Page 7 of Royal Catch
Besides, riches beyond our dreams should take care of everything. Polly wouldn’t let me wallow in debt after saving her ass. Of course, that’s only if I win. It’s still a huge risk I’m taking personally and professionally. Not to mention the risk of getting caught impersonating a princess. Harsh reality hits at the thought, and I suddenly can’t get a deep breath. At best, I end up in prison back home, destroying my reputation and my plan to own my own salon, unable to afford Mike’s nurse. Clients have to trust you. Convicted felons do not inspire confidence.
Or I could be held accountable for my crime right here on Villroy Island. This monarchy has real power. As in, their island, their rules. I couldn’t find any recent executions in my brief internet search, but I’m well aware that, if caught, my chances of quietly slipping away from an island accessible only by boat are slim. It’s a two-hour ferry ride to France over choppy sea, and even I’m not that strong a swimmer. These royals might be so pissed off they’ll roll out an old rusty guillotine or, worse, throw me in a dungeon with spiders.Shudder.(It’s a phobia. Doesn’t mean I’m not tough.)
Plus, if I’m caught, that means the real Polly will be exposed under a storm of bad publicity. People will want her to pay for her crime. Her family will disown her. She’ll lose everything.
I suck in air, my gut churning. No room for self-doubt. Think of Polly—bright and cheerful Polly—so happy to experience freedom for the first time in her life. She deserves that.
Victory, victory, victory.
I manage a deep breath in and out.Focus. Get the inheritance; get out.
I pull it together and turn to the queen. “Any wiggle room on the no-phone policy?”
The queen stares at me.
The lawyer guy answers in a vaguely threatening tone like he’sthis closeto strangling me. “You may use the palace phone in the parlor if absolutely necessary.”
The pieces settle into place in my mind in an alarming way. We’re on an island, isolated from the outside world both geographically and communication-wise, and the nature of this competition has still not been revealed. My mind flashes to every creepy horror movie I’ve ever seen. Lawyer guy saying “you won’t make it that long” suddenly sounds ominous. I glance around at the other women, but nobody seems to be getting it. We’re being isolated, tested, and maybe dispatched too!
“What’s going on here?” I holler.
And then the queen herself approaches, drawing a collective gasp as she crosses the room to face me across the small table.
We lock eyes, and I belatedly remember I’m supposed to be demure, curtsy and all that shit, but I’m spooked, and it’s just not possible. What have I gotten myself into? My brain screamsPolly needs you,and my gut screamsthese people are crazy; get out while you can!I’m sure I’d be the first to die in a horror movie. I’d just be standing there, frozen, while the hatchet came down, and everyone in the audience screamed, “Run!”
The queen speaks quietly as if she senses my freak-out. “You are not like the others.”
Shit. I was too much me. I scramble for a suitable princess-type response in as calm a voice as I can manage. “We do things differently on Beaumont. Everyone is too hot to be anything but relaxed due to the tropical climate.” I plaster on a smile and immediately tone it down, trying for a slight curve of the lips, a demure smile that feels like maybe I’m pursing my lips a little in a fish face. Not royally appropriate. Gah! “Your Majesty,” I add.
She inclines her head regally. “Would you like to decline?”
“What do you plan to do with the contestants who don’t win?” I whisper.
“You’ll return to your kingdom, much richer for the experience.”
Thericherreminds me of my true purpose here, funds for Polly’s fancy lawyer. I need to gird my loins and be her knight-ess in shining armor.
I meet Queen Alexandra’s hazel eyes, and they’re gleaming with unholy delight like she’s got something devious up her sleeve. “I’ll work something out, Your Majesty. May I ask exactly what the competition entails?”
The queen whispers, “Have you seenSurvivor?”
My eyes widen. Never in a zillion years would I have thought she’d ask that. I calm down because at least we’re out of horror-movie territory. If this is some kind of primal nature challenge, I’m not exactly trained for that, but my survival instincts are sharp. Had to be where I come from. I’m tough and strong.
“I’m in.” Anna Hebert is about to trounce the competition. I mean, Polly Lyon. I sign her name with a flourish.
“Excellent,” the queen pronounces before returning to her throne with a little bounce in her step.
Pleased that the queen seems pleased, I return to my place with the women, all of us waiting for our next instruction.
The queen lifts a hand. “Please make whatever arrangements you need, and then hand over your phones to Albert.” She indicates an older stooped man with thinning white hair in the servant’s uniform of white shirt with black pants. “The competition will begin on Point Beach at noon.”
“What should I wear?” I ask.
The room falls silent. The other women stare at me like I’m an odd duck. Or giraffe, as the case may be. I’m definitely not blending, but am I really the only one with questions?
“Wear whatever is suitable for fishing,” the queen pronounces.
This causes a demure uproar among the women, none of them directly addressing the queen. Subdued outrage is probably the best description. I’ve never fished, but hey! I’m from Tampa and used to the water. I’m a strong swimmer. And I brought my bikini. All set. I’m feeling a little smug about the way things are playing out when a man in a navy pin-striped suit strides in like he owns the place. It’s Butler Phillip. He’s not wearing the butler tux for some reason. Maybe he’s off duty. His expression is just as grim and dour as I remember. The hollows under his cheekbones are more pronounced when his jaw is tight like now. Maybe he’s here to set up the competition stuff.
