13. Eve

CHAPTER 13

EVE

I sat at my vanity, in our hotel room, getting my face on for a night out. Any time now, Marco would burst in. He'd sweep me into his arms and smear my lipstick. I wouldn't fix it, or not all the way, and I'd get caught on camera glowing and mussed. We'd go out dancing, and then — and then what?

My stomach did a backflip. My mascara wand twitched. I left a black smudge on the crest of my cheek, and cursed through my teeth, and wiped it away. I'd been nervous since yesterday, since we crossed into Spain. This was Rafael's turf, not mine or Marco's. He had fans here who might take up his cause. Worse, he was here, and not just in Spain. He was in Barcelona, same as us. He'd been photographed this morning with his royal entourage, opening a new wing at a local museum.

He wouldn't confront us, I didn't think. Not out in public, where anything could happen. But what if he did? Or if we crossed paths by chance? I tried to think what I'd say, but not much came to mind. I saw myself freezing, my jaw hanging slack. He'd smile and say Eve , or maybe Miss Hansley , nod hello and goodbye and glide out of my life.

I saw in the mirror I'd turned red. I looked like a child on the verge of a tantrum, and deep in my guts, I felt like one too. I felt like if I saw him I'd scream in his face. I'd scream out all the hurt I felt when I read his note, and the cameras would catch me, and it would all start again.

SOCIALITE'S PUBLIC MELTDOWN

WHY THE PRINCE SAID "I DON'T."

The Internet would breathe a collective "oh, honey." There'd be no coming back from that. No saving face.

Why couldn't Marco be racing in Zandvoort? Or Budapest, Nürburg, anywhere but here?

The phone rang on my nightstand — the room phone, not mine. I picked it up just as my own phone started buzzing.

"Hello?"

"Good evening, Miss Hansley. This is the front desk. Your guests are downstairs. Shall I send them up."

I blinked. My guests? My phone buzzed again.

"Miss Hansley?"

I snatched up my phone. Was this Rafael? He wouldn't come here, surely, but what if he had? I couldn't face him, not like this. Not half dressed, mascara-streaked, in my fuzzy slippers. I thumbed at my phone. Squinted at the screen. A barrage of texts popped up, all from my sister.

I'm sorry! I tried!

Are they there yet?

I told them to call at least, but you know how they are.

Our parents were here? In Barcelona? I tried to think who else she could mean, but it had to be them. I knew how they were, all right, and how they were was… like parents. They worried. They hovered. And they just showed up.

"Miss Hansley? Excuse me? Are you still there?"

"Sorry, uh…" I cleared my throat. "My guests — do you mean my parents?"

"Yes, miss. Your parents. Shall I send them up?"

Waves of emotion coursed through my body. Guilt, shame, annoyance. Dizzying panic. They'd been so excited about Rafael. And the wedding, the wedding — they'd spent a fortune. Were they here to yell at me? To drag me home? To propose a new match for me, someone not Marco? I cringed at the thought, a full-body shudder. I couldn't, could not , go through all that again.

"Send them up," I croaked. Refusing to see them would just make it worse.

"I can't do it again," I said to the mirror, practicing how I'd say it when my parents came up. A gentle half-smile, a cool, even tone. Dignity, poise. I could do that. "When I get married, it needs to be on my terms."

My voice cracked. I swallowed. I couldn't do this. If they yelled, I'd cry. Nothing could stop me. I'd tried so hard, the day of my wedding. Tried to embrace it, to see it their way. If they couldn't see that, if they blamed this on me?—

Steps in the hallway.

A tap at the door.

I stood still, not breathing, my hand to my heart. I could feel it pounding, about to break.

"Eve, are you in there?"

"Did we get the right room?" My father knocked again. "Eve? Is this you?"

"Coming," I said, but it came out a whisper. I stumbled to meet them in my disheveled glory, my robe hanging open, my dress underneath. I should've reached out to them. Done this at a distance. Over a call, where I could hang up if I needed. Blame technology — Sorry, no signal .

"I hear her," my mother said. "Eve? Are you there?"

I jerked the door open like ripping a Band-Aid. I don't know what I expected, but what happened was hugs. A whole lot of hugs, both parents at once. They flung their arms around me and kissed the top of my head, patted my back like I was still little.

"Oh, Eve!"

"We're so sorry!"

"How have you been?"

A lump blocked my throat off and I couldn't speak. I hugged back instead, panic draining away. Whatever this was, it wasn't some intervention. They hadn't come to blame me or drag me back. I pulled back, eyes wet.

"What are you doing here?"

Mother pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "We're here for the opening. The museum wing? I wanted to boycott it, but your father?—"

He grunted. "I didn't want to go, either, but I do business with his father. We didn't speak to that boy. I assure you we snubbed him."

I snickered without meaning to at that mental image, my parents both sweeping past Rafael, straight-backed, hard-eyed, noses in the air. I hoped the cameras had caught that. I hoped it went viral.

"What happened on your wedding day…" Father's face darkened. "That man is a child. I promise you, had we known?—"

"It's okay. It's behind us." I shook my head.

"Still, we blame ourselves. This wasn't your fault."

"When we didn't hear from you—" Mother sniffed. "Gabriella said to be patient, but we couldn't wait. We were so worried. We had to come up."

I blinked back fresh tears. The way they were looking at me, worried, sad-eyed — did they think all this time I'd been fuming at them? I hadn't reached out because I'd been embarrassed. Because I'd failed them. Let their plans fall through.

"You were so proud," I said. "When we announced our engagement. I thought— I thought you'd be disappointed in me . Especially how I ran out of there. That scene with my dress."

"Embarrassed…" Father flung his hands up, then let them drop. "We're your parents. We're meant to protect you. What happened that day was our fault. Not yours. We picked the wrong husband."

"We pushed you too hard."

"We didn't listen when you weren't sure. Gabriella's been telling us how nervous you were. Why didn't you come to us? You know we'd never force you."

I stared at my parents, at their sad, hurt expressions. They'd aged since I'd seen them last, at least to my eye. Mother was wearing too much concealer, hiding the puffiness underneath. The truth was, I'd never thought to say no. I'd wanted to please them, and I'd gone along. I'd felt like I had to, or…

Or what?

It hit me I'd never once tried saying no. I'd been too scared to see their smiles fade. To watch the light of their pride in me go out of their eyes.

"You were so happy," I said, in a small voice. "When Rafael's parents approved of our courtship."

"But it was your marriage. You should be happy."

"I thought maybe I might be, given time. If I tried."

"But you never wanted to marry him." Father frowned out the window. I followed his gaze, but there was nothing out there. He sat himself down on the edge of the bed. "Our parents — your grandparents — introduced us, it's true. But I always wanted to marry your mother. I was excited on our wedding day. We thought you felt the same, or we wouldn't have gone forward."

I sat down myself, feeling lightheaded. I'd never heard this version of their story before. I'd always assumed they'd married out of duty, and the love they had now had blossomed later.

"It's true," said Mother. "I was in love with your father. We thought you girls knew that. We thought it was clear."

"It is now," I said. "Anyone can see you have a good marriage. But I didn't know you did from the start."

Father let out a chuckle, a strange, quiet sound. "Oh, we had our hiccups, our growing pains. We'd never lived together, or with anyone. We had different ideas of how a household should run. But we worked through all that because we wanted our marriage. We wanted each other. We thought you and Rafael felt the same way."

I tried not to laugh at that, but I couldn't help it. Mother winced and I felt bad, and I bit my lip.

"So, you didn't come here to drag me back to the altar?"

"With Rafael? Are you joking?" Mother's eyes had gone round. "You've met someone new, haven't you? You're here with him."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Marco's clothes were all over, draped where he'd shed them, his pants on the sofa, his shirt on a chair. His suitcase lay open on the window seat, jeans spilling out of it where he'd dug through them. And even without that, we'd been all over socials. My parents weren't that old or out of touch. They'd have seen everything. Followed our travels.

"He seems responsible," said Father. "He bought a house for his mother. Nothing huge or extravagant, but he bought it outright, no mortgage, no debt. That's the smart way to do it."

"You seem happier," said Mother. "You're having fun."

I licked my lips. Swallowed. "And that's okay with you?"

Mother's gaze darted to Marco's pants. "We'll always think of you as our little girl. But you've been an adult now for quite some time."

"If this man makes you happy…" Father cleared his throat. "He may not be quite what we'd have chosen. But the man we did choose was a disaster. If this Marco is respectful, if he treats you well, that's all we want from him. That he makes you happy."

"We've made reservations," said Mother, blurting it out in a rush. "We want you to join us tomorrow for dinner, both you and Marco. We want to meet him."

I felt all the blood rush out of my head. Of course, of course they'd want to meet him. But this had never been part of my revenge plan. Getting my parents involved, getting their hopes up.

"If tomorrow's too sudden, we'll be here all week." Father stood up and straightened the covers behind him. "But if he's important to you, he's important to us. We would like to meet him before we go home."

Maybe I could get food poisoning, or, I don't know, typhus. Something weird and exotic and highly contagious. Something that would keep me and Marco from dinner.

"Please, Eve," said Mother. "We really are sorry. We'd like to do it right this time. No meddling, I promise."

Father's eyes narrowed, and he straightened his tie. "We won't be disappointed if it doesn't work out. If you two are just dating, that's fine with us. But we'd still like to meet him while we're in town."

I felt myself nodding. Heard myself saying yes. Basked in their radiant smiles of approval.

I'd never had any backbone when it came to my folks.