Well, Helen certainly didn’t mince words.
Beatrice could dodge the question, say that she was only here to talk about her wedding; or that she wouldn’t dare comment on a congressional bill before it became law. But she suddenly felt so weary of all the evasions and falsities.
Who said that being queen meant she had to hide all her flaws? She was human; she was allowed to show weakness. Men didn’t pretend they were perfect. Why should she?
Dimly she was aware of Anju standing in the wings, wincing, but she would face Anju’s consternation later.
“As you all know, I was in a car accident,” Beatrice began. “I suffered extensive head injuries. Since the accident, I have been under the care of Dr. Malcolm Jacobs, who is treating me for retrograde amnesia. I have lost some of my memories of the past year.”
Everyone stared at her with wide eyes. Beatrice tried not to think of all the people watching the live coverage of this, gasping in shock or calling her nasty names or telling one another, I knew she was a liar!
She forged ahead.
“I may not remember all the specifics of the past year, but there are many things I could never forget. The sense of duty my father taught me as a child. My love of this country. My desire to help create a better America, to the best of my ability. To anyone who has concerns about my abilities, I assure you that I am up to the task.”
Her voice rose as she added, “History matters, but the future is far more important. And I promise you that I will be with you for the future, whatever comes.”
EPILOGUE
DAPHNE
Six months later
There was a rap at her door and the sound of a voice calling out, “Daphne!” With the French accent it came out more like Dahff-nay.
“Dix minutes, s’il vous plaît, Marie, merci!” Daphne replied in a single breath, then glanced back at her phone. “Ethan, I have to go.”
He leaned forward, causing his dark hair to flop into his eyes. Afternoon sunlight illuminated his face, the Gothic buildings of King’s College behind him. He was currently enrolled in a rigorous course of summer classes, hoping to get back on track with his premed requirements after his time in Malaysia.
“Have I mentioned how hot it is when you speak French?” Ethan asked.
Daphne rolled her eyes affectionately, leaning her elbows onto the heavy wooden desk. She was in the small room adjacent to Louise’s office that had become, lately, her home—or at least the place she spent the majority of her time. “Have fun later. And take some photos for me? I want to see the city!” The coronation wasn’t until Friday, but from what Daphne could tell, America seemed to be taking the entire week off to celebrate. Tonight Ethan and some of his friends were headed to the bars on Embassy Row, which were all offering “Coronation Specials” and which were certain to be filled with hyped-up tourists wearing red, blue, and gold.
“Washington is chaos right now, Daph. Worse even than it was for your canceled wedding.” The fact that he could say this without an ounce of awkwardness—as if he’d had nothing to do with that canceled wedding—was so very Ethan. “Some of my classmates in the summer program are actually renting out their dorm rooms. If you live in Randolph Hall, third floor or above, you can see the parade route. The kids with balconies are charging extra.”
Daphne smiled at the thought of tourists coming to town and renting college dorm rooms just so they might catch a glimpse of the queen. “You could go to the coronation if you wanted to, you know.”
“You could, too. He did invite both of us.”
By he, of course, Ethan meant Prince Jefferson.
Ethan was slowly, tentatively, trying to rebuild his relationship with his best friend, though it would take time. As for Daphne, she’d texted with Jefferson once or twice, but that was it. Someday, when she saw him in person again, she would apologize properly for everything she had done. She knew she owed him that.
For now, she was content to focus on this—whatever it was—between her and Ethan.
After the wedding debacle, she hadn’t dared reach out to Ethan. It felt unfair to Jefferson, and fundamentally wrong. She had no desire to slide one man out of her life and slide another into his place, as if they were interchangeable paper dolls.
Misguided as it had been, she and the prince had been about to get married. Daphne was determined to do things differently this time around. She and Ethan hadn’t even discussed whether they were dating; they hadn’t seen each other in person yet, just begun these video chats that had become increasingly frequent.
It had started a few weeks into her time here, when Daphne was newly settling into her life as Louise’s employee. She saw Ethan’s name on the incoming video call and scrambled to answer, heart pounding in her chest. Just looking at him had sent static dancing over her skin, a low-frequency hum of nostalgia and want.
“It’s better that I’m not there,” Daphne said now, replying to Ethan’s remark about the coronation. “Besides, I’m pretty busy ruling France.”
“And how is the reign of Queen Daphne so far?”
“France should be so lucky,” she teased. “Really, though, I can’t believe Louise gave me her power of attorney while she’s gone.”
Princess Louise was currently in Washington. It wasn’t typical for foreign royals to attend each other’s coronations—being crowned was nothing like a wedding, after all. A wedding was a social event and a celebration of love, whereas a coronation was a sacrament of duty between rulers and their countries. The guests invited to Beatrice’s coronation were almost exclusively American: aristocrats, bureaucrats, judges, and hundreds of ordinary citizens who’d been chosen out of a lottery.
Louise had gone anyway, in a personal capacity rather than an official one. “Of course I’ll be there to support my friend. Women in charge need to stick together,” she’d insisted, her eyes lighting on Daphne’s as she said this last: “You can take care of France while I’m away.”
And Daphne was doing exactly that. Technically her title was Director of Media Relations, but over the past six months her role had grown into something much bigger. By now she was Louise’s right-hand woman.
A nice perk of the job was living at Versailles rent-free. Louise paid her a generous salary, so Daphne could have afforded her own place, but she was saving that money for tuition. She would start taking part-time classes at the Sorbonne in September.
Besides, why would anyone voluntarily move out of a palace? She had her own suite of rooms on the second floor. Everything was elegant and classically French, from the blue wallpaper in a delicate floral motif to the antique desk, its drawer pulls shaped like miniature fleurs-de-lis, to the breathtaking white marble countertops and enormous Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. A massive antique mirror reflected all the opulence back to her, the patina on its golden frame suggesting that countless women had admired themselves here over the years.