Page 39

THIRTY-NINE

ROSE

It’s crushing to be attached to Alfie’s arm at yet another family event. Nothing personal to him, of course. I’m well aware of how much I owe him. This week, more than ever, it’s crucial to be seen together by as many people as possible, and my cousin Emmeline’s wedding is the perfect occasion. Only, I can’t help being keenly aware that, right now, while we’re eating hors d’oeuvres surrounded by breathtaking flower installations with a jazz band serenading us, Danni is at school without me, possibly feeling the worst she ever has. I’ve never felt like I’m giving a pantomime performance quite as much as I do tonight. This isn’t only fake. It’s a farce.

Eleanor is here tonight, too, though she’s sitting with her parents at the moment. She begged for an invitation when she discovered Emmeline is marrying Guadalupe Alcántara, a descendant of minor Spanish nobility. And Santi confirmed to her via text—they are, as of Florence’s party, on texting terms—he would indeed be attending.

Alfie and I float around the reception as a couple, speaking to as many people as we possibly can. See, here we are. Entirely heterosexual, quite in love, please for the love of god help us quell any rumors otherwise before my girlfriend gets hurt again.

Over and over again we smile and laugh with people while they make the same inane comments. You two look lovely together. I remember my high school love. You’re a lucky man, Alfie, this one’s going to keep you on your toes. It’s as though someone were walking ahead of us handing out identical cue cards for the guests to read aloud.

I take every opportunity possible to text Danni, but it doesn’t make me feel any less filthy. I wonder if being a walking lie is something you eventually adjust to.

“What’s Danni up to?” Alfie asks after I pull out my phone for the fifteenth time tonight.

I return it to my pocket, chastised. “I’m being rude, aren’t I?” I ask. “Sorry, sorry.”

Glancing at the room, I find Eleanor on the dance floor with Santi, holding one of his hands as they sway. She’s so enraptured by him she doesn’t notice me looking.

Looking past the dance floor, I see Mr. Paget-Harrington, standing with my parents and Mr. and Mrs. Smythe, parents of one of the younger Bramppath girls. Mrs. Smythe belongs to the alumni association along with Alfie’s mother. Mr. Paget-Harrington spies me looking, and gestures us over.

“Hide your phone,” Alfie warns. “Dad’ll rip you to shreds if he catches you. It’s his latest thing. Apparently screens kill brain cells.”

“Noted.”

We don identical smiles as we join the group.

“Rosemary,” Mrs. Smythe says, craning her neck to look up at me. She’s a short, bird-faced woman who I’ve never liked all that much. The fact that she is greeting only me by name, though she knows me at least as well as she knows Alfie, does not improve that fact. There’s an interesting note to her tone, but I can’t put my finger on what. “How nice to see you. You look lovely .”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smythe. Did you enjoy the wedding?”

Dull, dull, generic, dull, dull.

I hope Molly’s with Danni, at least. This will be the first night I’m not able to check in on Danni at all, even if only for fifteen minutes before she falls asleep. I’m sure she’ll be fine, but still. She shouldn’t be alone. She should be here, with me.

“It was just beautiful . And the two of you will be next, yes?”

I laugh a little too loudly at this, before realizing she’s only half joking.

Alfie’s eyes flicker sideways in surprise, then he melts into a practiced, coy smile. “I think Rose would like to finish school first.”

“Sensible,” Mum agrees.

“Young girls spend too much time being sensible these days,” Mr. Paget-Harrington says, clapping me on the shoulder. Hard. “There’s nothing wrong with a little risk. A little romance. Helen and I were married by twenty, and look at us now.”

“If it’s right, it’s right,” Father agrees, and I look at him pointedly. He doesn’t meet my eye.

“Don’t wait too long,” Mrs. Smythe says, “or he might run out of patience.”

Alfie laughs and takes my hand. “No pressure, but I’m kind of a big deal. You wouldn’t want to lose me, now, would you?”

The group titters. My smile is becoming more and more forced. I know he’s only playing along, but it’s bordering on turning me into the villain if I don’t verbally agree with them all. It is, I think, a step beyond what’s necessary to sell us.

“Just be sure to keep us in the loop if you do decide to take the next step,” Mrs. Paget-Harrington adds. “We could perhaps use my mother’s ring. She would’ve loved the idea of Rosemary having it.”

This doesn’t seem like a particularly appropriate conversation to be holding around non-family members, and yet here we are. What an excellent way to start a rumor.

Excusing us, I walk Alfie to a quiet corner, and keep a steady smile on my face while I speak. Always assume the room is watching. If I haven’t learned that lesson by now, I never will. “Are we getting engaged now?” I ask. “Because I thought it was customary to check with each other first before diving into something like that?”

Alfie just laughs. “Of course not. They were joking.”

“Were they?”

“ Yes, Rosie. We’re seventeen. That’s what happens when you’re around your parents and you’re a couple. You get teased.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t know,” I say, still forcing the same smile.

“What, you don’t want to follow me to Oxford?” he asks, his eyes glittering.

“I’ll happily visit you at Oxford. How about that?”

“Maybe you should consider it. Your father isn’t all wrong, you know.” He pauses. “Have you… put much thought into your future at all?”

“We’re only in fifth year.”

“I know. But then suddenly, we’re going to be in sixth. And then, who knows? I admit, I’ve been curious. What happens to you in the long term? Are you planning on marrying?”

“I suppose so, yes. One day.”

He nods thoughtfully. “And I’d hazard a guess you’d want a husband who’s happy to cover for you while you partake in… other activities behind the scenes?”

“I imagine it would be rather difficult if he weren’t happy.”

“So do I.” He gives me a mischievous grin. “In that case, you know, you could do a lot worse than me.”

“Are you volunteering?” I tease.

He stops grinning, and I almost forget to keep my own expression pleasant. “Are you… volunteering?” I repeat.

He only shrugs.

“But why?” I ask, nonplussed. “If you’re honestly being serious, why on earth would you volunteer to marry me when you don’t lo—” I catch myself, and look at him in questioning horror.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not in love with you, don’t fret. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about what it would be like to be your husband.”

“And?”

“And… I think you’re wonderful. I would be more than happy to spend a life with you.”

“Until you do fall for someone.”

“Well, I admit I assumed you wouldn’t be demanding monogamy from me. Isn’t a side piece one of the treasured traditions of kings worldwide?”

I stare at him, and he seems to realize what he’s said. “Kings of yesteryear, anyway,” he corrects.

“In other words,” I say coolly, “the fate I have to settle for—in which I must forever hide the woman I love—is one you would voluntarily choose?”

“It’s just as voluntary for you as it would be for me,” he says.

I bristle, and open my mouth to tell him off, but he interrupts before I can. “Think about it. You’re choosing to become queen. If you stepped aside, you could do what you wanted with your life. But you know, as I do, that hiding is a small price to pay to stand at the head of our country. To be the one everybody looks up to, and listens to. To have the power to make changes. Think of the sort of good we could do together. I know I couldn’t pull it off as I am. But by your side?”

I suppose, now that he mentions it, I can see Alfie in the role. How many times have I marveled at his ability to make small talk, and charm strangers, and hold himself in the spotlight? He was born for it, in ways that I wasn’t. But I was actually born for it, and because of that, my choice will always hold a different weight to his.

“It’s more complicated than that for me,” I say thinly.

“Perhaps. But I think, at the heart of it, you’re intoxicated by the potential your life could hold in that position.”

“Perhaps,” I say, “Or maybe you simply believe I must feel that way, because you do.”

“Right, because I don’t know your internal world at all,” he says, looking—amazingly—amused. “Ever since you met Danni Blythe, all you can talk about is wanting to be good. There is no greater good than this.”

I look past Alfie at this. My mind is swirling with thoughts I can barely begin to parse. I look past his parents, and mine, and beyond them—beyond the crowd—I find William’s eyes boring into me as he watches us speak.

“We’re friends,” I say to Alfie, still looking at William. “I couldn’t…”

“Would a stranger be any better, though? Really think about it, Rosie.”

And I do. I picture all of it.

Alfie proposing with the Harrington family ring. Marriage. Children. Coronation. Secrets. Lies. Cages.

My future was set in motion long ago, and I have no choice but to be swept along.

What does that future look like? Truly? Stealing kisses in secret rooms, all the while terrified that I will be found out, and I will lose the love of my family, the love of my country, my future, and my identity, in one fell swoop.

Marrying somebody I can never love, and sleeping with him over and over while my entire body recoils with revulsion, just so I can serve as an incubator for the continuation of the crown. Screaming in agony, or bleeding out in a hospital bed like Mum, as I birth children I never wanted inside me to begin with.

And all the while shoving it down, further and further, until I’m not really here at all.

I try to numb the wave of grief this thought brings, but for the first time, I can’t. It won’t switch off. So, I try to comfort myself. Maybe, I think, I won’t have to bear it for all that long. Not everybody lives to old age.

Although I initially take solace in the thought, I soon catch myself with horror. What does it say, if the thought of staying on this path is more horrifying than the thought of my own early death?

What is wrong with me? That I can be comforted by that?

What is wrong with me, that it took me this long to realize how terrifying the thought of my predetermined path actually is?

“Let’s dance with Eleanor and Santi,” Alfie says, taking my hand.

How did we get here? How can it be that, mere months ago, I met a girl named Danni Blythe, and now I’m discussing an engagement to Alfie? I feel like a flake on a snowball.

I follow him without a word.