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TWENTY-NINE

ROSE

“I want to tell you something. Both because we’re friends, and because it affects you.”

I’ve come to meet Alfie at Ashford Academy, as this didn’t seem to be an appropriate conversation to hold over a video call. Though Bramppath students aren’t usually welcomed outside of brother-sister school events, being a princess has its perks. I was not allowed to venture past the reception desk, however, so Alfie and I opted to hover in a private spot near the wrought-iron gate bordering the front of the office’s gardens. It’s bitterly cold out here, and we’re both hugging our arms to ourselves despite our thick winter coats.

“It sounds serious.” He smiles.

“Alfie, I’m a lesbian.”

It’s blunt, but I’m worried if I put it off for long the words may never leave my lips.

He blinks in surprise, and brushes a lock of brown hair out of his face. “Oh,” he says, looking distinctly taken aback, which I’d expected, and somewhat amused, which I hadn’t.

“Yes,” I say. “So… hold on, why did you say it like that?”

“Well, it explains the kiss.”

“You said it wasn’t that bad .”

“Well it certainly wasn’t that good, ” he says, breaking into a chuckle. The first friend I’ve formally—and on purpose—come out to, and it devolves immediately into personal insults. I am aggrieved.

“You went in for another!”

“Yes, just in case it was nerves the first time!”

“Okay, well, now you know. It wasn’t nerves, it was because I’m a lesbian, and even though you’re very pretty, and I adore you, it’s physically impossible for me to enjoy kissing you.”

“‘Physically impossible to enjoy kissing you’ is just what every guy wants to hear, Rosie. Stop flattering me, I’m blushing.”

“Anyway, my point is that I think it’s time to stop the fake relationship.”

“You’re fake breaking up with me?”

“I am.”

“On this day? Of all days?”

I pause, stricken. “Wait, what’s today?”

He breaks into a grin. “Nothing, I just wanted to see your face. So, what’s the correlation here? Unless—” He brightens. “Are you telling me you’re dating someone?”

That is, in fact, exactly what I’m here to tell him. When I told Danni this morning I would be ending Alfie’s and my little adventure in media manipulation, along with coming out to him, I asked what she would like her role in things to be. She had—quite quickly, and with a very satisfied smile on her face—given her blessing for me to tell Alfie about us.

“I am. Danni. Blythe,” I add.

He raises an eyebrow. “I know who Danni is.”

“Right, of course.”

“Look at you, all nervous.” He hops in place, trying to get warm. “I never see you nervous. What did your parents say? I assume they know?”

“They know I’m a lesbian, but not about Danni, and I don’t want them to.”

Alfie makes several rather odd faces. “Rosie, I’m confused. You want this to be a secret?”

“Yes.”

“Yet right now, you have the ideal cover in place. With me. Providing ample evidence that you’re not dating Danni. And you want to… end that?”

I stare at him in surprise. “I assumed you would want to, once you found out.”

“That you’re a lesbian?” he asks. “You thought I would want to end our fake relationship when I found out it’s… extra fake?”

I try to hide my smile. “Well, I don’t know.”

“You did think I was doing this in the hopes we’d end up together!”

“I did not.”

“You so did. I told you I’m not! Why is it so hard for you to believe I’m not in love with you?”

I ignore that. “What do you get out of this, though?”

Alfie grows earnest. “I get to help you.”

Well, I’ll have to speak to Danni about it, of course. But I can’t deny it would be helpful for us to have Alfie’s involvement. Immeasurably so.

“Ooh,” he says suddenly. “We should do something for Valentine’s Day. Something really public. We can do that, right? We’ll have time to plan.”

I hesitate. “Oh, I… it’s a good idea, but I want to spend Valentine’s Day with Danni.”

“Bring her!” he says instantly, and I laugh. “I’d like to get to know her,” he presses. “If she’s going to be around now, we might as well try to find something we like about each other.”

“Watch out, that was almost amicable.”

Alfie lifts a shoulder and smiles into it. “I don’t know what you mean, Rosie, I’m the most welcoming person you can think of.”

“Maybe if I only had one brain cell left,” I say, and he feigns insult. “Besides, I’m sure that’s exactly what I shouldn’t be doing. A staged press event with Danni and me on Valentine’s Day.”

“I’d be there.”

“Yes, but still.”

He thinks for a few moments. I can tell Alfie is set on this idea, which means it will be hard to tear him away from it. And the problem with Alfie getting set on an idea is that, more often than not, he finds a way to get me to agree to it, sooner or later.

“We’ll bring along a friend of mine,” he says. “Fake dating for everyone.”

I laugh and roll my eyes.

“Come on,” he says. “It’s a good idea.”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

“Rosie.”

“Maybe.”

Alfie wins.

Danni is thrilled at the idea of spending Valentine’s Day together in public. Less thrilled at the prospect of Alfie joining, and even less than that at the promise of his friend. But she does agree it’s a smart tactical move—and when she finds out she gets to be excused from classes that day to participate in important palace business, she softens even more.

I collect her from her bedroom carrying a large package wrapped in gold paper. She answers the door in her army-green parka. The one she was wearing at the rugby match where we got to know each other, and the night we kissed in the woods. There’s so many wonderful memories attached to that jacket, seeing it makes me glow.

She noticed my gift instantly, and she looks nervous. “Okay, so, we didn’t really establish this,” she says, “because it’s an uncomfortable topic, but I don’t have a whole lot of money. Like, at all. So when it comes to gifts—”

“I don’t expect a thing,” I say.

“Well, you shouldn’t expect nothing, because I do have something for you. But it’s not going to be something flashy. You didn’t get me something flashy, did you?”

I look down at the box in my hands, and then back up, guiltily. “Define flashy .”

“Awesome,” Danni says, rolling her eyes, but she’s smiling, at least.

“It’s not a car or anything,” I say, following her inside her room.

“Well, thank god !” she cries. “Thank god you didn’t get me a car for Valentine’s Day.”

“You know,” I say, “if I had gotten you a car, you’d be making me feel rather bad about it right now.”

“Not as bad as I’d feel, I promise you. One day soon we are gonna have a chat about what it means to give gifts when you’re in two different tax brack—wait, do you even pay taxes?”

I open my mouth to reply, but she barrels on. “Never mind, it’ll just work me up. Today, I am going to love whatever you got me, because I’m sure it’s really nice, and you put thought into it. And I am going to spend zero time feeling weird about the fact that I couldn’t buy you a gift.”

“Excellent plan,” I say, handing over her present. “Although now I feel as though I’m setting some wild expectations here. I didn’t get you anything even in the realm of a car.”

Or, for that matter, a Vacheron Constantin watch.

“Even better.”

“I don’t like you that much yet,” I add. She sits on the bed with the gift in her lap and shoots me a glare. “Open it,” I urge.

She does, revealing the pair of leather figure skates I spent hours agonizing over last week. Now that I see them, I like them even more than I remembered. More than my own. “I thought they would be useful today,” I explain. “Also, I would love to give you another one-on-one lesson. If you would like.”

She pulls one out and rotates it in her hands. “These are officially the nicest things I own now,” she says, which I think is a compliment. “Do you think I can take the blade off and wear them as shoes?”

“I think you would struggle,” I answer seriously, and she looks up at me with a grin.

“I love them. Thank you.”

“I’m glad. No weirdness, then?”

“Oh, I thought I’d take a leaf out of your book,” she says lightly, squeezing the tongue of the boot. It’s plush. Much more comfortable than the school stock.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m shoving it down until I can’t feel it anymore.”

I choke on my laughter, and she shoves the skates back into their box. “Your gift comes later. Let’s go,” she says, rising to her feet and holding a hand out to me. I let her pull me up, and then we let go of each other. We won’t be able to hold hands again until tonight now.

But at least I get to spend the day with her. At least there’s that.