Royal Package - Lili Valente Page 0,16

for Lizzy isn't the relief I would have expected. Instead, it clears the way for grief over losing my sister to settle deeper in my heart.

Which stinks.

Anger is so much easier than grief. Being horrified by Prince Mostly Grossly conveniently kept me too pissed off to internalize the fact that my life is about to change forever. I will never again live under the same roof as my sister, my best friend, my ride-or-die. It will just be me and my parents and Chamomile, our final nanny from Australia, who settled into the guest cottage when Lizzy and I got too old to need constant supervision and then never moved out.

Chamomile is very cool, a good friend to my crazy mother, and I’m glad she’s still around, but she’s obsessed with the insect farm she’s been running out of the castle greenhouse for the past several years. It’s a fascinating thing she’s doing, but why humans are better off eating bugs than meat isn’t a topic I can discuss more than once a week. Chamomile also has a boyfriend—Claude, her scraggly-bearded beau with a peg leg, who swears he was once a real pirate and who makes such vigorous love to Chammy that the sound carries all the way to Lizzy’s tower, which is why she now sleeps with a sound machine next to her head.

I know I should be happy for Lizzy rather than sad for myself.

And I’ll get there. But first, I give myself the rest of the ride down to the helipad to wallow in selfish misery.

Oh, Lizzy, how I’m going to miss you. If only we could have stayed young and free and together forever.

But as soon as Mr. Black Suit opens the sliding door, I pull my windswept hair into a classy, Lizzy-style low ponytail and prepare to do everything in my power to pave the road to my sister’s future happiness.

I will make Andrew see how wonderful Lizzy is.

I will make him want to be her friend, and then I will tell Lizzy charming stories of her future husband until she’s so excited to meet him that she won’t be nervous at all.

To make sure I begin as I intend to continue, I tug my phone from my purse and shoot the picture of the parachute to Lizzy along with the message—Maybe Prince Butt Munch isn’t so bad after all.

And maybe he isn’t.

Only time, I suppose, will tell.

Chapter Seven

Andrew

“What the hell is that?” I point an accusing finger at my vandalized parachute, now lying in a deflated puddle on the grass of the great lawn.

The antique statues at the edges of the grass stare down at it in judgment, as disgusted by the adolescent display as I am.

“It’s a nice gesture.” Nick straightens his tie as he strides past me toward the helipad, clearly intent on welcoming Elizabeth in person, as well as with his cringe-worthy parachute.

“You realize that’s going to be international news before sunset,” I demand, tearing at my harness with angry fingers.

“It’s already up on our PicsWithFriends page. I had Drake text me a picture from the chopper,” Nick says. Then he tosses over his shoulder, “You’re welcome.”

I’m continually nagging Nick and Jeffrey to help post content to the Royal Package page—I have a country to prepare to run and not nearly the time to devote to social media I once had—but I’d rather my baby brother have kept his meddling nose out of this one.

The more we play up the romance of the month-long engagement festivities, the greater the fallout when Lizzy calls it quits between us.

I have no doubt our eleven million followers are going to loathe her for kicking me to the curb, regardless of how our engagement comes to an end, but they’re really going to hate her guts if it seems I’ve been the perfect, romantic fiancé, and it wasn’t enough for the princess.

And I don’t want that for Lizzy.

I don’t want to give her the wrong idea, either, which this stupid parachute absolutely will.

Cursing, I toss the harness into the center of the chute and gather the entire mess into a ball to deal with later.

Mess. It’s all a mess, but I can still clean it up.

There’s no irreparable damage done.

“Breakfast is waiting for you in the rose garden, sir.” Greta, my personal assistant, and the reason my overbooked life functions smoothly, strides across the grass to collect the chute from my arms. “I’ve made sure both meals are strawberry and banana free for