Page 42 of Royal Trouble
The same words that had spurred Everly to post pictures of Lotte looking like a sodden, mascara-streaked mess on RGW. It was just one of her many regrets, but she couldn’t change the past, no matter how much she wanted to.
So much for making peace.
“Lotte. Always a pleasure.” She smiled sweetly, though it took a herculean effort. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I have an appointment to keep.”
Lotte sniffed. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to keep the head butler waiting, would we?”
Taking his cue, the butler continued down the hall, and Everly followed.
By the time they stopped before a pair of gilded double doors with ornate carvings, she was certain she’d walked a mile. So this was how the royal family kept so fit and trim. Duly noted.
The butler opened the doors with a flourish, and she stepped into the room, doing a slow turn. The room boasted a vaulted ceiling with an elegant crystal chandelier that had to be taller than Everly. The walls were painted a rich shade of emerald green, and like every other area of the palace she’d seen, they were trimmed in ivory and gold. The far wall was lined with windows that stretched two stories high and were accented with green and gold brocade curtains. Antique furniture that looked like it would shatter if you so much as breathed on it was neatly arranged around the edges of the room, and near the center there was a golden table with the largest arrangement of white roses she’d ever seen.
“His Royal Highness Prince Alexander will be along shortly,” the butler said stiffly. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
Right. Because anyone could get cozy in a place like this.
Everly nodded and did another slow scan of the room as the doors closed behind her. She wasn’t alone. There were maybe another dozen or so people waiting, dressed in their Sunday best. It was a diverse group. Some brown-skinned, some white. Some men, some women. All ranging in age from—at best guess—six to sixty years old.
What was she doing here and what was the purpose of this meeting?
The small group gave little away, although she had a feeling she was an outsider. They appeared to have little in common other than the fact that they were all presumably guests of Xander’s, but the others whispered quietly among themselves, as if they were old friends.
Story of her life. Always on the outside looking in.
The group didn’t seem to notice her, so she took a seat at the edge of the room, perching lightly on the edge of a surprisingly comfortable Louis VX chair.
Please don’t let it collapse.
There was a flutter of movement at the edge of her vision, and she realized there were a pair of photographers hovering discreetly in the wings.
Where the hell had they come from? Was it possible she’d missed them in her first sweep of the room? If so, kudos to them for blending into the surroundings so completely. She’d always heard that those who worked in the palace had an uncanny ability to blend into their surroundings, and by the looks of things, it was true.
If only she’d mastered that talent, her time in Valeria would’ve been a hell of a lot easier.
She crossed her ankles and checked the time on her phone, anxious to get this—whatever it was—over with. The run-in with Lotte had unsettled her more than she’d realized, and she was suddenly restless, her stomach swirling with nervous energy. And disappointment at the realization that she wouldn’t be spending the day alone with Xander.
…
Xander tugged at the collar of his shirt and wiped his palms on his trousers. Bloody fucking hell. He was nervous. He’d never done anything like this before, and the potential for failure was high. What had Liam been thinking entrusting him with such an important mission when there was every possibility he’d bugger it up?
“Nervous?” Liam asked.
“Of course I’m bloody nervous,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. Thank Christ Liam had agreed to join him for the first part of the afternoon. He’d never admit it, but having his elder brother’s support meant a lot to him. He wasn’t exactly accustomed to receiving a vote of confidence, let alone praise, when it came to his family. Just another part of being the screw-up. “If I fuck this up, I’ll never hear the end of it from Father.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Liam slapped him on the back. “Just be yourself and everything will work out brilliantly.”
“Be myself?” Xander scoffed. “That’s your advice?”
Liam smirked. “What I meant to say was, be yourself but, like, the best possible version.”
Xander rolled his eyes as they turned the corner into the east wing, which housed innumerable drawing rooms, dining rooms, and ballrooms for entertaining guests of the crown. “If the latest headlines are any indication, even the best possible version of myself won’t be enough to pull this off.”
Judging by the gossip rags, the whole world was just waiting for him to fail.
“Bollocks.” Liam shook his head, disgust curling his lips. “Ignore the bloody tabloids. The bullshit they print is so far removed from the truth, it should be illegal.”
Xander couldn’t argue. Sure, there’d been a time when he’d fanned the flames, but lately the stories about him were entirely based on conjecture and nonsense. Not that the public—or his father—seemed to care.