag the stiff, white cotton comforter over myself, wishing desperately I was home in the little apartmentI rent in California, surrounded by my stuff and listening to the familiar rumble of traffic outside on the street.
There is a coffee shop across the road, and there is a barista who works there named Meredith, who is always really nice to me.
My mom lives half an hour away, and my dad’s office is right around the corner.
The surfboard I rarely use is hanging on special hooks above the couch, and there is a pair of sneakers in the closet that I meant to bring here but forgot.
As I lie curled on my side, my tears soak the pillow, and I think about how nothing sounds better than home.
Twenty-Two
Benedict
“Your meeting with the press corps begins in fifteen minutes, sir.”
The pen in my hand pauses mid-word, as a bitter taste fills my mouth. “I wasn’t aware that I had a meeting with the press corps today.”
