Page 11 of The Bodyguard

But it seems everything is against me today.

I shudder in angry shock as I take in the contents of the trunk. My horror amplifies as I rummage through the items.

Lace. Silk. Satin. Chiffon.

Every piece of fabric is just barely enough to string together stylish but overpriced ensembles of… lingerie.

I want to sob my heart out and drench the extravagant undergarments with the volume of my tears.

They sent the wrong trunk.This trunk, together with a wedding dress was sent to my room that very morning.

This was supposedly a trousseau for a wedding I had zero intention of attending, never mind that it was to be my wedding. But this means the only decent clothes I have are my rain-soaked, tattered skirt and blouse, still wearing the dirt and twigs from my escape episode.

The rip in my top would make it unwearable before long and then my whole left boob would be sticking out, and, oh, even if I could have the skirt dry-cleaned, it’s almost just as sparse as the lingerie staring back at me.

"Fuck," I mutter softly.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

As if I remembered I was frozen, my body goes into full shivering mode again.

I’m so fucked.

At the back of my mind, I can hear Mrs. Armstrong's voice at finishing school, droning on about how young ladies don’t cuss. She didn’t even like the word "cuss" and liked the word "swear" even less. Both words, she said, sounded vulgar on the tongue.

Ladies do not use expletives.

I close my eyes for a moment and realize how inept I am at swearing. I really need to expand my cussing lexicon if I mean to get through this predicament, using more than a four-word obscenity.

I drag my trembling limbs to the bathroom, then strip down and step into the cubicle. It takes a minute too long for the water to turn moderately hot, and I’m left shivering even more.

Damn everything.

The tiny cuts on my arms and legs from my stint in the woods burn as the water sluices over them.

I’m going to be married to a man I don’t love. I won’t ever be queen of my beloved country, and I don’t have anything to wear.

Tears start cascading down my face in buckets.

I feel helpless and hopeless too.

What am I going to do? How am I going to get out of here? Why won’t my father believe in me and trust me when I say I can rule Strohamden. My mother trained me for this job my whole life. This was all she wanted for me.

I stand for what feels like hours under the jets of water. It’s not like I have anywhere to go. I mean, I do. But I am trapped. Held captive.

No way of escaping unless I am able to get a message to Uncle Neil, and let him know of the latest developments. When I last spoke to him, he had told me to stay calm. He wouldn’t let my father marry me off just like that. He had been on his way back to Strohamden from Paris, sent there by my father to represent our country at a climate-change convention.

He is the only one who can help me.

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