satisfying Prince Malcolm’s other needs. I think you’ll find that’s one area where I can teach you more than a few things.”
Malcolm’s return directly following my response couldn’t have been timed any better. But I knew not to underestimate this woman, something she proved when she rose from her chair, bright smile in place, and complimented Malcolm on his shirt before exclaiming, “Let’s get to work, shall we?” like an enthusiastic cheerleader.
My ensuing performance as schoolmarm from hell had been a little bit much, but I’d been unable to help myself, and now I had three weeks of contention and unease to look forward to.
Why had I agreed to this again?
Oh, right. Grier. And my coworkers’ desires to clothe and feed themselves. And let’s not forget those adorable children without glasses. Malcolm had better find a way to deliver on his side of the bargain or I couldn’t be held responsible for what I might do to him—and it wouldn’t involve anything from my usual Malcolm fantasies, I could promise that.
“Where’s Victoria?” I glanced around the office as Malcolm closed the door behind us and gestured to one of the wingbacks by his desk.
Inexplicably, he grinned at that. “I thought she might need a break from the thrashing you’ve been delivering, so I asked her to sort through my spam folder while we met privately.”
I set my shoulders and arranged my laptop on my side of his desk. “I’m not giving her a thrashing; I’m simply doing what you asked me to do,” I lied.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying it—seeing you fired up is quite glorious, in fact—but I doubt either one of you will be able to sustain this for long.” He smoothed the front of his button-down and sat, still grinning.
I ignored the quiver at his referring to me as “glorious” and focused on the screen in front of me. “I’m sure we’ll work it out—just the normal beginning-stage hiccups. Now, I have your schedule for the coming weeks, and it’s not as taxing as I’d anticipated. We shouldn’t run into any issues.”
“About that,” he interjected, his hands steepled on the desk in front of him. “I need to speak with you about my coronation speech.”
I laid my pen and stylus neatly on the desk. “Surely, Samantha and Bryce are working with you on that, aren’t they?” The family had a crack communications team who always worked with them to develop speeches with the appropriate balance of propriety and personability.
“They are.” He nodded, but it held little conviction.
“But?” I prompted.
Malcolm hastily pushed his chair back and stood again before scratching at his jaw with restless fingers. He looked… nervous. This was most unusual, as he seldom expressed this type of anxiety outside of situations involving his mother—and that was mostly out of fun, I’d always been convinced.
Deciding not to push him, I waited until he sat once more and released a beleaguered sigh. “I have to show you something.” He extracted his phone from his pocket and thumbed over the screen for a few moments before handing it across the desk. A YouTube video sat paused on the display and had my curiosity racing.
“What—?” I started to ask.
“Just watch it.”
I eyed him as he hesitantly rested against the back of his chair, appearing almost uncomfortable in his skin and void of his characteristic vivacity. My stomach lurched at the sight. Malcolm was often melodramatic, expressing his woes and bemoaning the cruelties of life, but everyone knew it was all an act. His true exuberant nature always shone through. This time, however, it smacked of sincerity.
With a growing sense of dread, I flicked my gaze down to the phone and pressed play.
The video showed a large ballroom with elegantly decorated dining tables and what appeared to be more than a hundred seated guests, all dressed in their finery. It was a familiar image, one repeated dozens of times over the years of fundraisers the royal family either organized or attended.
As I continued to watch, a host approached the podium on an elevated platform at the front of the ballroom and began introducing the night’s speaker. The presence of familiar security personnel told me it was Malcolm before he even stepped in frame.
I glanced up at Malcolm for some explanation as to the purpose of this exercise, but he simply gestured down to the phone with his chin, eyes still flat.
On the screen, Malcolm’s handsome face beamed out at the crowd, a stark contrast to the man who now