Page 93 of Rivals
Jeff, Daphne, and Nina were arriving this afternoon, too, plus all the lords attendant and ladies-in-waiting and their families. But the only plane Beatrice could really think about was the one bringing Teddy here from Boston. They hadn’t been apart this long since they had first fallen in love, and Beatrice knew that so many things remained unspoken betweenthem.
She shoved aside her worry and glanced around the lawn, where royals lounged at cedar picnic tables and gossiped contentedly. A buffet table along the side of the gardens held breakfast pastries of all kinds, from sugar-dusted doughnuts to dumplings to Greek butter cookies. The sun glittered tantalizingly on the water, the way it used to dance over the Charles River when Beatrice was at Harvard. Actually, today felt oddly like the last day of school: it had the same eager energy, the sense of looming freedom after one last exam—or, in this case, one more day of voting. The monarchs lounging in Adirondack chairs had the same blithe carelessness that college seniors did when they sat around before graduation tossing Frisbees and drinking beer.
Unlike at her Harvard graduation—when Beatrice had attended receptions with the university president and school board, being curtsied to and congratulated, while her classmates went to off-campus parties—Beatrice felt like she was in the center of things.
Ever since she’d returned from Versailles, the other queens and kings had looked at her differently. They respected her, or at the very least were intrigued by her. It was as if the magnetic aura that surrounded Louise had expanded, pulling Beatrice into its golden glow.
She headed to where Alexei, Bharat, and Sirivannavari sat at a picnic table. She wasn’t sure where Louise was, but she had a feeling Samantha was with Marshall. They’d been seeing a lot of each other lately, mainly here at Bellevue to avoid the media and Marshall’s family.
“When does Raj arrive?” Beatrice asked Bharat, sliding onto the bench opposite him.
Bharat grinned. His date was an up-and-coming Bollywood star, famous for his killer dance moves. “Last night. He’s already out by the pool.”
Sirivannavari gave a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe you invited a date when this is our last night together formonths! When are we next going to see each other, anyway?”
“Verbier?” Beatrice suggested.
Alexei shook his head. “We shouldn’t wait until ski season; let’s do something sooner.”
Beatrice smiled. Now that her suspicions about him and Louise had been confirmed, she understood exactly why he’d said that. “Have any of you ever celebrated an American Thanksgiving?”
The conversation went on like this. Beatrice let the waves of it lap over her, chiming in occasionally, her mind still half-focused on the upcoming climate-accord vote.
Louise didn’t appear until the end of breakfast, her gaze hidden behind cat-eye sunglasses. “Louise. There you are,” Beatrice said warmly, standing up.
Her friend greeted her with her usual double kiss, but she seemed oddly distracted. “Shall we go inside? We have a lot of voting ahead of us.”
The morning was a strange blur, in that way that time can seem to both speed up and slow down when you’re prickling with nervous energy. Beatrice tried to focus on each proposal as it came up for a vote: a massive trade agreement that renegotiated tariffs, a recommitment to global disarmament. Now the assembly had just finished tallying its votes on a resolution called “Responsible Investment in Agriculture and Food Systems: A Fight to End Hunger.”
There was a brief interlude of shuffling papers and muttered conversations; then King Frederick, still the league’s chairman, made eye contact with Beatrice. “Next up for a vote is item thirty-one, ‘Protection of the Global Climate forFuture Generations,’ proposed by Her Majesty the Queen of America.”
He cleared his throat and began reading the summary of her climate accord:
“The global nature of climate change calls for international cooperation. This proposal aims to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, as well as reexamine each nation’s effective contribution…”
Beatrice tried not to squirm nervously in her seat. For weeks she’d been drumming up support for this proposal, cornering her fellow monarchs in small-group sessions or at dinner to persuade them of her reasoning. She’d even asked Queen Maud of Sweden to join her on a walk with Franklin—she was famous for loving dogs—and invited King Takudzwa of Zimbabwe on the sailboat one morning, since he was an avid fisherman.
What surprised Beatrice was how many people made conditional promises, agreeing to vote her way as long as someoneelsedid. Bharat’s father had promised her his vote, provided that it didn’t anger the Queen of England. Queen Irene and King Juan Pablo had hemmed and hawed, then told her they would vote her way as long as Louise did. And of course there were all those monarchs at the party on the yacht, who’d sworn to give her their votes after she beat Dmitri at poker.
“We shall now begin the voting,” Frederick said gruffly. “Albania.”
It was so tedious that they voted this way, each country casting its vote one at a time, but Beatrice had stopped questioning protocol at this conference.
“No,” King Zog of Albania said decisively.
What? Beatrice had assumed Albania was a shoo-in; King Zog usually voted however the tsar did. Hadn’t Dmitri talked to him?
A minute later Beatrice was in a cold, sweating panic. Sofar Finland and Canada were the only ones who’d supported her. It was all okay, she told herself; they still had so much of the alphabet to go.
“France,” Frederick called out.
It took a moment for Beatrice to realize that Louise wasn’t saying anything.
Silence stretched across the room. Beatrice glanced over and saw that her friend’s eyes were closed, as if she felt dizzy or faint.Stop the voting,she was about to call out. Couldn’t everyone see that Louise needed a doctor?
Then Louise opened her eyes and looked straight at Beatrice, her features etched with regret. Beatrice’s stomach swooped in sickening understanding as Louise finally spoke.
“No.”
