The princess deception, p.21
The Princess Deception, page 21
When the door clicked shut, Duke’s strength gave out. She sank to the floor, staring at the lightly checkered pattern of the carpet, waiting for the numbness of shock to wear off. When it did, she wept freely, pulling her knees up to her chest as she leaned against the bed, shuddering with each sob. Why did everything she touch turn to ashes? First her soccer career, and now any hope she might have entertained about being a serious journalist. Not to mention her relationship with Viola.
She wept all the harder when she realized how self-serving she was being. No abstract, nefarious force was at work. She wasn’t under some kind of ridiculous curse. Her soccer career had ended because of bad luck combined with narrow cruciate ligaments. Her journalism career, on the other hand, was in danger of ending because she had made selfish decisions rather than thinking first of ethicality. And Viola—Viola was suffering for those decisions. Viola and Sebastian both.
Meanwhile, she sat here on the floor of her hotel room, drowning in her own tears. No. There had to be something she could do. There just had to be. After struggling to her feet, she retrieved her phone and called Juno back.
“Duke!” Cecilia was in front of the camera when the call connected. “We were just debating whether sending a text would be too much of an interruption. How did it go?”
“Not great,” Duke said thickly. “Awful, to be honest. She blames me, as she should. I blame me. I have to try to fix this somehow.”
“While you’re not entirely blameless,” Juno acknowledged as she moved into the frame, “much of the responsibility falls squarely on the shoulders of my asshole half brother.”
At her mention of Toby, Duke was reminded of Viola’s interest in his dealings with Maria. “You know what else he did? Plied Sebastian’s girlfriend with drinks, used her to gain information, and then slept with her.”
“What?” Rosa sounded outraged.
“She’s not blameless either,” Duke said, “but it seems to me like she has a serious drug problem.”
“And Toby exploited that,” Juno said, her jaw tight. “When I see him next, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind!”
An idea was slowly forming in Duke’s mind. “Would it be too much to ask you not to?” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Toby probably has information he hasn’t shared with me. Some of it might be really important.” She scrubbed at her face with both hands. “The one thing I learned about Viola today, other than that she never wants to see me again, is that her family doesn’t know how Sebastian overdosed. Someone put him in a car while he was unconscious and sent the car to the hospital.”
“That’s insane,” Leslie murmured in the background.
“Toby got key information from Maria, and he was just in Paris, poking around. That’s how he learned the name of Sebastian’s rehab facility.” As the idea coalesced, Duke stood. Her legs felt shaky, but she was unable to sit still. “What if he knows where Sebastian was when he overdosed, but he’s withholding that information? It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Why would he do that?” Juno asked.
Duke shook her head, then stopped when the movement made her dizzy. “I don’t know. Insurance?”
“You mean like blackmail?” Cecilia was incredulous.
“I don’t know,” Duke said again, frustration mounting. “I’m probably grasping at straws, right? But they’re all I have.” She wanted to pace the room but didn’t have the strength. Instead, she threw herself down on the bed. “Even if he does have more information, he’ll never give it to me.”
“True,” Juno said, but the fierce edge to her voice halted Duke’s descent into another round of self-recrimination. “But what if we take it?”
Chapter Fifteen
German Airspace
As the jet’s ascent evened out, Viola reclined in her seat and closed her eyes. Sleep had not come easily in the days since the exposé had been published, and she didn’t expect it to cooperate now, either, but she had to try. The reception to open her exhibition at the Tusarova Gallery in Prague was this afternoon, and it would be her first appearance in public since the press conference her family had held at the beginning of the week.
Realizing where her thoughts had gone, she tried to direct them into less anxiety-producing channels. Despite the media firestorm that had sprung up around her, temporary relief was in sight. Sasha had invited the Queer Royals’ Club to Balmoral Castle next weekend, and Viola was counting down the days. Right now, nothing appealed more than the prospect of secluding herself in the company of friends who could empathize with almost every aspect of her plight. She only wished Sebastian had friends who were truly supportive. He would need to find a new social scene once he was released from Sirona in just a few days.
She had said as much to Sasha when they spoke, and with her typical insight, Sasha had offered the beginnings of a solution. She would have her brother, Arthur, reach out to Sebastian. Arthur and his wife Ashleigh were not heavy partiers—especially since the birth of their daughter—and they could help Sebastian find a new circle. Viola was still terribly worried about what would happen when he reentered society, especially during the first few weeks after his return to public life, when the media frenzy would be at its most intense.
Strangely, Sebastian was not as concerned. She and her parents had delivered the news of the exposé in person, but instead of falling to pieces as they had feared, his only reaction had been a long, slow exhale. He had turned to Viola, who was trying not to cringe in anticipation of his anger.
“Please don’t look at me that way,” he had said, his voice quiet but saturated with emotion. “You did everything you could to protect me—far above and beyond what most siblings would have done. It’s not your fault you were discovered.” He had even managed a wan smile. “I’d like some good to come of all this. Maybe it’s for the best that the world knows about my addiction. In time, once I feel stronger, I’d like to be an advocate for drug awareness education and humane treatment policies.”
“That’s a great idea, son,” their father had said warmly. “Though I agree there’s no rush.”
“Yes.” Their mother, who sat beside him on the couch in the sun-filled sitting room of his suite, had squeezed his shoulders. “Please, take your time. The most important thing to us is that you stay safe and healthy.”
Sebastian had smiled at them, then turned his solemn gaze on Viola. “That goes for you, too, Vi. You’re under an awful lot of stress right now.”
Viola had wanted to cry, but instead, she forced a smile. “I’ll take care of myself. I promise.”
So much for redirecting her thoughts. She was keeping that promise as best she could, but her body was betraying her with insomnia and a lack of appetite. Viola opened her eyes, sat up, and finished the sparkling water she’d requested at takeoff. Immediately, the stewardess was at her elbow.
“Another drink, Your Royal Highness?”
The very least she could do was stay hydrated. “The same, please.”
When the woman left, Thijs sat in the chair facing hers. “May we talk about the security precautions this afternoon, ma’am?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, bringing her chair back up to its seated position.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was hoping you’d fallen asleep, but when I saw you were awake—”
“It’s for the best.”
She listened closely as Thijs explained the additional security measures that had been taken to protect her, and she paid special attention to the photographs and blueprint of the Tusarova that he spread out on the table between them as he discussed extraction plans and routes. All the while, she tried not to feel guilty about the additional taxpayer dollars being spent because of her notoriety. Her situation had deteriorated even further since the publication of Duke’s solo article, in which she claimed Toby had sold their story all by himself, after she had asked him to abandon it. But if that were the case, why had he put her name on the exposé and split the money with her? Duke had been honest about that much, and about what she planned to do with it: give every cent to Eclipse. Privately, Kerry had confirmed the donation.
Deception, more like. It was a flashy, calculated move, and Viola saw right through it. Duke was clearly playing some strange kind of “good cop, bad cop” game with Toby, the end result of which was that they both got the infamy they wanted. The ethical side of journalism would probably exonerate Duke, and she could go on to have a perfectly legitimate career, while Toby could rise to prominence in the tabloids.
Unless, of course, Duke was telling the truth. In which case, she had tried to do the right thing shortly after realizing the stakes, and was in the end only guilty of trusting the wrong person.
“Viola?” Thijs had never used her name, and hearing him speak it now jolted Viola out of her reverie. She must have gone off on a mental tangent so extreme she hadn’t heard his first few attempts at recapturing her attention.
“I’m so sorry. I’m afraid, I—I drifted off.”
“Where?” he said, so kindly she wanted to cry.
“Nowhere worth returning to.” She pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose. It had been oddly difficult to retrain herself not to rub her eyes, now that she was back to wearing makeup. “Let me recap the extraction routes so you’re sure I know them.”
Once she was comfortable with the plan and its contingencies, and after urging her to sleep, Thijs returned to the back of the plane. Sleep was easier said than done, of course. The problem with sleep was that she had to relax to do it. And every time she relaxed, she started to seriously consider the idea that Duke might be telling the truth. During their brief time together, they had connected in a meaningful way, below the surface level, and Viola didn’t want to think about that. Better to focus on the surface—on desire itself, rather than what lay beneath it. How could anything more powerful than lust ever flourish with so much mistrust between them, anyway?
I’m attracted to you.
Duke’s answer in Amsterdam had been well phrased. Such a simple sentence, and yet it was haunting Viola because she thought it might actually be true. Duke had, after all, known her real identity when she said it.
Viola shifted uncomfortably as her rebellious body made its own wishes known. Thoughts of Duke were always accompanied by pangs of arousal, which made them doubly uncomfortable. She had done her best to ignore them, but perhaps that was the wrong approach. What if she needed to burn this need out of her, instead of sublimating it? Perhaps there would be some willing woman in Prague, and so what if she would be the first total stranger Viola had dared take to bed? She wasn’t inexperienced in any other way.
She would have to see how everything unfolded tonight. If she saw someone intriguing, she would at least consider the possibility of a liaison.
Anything to purge herself of this lingering desire for Duke.
* * *
Prague, Czechoslovakia
Duke opened the closet door and stared at its contents, wondering if her current mindset bore any similarities to how ancient warriors had felt before arming themselves for battle. She removed one dress, then another. Some “armor.” Still, it was important for her to look her very best, since there was a chance that she would come face-to-face with Viola.
As much as she might wish otherwise, she couldn’t imagine any conversation between them going well. But that was why, in addition to her armor, she had a weapon—a thick envelope filled with everything Juno had been able to glean from Toby’s computer.
If turnabout was fair play, they had managed it beautifully. Juno had visited Duke in Brussels at the end of the week, and they had pretended to fight. She called Toby and asked to stay with him instead. He grudgingly agreed, and while he was asleep, she had searched through his computer for any notes he might have taken about Maria and his trip to Paris.
She’d found them, spending only long enough to confirm the relevant files weren’t password-encrypted before copying them onto an external drive. When they sat down together the next morning to examine the contents, Duke had watched her grow more and more furious. Toby had kept a daily journal of his progress, and the extra dimensions it revealed were ugly.
“Sebastian overdosed at a ‘Lorelei party’?” Juno had asked, pointing to the words. “What is that?”
“No idea.” Duke’s eyes strained to take in as much information as quickly as possible. “But it looks like Toby met with Lorelei, whoever she is, while he was in Paris.” A phrase near the bottom of the screen suddenly caught Duke’s attention. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Hang on. I need to scroll down.”
“But I’m not there ye—”
Duke held up one hand. “Wait. Please. Let me focus.” The more she read, the harder her heart began to pound.
“What?” Juno asked more urgently.
“He made a deal,” Duke said, hearing the disgust in her own voice. She scrolled back up to where Toby’s notes on his meeting with Lorelei began. “Right there. Read that.”
“Son of a bitch!” Juno said after a moment. She meant it, too—while she and Toby shared a father, his mother was, according to Juno, a gold digger. Either the flaw was genetic, or Toby had learned his own manipulation skills at his mother’s knee.
Juno stood and began to pace the width of Craig’s living room. “I can’t believe this. No—I can believe it—I just can’t believe I’m related to him. What kind of person bargains away information about someone’s near death experience for lifetime party invitations?”
“A selfish one.”
While Toby’s notes about his meeting with Lorelei were sparse, they would be enough for a professional investigation team to work with. Duke’s own anger at what Toby had done was tempered by a strain of relief that she now had something to share with Viola.
“All I know,” she said when Juno’s rant had finally lost steam, “is that I can’t thank you enough.”
“What will you do with this stuff?”
“Give it to Viola. After making several copies.”
“But how are you going to get to her?” Juno had pressed. “Do you even know where she is? She’s disappeared from the public eye since that press conference.”
It was true—after her single press conference on the so-called “Princess Deception,” as the media had dubbed the scandal, Viola had gone to ground. Duke thought of her constantly, wondering where she was, what she was doing, and whether she had read the rebuttal that Duke had published on Goal’s website two days prior. She hoped so. Even if it didn’t change Viola’s mind, Duke needed her to know the truth.
“I don’t know where she is right now,” Duke had said. “But I know where she’ll be this weekend. I’m even on the guest list.”
That was how she now found herself perusing the contents of her closet at the Savoy Hotel in Prague, having brought enough clothing changes for almost a week despite only staying for two nights. She finally settled on a sky blue sleeveless sheath dress with a matching jacket, its portrait collar giving way to an envelope-style front. The outfit conveyed the kind of elegant professionalism to which Duke had always aspired, and wearing it always boosted her confidence.
She would need every ounce of that confidence today. As she put the envelope in her clutch and double-checked her makeup, she silently rehearsed the speech she had committed to memory. She only hoped she would be allowed to give it.
The Tusarova Gallery was on a street of the same name in the Holesovice neighborhood, cradled in the bend of the Vitaska River. While searching for hotel options, Duke had read a little about the district—a former manufacturing center, its factories and warehouses had been converted into living space, restaurants, and offices. This gentrification had been motivated by artists, and the neighborhood was now the site of some of Prague’s finest galleries.
The bright and crisp morning had given way to an overcast afternoon. A cold breeze had picked up while she was getting dressed, and she huddled into what little warmth was provided by the thin jacket that matched her dress. She hadn’t been thinking of the weather at all when she chose this outfit, but even if she had been smart enough to check the forecast, she wouldn’t have changed her mind. There might be only the barest fraction of a chance that she would be allowed in the door, but in case she did come face-to-face with Viola tonight, Duke wanted to look her best.
The closer she got to the gallery, the more her heart rate increased. By the time she turned the corner and saw its marquee above a glossy chrome facade, every muscle in her body was taut with tension. She went to the end of the line and peered around those in front, hoping for a peek at the security. When she didn’t recognize the guard, her spirits rose. Thijs would have recognized her on sight, but she didn’t think this person would. If her name hadn’t been flagged in some way, she should be fine.
As the person ahead of her in line was allowed into the gallery, she took a deep breath, plastered what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face, and presented her ID. The man scanned it with his device, then frowned. Duke’s hopes plummeted. He spoke into his wrist mic in French, but Duke caught Thijs’s name and her throat went dry.
“Wait here,” the guard said. “You must speak with my supervisor. He will join us momentarily.”
Duke quailed at the thought of confronting him and almost turned to walk away. But the part of her that wanted to escape was the same conflict-avoidant part that had made excuses not to tell Viola that she knew her secret, the same part that had failed to recognize Toby’s duplicity. She had been afraid of so much for so long, and what good had that done her? The tenuous foundation she had started to build in the world of journalism was falling apart. She was going to have to start over, and she might as well make a new beginning right here.
Desperation added fuel to her courage. Besides wanting Viola to know the truth about her own motives, Duke needed her to know about Lorelei. Even if Thijs didn’t let Duke in, she might be able to convince him to give the envelope to Viola, especially if she mentioned that it contained valuable information about Sebastian.
