at all good.
“Like what?”
“Needlepoint.”
“Needlepoint.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Yes, that’s exactly what I just said.”
“What the fuck is needlepoint?”
“Ooh, careful. Madame Laurier won’t like your American cattiness.”
I stomp toward him, knocking his iPad out of his face. “Can we talk about this instead of behaving like children? You’re mad at me. Talk.”
He takes my hand, bringing my knuckles to his lips. I snatch it away before he can kiss me.
“Anglefell princesses have always engaged in one art form or another. You must take up something, and I thought needlepoint would be suitable.”
“I’m a journalist. I take pictures and shit. You could’ve signed me up for that!”
“Absolutely not.”
“Photography is an art!”
“Princesses don’t engage in pedestrian hobbies. They write poetry, or play the piano, or perhaps write poetry while playing the piano, but they definitely don’t run amok and take pictures for their shitty, libelous stories!”
Wow.
I stare at him in mild disbelief as he disappears behind his iPad again, the skin above his brow turning beet red as he stabs the screen.
What the hell is he talking about?
I’m about to grab the iPad from him when I hear a series of knocks at the door.
“Madame Laurier at your service.”
“Excellent,” Liam says, setting the iPad aside. “Come in!”
I glower as the door opens and Liam stands in front of me with that cocksure smile.
Oh, I’m so going to get you back for this.
Needlepoint, as it turns out, is the exact sort of thing grandmothers do to pass the time. I can’t think of anything more mind-numbing than piercing a square of canvas over and over with yarn to make an intricate design. It took about four hours, but I’m finally done with my embroidered masterpiece.
Madame Laurier purses her lips as she looks over the loopy, golden thread on my pillow. It’s hilarious because she can’t say anything.
“I don’t believe His Majesty will find that amusing.”
“I am sure he will appreciate it.”
She shakes her head, standing up from the poofy armchair, her limbs stiff with rage.
“Can I go now?” I ask.
“You may.”
“He’ll know you had nothing to do with it.”
I turn my back on Madame Laurier and her stuffy sewing studio, bursting through the doors. The pillow remains stuffed under my arm as I make the trek back to our suite, where no doubt some new punishment will be awaiting me. I’ve got to think of some way to get back at him.
Liam isn’t in the suite when I climb back upstairs, so I tuck the pillow neatly in the center of his massive bed. On it, the gold, embroidered FUCK YOU is embellished in flowery curves. I sit on the bed and think of an appropriate response to Liam’s fuckery, and then my eyes fall on the soccer ball sitting on the floor.
Yes.
It turns out that hosting a tea party is actually a pretty big deal. Especially if the invitation is coming from a royal. Apparently, an invitation from a princess to one of her subjects counts as a direct order.
It’s a breezy day, but I insisted on having the party al fresco. I also insisted on having a long table set up outside the castle where paparazzi were sure to show up, because the princess was tired of looking at the inside of her castle walls.
The light pink table is already prepared with mismatched teacups and plates of sandwiches. White-and-pink balloons flutter in the air beside the giant white tent. I sit at the head of the table and wait for people to show up.
The first guests are three of Liam’s brothers: Lucian, Tom, and James. James, the youngest of them all, stops in his tracks the moment he sees me, looking up and down at my strange appearance. Lucian however, greets me warmly.
“Thanks for the invitation. We’ve been waiting to have quality time with our new sister-in-law.”
He bumps his cheek against mine, kissing the air. When he pulls back, I can see laughter dancing in his eyes. “I can’t wait for my brother to show up.”
Then he laughs, shaking his head. He pulls one of the white lawn chairs out and sits. More and more high-society members drift up the long path to the castle’s lawn to join the party. They’re all exquisitely dressed, except for me.
I’m wearing jeans, flip-flops, and a t-shirt. None of it is remarkable, except for the fact my t-shirt has a giant soccer ball along with the words DANVILLE SOCCER LEAGUE.
And I know it’ll incense Liam the moment he sees it.
Lucian leans across the table, a smile