earshot. I turned and gave Freddie a hug. “Hey, Fred. It’s so good to see you.”
Freddie tensed, then patted me on the back before untangling himself. “Father’s just anxious,” he said. “She’s never caught so much as a cold before.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Listen, Gran apparently came up because she knew you were banging around Scotland, and then Father invited me up for a grouse shoot, but I’d no idea…” He shrugged helplessly. “I wouldn’t have supported it.”
“I can’t believe you’re up here voluntarily after being stuck with them for so long,” Nick said to Freddie, reaching out for a handshake that did not, as it normally did, turn into a bro-hug. “Time got away from us.”
“I understand. Things happen. It’s been fine!” Freddie said. “Your decoys did a great job. No one seemed to notice that yours was almost bald.”
“Fantastic,” Nick muttered.
“How are you?” I asked. “What have we missed?”
“Gosh, I’m fine,” Freddie said. “I’ve been very busy. Everything is fine!”
Nick furrowed his brow. “I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s been more fun than having my rib cage flayed open, and less fun than the time Gaz ate forty-five flaming hot chicken wings in fifteen minutes. How’s that?” Freddie chirped.
Nick and I exchanged a look.
“The headlines…they were…” I couldn’t even finish the thought. We’d seen them. He’d lived them. We’d run; he stayed. I felt, suddenly, like human garbage.
“We just felt like we needed to—” Nick started.
“Absolutely fine,” Freddie interrupted. “You had to do what’s best for your team. Father was in a right state. But he’s fine now! We’re all fine.”
Fine, fine, fine. It felt like Freddie had been replaced by a clone who’d been poorly briefed on the gig.
“Right, you two have a long drive ahead, and I’ve got to meet Father, so I won’t keep you,” Freddie added, starting toward the stairs Richard had taken.
“Wait, Freddie,” Nick called after him.
“Hmm?” Freddie turned to face us, but continued walking away backwards.
“Let’s have dinner tomorrow night, the three of us,” Nick said. “It’s hard to catch up here, this way.”
“That is a great idea,” I said. “I’ve missed your chef’s Scotch eggs.”
Freddie pulled a sad face. “Ooh, he’s gone,” he said. “One of the Euros pilfered him. Paid his way to Sweden and everything.”
“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” Freddie said. “Dinner sounds great. Really great! But I’ve got plans tomorrow night. I couldn’t have guessed that you’d be coming back, obviously. Super sorry to miss it. But it’d be great to touch base later!”
“Great,” Nick echoed oddly.
Freddie ate up the rest of the distance to the stairs in three bounding strides, and was gone.
“Fine,” I said. “Great.”
Nick tugged on his hair. “Since when does Freddie voluntarily spend time with Prince Dick?”
“Since when does Freddie say things like super sorry?” I asked.
Nick stared thoughtfully at the painting hanging across from us. It was a giant, gilt-trimmed portrait of Eleanor and her younger sister Georgina as children. The words JOYOVSS SISTERHOODE were scrawled across the top of the frame in a florid, old-fashioned script.
“And why is that spelled like they painted this in medieval times?” I asked.
Nick shook his head like he was trying to knock something out of his ears. “Because apparently nothing makes sense anymore,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
We were waved back into Kensington Palace at 3:00 a.m. as if we’d merely been out for the night at a bar—and we felt like it. We were punch-drunk, and our ears rang from hours of loud music keeping us alert. Being folded into the car for so long made our knees creaky, and Nick was wired from pints of coffee, because my inaugural attempts at driving on the left side of the road had been spectacular failures and resulted in his spending the majority of the trip at the wheel. We were sticky and pale and smelled like bad breath and grease, because all the food we ate on the road came from bags we’d torn open with our teeth and consisted primarily of flavor powder. We had not showered in nearly thirty-six hours, which included my final morning run in Scotland. The fug between my ears felt like jet lag.
“We’re back,” Nick said.
His voice echoed in the palace halls. We were not in Wigtown anymore.
Nick’s room was neat but for one corner in which the clothes and effects from my Chelsea flat had been packed and stacked, waiting for me. How sobering to see my entire pre-wedding life