Chapter 8

C HAPTER 8

"Is it possible I love-bombed Theo?"

I've spent the past two hours talking Mom and Dad off a ledge and reading wild conspiracy theories and fanfiction about my life, and I'm starting to spiral. My head is hanging upside down off the foot of the bed, and I feel like I might pass out.

"Stop reading the comments." Naomi nudges me with her foot. I slide off the bed and hit my head on the ground.

I'm too stressed to move. "Do you think I gaslit him?"

"Ugh, people will go out of their way to blame the girl every time," Brooke says.

There's a sharp knock on the door. Brooke answers it. A man in a suit looks past her to where I'm still lying in a pathetic heap on the floor. "We need you. Now."

Dread slithers up my spine. My first royal summons.

I'm led into one of Theo's sitting rooms and seated at a large oak table across from half a dozen people, with Theo directly across from me, and Henry next to him. (Wearing a shirt this time.) Naomi's surprised expression makes it clear that we will be discussing Henry after this meeting is over.

We're introduced to the royal communications secretary, a bald man named Richard Graves, as well as Theo's private secretary, a tour secretary, and a communications officer. Winston and another guard are standing at the back of the room, and on a laptop screen set up on the table is yet another stone-faced representative of the Firm.

When Theo talked about "the Firm" and their power over his life, I'd assumed most of that control stemmed from his mother and her wishes, and that once Theo was in charge, he could forge a different path.

Now that I'm sitting across from an entourage of people determined to tell me when and how I'm allowed to leave this hotel (or not), I'm realizing my thought process was painfully naive.

"I don't want to be queen!" I blurt immediately. Everyone over the age of thirty smirks. Theo's expression remains carefully blank, while Henry looks intently back and forth between his brother and me.

"Your wishes are irrelevant, because it will never happen," says Graves. "When the King is officially crowned in less than two weeks, this whole mess with your marriage certificate will be forgotten."

"How did the press get ahold of it?" I ask, my accusatory gaze settling on Theo's security guard.

"We're looking into it," Theo says. "A picture of the certificate was sent via phone, and we now suspect our phones have been hacked."

"Is your phone safe, Birdie?" Mom asks. On the American side of the table: me, my stunned parents on a video call, Brooke, Naomi, and Comet snoozing at my feet. There was some dispute about whether they should be present for this (i.e., no one wants them here) but Brooke insisted that if His Majesty's people get to be present, mine should too. I know she's not over the surprise wedding reveal, but I'm thankful she has my back, because the vibes in this room are not exactly welcoming.

As in, everyone here fucking hates me.

I thought being lost at sea after a perilous thunderstorm was the coldest and most miserable thing I'd ever experience, but that was before half a dozen furious Brits were testing out the phrase "if looks could kill" on me, slowly freezing the atmosphere in this room with hostile words and frigid glances. The press people especially seem to loathe me, their stares full of bitter accusation. The message is clear: I am a problem to be solved.

"I have canceled all remaining tour appearances," the tour secretary says now.

Any inclination I might have to apologize is stemmed by Brooke, who is pressing her fingernails into my knee under the table. "Don't let them blame you," she whispers.

The communications officer places half a dozen pieces of paper in front of Theo, who has been avoiding eye contact with me since the news of our wedding broke. "We need a story to feed to the press while we deal with this marriage problem. I have prepared a number of statements, and we must decide which one to run."

She wrote the statements, and they will decide. I might as well not even be here, for all they care about my opinion. "Do you even need to deal with it?" I ask, dodging the daggers thrown from her eyes. "Not that I want to stay married—" Theo's gaze finally lifts to mine, his eyes unreadable. I feel like I'm in free fall. I miss the time when I understood all his expressions. "What I mean is—are we sure we're actually, legally, married?"

"We are not sure of anything, Ms. Wheeler," she says tightly. "Which is why we need time." She turns to Theo. "I recommend that we run the first statement. It will prevent anyone from questioning your decision-making ability."

"Does everyone in this room think I'm crazy?" Theo asks abruptly.

" I wouldn't have done it," Henry mutters.

"Getting married to a stranger on a whim makes you seem young, Your Majesty," Graves says.

"It's almost as if a teenager shouldn't be put in charge of an entire country. No, wait! It's almost as if people shouldn't be put on pedestals at all," Theo says, and I'm confused all over again about his feelings toward his new life, his title, and how I fit into any of it. "I suppose you think Wren tricked me into marrying her?" he asks wryly.

The man on the laptop screen speaks up. "We do not know what to think, as you have not provided us with any justification for this senseless decision."

"You will be disappointed to learn that Wren didn't trick me at all. Quite the opposite."

This revelation garners the biggest response yet, but it's something I feel more than witness. The air shifts, the tension heightens. If possible, the glares in my direction intensify. It's strange, to feel so utterly powerless and yet so significant at the same time.

"Even so, statement one is the way to go," the communications officer replies, nudging the paper into Theo's direct line of sight and sweeping the rest into a stack, which she taps curtly against the table. "Total denial."

Theo's brow furrows as he reads. "This makes it sound like Wren forged the certificate because she's obsessed with me or something."

"That's not explicitly stated."

"I don't want to talk about the statement right now. We need to tell Wren the plan for keeping her safe," Theo says. The communications officer sits, while others shift uneasily in their seats.

"I'll be fine," I say quickly. "As long as you don't paint me as some psycho stalker in your statement, I'll be fine. It'll blow over."

"Tell her," he says, looking at Graves. When Graves doesn't speak immediately, Theo's jaw clenches. "Henry?" He turns to his brother for help.

"It'll be bad," Henry confirms.

Theo's face turns pleading. "Wren, the press will stalk you. They'll tap your phone, put trackers on your car, and chase you like they did today. They won't care if it puts your life in danger."

"I don't drive in the city," I say weakly.

"They'll try to camp outside your dorm room. They'll film you while you walk to class. They'll harass your family and friends."

"For what? A glimpse of my mom power walking in the suburbs? I'm sorry, I don't see it."

"Does she know about Dad?" Henry asks quietly.

Graves speaks quickly. "If Wren thinks she can handle it—"

"She can't," Theo snaps. "Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler, can I ask for a favor?" he says, directing his attention to my parents on the video call.

"Of course, Your Majesty," my dad says. My heart tilts at the tremor in his voice. I look at the screen and can't miss the concern in my parents' eyes.

"Show Wren what's already started," Theo says.

The camera leaves my parents' faces and I catch a shaky glimpse of Wally on the carpet as they carry the phone to a window at the front of the house and direct the camera lens at my front yard. A rock drops in my stomach when I see a handful of reporters camped out on the lawn.

"There's more across the street knocking on the Singhs' door, and Mrs. Beasley is giving an interview in her yard right now," Mom says.

Black spots fill my vision. "What about Naomi's parents?"

"They've closed their curtains and locked the doors like we have," Mom says.

"My DMs are already filled with news outlets asking for an interview." Naomi's voice sounds far away. My life is slipping so far out of my control I can't remember how to breathe.

Theo stands, places his hands flat on the table, and gives everyone in his entourage a hard look before returning his gaze to mine. Those blue eyes always make the rest of the world fall away. I want to believe that we've survived worse than this, but something about the raw fury in his expression makes me doubt myself.

Maybe this is worse.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. "What's happening now is the tip of the iceberg, and because the Firm refuses to give you security in America…" His next words land in my chest like an atom bomb. "You need to come to London."