Page 23

TWENTY-THREE

ROSE

Alfie has something he desperately wants to say. Even over the video call I can tell that much. He’s changed position no less than eight times in the last few minutes, even while he describes his week in near excruciating detail. I wait patiently for him to finish speaking, then I raise a single eyebrow. “Is everything okay?” I ask. I wasn’t especially surprised when he called me right after classes finished today—we probably video chat every two or three weeks, on top of our regular messaging. But it’s become quite clear to me this particular video chat has an agenda.

“Yeah, how come?”

“You seem restless. Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

He shuffles on his bed and plants a fist under his chin to prop it up. He’s still wearing his school uniform, a pants-and-blazer version of ours, in the same shade of forest green. “Don’t you think there’s something we should talk about?” he hedges.

“Well, you certainly seem to,” I say. “Why don’t you start us off?”

“Fine.” He fluffs his pillow beneath him and sprawls against it. “I think we need to talk about the fact that we kissed. You haven’t forgotten we kissed, right?”

“Oh yes, so we did,” I joke, and he shoots me a death glare. Point taken.

“It’s just that we kissed, and then we both pretended it didn’t happen at all. And I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up, but maybe you’ve been waiting for me to bring it up, so I thought one of us had better do it.”

I think of the last few weeks, and what has held my attention. And how very little time I’ve spent thinking about Alfie kissing me at all, let alone wishing he would talk to me about it. In fact, when I have thought of Alfie, it’s been to hope we simply never address it again and we can pretend it was a fever dream or hallucination. Alas.

“Right,” I say, because what on earth do I say ?

I think the expression on my face must say it all, because Alfie seems to deflate a little. And at this, I finally feel ashamed. I should have brought it up earlier, no matter how heinously uncomfortable, to explain to him I don’t have feelings for him. It was cruel of me to leave him to dwell on this, hoping my silence told him everything he needed to know. Worse, it was cowardice. Certainly not something a Good Person does to her friends.

“Look, Rosie, I just want to make sure we’re still friends. I don’t want things to become awkward between us because of one stupid kiss. That’s all.”

That’s all? Relief drains all the tension from my body in a gush, and I nod eagerly. “I completely agree. Not that I could ever stop being friends with you.”

“Really?” he asks, and there’s that stab of shame again.

“Of course not. It’s not like that at all. I am sorry for not bringing it up sooner, though.”

He gives me a smile that certainly seems genuine. “What did your family say?” he asks.

I roll my eyes. “Take a guess. Go on.”

He pretends to mull it over. “Hmm. I would imagine they loved the positive attention it got you in the papers. And the fact that it drowned out the mean stories for a week or so. And that they were rapturous at the prospect of having me as a future son-in-law. I hope they take the disappointment of this well, by the way.”

“Very accurate,” I say. “Particularly the part about the papers. I think they were rather hoping we’d do it again.” I realize too late this sounds as though I’m hinting I would like the same, and stifle a groan.

“Well, there’s no reason we can’t give them more to write about, is there?” he asks.

I cock my head. “Uhh…”

“Oh, don’t look so panicked, Rosie, I mean platonically. Only they don’t have to know it’s platonic. We could fake date!”

“Fake date?” I echo.

“Absolutely. We can catch up in person a couple of times, maybe hold hands for the cameras, and bam. You get more stories that have nothing to do with your many flaws.”

I blink in surprise. “And what do you get?”

“More time hanging out with you,” he says simply. “You can be hard to pin down, you know. Plus, I think it’ll be extremely funny to watch them take things and run with them. It means we can control the narrative for once.”

Truthfully, I’m not sure why Alfie is speaking as though he has any difficulty with that. I have to admit, he has a valid point, though. It would be nice to manipulate the media for once, rather than allowing it to manipulate how my own citizens feel about me. Of course, I’ll have to check it with Danni, but if she’s comfortable with it, then why not?

“You do mean platonically, yes?” I ask, just to check.

He smirks a little. “Rosie. Trust me. I’m not sitting here envisioning some sort of great love story between us where you’ll realize your true feelings for me after you hold my hand a couple of times. And besides, no offense, but the kiss was a little…”

“What?” I ask, quite ready to take offense anyway.

“It wasn’t very good,” he finishes, and I bristle. “Not because of you!” he clarifies quickly. “You’re a wonderful kisser. It’s just, it felt, sort of… very…”

“Platonic?” I finish for him, and he nods eagerly. “I felt exactly the same,” I say, relieved.

“There was nothing there. Which is fine,” he adds. “Sometimes you just have to try something out, just in case, right?”

“Absolutely. I—” I break off as an incoming call notification fills half my screen. “Alfie, can I call you back? William’s trying to get in touch.”

“Oh, of course. Actually I’m about to start working on an essay, but I’ll message you later?”

“Perfect.”

Well, that went far better than expected. All that procrastination and avoidance, only to have Alfie understand completely? I feel silly. Of course, I should have known Alfie would understand. It’s only that trust is coming harder and harder to me these days.

I answer William’s call feeling far lighter than I did twenty minutes ago. William, however, wastes no time at all in crashing me back down, his voice clipped and urgent. “Rose. We’ve received a tip from within Bramppath College that you’re in a relationship with a student named Danni Blythe.”

I bolt upright on the bed and blanch. “You what? From who?” I ask, not at all as measured as I meant to sound.

“It was anonymous, unfortunately. And before you ask, no evidence was provided. But naturally, the first step for me is to contact you to find out if there’s any truth to the accusation.”

I frantically run through the events of the past few weeks. How could someone know about Danni and me? Did she tell somebody? Did we somehow slip up? Could someone have seen us? Did Danni leave her curtains ajar one night? Not as far as I can remember. We were being careful, weren’t we?

Were we?

Has William spoken to Theodore? He naturally must suspect the truth after that night in the forest, but we usually have an understanding that as long as I’m not engaging in any life-threatening behaviors, he doesn’t report back to the palace on my daily life. And he’s seen me high more than once, so it’s not as though the theory is untested.

“Rose?” William presses. “I know your parents prefer a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ approach, but this is one time I have to disagree with them. The more I know, the better I can work to protect you and prevent rumors from spreading.”

What he says makes sense; however, it’s not that simple. For a start, Danni is only out to one person, a friend of hers from America named Rachel. She told me as much a week ago. Even if I were to decide William should know about us, I would need her permission first. And truthfully, I’m far from eager to loop William in on this particular fact. He’s a great help in many areas, but as soon as anyone within the palace knows about Danni and me, it’s out of my hands. The palace is skilled at making problems go away, but they haven’t historically been much concerned about the price, there. I don’t want their eyes on Danni. Not when they would choose me over her in a heartbeat at even the whiff of a scandal.

“Danni’s a friend of mine,” I say evenly, “but that’s all.”

“I see,” William says, equally measured. It’s impossible to tell if he believes me. “Well, just so you are aware, there has been some online discussion regarding you and your friend. I’m sending through a number of screenshots we collected today.”

Well, there’s my answer to whether he believes me. I frown to myself as he falls quiet, composing an email to me. What does he mean, online discussion ? How on earth do people online have any opinion on Danni and me? And if true, how was I not aware of it? I pull out my laptop and hurry to check my emails, where I find an encrypted message from William.

The first few screenshots attached appear to be from the comment section beneath Molly’s piano post. A few are simply people noting that they recognize my voice, and expressing it’s sweet to see Danni and I are still friends. One person takes it further than that, and writes:

What’s up with the lover’s tone at the end there?

And someone else—a friend of theirs, perhaps—replies:

First the rugby game, now this.

The final screenshot is of a post within a forum devoted to European royal families, uncreatively titled Princess Rosemary and Danni Blythe???

Hear me out, it says. I have a conspiracy theory. This year, Rosemary and Molly suddenly start being seen with their new friend, Danni Blythe, who appears in some of Molly’s stories. Then, we see the three of them together in Molly’s livestream back in September, where she accidentally films Danni falling down on camera, and Rosemary catching her.

A small clip of the incident follows for illustration. As though it’s irrefutable evidence of romance if one catches somebody when they slip? I barely even knew Danni then, for goodness’ sake.

Then, later in the game, notice the way Rosemary watches Danni? Look at her expression. I know I don’t watch my friends like that.

What follows is a slowed-down clip of me turning sideways and looking at Danni, who’s watching the game. We’re at the bottom of the frame, incidentally caught on camera as Molly filmed the game. For the life of me, I can’t remember looking at Danni, or why. And, sure, at this speed, it looks intense, and pensive, and perhaps even aching if you want to go that far. But I was not aching. And at full speed, how long did I even look at her for? Three seconds? I was probably thinking about how bored I was.

Then later in the livestream, we see Rosemary and Danni returning from somewhere, wearing each other’s CLOTHES!? Then, Molly and Rosemary mysteriously have a falling out, though neither of them ever comment on what, exactly, went down between them. But don’t you think it’s interesting timing? That it happened right after Rosemary saved Danni’s life?

Perhaps it would have been interesting timing, had that been the timeline at all, but go on.

Next, we get these photos from the queen’s birthday of Rosemary, Eleanor, and Danni—and look where Rosemary’s hand is! Why is she touching Danni, but not Eleanor? She’s known Eleanor for much longer. And again, Molly is notably absent.

It’s—oh, come on, it’s on the small of Danni’s back. And yes, fine, I did actually have a crush on Danni by that point, but what does this prove?

And now for the kicker, we have this video of Danni playing piano, uploaded by Molly, but filmed by Rose . And listen to the tone of Rose’s voice as she speaks. If that’s platonic, I’m next in line to be queen.

My theory is: Rose and Danni are seeing each other, and Molly is taking it badly. Possibly because she’s jealous of their closeness, or perhaps she had a crush on Rose. That’s why she’s suddenly not ever seen around Rose! It does beg the question, though: Why is she still friends with Danni? Is she being the bigger person? Or is it a case of keeping your enemies close? What do you all think?

Luckily, the post has barely any engagement. Still, rage bubbles up within me as I read the last paragraph. Secret feelings between me and Molly? It’s the biggest rot I’ve ever read. And why hasn’t Oscar’s death been brought up as a potential reason for Molly’s change in behavior? It seems, if one goes by Occam’s razor, to be a much more reasonable explanation than the arrival of Danni Blythe, no?

“This is ludicrous,” I say with conviction. “Honestly, what have you called me up about? Someone who’s obsessed with my family read into me looking at a friend of mine, and this constitutes a crisis?”

“Not a crisis, no. Just something to keep in mind. If, perhaps, you’re being less discreet than you thought…”

But I’m hardly listening at this point, because I’m so relieved. This is all utterly baseless. Yes, this person, along with those who made the teasing comments on Molly’s video, has stumbled across the truth, but that’s exactly what it is. A stumble. Half of their “evidence” involves clips and photos from well before there was anything to speak of between Danni and me. We haven’t slipped up.

“It seems to me that the anonymous tipper and this poster are likely one and the same,” I say. “They were probably lying about being a Bramppath student.”

“Perhaps,” William says, but his tone is doubtful enough to make me uneasy.

“Is there anything else I should know?” I ask.

“No. I’ve told you everything I know.”

But if what he knows is so limited, why take it seriously enough to call me in the first place? What isn’t he telling me?

After hanging up, I make a beeline for Danni’s room. To my dismay, I find her door propped open by a shoe, which means she’s in the shower. It’s what we all do. Our key cards are susceptible to water damage, and the tiny shower cubicles here have a nasty habit of soaking everything we bring in with us, including things placed on the tiny bench provided for storage. We even have to throw our towels and clothes over the door to keep them dry.

Luckily, there’s only one shower in use on this level, so once I close the bathroom door behind me, I’m quite confident in calling out Danni’s name.

“Rose?” she asks. “Hold on. One second.” A moment later, she opens the cubicle door a crack, poking her head through. She has a towel wrapped tightly around her, and her dark blond hair, darker still from the water, is soaked and plastered to her forehead and neck, greasy and slick with shampoo or conditioner. She smells of cocoa butter.

“I just got a call from William at the palace,” I tell her in a low voice. “Someone told him we’re involved.”

She swings the door open. “What do you mean?” she asks.

I step closer, so she can hear me better over the roar of the shower without me needing to raise my voice. “Someone who claims to be from Bramppath told him. They didn’t present any evidence, but—”

The bathroom door handle starts to turn, and I freeze. I’m standing with half of my body inside Danni’s shower cubicle, talking to her while she’s soaking wet and wearing only a towel, and while I’m certain—or mostly certain—partially certain—that the anonymous informant is lying, what if they’re not? What if somebody at Bramppath already suspects we’re involved with each other, and that somebody happens to walk in on us like this?

I should spring backward and close the cubicle door. It’s by far the most rational move. There’s nothing all that suspicious about speaking to a classmate through a cubicle door, after all. The issue is, William’s tone has me on edge, and I feel watched by the walls themselves, and adrenaline isn’t a fan of the rational. So, to my dismay, it’s my central nervous system that chooses my next step for me, and it decides to fling me into the cubicle to hide from whoever’s entering.

The thing about these cubicles is they’re awfully small. Danni was barely avoiding getting her towel soaked while talking to me as it was. The space is not designed for the water to be running while students dry off. So, when my panic sends me launching past Danni, the only place to go is directly under the shower head. Still fully clothed in my uniform. I gasp instinctively as a powerful stream of hot water gushes over me, and clap my hand over my mouth before it escalates into a howl.

Danni lunges forward to turn the tap off—something that didn’t occur to me in my shocked state—but it’s too late. I’m soaked through. My clothes aren’t dripping onto the tiled floor so much as they’re waterfalling.

Next to us, another cubicle door closes, and the shower turns on. Danni looks over, and then back to me. Her mouth has twisted into a very interesting shape, as though she’s trying valiantly not to burst out laughing.

“What the hell did you do that for?” she mouths, and I jut out my lower jaw. Why does she think I did it? Because I wasn’t thinking, obviously.

“Help me,” I mouth back, before holding my arms up to survey myself. Excellent. Wonderful. I’m holding my body weight’s worth of water in my school uniform, which is still attached to me. And my room is upstairs. Marvelous.

When Danni regains control of her facial features, she looks as though she’s reluctant to say something. I wring a flood of liquid out of my ponytail while she gathers the courage.

“I still have shampoo in my hair,” she whispers, pointing to her head.

I fix a cool gaze onto her, and I don’t need to speak to make my point known. She holds up a finger in a one second gesture and darts out of the cubicle in her towel, leaving me cold, and sodden, and cursing William with everything I have.