“I don’t expect you to understand. Your family is so supportive, so warm and cuddly. But I’ve always been alone in this.”
I feel alone, too, Beatrice wanted to say. That’s why I was so desperate to be your friend.
Louise bit her lip. “I’ve been fighting all my life for a shred of my father’s approval, and I never manage to get it.”
“If he’s that awful, then why do you care what he thinks?”
“He’s still my father, and my king. And, like a fool, I kept hoping that he would wake up one day and say, ‘What a wonderful job Louise has done during my illness!’ I thought he might be proud of me for once.”
Again, Beatrice felt so grateful that her own father had built her up—taught her to believe in herself—rather than torn her down.
“I looked up to you, you know,” she told Louise. “You always seemed so independent, so badass. The type of person who voted according to her own beliefs, not someone else’s.”
“That’s just the version of me that I want the world to see. I’m not actually that brave. Not like you,” Louise said sadly.
To think that it had all been a mirage—that under the lipstick and black leather and flippant sarcasm, Louise was as insecure as anyone.
“Thank you for explaining things, I guess.” Beatrice started out into the hall, and Louise chased after her. The lights from the sconces shimmered on the lamé panels of her gown.
“You’re still upset with me; I can see it. But we need each other, you and I,” Louise was saying. “We’re the same.”
Beatrice halted in her steps, whirling around to look at the French princess. “That was what I thought when we first met, but I was wrong. You and I aren’t the same. I would never betray someone like this.”
“You already have! Didn’t you get rid of that bodyguard, the one you were in love with?”
Beatrice felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. “What does Connor have to do with anything?”
“Because he is the tough choice you made in the name of America, just like I made a tough choice for France,” Louise insisted. “You got rid of the bodyguard so you could be with someone like Theodore, who is—what did you call him—‘selfless and sweet’? The type of man who will be your support system while you take the spotlight?”
“I love Teddy,” Beatrice said fiercely, and Louise threw up her hands in a frustrated gesture.
“I never said you don’t love him! But Theodore will never understand the sacrifices you have to make. I do, because I’ve already made them.”
In that moment Louise looked far older than her twenty-eight years, her blue eyes vivid with longing and heartbreak. It saddened Beatrice, to think of everything that must have happened to put such shadows in those eyes.
“I’ll see you around, Louise.” She turned wearily back toward the great hall, only to fall still.
Teddy was standing there.
“How much did you hear?” she whispered as Louise brushed past.
“Enough.”
“Teddy, I’m sorry.” She reached for him, but he recoiled from her touch.
“You never told me he was your bodyguard.” His words were hollow.
“I—what?”
“I knew that you were in love with someone before me, but you never told me who it was. I didn’t realize it was your Revere Guard.”
“What does that matter?” Beatrice asked, bewildered.
“I’m supposed to be your fiancé, and you’ve known Louise for, what, a month? Yet you told her something you’ve never shared with me.”
“I’m sorry.” Beatrice wasn’t sure how to explain it. There had been something profound, almost sacred, about the way she and Louise had shared secrets that night, staring up at the stars. “We were having a serious conversation, and I knew I could trust her. I knew she would understand.”
“Because I will never understand your life? Because I don’t know the sacrifices you’ve made for the Crown?”
“Louise said those things, not me!” Beatrice exclaimed, frustrated.
“It’s what you think, though, isn’t it?” Teddy’s eyes were like blue fire. “Look, I may not be queen, but I’ve made sacrifices for the Crown, too. A lot of them.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that!”
Instantly Beatrice knew she’d said the wrong thing. She reached once more for Teddy’s hand, but he took a swift step back.
“That’s true. You didn’t,” he said flatly. “I gave up the dukedom all on my own.”
“Teddy, I didn’t mean—”
“I thought we were on the same page, that we were building a life together. That it was you and me now.”
Beatrice ached at the memory of when he’d said those words to her, the night she first started to love him, at his family’s house in Boston.
“I always knew that I was signing up for a life of being your coworker,” he went on. “But I hoped we were more than that, too. I thought you and I were figuring it out together, making each other stronger.” He sighed. “It turns out I’m just your sweet, selfless, silent support system.”
“When I told Louise that you were sweet and selfless, I meant it as a good thing!” Beatrice felt close to tears. She needed things to be right between them.
Teddy’s face was closed off, but he held out his arm, his gesture stiff.
“They’re about to serve dessert. That’s why I came looking for you; people were starting to wonder where you’d gone.”
“I’m sorry. Please, let’s talk about this,” she insisted, but it was like he’d turned to stone.
“We can talk later.”
As they walked back into the ballroom, Teddy was smiling his glazed, distant smile: the one that he used to wear in front of paparazzi, before they had fallen in love. The sight of it nearly broke her.
Somehow, though it sent agony down every last fiber of her being, Beatrice managed to set aside her anguish and paste a smile on her own face, too. Because she was a Washington, and this was a state banquet, and that was how things were done.
Everyone knew, didn’t they?
Daphne was on autopilot, chatting with Prince Bharat’s date—a Bollywood star with a blinding smile and easy charm—but she hardly registered what he was saying. She felt everyone staring at her, whispering that she was a nobody now. They were clearly delighted at her family’s disgrace, though they masked their glee in tones of honeyed pity. Daphne wasn’t sure how they’d all found out; probably Gabriella had been circling the room all night, sharing the news. Even if she hadn’t, word would still have spread. A good piece of gossip always finds its way.