Page 53 of At Midnight

A Court in Monaco

Flicka von Hannover

Maybe I shouldn’t have watched the news.

Flicka was sitting on the floor with Alina, playing with foam blocks. Flicka was, perhaps inadvisably, stuffing the soft shapes in her own mouth and ears, not to mention weaving them into her hair, to make Alina laugh while the television droned in the background.

They had finished theirpiano lesson earlier, which mainly consisted of Flicka naming notes and Alina pushing the keys. The toddler knew all the names of the notes. Flicka was planning on introducing the concept of flats the next day.

Flicka wound her hair around a triangular block just above her forehead, making herself look like she had a bright blue unicorn horn.

The television announcer said, “And now some interestingnews in the ongoing and very odd saga of the divorce of the Prince of Monaco.”

Flicka spat the foam fangs out of her mouth and batted them out of her ears onto the thick rug, wrenching herself around to look at the television.

“It appears that Pierre Grimaldi’s on-again, off-again marriage to Princess Friederike von Hannover is on again.” The newscaster was grinning an obnoxious, smarmy leerat the marital problems of the filthy rich. “A court in Monaco ruled today that the divorce granted by a Las Vegas judge was invalid. Thus, they’re still married, folks, at least in the postage stamp that is the city-state of Monaco. I’m still surprised that no one has sneezed and blown that ‘country’ into the Mediterranean. It’s up to the rest of the European Union as to whether they’ll recognizethe American divorce or the Monegasque un-divorce, but it’s entertainment for all us commoners in the meantime.”

Flicka dropped her face into her hands and sucked a deep breath, trying not to cry in front of Alina.

The jerk news guy continued, “Princess Friederike von Hannover hasn’t been seen since she sprinted out of the Las Vegas courtroom. We assume she’s holed-up somewhere His Serene HighnessPierre Grimaldi, Prince of Monaco, can’t find her and drag her back to her busy schedule of royal duties. If you’re listening, Princess Friederike, you’re still married.”

Alina patted Flicka’s knee. “Flicka-mama, okay?”

Her chest clenched like bungee cords were wrapped around her ribs. “Yes, Alina, my sweet. I’m fine. Of course, I’m fine,” Flicka gasped.

The other newscaster, a woman, said,“I wouldn’t run off if His Serene Hotness were my husband. Have you seen those pictures of him swimming on the beach of Monaco? Holymoly.If the princess doesn’t want that fine piece of man, can I have him?”

Pierre’s public relations team must be engaged in a full-court press. If Flicka didn’t return soon, they would begin to demonize her.

She steeled herself for it.

Flicka said, “Alina, honey.Could you hand me that cup of tea, right there? That’s it—balance—balance—and good girl!”

She sipped the tea.

The gin stung her nose and throat as she swallowed.

She shot the rest down her throat.

If this kept up, she was going to need some stronger tea.

“Come on, Alina-baby. Let’s findGrand-maman.She should probably know about this.”

If anything would make Sophie forgive her for gettingher daughters involved in this mess, it was a common enemy that might delay the wedding they were planning, though the future date was still nebulous.