“Goodness. If someone went into labor in front of me? I’d simply fall to pieces and not have an inkling of what to do—and I’ve given birth myself twice.” Mathilde trilled out a laugh. “You must be good under pressure. Just like Genny here. Isn’t it nice to discover things you have in common beyond your looks?”
Yes. Yes, it was. After all, Elias made it sound like, while Genevieve might be a tad high maintenance, she didn’t go around in a twenty-four-seven snit. At least, not until Kelsey had appeared on the scene. It was easy to snap back at her, in the moment. Every time.
Too easy, for sure.
She wanted to be the bigger person. Or at least try a little harder. Because the fact was that she and Genevieve needed to find some way to communicate beyond sniping at each other. Kelsey genuinely wanted to connect to the non-bitchy side of her new sister.
If at all possible.
Maybe she and Mallory should go online tonight and Google royal watcher fan sites. They’d probably be chock full of useful and interesting info. Like a Cliff’s Notes intro to the House of Villani. Even something as dumb as who prefers wine to beer, or heck, their college majors, would give Kelsey a starting point for finding a spark of interest to share.
“So, who has an endearing childhood story to reveal about Genny?” The nickname felt too casual, too…fun. Genny looked perfect and poised and, well, princess-y every moment. Even now, with a spinning brush fluffing one side of her hair, the other clipped back starkly and wet? She sat ramrod straight with her makeup flawless (how had she not gotten splashed and smeary during the shampoo?).
For a few long moments there, the only sound was the snip of hair scissors and the crinkle of foil for Mathilde’s color treatment.
Mallory shot her a panicked glance, which Kelsey promptly volleyed back. Who knew asking for a “she named her pony Sprinkles” type story would shut everyone down?
The squeak of the leather cushion at the opposite end alerted her to a shift by the grand duchess. “Your sister climbed into your crib the night you were born. We hadn’t transitioned her out of her own yet. There’d been no attempt by her to get out of it. But she climbed up and out of her crib, toddled down the hall to your nursery, climbed in, and fell asleep with an arm across your swaddling. Genevieve did it every night. After a week, your mother simply let her go to sleep next to you, and then moved her back to her room so you wouldn’t wake her up when you needed to feed.”
Wow. That was one heck of a monologue. A real, honest-to-goodness grandmotherly reminiscence.
It was a gift, one so unexpected and lovely that Kelsey had no words. But her hands came to rest, together, over her heart. And she didn’t need to peek at the mirror to know that her eyes were brimming with tears.
“You never told me that story,” Genevieve said. Accusation and annoyance sharpened her words enough they could probably carve a how dare you keep secrets into those diamond studs at her ears.
“You didn’t need to hear it. Kelsey did.”
The grand duchess poked back at Genevieve. Just like a real grandmother! This was going so well. Kelsey envisioned monthly shared trips to the salon with all the women in the family.
If she stayed.
But she didn’t want to stay. Kelsey was only here out of duty, out of courtesy and respect to the grief of the family, the country that had lost her. Staying meant…turning into someone else. Adding, accepting the title of princess would change her. Kelsey didn’t even know how to accomplish that big a change. How to become the princess everyone expected.
Did going back home make her a coward? Someone too lazy to put in the effort? A quitter?
This was why she didn’t sleep more than a few hours at a time.
Genevieve pushed out of her chair, fury vibrating off of her as she confronted Agathe. “I didn’t need to hear a story about my own mother? When I’ve flat-out begged you for them over the years? When I’ve spent my life combing websites and microfiche and every possible outlet to compile pictures and videos and memories that show who she was?”
“We didn’t want to risk you remembering it yourself. After. When we couldn’t get you to stay out of that empty crib once baby Valentina was gone. You cried all night for months.”
Crap. Just that fast, the story teeter-tottered from awesome to angsty. Well, it was her fault for asking and thus opening this Pandora’s Box, so she’d just have to fix it.
Kelsey murmured, “Excuse me,” to Renate as she rose and joined her sister. Even reached out to pat—tentatively, like you would a piranha—Genevieve’s arm. “I’m sorry you didn’t know, but maybe it’s for the best that we both got to hear that story for the first time, together. I’m not taking anything away from you, after all, by learning about it with you.”
In a whip-crack fast motion, Genevieve lifted and twisted her arm to remove Kelsey’s hand. And her arm stayed raised, fingers outstretched, as if perhaps she was one second away from actually striking her. “You already did. It’s your fault my entire childhood was taken away. Your fault that I lost my mother. Or didn’t you know that she committed suicide on your birthday?”
No. Oh no. Nooooo.
Why had nobody told her their mother wasn’t just long dead, but took her own life? That double wallop of pain must’ve tainted everything, everyone in the palace.
Ripping off her protective cape, Genevieve slammed out the door. Oddly, the stylists hadn’t so much as paused in working on the two older women. But Kelsey was damn sure frozen in place by the news.
Did everyone blame her?
Mallory got up and gave her a wordless side hug, leading her back to the chair.
Mathilde fluttered a plump hand at her. “It wasn’t actually your fault, my dear. Your mother was suffering from severe post-partum depression. She did with all three of you. Your kidnapping simply pushed her over the edge on which she was barely balanced.”
That all made sense. Depression was a disease, and could be as serious and fatal as heart disease. But Kelsey could also see how Genevieve would’ve needed somewhere to pile the blame in a way to deal with the pain of losing her mother. It made Kelsey worry that others in the family harbored the same bitterness toward her. How many even knew? Did she stand any chance at getting them to overlook her as the trigger and accept her for herself? Or should she give up now and go back home?
How did you decide the entire course of your life in a matter of days?
Renate hovered, comb and scissors outstretched. So Kelsey sat back down and watched her snip and tease and spray her hair into a near-match to Genevieve’s.
Which also made her resemblance to the portrait of Queen Serena in the throne room even more striking.
…
Elias bowed deeply as the Grand Duchess Agathe swept by him. He halfway straightened as Mathilde also exited, then came up into simply a nod as Kelsey passed through the doors of the palace salon. “Your Highness.”