“Daphne’s not in this, the way we are,” Freddie said. “There’s a lot of backstory here that’s very private.” He held up a hand. “I know she’s my fiancée. I know. But this is personal.”
“So is being married,” I said. “She thinks you have no secrets.”
“They aren’t my stupid secrets to begin with.” Freddie kicked at the table leg. “Besides, how’s she going to find out?”
“That depends on us, I suppose,” Nick said. “Or on whatever Father does.”
“He’s not going to blow this up,” Freddie said. “Is he? No…?”
The three of us could only shrug at each other. Richard had a ticket out if he wanted it. But not one of us knew the truths of Richard’s inner workings, and whether he’d ever wished for even a second—as Nick and Freddie had—to be free of all this.
“I’ll deal with Daphne then,” Freddie eventually said, stabbing his waffle. “If I have to.”
Nick’s phone buzzed. He picked it up and stared at it, confused.
“Is it Richard?” I asked. “What did he say?”
Nick flipped his phone around to show us. His text to Richard had been kind: I know that conversation was terribly hard. We’d love to talk to you about it. I hope you’re all right. Richard’s reply was a GIF in which Jeff Bridges’s character in The Big Lebowski fishes a pair of sunglasses out of his cardigan pocket and jams them onto his face. That was it.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“I have absolutely no idea,” Nick said, taking his phone back. “How has he even heard of that movie?”
“I didn’t think he’d heard of GIFs, either,” Freddie said. “So, wherever he is, he’s drunk, right? That’s the only explanation for this.”
“It’s 9:45 in the morning!” Nick said.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Freddie said, “and we don’t know where he is.”
Nick rubbed at his face. “At least we know he’s alive.”
“This doesn’t seem like the response of a man who’s ready to have a serious conversation,” I said.
“It’s not even the response of a man who wants to have a non-serious conversation,” Freddie said.
“He must be freaking out,” I offered.
“We’re all freaking out,” Nick said. He shook his head and started chuckling. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not funny. But he was so cross with me and Bex for skipping town, and now look at him. He really has done the exact same thing.”
“At least you left after your wedding,” Freddie said. “Mine’s in a month. What am I supposed to do? GIF him to death until he sends back his RSVP card?”
After a beat, we started laughing. It was tinged with hysteria, but the release felt good.
Nick drummed his hands on the kitchen table. “Edwin is supposed to be king. Can you believe that?” he said, still in the grips of the gallows humor. “His Henry, whom I once saw pick someone else’s nose and eat it, should be the new me.”
“That Henry is only seven years old, so don’t write him off yet,” I said.
“Perhaps if we go public with this, they’ll chuck the lot of us, and go so far down the line that Penelope Ten-Names becomes Queen,” Freddie said. “GIF that, Prince Dick.”
“At least we know she likes us,” I said. “Besides, we can always seek refuge with you. They can’t boot their future king.”
Freddie shook his head. “Prince consort,” he said. “Assuming Daphne doesn’t dump me over this.”
“Is that why you’re not telling her?” Nick asked, concerned. “She would never.”
Freddie stood and started gathering our dirty dishes, something he had not done before in my presence and possibly not in his life.
“I finally found something that makes sense. And it makes sense to her, too, and to them. They want me. They’re so excited to have me,” he said. “I don’t know if I can take finding out it’s only because of my connections, and them turning around and saying, No, thank you, never mind.”
“Freddie, I’m sure they love you for you,” I said. “Daphne definitely does. Tell her.”
“No.” He dropped the plates in the sink. “I’d rather not know if you’re wrong.”
“I could kill Father,” Nick said, staring at the ceiling in frustration. “We’re in no-man’s-land because he’s chosen to pull a runner and fall into a vat of daiquiris or something. Am I meant to GIF him back? What do I send?”
“Rihanna rolling up the car window,” I said. “No, wait, Angela Lansbury eating popcorn.”
Freddie nibbled on his thumbnail. “That look on his face. I can’t forget