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“Parker is brooding. Wyatt is sweet. He’s exactly what you’d expect from an American—an open book.”
“You two will get on, then.”
“Ingy, I gotta go,” I said. “Meeting.”
“Go kill it. Say hi to Daddy Wyatt.”
“Ingrid!” I groaned.
She giggled. “I’ll send you the list. Read it.”
“Whatever,” I said. “Love you. Bye.”
I ended the call. I’d never get off the line otherwise. She’d continue ribbing me. Shelivedfor it.
I needed to focus. I was a grownup. I smoothed my work dress, looking professional, and departed the palace. The meetings took place at our beautiful baroque city hall. The board president, a stuffy old man named Claus Gautier, and the mayor were already assembled in a conference room, the former jury room. They greeted me with polite bows. I thanked them, not waving them off as others arrived.
Wyatt filed in just before the meeting started. He was barely on time—focused on other matters. We’d only spoken on the phone since I last visited. He had an unplanned work trip come up. Disappointed, I hadn’t seen him since I’d been on his couch with a glass of wine. I shot him a kind smile.
The meeting began with the excitement of paint drying. We followed the procedure I’d long since memorised, voted on adding some disabled parking spaces, and approved a new bike corral. Then, it turned to new business and my chance to add something to the docket. I smiled and crossed my hands before speaking up.
“Mr President, I’d like to speak if I could.”
The entire room stared at me, surprised I’d bothered to open my mouth.
“Yes, Your Royal Highness?”
“I’d like to add something else to the list of priority projects for the VisionFunds if possible.”
Wyatt smiled broadly before pulling it back. We were scheming. We had orchestrated a tiny but impactful queue. I loved that we shared this. Wyatt Worthington and I were partners in crime. I lapped up my rare moment in the spotlight—no longer my beautiful queenly sister’s chubby younger sister. Instead, I was the patron and a board member. And I was Wyatt’s friend—maybe his crush? Only time would tell.
“Certainly, ma’am.”
“I would like to add a curb bump out on Rue Montblanc and Avenue Capitale,” I said. “It’s a busy road turning onto a street just off a park. The turn into the bike lane is a common pain point for cyclists and pedestrians. This would slow trafficturning right.”
“Well, if only cyclists followed the rules,” Mayor Bouchard joked at my expense.
I turned a steely gaze to him. “Sir, a car nearly ran me over there. I was knocked off my bike. I wasn’t going at an impressive speed. My dog and I were out for a morning ride, returning from an appointment, as anyone might be. Traffic wasn’t dense. A woman didn’t pay attention. It is my understanding—after some research—that this is a very affordable way to protect cyclists and pedestrians in a place where we should prioritise family foot traffic. And we have plenty of funds, do we not?”
The Mayor set his jaw. The President yawned.
“Ma’am, we have to be careful with these funds. They are not for pet projects.”
Wyatt spoke up. “This is a known accident zone, as Her Royal Highness said. I witness near misses or crashes there all too often.”
I opened my portfolio, pulling out the official figures I’d printed on my stationary. I passed them around the table.
“What is this?” The Mayor asked, annoyed.
“A list of accident-prone intersections in Ville de Neandia. This is one of the worst. Listed, you will see the number of pedestrian and bike accidents. There was a near-fatal accident only six weeks ago. It’s also a common place for people to run red signals on a right turn and cause crashes.”
Everyone stared. Wyatt smiled at me, grinning ear-to-ear. It melted me. He didn’t expect this. Last minute, I’d gone off book and armed myself to the teeth with evidence. I’d had to consult Astrid and Alexandra about where to look, but I’d managed.
“These came directly from the Ministry of Transport,” I said. “This is a hazardous intersection.”
“You did this… all on your own?” President Gautier asked.
“Of course. I take my patronages seriously,” I said—not mentioning that I only had one. I had a feeling I’d have more once I proved myself.