as simple as that.
* * *
Xander nailed the bit about being Cinderella on the head.
I sit inside a plush dressing room at a chic bridal and evening gown boutique in Teddington, wearing a white satin robe and sipping on a glass of champagne. The boutique is closed to the public for us—and its sales associates are known for their discretion with famous and celebrity clientele—so it’s perfect for our shopping expedition. As I sit here, my stylist, Maeve, flutters around the shop to pull dresses for me. Bella is in the room across from me, so I decide to talk to her.
“Are you in your robe, Bella?” I call out over the door.
“Yes.”
“May I come over?” I ask.
She giggles. “Of course.”
I open my door, walk across the hardwood floor, and pop open the door to her spacious dressing room. It’s ridiculous. It’s practically the size of my bedroom back in my flat. I take a seat in a plush grey chair as Bella fidgets with pulling her robe up higher, trying to cover her chest as much as she can.
“You must be used to these kinds of fittings,” I say, initiating conversation.
“I liked them much better when I was thinner,” she replies, eyeing her reflection in the mirror. “Now, I have to hide everything. The whole world knows I’ve put on a lot of weight.”
“But your body is built differently. You were made to have these gorgeous curves,” I say.
She flinches. “Please don’t say that.”
I feel my brows knit together. “Why not?”
Bella keeps her gaze fixed in the mirror. “Even at my thinnest, I still have these god-awful hips and thighs. The world prefers thin women, like Liz and Victoria. You know it’s true.”
“The world,” I say slowly, “prefers to criticise. For some reason, it fills people’s lives up sometimes, to be cruel to others. Or it makes them feel better when they feel rotten inside. Or it gives them something to do. I assure you, this wouldn’t end if you were a size zero, Bella. They’d find something else to say from their keyboards. Or on their podcasts, or in tabloid articles. You were born to a family that will always generate public interest.”
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “I know.” She turns around to face me, and Lord, she looks so vulnerable that I want to hug her. “That is why this last term at Oxford is stressing me out. They’ve left me alone there. But I know the time is coming. The world won’t leave me alone once I’m back in London. I know I can’t have a working-royal role. I can’t do what Liz does; she’s amazing in public, and people adore her.”
I digest her words with interest. “The public loves Liz because they know her. They don’t know you.”
Bella bites her lower lip as she takes in my words. “But I can’t be Liz. She’s so confident and vibrant and beautiful, and people are drawn to her. I get nervous in front of others. I couldn’t possibly give a speech or open a centre or all those things that Liz and Clementine do.”
“People are drawn to Liz because she’s opened up to them,” I say gently. “You have isolated yourself from them. I think you could do great things for the House of Chadwick Charities if you wanted to be involved. The funny thing is your word choice. You never said you didn’t want a working-royal position, but that you can’t have one. You’re not Liz, but that is good. The world doesn’t need a carbon copy of her. The world does need your quiet compassion. Intelligence. You could fashion another kind of modern royal for the world to see. I think you could do amazing things, like working with literacy and promoting the study of history. I think you’d be such an asset to Xander as he moves forward in modernising the monarchy. You have such incredible gifts to give if you are willing to step out of the shadows.”
Bella stares at me, obviously taken aback by my forwardness. I smile at her.
“I know that was a lot. I grew up being taught to say what I feel, often in a long, narrative form, according to Xander,” I say sheepishly. “I’m sorry if that was too much. I just see so much good in you. You could do so much, and I think deep down, you might even want to, but you’re afraid to grab it. Because of what people might say. Or