Millie’s hands tightened on the iPad in futility. Then, she handed it over.
Ele scanned through the headlines she knew Millie would have meticulously assembled. The woman in the pictures wasn’t someone Ele recognized. Her eyes were wide and frightened, rung with mascara that surely was not waterproof. She was ghostly pale, but her hair remained shockingly in place, defying the wildness of the rest of the scene. Ele refused to cringe.
“The Ice Princess Cracked.”
“The Ice Age Returns.”
“Ele Frozen Over.”
There were others, but the haze of exhaustion descended, so Ele handed the tablet to Millie.
“I’m positive it could have been more … damaging.”
Millie merely shrugged, her way of agreeing without saying out loud how bad it could have been.
Although Ele really wanted to escape into the oblivion of sleep, she knew if she didn’t start to put plans into action, she might not follow through. She raked her hair into a ponytail and twisted it, arranging it on her shoulder. She could feel the grit of her forced slumber, the dried sweat of her panic attack, the residue of grease layered on her face like Beatrix’s mixture of foundation. Most of all though, she felt resolve, like a steel rod inserted into her spine, making her stand tall while being impervious to any force trying to push her off course.
Ele looked to her assistant, her friend, part of her ragtag family. What she was about to propose would likely get Millie fired. At least until Ele played her trump card. Loyalty would make Millie hold her tongue, and love would force her to support Ele’s plan.
“I’m not going to Africa,” Ele announced. Watching Millie’s expression, Ele continued, “I am going to go to Chicago. I’m going to take the eight weeks I am being given, and I am going to”—she paused, knowing what she was asking but asking anyway—“be you.”
Millie’s delicately arched brows met in an angry line. “I don’t think I understand.”
“I can’t go as Princess Eleanor. We both know that. But you can rent an apartment, and I can use your credit cards. I can”—she shrugged—“just live.”
“Is this about Tristan?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. It’s about getting help, getting better. I need to be better. I hate being afraid all the time, of not knowing when something I fear is going to push me over the edge. I feel like a ticking bomb, and I have for the last twelve years. It’s bloody exhausting.”
“But why Chicago? You could do that here.”
“Millie.”
“I just …” Millie stood and placed her trusty tablet on the corner of the desk. “You’re asking me to send you out into the world. Alone.”
“Yes.”
Millie clearly thought Ele was crazy or perhaps still groggy from the sedative. Her face reflected both her worry and disbelief. Maybe Ele would wake up tomorrow and agree with Millie, but she didn’t think so.
“You really think we can pull this off?” Millie asked.
A tremulous smile formed on Ele’s face. “One more thing.”
Millie nodded.
“Find Robert for me.”
“So he can join you there?”
Ele looked away from her, toward the windows. “No. So he won’t worry.”
31
12 August
Hartesfield United Stadium
For the fourth time in as many days, Tristan pulled up Robert’s contact information and called him. When it immediately defaulted to voice mail, he didn’t attempt to smother his disgruntled curse.
But rather than hanging up, like he’d done all the days before, he waited for the beep and spoke, “Mate, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to talk to me. But I just need to know she’s okay. Just … let me know.”
He jabbed the End button on his cell phone, surprised he hadn’t cracked the fragile screen with his frustrated poking.
When he’d returned from America, he’d quickly learned Ele’s temporary cell phone had been disconnected the moment her flight took to the air. With Robert screening his calls, Tristan’s last connection to Ele seemed to be severed. He didn’t know where else to turn for information about her. For the hundredth time, he rued the day he had fallen in love with a motherfucking princess.
Yep, fallen in love with.
There was so little real information out there. The headlines were still maligning her and the spectacle of her meltdown. For a country claiming to love their monarchy, they took a perverse pleasure in seeing her falter. Those for succession were using the incident as a rationale for leaving the union. There were theories; of course, there were theories. And erroneous conclusions. The history of her family, the assassination of her parents, and the reign of Queen Lilian had filled columns and columns of virtual real estate this week. But there was not one mention of Ele’s presence when her parents had met their untimely end, nor of her kidnapping. They’d buried the whole thing. No one could sympathize with her. She was alone.
His inability to contact anyone who could tell him anything real highlighted the impossibility of having a relationship with her. The realist in him knew that. But he never really listened to that part of himself. He couldn’t help it. He wouldn’t be where he was now if he’d listened to doubts and reality checks from his consciousness.
His phone rang in his hand, and his hope blossomed, even as he tried to keep it in check. But when Sheena’s name flashed on the screen, he heaved a resigned sigh.
“Cheers,” he said in greeting.
“How are you?”
“Good,” he replied as he glanced up at the clock. “I’ve gotta leave.”
“You haven’t left yet? Normally, you are first in.”
He was. Not usually. Always. But he’d been completely distracted, his head not in the game. But it was opening day, and he needed to let all this go. Suddenly, he remembered Ele’s contention that she couldn’t just show up and apologize to him after their first meeting. While he would have loved to walk up to the massive front door of the palace, pound on it, and demand to see Princess Eleanor, he knew that scenario would only exist as a scene in his mind.
He tuned back in to what his sister was saying.
“I just want to be prepared if I have to head to the palace to bail you out. Do they have a dungeon?”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you are going to confront him, just be respectful.”
“Confront who?”
“The crown prince. He always attends opening day.”
Tristan’s body bowed straight like he’d been zapped with a stun gun for hunching over. He’d been so concerned with trying to get ahold of Robert that he hadn’t even considered Jamie. It was true; the crown prince hadn’t missed an opening day since he was a youngster and he would accompany his father. As he was a die-hard Hartesfield United fan, it had become a tradition for the team and the fans. If the prince didn’t attend, Tristan knew the whole of United fandom would consider it a bad omen. And Jamie always came to the changing room to wish the lads luck.
“That’s brilliant, Sheena.”
An odd silence lingered.