“I don’t fancy him, Giles,” Veronica says with a phony laugh. “I merely respect his work.”
“Right. Now, that other woman dressed in a suit who is rushing toward them is Dylan Sinclair, the new showrunner for “The Wild World.” Watch what happens here! She pushes her, Veronica! Right in the face!” Giles shouts.
“Is the princess high on some sort of steroids or something?” Veronica asks.
“I don’t think steroids make you high, Veronica. But regardless, after spending an afternoon in the presence of Ms. Sinclair, I can honestly say the princess only did what we all wished we could have done.”
The video continues, zooming in on King Winston who jogs toward Arabella, his staff in tow. “Here you see a lovely father-daughter reunion. They don’t hug, obviously, but I’m sure it’s only because Princess Arabella is badly in need of a wash.”
Footage of King Winston reaching out to embrace Arabella, then his head snapping back is shown next.
“Giles, were you able to get an interview with the princess or the king?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Directly following that almost-hug, she was whisked into a waiting limousine, and presumably taken to the airport. My best guess is that the medical staff will do a full examination and provide whatever care she requires en route back to Valcourt this evening.”
“Incredible, Giles. Just incredible.”
“She is, Veronica. Who knew she had that in her?”
And Now…Arabella
I stare into the foggy bathroom mirror at myself, fresh out of my first real shower in over ten days. My hair smells of lavender again. My skin is clean, my nails have been thoroughly scrubbed. And my brain has all but shut down completely, with all my thoughts seeming as clouded as my face.
As I pull on my boring beige bra and granny panties, I realize how tired I am. I’ve never been as physically exhausted as I am now, but at the same time, I’m wired on adrenaline and pride, and maybe love. I’m not even sure how I ended up on the plane or in the shower. I remember being in the limo with Dr. Hildegard checking my pulse and blood pressure, and looking into my eyes with a bright light. I remember his nurse handing me a cold bottle of orange juice, which tasted like heaven. I remember the rest of the people in the back of the vehicle discreetly trying to cover their noses and me realizing I was the cause of the unbearable odour.
As soon as I stepped aboard my father’s jet, I was told to go shower, and that fresh clothes would be laid out on the bed for me. I open the door that connects the bathroom to the bedroom, hoping it’s a set of cozy pajamas waiting for me. But it’s not. It’s a floral print mint green dress with long sleeves and a belt. Next to it is a pair of short beige heels and nude tights that are going to be absolute torture on my ankles. Well, not torture like what Will must be feeling right now.
Oh, Will.
I wonder if he’s in surgery for his leg. The thought of it so twisted and limp makes my stomach turn as I slide the dress over my head. I cinch the belt, and glance in the mirror, seeing the old version of myself—the one I’d hoped I could leave behind forever. I pick up the nylons, then set them back down again. I don’t have to go all the way back to being her again. I hold my head high and walk out of the room barefoot.
The cabin of the plane goes silent, all eyes landing on my feet.
Mrs. Chapman gets up from her chair with a disapproving look. “Your highness, I laid out proper footwear for you. Did you not see it?”
“Yes, I saw them, thank you, but I’m not putting them on. I need some bandages for my ankles and some slippers, please.”
“Slippers?” she asks, blinking at me as if she’s never heard the word.
“Yes.” I walk past her and through the cabin where I find my father reading a newspaper in his white leather armchair.
“There you are, Arabella,” he looks at me over the rim of his reading glasses. “Now I recognize you again.”
Dr. Hildegard rushes over with his medical bag and ushers me into a seat. “Let’s have a peek at those sores.”
He kneels and opens his bag, digging around for supplies.
“Those are positively ghastly,” my father says. “Do they hurt very much?”
“Not really,” I say with a shrug.
One of the flight attendants appears with a tray of tea, gingerbread cookies, and fresh fruit. She sets it on the table between my chair and my father’s, and pours our tea while the doctor takes hold of my left foot and begins to bandage it. I glance down and feel a pang, remembering the last time someone looked after my ankle sores. Will, at the campfire on our first night together. The thought of it makes me want to cry and smile all at once.
“Eat up, Arabella,” Father says. “You’re positively gaunt.”
Picking up a cookie, I find it warm and soft. Oh, yes. I take a bite, feeling the sugar and spices dance across my tongue while I chew. My father picks one up too and watches me the entire time he eats it. Dr. Hildegard finishes up with my ankles and smiles up at me.
“Thank you,” I say. “That feels much better.”
“Will she be all right, Doctor?” my father asks.
“Oh yes. She’s still dehydrated and obviously tired. But once she’s eaten, replenished her liquids, and had a solid night’s sleep, she’ll be as good as new.”
“Thank you,” Father says. Raising his voice, he tells the staff he needs a few minutes alone with me.
Dr. Hildegard picks up his bag and hands me a plush blanket that his nurse was holding. “I’ll want to check those sores again tomorrow.”
“Of course.”
With that, he leaves, following everyone else as they scatter to various parts of the jet.
“I’m sure you’re quite angry with me,” I say, looking across the table at him. “And if you are, I don’t really give a damn.”
His eyes pop open, and he gasps.
“That’s right. Don’t bother lecturing me because I did what I did, and I’d gladly do it again,” I say, lifting my chin. “All of it. Even pushing that awful Sinclair woman into the mud.” I give him a devious smile.
He stares at me for a second, then starts to laugh. “I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had no idea you could be so … terrifying.”
“Me either, but it turns out I’m actually quite fierce.” I pick up my mug of tea and hold it to my lips, inhaling the scent of Earl Grey with clover honey.
Father leans in. “Whatever made you do that?”
“She had it coming,” I say, sipping my tea.
“No, I mean running away. Disappearing into the jungle like that,” he says. “The entire kingdom has been in a complete uproar since you left. It’s been absolute chaos. The media has been going mad suggesting you were kidnapped or in rehab or the hospital or dead. They even started harassing Bellford, if you can believe it. Filming him while he’s out getting groceries and hassling him for a comment.”
“Oh, dear,” I say, feeling my earlier resolve start to wane. “I certainly didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”
“Come on, you must have known you were putting us all in a terrible position,” he says, keeping his voice calm. “And for what? A reality television show, of all things.”