The princess deception, p.2
The Princess Deception, page 2
“Your Majesties,” Ruben said into the silence. “Have you given any more thought to my earlier question?”
When her father closed his eyes and took a deep breath, Viola knew he was in danger of a rare burst of temper. Her mother stroked his arm gently, and Viola was struck by how they took turns caring for one another. It was beautiful.
“My answer is the same as it was,” he said. “Take all reasonable precautions to keep Sebastian’s condition private. Once we have seen him, we will reevaluate the situation.”
“The paparazzi will not be reasonable.” Ruben’s tone was even and carried no note of command. At times, he was as much an advisor to her family as he was their security chief. “If word of this leaks before we make an announcement, we will be on the defensive.”
Her father’s shoulders tightened. “So be it.” When he stood, his hands were clenched at his sides. “This is the life of my son, not a narrative to spin. Have your people process it as much as you like, but not another word to me about this until we’ve seen Sebastian.”
His vehemence was as uncharacteristic as it was compelling, and Viola admired him more in that moment than she ever had. Following his lead, she got to her feet and reached out to her mother. The sooner they got to the hospital, the better.
Chapter Two
A suburb of Paris, France
Duke’s left knee twinged as she gave the bowl of eggs one final, wistful whisk and turned toward the stove top. She hadn’t anticipated how much reprising this routine would hurt, though most of the pain had nothing to do with her most recent surgery. Smothering a grimace, she fell back on the mantra she had been repeating since her arrival: Be thankful for your friends and your job.
The scent of bacon radiated from the oven, a mouthwatering aroma that was only enhanced by the scent of frying garlic and potatoes as she wielded the spatula she’d found languishing in the back of a drawer. She was no longer useful to her friends as a teammate, but at least she could still cook for them.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs snapped her out of her spiral of self-pity. So far, her mantra hadn’t been very effective. But when her ex-girlfriend Juno entered the room closely trailed by her now-girlfriend, Leslie, Duke managed a smile that wasn’t entirely forced.
“It smells amazing in here.” On her way to the refrigerator, Juno paused to plant a kiss on Duke’s cheek, while Les slumped against the counter, blinking slowly at her surroundings.
“Coffee, Les?” Duke said.
“God, yes.” Les’s voice was still gritty with sleep. “Thanks.”
If she had been anyone else, Duke would have teased her about her distaste for mornings. Duke had always been an early riser, one of many attributes she shared with Juno. Duke also refused to let the world see her uncoiffed, and her teammates had joked that she wore her makeup to bed. She didn’t actually go that far, but neither did she feel comfortable looking less than polished. The girls had dubbed her “the Duchess” in a play on her surname, and while she had complained at first, she secretly didn’t mind it at all. While not quite as fastidious in her own habits, Juno had understood her need to present a carefully controlled persona. But as refreshing as that common ground had been, Duke suspected their similarities had been the downfall of the relationship.
Les was nothing like either of them. Her boyish clothes were always rumpled, her short hair always tousled, and unless she was on a football pitch, she seemed in danger of dozing off. Duke silently scolded herself as she worked the French press. That last thought had been uncharitable. She might not understand Les’s lackadaisical approach to life, but put her between a pair of goalposts, and she turned into Spider-Woman. That counted for a lot. And she seemed to make Juno happy in ways Duke had never managed to do.
“There you go,” she said as she placed a steaming mug before the prodigy in question.
“Bless you.”
As Duke retreated behind the counter to finish preparing the meal, Rosa joined them.
“How did we live without you?” she asked Duke by way of greeting, before helping herself to the coffee.
By the time the last of the four roommates, Cecilia, appeared, the kitchen was buzzing with energy. Even Les pitched in to set the table, and soon, the fruits of Duke’s labor were being passed around the table. While the others piled their plates high, she ate sparingly and tried not to feel bitter about having to do so. Unlike her friends, she wouldn’t be burning hundreds upon hundreds of calories this afternoon, and she refused to become one of those dried-up athletes who gained weight as soon as they retired.
Tradition and superstition dictated they not talk about the game ahead, and the conversation turned instead to Duke’s new job.
“When do you have to leave tomorrow?” Rosa asked.
“My train’s at nine, so I won’t have time for a repeat performance,” Duke said, trying out a grin.
Rosa elbowed her. “That’s not why I was asking.”
“But I’m devastated,” Les said mournfully around a mouthful of potatoes.
“When is the actual event?” said Juno.
“Not until Sunday, but in the meantime, I have to meet with the Dutch authorities to get a press pass.”
“What part of the bid process is this, anyway?” said Les. “I know they declared their intent or whatever last year, but now what happens?”
Duke wanted to tell them that they didn’t have to show this kind of interest for her sake, but neither did she want to bring down the mood of the room. She also had no desire to subject herself to another lecture from Juno on how important it was to stay positive, which was exactly what she had earned the last time she’d made a self-deprecating comment about her new career.
“Usually, a bid is pretty dull: a lot of behind-the-scenes work that turns into a bureaucracy nightmare. All the paperwork culminates in the visit of a FIFA delegation that inspects each bidder’s facilities and infrastructure before a final decision is made.”
“That sounds marginally more exciting than watching paint dry,” Juno said.
Duke smiled—more at Juno’s inability to take her own advice than at the comparison. “Right? But Belgium and the Netherlands have decided to get creative and take things to the next level. The official visit only lasts a few days, but they’re turning the whole month before FIFA shows up into a celebration of their football programs. The kickoff is Saturday.”
“And you’ll get to meet both royal families?” Rosa said.
“Maybe.” Duke knew she should have been more excited about the prospect of hobnobbing with royalty, but she wasn’t. These days, she didn’t have the strength to muster enthusiasm about anything before it was absolutely necessary.
“Details, Duke,” Rosa said. “Stop playing hard to get. We want to live vicariously!”
Rosa was smiling, her words unintended knives. Duke’s chest constricted painfully and her pulse was suddenly racing and her hands had clenched into fists under the table without any conscious will. The idea that Rosa would want to give up her perfect knees and step into Duke’s broken, useless body for any reason was beyond ludicrous. A few other words sprang to mind, too, and she took a long swallow of orange juice to stop herself from saying something she’d regret. To buy a little more time, she pretended to cough, then dabbed at her mouth.
“Sorry about that,” she said, hoping they would impute the hoarseness of her voice to orange juice going down the wrong pipe, rather than the pressure of choking back rage at the weakness of her own ligaments. “Prince Sebastian is the face of the bid in Belgium, but King Maximilian has taken the lead in the Netherlands.”
“Why not Prince Ernst?” Cecilia asked.
Les arched an eyebrow. “I had no idea you were such a royal fanatic, Ceci.”
“I’m not a fanatic!” Cecilia protested.
“Haven’t you ever wondered about the gossip magazines on the coffee table?” Juno said. “They’re all hers.”
“Not all,” Rosa said. “Half are mine, and I’m not ashamed.”
Duke barely heard their banter. She didn’t know the answer to Cecilia’s question, and she should. She hadn’t done enough homework, and she knew it. Now they would, too. Before her chagrin could become full-blown self-loathing, she forced herself to move on. “Not sure why Ernst isn’t on the front lines instead. I’ll have to look into it.”
Cecilia cut her a look. “Well, Sebastian is a total smoke show. Can you at least try to appreciate that for my sake?”
“And mine,” Rosa chimed in.
For once, Duke laughed without having to force it. “I’ll do my best.”
“He’s given himself a makeover this past year,” Cecilia said. “Ever since he started dating Maria Fournier.”
“The model?” Duke might not know much about the Dutch and Belgian royals, who weren’t nearly as newsworthy as their British counterparts, but she had heard of Fournier, who had posed for a particularly provocative centerfold several months ago.
Les wrinkled her nose. “She’s dating Sebastian and not his sister? That’s disappointing.”
“You have to let some beautiful women be straight, Leslie,” Rosa said.
“Why?” Les deadpanned.
As Rosa rolled her eyes, the words sunk in. “Wait, what? Sebastian’s sister is gay?”
When all four women looked at her as if she’d sprouted an extra head, Duke knew she was in for a lecture, after all.
“Where have you been?” Cecilia said. “She had a relationship with Dahlia last year. And I know you know who that is.”
That much was true. Dahlia was one of those musical artists who didn’t require a surname. Her biggest hit had been the unofficial anthem of the national team for Duke’s final soccer season.
“The Belgian princess’s name is Viola,” Les added. “And they had broken up by the time the whole thing came to light.”
Duke was stuck on the time stamp. No wonder she had missed that tidbit of gossip. Last year had been a blur of multiple surgeries followed by months of rehabilitation. While she had stayed in touch with her closest friends, she had avoided social media on all but her most masochistic days. Watching her number of followers slowly dwindle had been a daily blow to her ego. Reading about her teammates’ exploits both on and off the pitch had opened up a new world of pain, the door to which she had only closed with the help of a sports therapist and an ongoing regimen of antidepressants.
“There were all the jokes you’d expect around Dahlia’s tongue ring,” Les continued.
Rosa nudged her playfully. “Trust you to remember that detail.”
Smirking, Les was just about to offer a retort, when Juno cut her off and put an end to the banter.
“Really, Duke, you haven’t done any research yet?” Her lips were drawn together in a thin line of displeasure. “You told me you were taking this job seriously, and I—”
“No.” Duke swiveled to face her. “Don’t you dare start.” She didn’t yell, but the words crackled with the simmering frustration that was always threatening to boil over. Clearly, Juno thought she was entitled to boss Duke around because she’d bullied her brother Toby into dropping Duke’s name at Goal Sports Network. But Duke hadn’t asked Juno for that favor, and she’d been appropriately grateful after she’d gotten the job. She wasn’t going to let Juno use that currency now.
Duke watched as Juno’s eyes narrowed and could tell the instant she decided not to heed the warning. But just as she was opening her mouth to fire a retort, Les gently rested her palm on Juno’s forearm.
“Hey,” she murmured. “Let it go.”
Duke expected Juno to blow off her current girlfriend as easily as she’d disregarded Duke’s own wishes when they were dating, but miraculously, Juno closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Huh. Interesting. While she and Juno had only ever riled each other up, Les seemed somehow capable of helping her maintain a more even keel. Maybe there was more to the kid than her sexy swagger and “good hands.”
Wanting to diffuse the tension that had filled the room, Duke pushed past her irritation at Juno. Maybe that was a sign of her own progress, because at one time, she would have wallowed in the feeling. Maybe.
“I’ve been saving my royal research for the train ride, but if you all feel like walking me through the high points, I wouldn’t say no.” She reached for her laptop. “Up to you.”
“Are you kidding?” Cecilia said, gesturing to Rosa who had lit up like a Christmas tree. “This is our thing!”
“Yes—yes, it is.” Rosa leaned forward conspiratorially. “So. Until recently, Sebastian was never one of the more interesting royals. He wasn’t very attractive—”
“Always a little chubby,” Cecilia chimed in.
Rosa seemed suddenly chagrined. “Not that appearance is everything, of course, but he was also kind of boring.”
Cecilia nodded. “He was a golf pro for a while, but never highly ranked. There was a short-lived rumor that he and that princess of Monaco were dating—you know, the one who turned out to be gay—but obviously that wasn’t true.”
“Alix,” Les interjected, her tone clearly conveying her disappointment at Cecilia’s omission. “Her name is Alix.”
Cecilia raised her hands. “Sorry! I sit corrected.”
Duke, who had pulled up her article file when Cecilia began, was fleetingly thankful for her touch typing skills. “What prompted the change?” she asked, fingers flying over the keys as she hastily made note of their observations.
“No idea, but over the past year, Sebastian lost a lot of weight and started to be seen in the company of A-listers.” Rosa shrugged. “He’s finally had some sustained runs in the tabloids.”
“Joy,” Duke said, injecting every possible ounce of sarcasm into the word.
She might not have blue blood and a coat of arms, but for a time, she’d been American soccer royalty. Once the media began billing her as the second coming of Mia Hamm, Duke had been under just enough scrutiny to know how awful it could be: the invasive and inappropriate questions about her personal life, the digging and sifting through her social media presence in an effort to find anything that might topple her from her pedestal, the minute attention paid to where she ate and what she wore and who she was seen with. She had still been light years away from the A-list, but anyone with a camera phone could be an amateur paparazzo. Which was everyone.
And yet, there was a part of her that missed the attention—a part she’d been forced to acknowledge by the therapist she had finally agreed to see. Duke had always wanted to believe herself humble: a hard worker who cared more about results than the glory that attended them. It had taken more than a few heated debates with Dr. Pena before she’d recognized her humility as self-delusion.
“Sometimes,” Pena had said into the shock of that epiphany, “when a significant change is required, you have to take yourself apart piece by piece—down to the very cornerstone of your identity—and then rebuild.”
When Duke had asked how to recognize that cornerstone so she wouldn’t accidentally throw it out with the rest of the debris, Pena had smiled and told her that was impossible.
“Your cornerstone is the most fundamental belief you have. The core value you can’t abandon. The immovable object of your psyche.”
“Hey, are you listening?” Juno’s voice was accompanied by a nudge of her foot. “We’re trying to help, you know.”
“Sorry.” Duke stifled a pretended yawn and rubbed delicately at her eyes, as though they were tired. They weren’t, but the memory had made her tear up, and she didn’t want anyone to notice. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.”
Rosa stood and squeezed her shoulder before beginning to clear the plates. “I’d be nervous about meeting royalty, too. But you’re going to do great. You’re smart and beautiful and charming—royalty in your own right. You’ll always be our Duchess.”
Duke smiled and told her she was sweet and then excused herself by claiming she had to visit the WC. As she left, she caught Juno’s scrutinizing look and prayed she wouldn’t follow. Duke quickened her pace, gained the threshold without incident, and locked the door with relief. The bathroom was tiny but private, and right now that was all that mattered. She braced her elbows on the sink and finally let the tears fall, registering the tiny plink of each drop on the ceramic surface. She wept silently, a skill she had cultivated in recent months.
It had been a mistake to come here. She’d had her misgivings, but Dr. Pena had convinced her that reconnecting with her friends—seeing them in the space they shared, going about their lives as she moved on with hers—would be good for her. Instead, all this visit had done was remind her of how much she had lost. She had ripped off the scab far too early.
As the tears finally began to slow, Duke focused on taking slow, even breaths. But when she tried running through one of Dr. Pena’s meditation techniques, her chaotic mind refused to cooperate. The hours stretched ahead, interminable and tinged with the anticipation of pain. She didn’t want to leave the house without her game bag. She didn’t want to part ways with her former teammates at the stadium entrance and watch them disappear behind the locker room door. She didn’t want to be a spectator, cheering them on with rows and barriers between her and the pitch. Even sitting the bench would be preferable to sitting in the stands.
But what she wanted didn’t matter. Her career was over, and the sooner she managed to accept it, the sooner she could find a way to move on. Today, she would find the strength to hide her grief and support her friends. Tomorrow, she would begin the first chapter of her new life in good faith with a good attitude.
Somehow.
Chapter Three
Paris, France
Despite the beep of the heart monitor and the whoosh of the ventilator, an eerie hush pervaded Sebastian’s room. It came from him, Viola realized—from the stillness of his body beneath the pale blanket. She tightened her grip on his hand as she watched her mother smooth his hair back from his forehead. Her fingers were trembling.
