The princess deception, p.19
The Princess Deception, page 19
Viola stirred, and Duke turned her own face away, lest she somehow betray her thoughts. The story would die, and Sebastian would eventually make it out of rehab, and Duke would find a way to connect with Viola when she was playing herself and not her brother. Yes.
And they would all live happily ever after.
* * *
Amsterdam, The Netherlands
The following evening, Duke opened her hotel door for Toby, already dreading what she would hear. His texts had been annoyingly mysterious, boasting of “epic news” that would, he promised “pull the whole thing together.” She was almost positive that meant he wanted to break the story as soon as possible, and she was nervous about the confrontation they were about to have.
He arrived brandishing an elegant blue box branded with the Johnny Walker imprimatur and a taut, predatory smile that filled Duke with dread. He must have discovered something new—something that was important enough to warrant buying a two-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch. Trying to remain nonchalant, Duke raised her eyebrows as he set the box on her dresser and opened it with a flourish.
“What are we celebrating?” she said, keeping her tone light.
“Get some glasses,” he said. “I got something big in Paris.”
She did her best to wait patiently as he poured, knowing he was enjoying the chance to string her along. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Cheers,” she said mildly, as they settled into the chairs near the window. The aroma of the scotch was enticing, and it slid smoothly down her throat, leaving a pleasantly smoky taste behind that temporarily distracted her from her unease.
When he smacked his lips, she struggled to maintain a bland expression. Were Viola’s perfect manners wearing off on her? More likely, her annoyance was a function of her increasing distaste for him.
He allowed the suspense to build until it was all she could do not to shout at him. Every silent second wound her nerves tighter and tighter. She should have realized this whole plan was a mistake, sooner. No—she should never have told him her theory about Viola to begin with. Regret and fear joined her tension, a braid fit to strangle her.
“I found someone at the hospital who was eager to flip,” he said finally. “A disgruntled orderly passed over for promotion.”
“And?” She leaned forward, hoping he would mistake her apprehension for enthusiasm.
“And we now have the exact date and time when Sebastian was admitted to the hospital, which means we can narrow our focus to figure out where he was and who he was with on the night of the overdose. And once we know that—” He snapped his fingers. “Case closed.”
Duke shivered and made a show of going to the closet for a sweater, even though she wasn’t cold. As she pulled it off the hanger, she fought down a wave of panic. Clearly, Toby wasn’t going to give up. It might take him days or weeks to get the final puzzle pieces, but once he did, he would move quickly to expose Viola. Which meant she had to convince him to call off his hunt. Immediately.
She returned to her chair, took a long, fortifying sip, and steeled herself for the argument she was about to start. She only hoped he could be made to see the value of compassion.
“Toby…the more we learn about this whole situation, the less comfortable I am with making it public. Doesn’t Sebastian deserve to recover in peace?”
He snorted. “He’ll be fine. The orderly told me he got transferred to Sirona, one of those luxury rehab resorts. The place is in the middle of nowhere and probably as secure as Fort Knox.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Duke said, hoping that by acknowledging him in that way, he would be more open to what she had to say next. “But I was talking about after he comes home. It’s going to be hard enough for him to readjust to his own life. Why should we make it harder on him?”
Toby was looking at her as though she’d grown three heads. “How is that my problem?”
Duke noted his change in pronoun, from the collective to the individual. As soon as she had lodged a real protest, he had switched from “we” to “me.” It wasn’t an encouraging sign, but she still had to try to get through to him. She wet her dry lips with another sip of scotch.
“It’s our problem because we’d be instigating it by choosing to break this story.”
Toby scoffed. “That’s the most ridiculous—”
He wanted to deliver a lecture, but that didn’t mean she had to listen. Better to nip his speech in the bud before he was able to convince himself with his own rhetoric.
“Stop. It’s not ridiculous. I know I’m the one who came to you in the beginning with this lead, and believe me when I tell you how much I’ve appreciated your help while we’ve looked into it. You should take up investigative reporting—you’re good at it. But now that we know the whole story, or close to it, we need to consider ethics.”
Toby’s eyes were narrow in clear skepticism and displeasure, and once again, she was reminded of how much she owed him. Sharing her lead had been a way of repaying, and ripping it out of his hands would make the playing field between them uneven again. But she wasn’t going to allow that debt to overwhelm her moral compass.
“You suddenly think our plan is unethical?” The scorn in his voice made her feel small.
“Look,” she said, battling her insecurity. “What if Sebastian had cancer? Would you feel comfortable breaking that news, if it was clear he didn’t want the public to know? I wouldn’t. Journalists have respected the privacy of people in similar situations. Drug addiction is a disease, too—ask any respected medical professional. But because most of the public doesn’t see it that way, the ethics seem murkier. They’re not.”
Duke took a deep breath and plunged on. “Which means this has to end,” she said, injecting her voice with all the confidence she didn’t feel. “I’m ending it. Right now. We’re not publishing the story, and we need to stop researching it immediately.”
“Are you serious right now?” Toby said shrilly. “You want to let this whole thing go?”
“Yes.”
He slammed back his scotch and got up to pour another. “Because of ethics,” he said, an ugly note creeping into his voice, “or because of Viola?”
Duke kept her eyes locked on his, willing her expression to remain impassive. He was grasping at straws. He couldn’t have any idea of how her feelings for Viola had changed and deepened, and she wasn’t about to let him bluff her into an admission of sentimentality.
“Because of ethics,” she said steadily. “Exposing them both crosses the line. It’s not the right thing.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He clutched the tumbler so hard she thought it might shatter. “It sure as hell is the right thing. We’re sitting on a gold mine! Your precious princess took a gamble and lost. That’s no one’s fault but her own.”
Duke wanted to throttle him. Instead, she dug her fingers into the back of the chair and tried to adopt a calm, rational tone. “Think about it. What good will we do by exposing her? Her family will be embarrassed and the attention might set Sebastian back.”
Toby stared at her as though she were a bug he wanted to crush. Cheeks mottled, he pointed at her with the same hand that held his refreshed scotch, the golden liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
“Does it look like I give a flying fuck about the Belgian royal family? They’re filthy rich and can hide in one of their several castles until the news cycle finds something better to talk about. Breaking this story will make your career and mine.”
He was probably right, but she didn’t care. Breaking this story would break Viola’s heart, and she wasn’t going to be a party to that. Feeling her temperature rise, she stood and went to the window. As she had suspected, Toby was fundamentally selfish. He clearly didn’t care about the public service aspect of journalism. To convince him, she needed to make him think it was in his own best interest to abandon this scoop.
“You could be right,” she said slowly, “or we could be branded as mercenaries for violating the privacy of Belgium’s first family.” Some of the bullheadedness went out of his expression, and she prayed he was starting to listen. “I was hired to cover the bid, not write an exposé. I want to be a sports journalist, not work for TMZ. And you’re a respected sports photographer. This story could break us, not make us. There will be others to tell that don’t involve dubious ethics.”
Silence greeted her appeal, and as it stretched on, she struggled not to reveal her discomfort. Toby was biting his lip and staring into his scotch. His restraint was surprising after the force of his earlier vehemence. Finally, the pressure between them became unbearable.
“Let’s agree to let it go and focus on FIFA’s visit next week,” she said. “I’m working on a great piece about a few of the soccer charities that benefitted from the gala, and I bet you have the perfect photos to accompany it. I can even show you my draft right now, if you want.”
Toby tossed back his drink in one long swallow. He set the glass down so hard Duke thought it must have cracked. For one long, agonizing moment, all was silent as she held his gaze. The liquor hadn’t hit him yet, and his eyes were narrowed, focused.
“Fine. We’ll do it your way.”
Her relief was so powerful that it rendered her breathless for an instant. “Thank you,” she said once she’d recovered, hoping to toe the line between desperate and nonchalant. “I know you took a few photos of Viola as Sebastian that you were planning to use in our article. You’ll delete them?”
“Of course. No use in keeping them now.” When he grabbed the bottle and moved toward the front door, Duke’s relief intensified. The sooner he left, the sooner she could stop walking around on pins and needles. “Send me the draft of that piece you mentioned,” he said without turning around. “I’ll look at it tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.” She trailed behind him, and as he opened the door, she felt compelled to lightly touch his shoulder. They were friends, after all, and she had disappointed him.
“Thanks for understanding, Toby. Have a good night.”
He turned back just enough for her to see his profile. “Yeah. You, too.”
Once the door closed behind him, Duke slumped onto the couch, clutching at the nearest armrest as though it were an anchor. For a while there, she’d thought he was going to insist on going through with the original plan. He probably wouldn’t forgive her right away, but maybe after a cooling off period, he’d understand her logic.
She leaned back, resting her head against the cushion to ease the tension in her neck. That had not been enjoyable—he was more than a little frightening when he was angry—and she was disturbed by how differently they saw the morality of the whole situation. Still, he had finally come around, and she was almost positive that she hadn’t betrayed her growing feelings for Viola even after his baiting.
Success all around—and yet, it didn’t feel like success. The tension-draining tide of relief never materialized. She was still keyed up, still apprehensive, still restless despite her fatigue.
Duke reached for her phone and pulled up her text messages, then selected the ones from “Sebastian.” As she scrolled through their conversations, she smiled at the stilted quality of Viola’s first few messages—a cautious formality that had not quite masked her growing interest. But something had loosened in her at Sterrenlicht, and thereafter, her texts became more playful. Time might have slowed to a crawl since Viola had departed for Oslo, but at least their communications had increased in frequency. Duke was slated to return to Brussels tomorrow, where she would spend the next few days trying to work while impatiently anticipating their dinner date.
She tucked her feet to one side and stared down at the photograph she had chosen for “Sebastian’s” profile in her phone. It was one of the official photos from the gala of Viola as the master of ceremonies at the auction, one hand dipping into a top hat, poised to reveal a raffle winner. Viola had done her best to stoke the crowd’s anticipation, and her gleaming eyes and teasing smile betrayed her confidence in her own success.
As eager as she was to see Viola in person again, the prospect was also worrisome. Now that she had convinced Toby to give up the expose, she had to confront her own next steps. Should she tell Viola everything that she and Toby knew? Or should she never let on that she knew Viola’s secret, allowing her to take charge of how their relationship evolved?
The idea of Viola taking charge was thoroughly distracting, but Duke forced herself to put aside that kernel of fantasy until later. If she said nothing about Viola’s charade and managed to retain her interest, Viola would presumably tell Sebastian once he returned from rehab. He could then arrange to “introduce” his sister to her, and Viola could court her, if she so chose. Duke felt a little dazed by the prospect of being courted by a princess.
She came crashing back to reality when she realized just how presumptive she was being. What if Viola was only interested in her as some kind of dalliance? And really, how could she want Duke for anything else? Viola’s last relationship had been with a celebrity. Why would she choose a washed up soccer player for her next relationship?
Too disturbed to sit still, Duke rose and went to the window. The street below was fitfully illuminated by streetlamps, and she watched a couple walk hand in hand from one pool of light to the next. Their heads were bent toward each other. They looked happy, and that gave Duke something else to consider. In the best-case scenario, if Viola did decide she wanted a relationship, they would never be able to take a simple romantic walk. They would always be shadowed by security. And if they did make such a relationship public, the media’s unforgiving spotlight would shine more harshly on Duke than it ever had before.
How ironic, to be worried about this when she’d been on the cusp of unleashing that spotlight on Viola and her family. Guilt crashed down, plunging her back into the heart of the dilemma: should she confess her knowledge of Viola’s impersonation? Or should she try to forget she had ever known of Viola’s sacrifice, and risk saying something incriminating when her guard was down?
Duke turned away from the window and took the dirty cups into the kitchen. She washed them slowly, considering the possibilities. In the long run, she finally decided, it was better for Viola to know the truth sooner rather than later. The fewer lies, the better. She would be surprised, and quite possibly angry, but Duke thought she might be able to mitigate that anger by explaining how she had put a stop to Toby’s plans once she learned the full truth of Sebastian’s condition. Surely, that would help.
She brushed her teeth methodically, staring at her reflection. As anxiety-producing as the prospect of “coming clean” was, she felt some measure of peace in having made a decision. What would her relationship with Viola be like, once the air between them was free of all deception? Duke shivered at the thought, but in anticipation. She wanted that. She wanted it more than she had wanted anything since her soccer career had ended.
Chapter Fourteen
Oslo, Sweden
Viola was awakened by a sharp knocking sound. She woke disoriented in a bed not her own and quickly sat up, looking for some clue to her surroundings. She found it in the notepad on the nightstand, monographed with the insignia of the Grand Hotel in Oslo. The trade summit.
As the knocking returned, more loudly this time, she glanced at the clock in confusion. It was just shy of seven, and as she had no pressing engagements this morning, she had set her alarm for eight. Her schedule was known to her security. Why were they making such a commotion?
She threw off the sheets and stalked, nude, across the room, pausing at the closet to pull the terrycloth robe from its hanger and wrap it around her body. She checked the peephole—Thijs—and threw open the door.
“What on earth is—” Words failed her when she caught sight of his bleak expression. “What happened?”
He stepped inside, then closed and bolted the door behind him. “Your Royal Highness, I wish I could be gentle with this news, but I can’t.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them to meet her gaze. “You’ve been caught out. We all have.” He held out a piece of paper. “Skim this quickly, please. We leave for Brussels within the hour.”
Viola’s heart thumped painfully as panic ripped through her, constricting her lungs and making her head pound. “Caught out?” she whispered.
Thijs’s hand was at her elbow. “Are you—”
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not some delicate fainting flower!” She pulled away from him and sat at the desk, then forced herself to look down at the paper. It was a printout of an article on the web. The headline read, Crossdressing Belgian Princess Covers Up Twin’s OD.
Viola couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Was this a nightmare? But no—one edge of the paper had nicked her index finger, and the sting of the narrow cut was all too real. Caught, after the lengths to which she, and so many others, had gone. Caught, after weeks of success. Caught, with the end of this charade in sight.
“How?”
“Look at the byline.”
By Toby Hale and Missy Duke.
Viola read it again, and then a third time. She cursed, French and Dutch words mingling on her breath. No. No! This wasn’t possible. Duke had been…what? Spying on her? Gathering information for this—this tawdry exposé? For how long? And how had she possibly put all the pieces together without Viola somehow detecting her snooping?
A powerful surge of anger drove the questions from her mind, and her hand clenched, crumpling one corner of the page. How dare she! She had seemed so compassionate, so solicitous. How dare she worm her way into Viola’s good graces, then tear down everything she had so painstakingly built, exposing Sebastian to the nonexistent mercy of the media?
Guilt followed hard on the heels of her rage as she remembered her words to her parents in Paris. She had promised to take full responsibility, and she would deliver on that promise. She was responsible. If she hadn’t kept finding excuses to see Duke and include her in the bid events, this would never have happened. She had succumbed to the spell of a pretty face and allowed herself to be led around by the nose. This disaster was entirely her fault.
