Chapter 9

C HAPTER 9

DAYS UNTIL THE CORONATION: TEN

Brooke, Naomi, and Henry all speak at once, but I can't hear anything except the blood rushing in my ears. "Stop!"

Everyone shuts up.

"For how long?" I ask.

"You owe her security!" Brooke jumps in. "The marriage certificate never would have leaked if you hadn't taken it from her."

"Arranging full-time security takes time that we don't have and money that belongs to the British taxpayer," Graves says coolly.

"Sell one of your castles," Brooke snaps.

"For how long?" I ask again.

"A week should give us enough time to protect you while we deal with the press and the marriage… problem. It will also give His Majesty time to appeal for the funds to hire security on your behalf, if he chooses to do so. We do not wish to keep you in London against your wishes, and of course you are free to decline our offer, but the King feels very strongly about keeping you shielded from the media, and I must admit, I do believe the situation will be less than ideal if you return to Chicago on your own."

"A week is cutting it awfully close to the coronation," the man on the laptop warns.

"We need to deal with this story so that it doesn't overshadow the coronation," the communications officer points out.

"Heaven forbid." Henry rolls his eyes.

I turn my attention to my parents, both of whom are choking back tears. "What should I do? I don't want to make your lives harder."

"Don't worry about us, Birdie. This is about doing what's best for you," Mom says.

"It sounds like you should go with them," Dad agrees.

"Classes start next week," I protest.

"Nothing happens in the first few days of freshman year. And you're smart. Find the class syllabuses online and get started on your reading," he says.

I'm painfully conscious of Theo's eyes on me. This is all happening so fast; we haven't even had a proper conversation, and now he's asking me to get on a plane. My stubborn side wants to refuse, but something in my gut tells me I'd be stupid to ignore their warnings about the press.

Underneath the table, Theo's foot nudges mine, sparking another painful memory of us together on a train in Italy, his foot bumping into mine while his finger traced idle circles on my knee. Could we have that again? Do I want that again? I don't know, but the brief contact still has the power to leave me scatterbrained.

"If she decides to go to London, I'm going with her," Brooke says.

"No," Graves says flatly.

"There's no point arguing with me. I've made my mind up, and I won't let a foreign government take my sister hostage—"

The communications officer stalks out of the room, throwing her pages of carefully worded statements into the air.

"Take it down a couple notches," I tell Brooke. No need to make them hate us more than they already do.

"Brooke can come," Theo says. "Naomi too, if she wants—"

"I do!" Naomi says quickly.

I look at her in surprise. "What about school?"

"The press has already figured out that I'm your best friend. I don't want to be stalked either!"

"Not even in the name of higher education?" I raise an eyebrow.

A slow smile spreads across her face. "If you're running away with the royals again, I'm coming with you this time. School can wait a few days."

I swallow thickly and look back at Theo. The last time we decided to run away together I was alone, desperate, and scared. This time, I have my sister, my best friend, and my dog.

What could go wrong?

I knock my foot against Theo's and allow myself a small smile. "Let's go to London."

As we're leaving Theo's suite, the Firm "advises" me not to stray farther than the private elevator. (So much for the discreet staff.) Comet needs to go outside, so Brooke offers to take him for a walk around the courtyard, and Naomi and I return to our room.

"What happened to Theo's dad?" I ask once I've closed the door firmly behind us. I can't forget the apprehension on Henry's face when he asked Theo if I "knew" about their father.

"He passed away a few years ago. He got really sick and was gone within a few weeks, if I remember right," Naomi says.

"Was the press hard on him?"

"They're hard on everyone, even the royals," she says absently, thumbing through a room service menu. "How much room service do you think we can get away with ordering?"

"Order everything. What do you know about Henry?"

"He was the spare, but now he's the heir, and the public loves him."

"Why?"

"The curly hair? The dimple? He sticks out in a royal lineup, but people love that he's different. He's also authentic in a way that Theo's not." She winces. "No offense to your husband."

"I thought you were mad at my husband?"

"I am!" She crosses her arms defensively. "But it's harder now that I've met him. I blame the accent." (Fair enough.)

I can only ruminate on the royal family for so long before the conversation quickly turns to the room service menu. Brooke returns with Comet, and we spend the evening eating charcuterie and cheesecake, watching our social media followings go up faster than we can hit refresh, and playing fetch with Comet in the hall.

Shortly after dinner, Victoria's personal stylist stops by the room with a delivery of clothing for each of us, and it quickly becomes obvious that she only knows how to dress rich people.

"We look like Easter eggs," Brooke says critically as we stand together in front of the bathroom mirror, still steamy around the edges from three showers in a row. We're dressed in silk pajama sets in various shades of pastel.

"If Easter eggs wore matching underwear," I say.

"Do you think this is what princesses wear when they sleep?" Brooke muses.

"Ask Wren, she's the queen consort," Naomi quips.

"Not that those stuffy assholes would ever admit it," Brooke grumbles.

"It is kind of weird that an American teenager can suddenly become their queen," Naomi says.

"That's because royalty is weird. No offense to Wren's boyfriend, but if you're going to put a nineteen-year-old boy in charge of the country, you can't be surprised when he makes questionable choices because he's horny."

"That's unfair! Marrying Wren is a great choice." Naomi leaps to our defense. I'm starting to feel dizzy.

"The monarchy is unfair," Brooke counters. She begins ticking the problems off on her fingers. "Colonialism, racism, elitism—"

"That's not Theo's fault—"

"I need fresh air." I grab the empty ice bucket off the bathroom counter and look at them both in the mirror. "Be done arguing by the time I get back."

I escape to the hallway, bucket in my hand, and lean against our closed door, gulping air until my head stops spinning. I can't believe that twenty-four hours ago Naomi and I were going to our first college party, and now I'm trapped in a Canadian hotel, unable to go outside without having my picture taken. And just in case that's not confusing enough, I don't know how Theo feels about any of this. A small part of me has been hoping he'd come visit my room so we could finish our conversation from earlier, but he hasn't. Apparently, it was too much to call, too much to write, too much to walk three feet from his door to mine.

If I were anyone else, I'd tell me to get a grip.

When my head is no longer swimming and I think I've given Brooke and Naomi enough time to stop squabbling, I wander the hall until I find the ice machine. I'm filling the bucket when I hear a voice behind me.

"I'll never understand Americans' obsession with ice," Theo says.

I jump, and ice goes skittering across the floor. "Shit." I kneel down to sweep it into a pile.

"You all right?" he asks, holding out a hand to help me up. "Sorry for scaring you."

"Hi! Hey! Yeah, I'm fine!" I stand, suddenly conscious of the thin silk of my pajamas. I hold the bucket against my stomach, an icy barrier between how good he looks in sweats and a T-shirt and the way my skin feels like it's overheating.

He nods in the direction of our rooms, and we slowly fall into stride next to each other.

"I'm sorry again, about this," he says, running his hand through his hair. "If there was any other way, I wouldn't have suggested bringing you to London."

Ouch. How does one respond to being told by their maybe-husband that spending a week together is a literal last resort? It's unfair how our time apart has robbed me of my ability to speak to him, while it's only made him hotter.

"I thought you'd dye your hair back" is all I can think to say. I wish he had. His blond hair had no power against me.

"I can say the same to you." He quirks a curious eyebrow.

"Why didn't you?"

"Apparently, you mucked up my natural shade. The palace hairdresser was furious with me."

We reach my door, and I lean against it, unable to smother my grin as I imagine a stuffy British hairdresser yelling at Theo.

"Same question," Theo says, his eyes tracing my vibrant locks.

I shrug, suddenly feeling defiant over my decision to keep the reddish-orange shade. "Just because you don't like it doesn't mean other people don't."

"I never said I don't like it," he argues.

"You implied it."

"Not once. Who are these other people who like it? Blokes?"

" Me. I like it. The entire world was so quick to move on after the comet. Sometimes it feels like everyone else has forgotten about it. But I don't want to forget, so I kept the hair." My chest burns with the admission.

He winces, looking down. "Well, if I didn't say it before, I like it," he says. "It suits you." He reaches out and brushes a strand from my face. The smallest sliver of his finger touches my forehead, and I feel like I'm on fire.

"Thanks." We stare at each other a beat too long. I wait for him to say something, to do something, but he doesn't. If I stand here another second, the heat radiating off me will melt everything in this ice bucket. "I should go."

"Okay." He nods.

I open the door and slip into the Gold Suite. The front room is empty, TV sounds floating in from the bedroom. Brooke and Naomi seem to have called a truce.

My hands are shaking as I set the ice bucket on the nearest flat surface, my heart pounding cartoonishly fast. I feel flushed everywhere, like I have a fever. My hand reaches out to the door handle, brushing it once. I drop it.

Don't go there.

I turn, walk all of three feet, then spin around again. I bite my lip in indecision, feeling insane.

I swing open the door and come face-to-face with Theo.