the process. Nick and I were simply to walk up and greet him. And it.
“Are you thrilled and excited for this moment?” asked the gallery director, a tall, bespectacled older man with the demeanor of a British Tim Gunn.
“Absolutely,” I lied. “I feel honored.”
“We’ve given you the most wonderful placement,” he said. “Right next to the Princess of Wales and the portrait of Her Majesty the Queen that you unveiled two years ago.”
“That seems unfair to both my mother and the Queen,” Nick said gallantly. “I’m sure they will both pale in comparison.”
The scrum of photographers turned toward us, clicking and flashing, as we arrived at the mouth of the narrow corridor where the portraits of the living royals hung. When the pack parted, I came face-to-face with myself, and my amiable bearded murderer.
Because it was hideous.
My skin had a jaundiced pallor, my hair subtly streaked with grays that I worked hard to thwart in real life. I was not smiling, but rather smirking, as if mentally belittling whoever dared look into the face of this Medusa—an effect heighted by the jowls I’d been given, which were, yes, walrus-adjacent. And the bags underneath my (dead) eyes surpassed the luggage we’d brought on our royal tour. This portrait looked like a cursed relic composed of all my secret sins and worst thoughts, waiting for a soul to claim.
So that was great.
“What an unbelievable likeness you’ve created,” I said, kissing the artist’s furry cheeks as he looked excessively pleased with himself.
“It would be impossible to hold a candle to the real thing,” the artist said, clasping my hand.
“Could you ever have imagined?” fussed British Tim Gunn anxiously.
“I…cannot believe it’s real,” I replied carefully.
Nick put a hand on my shoulder and shook the artist’s with his other one. “You’ve done some incredible work,” he said. “This painting will truly go down in history.”
For five more minutes we made small talk under the gaze of my ghoulish avatar, its monstrousness infecting my inner monologue until I felt equal to it. We said our farewells, piled back into the car, and were silent all the way back to the palace.
As soon as our red-painted front door closed behind us, I grabbed at my skull. “It’s a Horcrux,” I shrieked.
Nick’s lips twitched. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I’m Voldemort, and that thing is a dark, rotting piece of my soul. The longer we stood next to it, the meaner I was to that man inside my head,” I said, kicking off my heels.
“I thought it was beautiful.”
I gaped at him. “You did?”
“Yes,” he insisted. “I can’t believe you’re telling me you didn’t like it. It’s marvelous.”
“It’s an abomination and it’s going to hang there forever.”
“He really nailed your eyes,” Nick continued. “When I looked at it, it was like falling in love with you all over aga— Ow, that hurts, what is in your handbag?”
“My phone,” I said, thwacking him again for good measure. “I don’t want to miss Dr. Akhtar’s call. You are torturing me and I can see right through it, Your Royal Highness.”
Nick chortled. “Guilty,” he said. “But I do love it. Is that wrong? It’s so funny.”
“Funny to you, who looks super handsome in the one where you and Freddie are in your uniforms,” I said. “Less funny to me, the Troll Phantom of the Palace Bog.”
Nick picked up my hand and kissed it. “Perhaps it can be ‘out for cleaning’ quite a bit, then.”
I nodded. “Yes. Good. Let’s make that happen.”
“And when it is,” he said, “I’ll have them send it over to hang in the loo.”
I whacked him again with my purse. As if in response, my bag began to vibrate. It was the clinic. My nerves made me feel as if someone had reached into my body and was holding my ribs in a vise. I held up crossed fingers to Nick as I answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Bex,” Dr. Akhtar said. “I’m so sorry…”
I didn’t have to tell Nick anything. He saw it all play out on my face as there, in the foyer, I started to cry.
* * *
It didn’t improve from there. As spring rolled into summer, I started to feel like a human pincushion. Nick and I didn’t even log the passage of time in months anymore; our mile markers were now shots, procedures, waiting times, and disappointments. We had pushed so hard, starting every new cycle as soon as we could once my body reset from the last, and every time, my efforts yielded double-digit eggs but not enough