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Chapter 19
Alexandra
Dresses on a rail were whisked into the room, followed by a stylist and a tailor. They paid no attention to Raphael, but he was all I could see as he stepped out. All I could think about while I tried on the row of sparkling dresses by British designers.
I needed to pick two—one for the gala in two days and another for a banquet in the palace which I could barely think about without nausea. For the latter, I had to give a speech and couldn’t imagine causing a bird-related distraction to get out of it.
I settled on an emerald-green satin gown for the gala. It would pop against the venue’s red seats and pair well with my dark hair. For the banquet, I let the stylist pick out a formal cream mermaid dress with a modest hemline. I could barely look at it without dread. I even confessed it to the two women, earning grim smiles of understanding.
The next day was the same.
I didn’t have to leave the palace, but the meetings went on and on for the whole day, leaving me exhausted.
When the last was done, I holed up in my room and hid from the world.
Something niggled at me.
Dori hadn’t messaged or returned my call. I couldn’t think of the last time we’d gone this long without contact. I’d texted him again this morning, but no reply had come.
Concern had built steadily through the day.
A best friend hunt was in order. I told him so in a text.
Alex: If you aren’t answering me, I can only assume you’re having a good time. Am going to stalk you to find out just how good.
Yet his socials gave me nothing.
He’d posted nothing new and hadn’t been tagged anywhere. That was unusual for my social butterfly friend who delighted in finding me or him online and refreshed his feed more than was healthy.
I clicked through to his liked posts, finally finding something new.
My pulse skipped. Dori had liked a post for the engagement party of a beautiful couple, posted two days ago. I squinted at the caption under the stunning Lake Como picture.
The happy couple-to-be, Elsie Sale and Victor Vance.
The woman’s name was familiar, though I’d never met her. I mused over it, trying to make sense of the mystery. Her profile told me that she was a musician and her guy was an influencer with a huge following. His page was full of videos and pictures about the relationship amongst brand deals, including a video of his proposal which had millions of views. In contrast, her page was dedicated to her music only.
If Dori knew either of them, he hadn’t mentioned it to me.
Nor had this helped me work out where he was hiding. Frustrated, I climbed from my cosy den and slipped on a pair of ballet slippers. I did my best thinking while moving, so I left my apartment to prowl the palace.
After hours, the centuries-old building had a completely different feel to it. Gone were the bustling staff and countless summer tourists, replaced by shadows and spooky long corridors. As a child, I’d only stayed here when my family needed to be in London, but I’d done the same and roamed at night.
It freaked me out back then. At least now I was no longer scared of any ghosts.
I meandered through the hall to the formal staircase and descended. The ground floor might still have staff hanging around, and I found my feet delivering me to the state rooms on the first floor.
Security wouldn’t be far, essential as there were paintings by grand masters and other valuables on display, but I was allowed to be here. It was even more fun to give them the slip.
I ignored the picture gallery to enter one of the wide receiving rooms.
A plush carpet muted my footsteps.
Above me, rows of chandeliers glimmered, though none were lit, and an enormous marble fireplace gaped to the side. I padded through patches of light from the tall windows, passing rows of chairs amid gleaming columns. I stepped in and out of the light as I wandered, trying to centre myself but also knowing exactly what had brought me here.
Ahead were double doors to the banquet hall where, in three days, I had to stand in front of dignitaries and speak on behalf of my family. Of all the events Sir Reginald had lined up for me, that one felt like a trial by fire.
That was what I wanted. To look at the space and imagine myself there. To try to picture how I would handle the formalities and the moment I had to rise and address the room. Damn. I wouldn’t be able to. The dread I’d felt upstairs returned tenfold. I couldn’t move from the spot.