The princess deception, p.20
The Princess Deception, page 20
Gritting her teeth so hard her jaw ached, Viola forced herself to skim the article. Most of the truth was there: Sebastian had overdosed on heroin in Paris, where he had been admitted to the Hôpital Hôtel Dieu (according to a former employee), and was now at the Sirona rehabilitation facility. For weeks, Viola had been impersonating him, “in an attempt,” Duke had written, “to cover up the scandal.” That particular phrase made Viola even angrier.
Two photographs had been placed in the middle of the article: one of Sebastian last year, and one of her from last week. The differences were noticeable, but not entirely conclusive, despite the arrows pointing out their height discrepancy. The nail in the coffin was a quote by Maria Fournier, who claimed to have become suspicious of “Sebastian” at the gala. If she truly had been Duke’s leak, she was a better actor and more observant than Viola had given her credit for.
Viola leaned back heavily in the chair and closed her eyes. They were burning, and her chest felt as though it wanted to explode. She wanted to explode, but she had to think. Was there any way out of this? Could the palace try to deny it? If her father sent a helicopter to Sirona to collect Sebastian, and they all held a press conference together late this morning…
No. Not only would such a plan be a waste of time and resources, the idea of thrusting Sebastian into the public eye under such conditions was a recipe for relapse. There was no way to deny it. They were just going to have to manage the situation as best they could.
“I’m sorry,” Thijs said, and despite having been against this plan from its inception, he sounded genuine. “I hope you know how much I respect you for what you tried to do.”
She turned and looked up at him in surprise. “Even though you thought it was madness?”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He sighed and took a seat on the edge of her bed. She had never seen him look so defeated, and another barb of guilt pierced her as she realized her own actions were to blame.
“Your Royal Highness, I’m honored to hold this position, and I take it very seriously. I’ve always been suspicious of allowing any emotions to affect my judgment. But over the past few weeks, I’ve learned that sometimes, relying strictly on logic is just as faulty. Initially, yes, I thought your plan ridiculous, even dangerous. But since then, I’ve spoken with Antonio about his own addiction, and I was with you when you visited Sebastian. Everything you risked, you did to support him and to enable his hard work. Please believe me when I tell you that I can empathize with that motivation.”
Viola stared at him. Thijs had never spoken that many words to her all at once, and suddenly, his reticence and formality made perfect sense. While many of his peers developed friendships with those whom they protected, Thijs had seen those emotional investments as potentially undermining his mission. His distance had been born of an effort at perfect professionalism.
“Thank you, Thijs,” she whispered. Suddenly on the verge of tears, she blinked them back. “Thank you for everything. I’m glad we understand each other now.”
He nodded gravely. “I hope, ma’am, that you can also understand why it’s important that we return to Brussels right away. Once this story gains momentum, the press will find you quickly. It’s better for everyone that you be under the palace’s protection.”
She nodded, thoughts racing again, feeling as though her mind were being torn in different directions. “And Sebastian?”
“Ruben thinks it best that he remain at Sirona for the moment. They have been alerted, and additional security has been dispatched for him.”
“All right.” She glanced back down at the paper, taking strength from a fresh surge of anger. “I’ll go. But I need to see Duke once we’re back in Brussels. We’ll stop at her apartment on the way to the palace.”
Her tone brooked no arguments, but Thijs tried anyway. “Your Royal Highness, please, that’s—”
“I’m not changing my mind.” Viola threw open the closet, debating what to wear. She had none of her own clothes, only Sebastian’s. “I’m going to confront her,” she said, settling on a light gray suit over a black linen shirt. No tie, and she refused to wear that damn breast binder, either. No more lies, no more games.
“And then I’m never going to see her again.”
* * *
Brussels, Belgium
Duke woke twitching from a terrifying dream in which she had been trapped between two boulders, one ankle twisted and stuck, while a swarm of hornets stung her legs and arms and face repeatedly. She gasped for breath as the worst of the nightmare faded, only to realize that her phone was buzzing.
The hornet swarm.
Stabbing with her thumb, she answered it. “Hello?” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too groggy.
“What the hell are you and my brother doing, Duke?” Juno was as angry as the hornets had been. “I thought you were supposed to be a serious reporter, not a yellow journalist!”
Duke might not yet be fully awake, but she had plenty of practice arguing with Juno. “What are you talking about?” she snapped back, glancing at the hotel’s bedside clock and noting that it was barely past eight.
“What am I—” Juno’s strangled laugh was incredulous. “I’m talking about the fact that you and Toby just published a trashy article exposing Prince Sebastian’s drug addiction. And don’t tell me ‘the public deserves to know,’ because I know you never believed that argument when it applied to yourself about being gay. God, Duke, I didn’t think either of you were so cruel.”
Duke froze in the act of swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Was Juno telling the truth? Had Toby violated his promise and published the story? And put her name on it, too? “No. My God, no! Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Juno said, though she now sounded uncertain. “I’m looking at the article right now. The byline has your name on it.” Her burst of indignation seemed to have cooled into confusion. “What the hell is going on?”
Pain, anger, and fear buffeted Duke like the eyewall of a hurricane, flooding her with panic. She could easily guess why Toby had broken his word, but what exactly had he done, and why had he involved her in it? Had Viola seen this article? If she had, she would believe Duke had played her false the entire time, betraying her just when they were starting to grow close. The mere thought loosed a groan from her throat.
“Duke?” Juno’s voice held a note of gentleness she hadn’t heard in months. “Talk to me. Please?”
“I didn’t write an article, and Toby promised—” Suddenly galvanized, she stumbled toward her desk and stabbed at her laptop’s keyboard. “I have to see it. How do I find it?”
“Google Prince Sebastian.”
Duke cradled her phone in the crook of her shoulder and neck. She could barely think, and her fingers trembled when she tried to type. “I—I’ll call you back, okay?”
“No,” Juno said quickly. “I’m staying on the line. You’re scaring me.”
Duke didn’t reply. The top search result had to be what Juno was referring to: an article with a headline that read, Crossdressing Belgian Princess Covers Up Twin’s OD. Her stomach roiled, and she swallowed hard as she clicked on the link. Sure enough, her own name stared back at her from the byline. She stared back at it in disbelief. No. This wasn’t happening.
Except that it was. She read the first sentence, then the second. By the third, her eyes were blurring with tears. She felt them running down her cheeks, dripping from her chin. No. No no no. It was a useless mantra.
When she reached the end, her nausea sharpened into urgency. “I’m going to be sick,” she muttered, and carefully set down her phone before bolting to the bathroom.
She fell to her knees before the toilet, clinging to the porcelain sides with one hand and grasping at her hair with the other. Her body jerked and heaved long after her stomach was empty. When the spasms subsided, she fumbled for the flush handle and finally registered the pain in her knees and legs, not yet fully healed from two surgeries and still unused to the pressure of kneeling. She reached for the edge of the sink and pulled herself up, wincing at both the pain and her own reflection. Mechanically, she washed her hands, splashed water on her face, and brushed her teeth before staggering back to the desk.
“Juno?” she croaked into the phone. “Still there?”
“Yes. Are you okay?”
“I threw up,” Duke said. Her head was pounding, and to her own ears, she sounded like a vulnerable child. But she wasn’t. She was an adult, and she had to take ownership of her mistakes.
“Tell us what’s going on, Duchess.” It was Leslie, her voice a soothing balm.
“We’re all here for you,” added Rosa.
“Me, too,” Cecilia said. “We’re going to FaceTime, okay?”
A moment later, Juno’s face appeared. She offered a slight smile, then shifted the phone so Duke could see that all four of them were gathered at the kitchen table where she had served them breakfast, less than a month ago.
It felt like years had passed since that moment.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Juno said, her face once again dominating the screen. “I got carried away.”
“She does that sometimes,” Leslie said.
Duke felt her tears start again, but this time she was also smiling. “I know,” she whispered. “But she always means well.”
“Of course I do.” Juno pretended to be exasperated. “So. Start from the beginning, okay?”
Duke did. She told them almost everything—from her research into Viola on the train, to noting Viola’s mannerisms and phrases during “Sebastian’s” speech in The Hague, to being welcomed into the royal circle thanks to her soccer résumé. How she had shared her theories with Toby and interviewed “Sebastian” and been invited to the gala. How Toby had gotten information out of Maria, and even more details from a disgruntled orderly. How she had expressed her doubts about the ethics of exposing Sebastian, and how Toby had promised to let the story go.
“That was two days ago,” she said. “Juno, I hate to say this because he’s your brother, but as soon as he left me, he must have started putting his own plan in motion.”
“He’s my half brother,” Juno said, frowning. “And he’s turned into a real asshole.”
“Why would he put your name on the article when he knew you wanted nothing to do with it?” Rosa mused.
“He probably thought she’d thank him later,” Cecilia said. “I’m sure he was paid well. But he hasn’t tried to give you any money?”
“The cat would have been out of the bag if he had,” Leslie pointed out.
“I’m not taking one red cent of any money,” Duke said hotly. “But other than that, I don’t know what to do!”
“Write a rebuttal,” Rosa said. “Maybe that’s not the right word for it, but do you see what I mean? Write your version of events. Show the world your side and where you stand.”
Duke considered the suggestion. It had merit. She might even be able to get Goal to publish it on their sports page, since it was tangentially related to the bid. But would Viola believe it? Would she even read it?
“It’s a good idea,” she said. “Thanks. I just…I wish there was some way I could help Viola and Sebastian. The worst thing about this mess is the damage it’ll do to them. I’m partially responsible, but I can’t think of any way to help make it right.”
Silence greeted this declaration. After a long moment, Leslie leaned in to the camera frame. “About that. You’re sort of maybe falling for Viola, yes?”
Duke blinked at her. Falling for Viola? She wanted her and admired her, but had her feelings progressed past that point? Duke feared that they had. Oh, God. She couldn’t process this on top of everything else. What was she going to do now?
“Sort of, maybe?” she said weakly, parroting Leslie’s words.
They were received with a grin. “Thought so, from the way you’ve been taking about her. In that case—”
But Leslie’s advice was interrupted by three sharp raps at the door, followed by a muffled, but familiar, voice. Viola’s voice.
“Duke! I need to speak with you.”
“She’s here?” Duke whispered, as much to herself as to her friends. “I have to go.”
She ended the call and crossed the room in a haze of anxiety and fear, desperately trying to think. She had had no idea what to say. The truth, of course—along with many apologies—but there was more than one way of phrasing the truth, and that phrasing might mean the difference between misunderstanding and forgiveness.
Damp with sweat, her hands slipped on the door handle. It opened on her second try, and only then did she realize that she was still wearing what she had slept in: a tank top and boxers, her bra conspicuously absent. Viola, on the other hand, was immaculate in a dark gray men’s suit and black linen shirt. Its top two buttons were open, revealing a triangle of tan skin and just the barest hint of cleavage. The evidence that she was no longer in hiding hit Duke like a bucket of cold water.
She hastily brought her eyes back to Viola’s, but not quickly enough. She had been caught.
“Like what you see?” Viola asked frostily.
“Ms. Duke,” Thijs interjected before she could fumble for a reply. “I need to secure this apartment. Is that acceptable?”
Duke looked between them, feeling dizzy. “O—of course,” she said. As Thijs inspected first the bathroom, then the bedroom, she tried desperately to compose herself. She was going to have to be her most articulate self to convince Viola of her side of the story, especially when the opposing perspective was so much easier to believe.
Thijs returned to the foyer within moments. “I’ll be waiting just outside, ma’am,” he said.
The door clicked shut behind him. Silence fell. Viola was standing at the window, looking out over the narrow side street. She had abandoned Sebastian’s pomade and wore her short hair naturally. Duke wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around Viola’s waist and hold her, but she knew her touch would be unwelcome. Aimlessly, she prayed for the right words.
“Viola—”
The princess spun to face her. “Yes. That’s right, Ms. Duke—I am Viola Victoria Hélene Thérese, Princess of Belgium. A fact which you seem to have known for quite some time.”
Duke held her ground, though her instincts were screaming at her to retreat. Viola’s anger crackled around her, an invisible aura. Somehow, that ferocity only enhanced her beauty.
“I didn’t write that article,” Duke said urgently, sensing she didn’t have much time to try to prove herself. “I swear it. As soon as I understood your situation, I told Toby we couldn’t go through with it.”
“How convenient for you.” Viola crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “Even if I did believe you—which I don’t—you’ve just admitted to deceiving me throughout the duration of our acquaintance.”
“I didn’t know the reason!” Duke heard the anguish in her own voice and could only hope it would make an impact on Viola. “I only knew you were hiding something that had to do with your brother. I didn’t know why. If I had, I would never have said anything to Toby. I can’t possibly tell you how sorry I am.”
“Sorry?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “That’s rich. Tell it to Sebastian, who will be accosted by you people as soon as he leaves rehab. What do you think that stress will do to him?” She pointed one accusatorial finger at Duke. “That’s what I was trying to prevent. Drug addiction is a disease, not a scandal!”
Duke wracked her brains for words, any words that might help. This conversation was spiraling out of control, and while she felt as though she deserved every single one of Viola’s angry retorts, she wanted her to know that she had never intended to cause such pain.
“I regret not telling you,” she said. “I should have told you I knew your identity right away. I certainly should have told you after Toby learned what happened by sleeping with Maria. But then he went to Paris and somehow discovered the hospital where Sebastian had been treated, and when he shared that information with me, I made him agree not to write anything, but he—”
“Wait.” Viola’s voice cracked like a whip. “Your friend Toby had sex with Maria Fournier, and she gave him the tip that led him to Paris?”
“Yes.” Somewhere in her babble, Duke had clearly stumbled upon an item of importance, and she offered it up eagerly.
“Did Maria tell him how Sebastian came to be at the hospital?”
Duke frowned, desperately trying to remember what Toby had told her. He told her Sebastian had been hospitalized, but she couldn’t remember hearing anything about the circumstances.
“If she did, he didn’t tell me,” she said. “Why is that important? Can I help?”
Viola looked at her coldly. “We don’t know where Sebastian was that night. All we know is that he was dropped off at the hospital by a hired car shortly before dawn.”
Duke felt her jaw drop. “Someone put him in a car by himself?”
“While he was unconscious and slowly asphyxiating, yes.” Her lips twisted in a grimace. “Which is why I was doing everything in my power to protect him, because I never, ever want him to be in that situation again. And you—you made it worthless. Out of greed.”
Reeling with guilt, Duke watched Viola walk toward the door. Would this be the last time she ever saw her? Duke thought she might be sick again. She couldn’t leave it this way.
“Viola, please,” she called. “I promise I’m telling the truth. I promise I wasn’t motivated by greed. I promise I tried to protect you and Sebastian, though I’ll be the first to admit that I did too little too late. I admire you so much for what you’ve done. I’ll do anything I can think of to help.”
With one hand on the door, Viola turned. “I don’t want your promises, and I wouldn’t trust them even if I did. Stay away from me, Ms. Duke. That’s the only way you can help me now.”
