Page 82 of Scarred Crown

We’re in a stare off, and for the first time since my glasses went unaccounted for, I miss them. They’ve become part of my armor, and my contacts don’t give me the same sense of wisdom and protection.

My mother hasn’t mentioned the wedding, our drunken photos, or the rather extensive gossip article Robbie from Tanzania published and posted. Instead, she kindly printed it out for me to read, and the pages are neatly laid out on the edge of the desk.

The old grandfather clock to the right of us ticks a steady beat.

Stubbornly, I haven’t touched a single page or read anything other than the glaring and large headline: Angling for a Promotion? King’s secretary and Prince Nicholas in hot Tanzanian affair. Whatever is in the article is a bunch of lies, and I’m not making excuses for someone’s imagination. Though it turns out Robbie must be psychic because I have, somehow, been promoted to wife.

My hands are folded in my lap, carefully concealing the bold tattoo with Nick’s name. Should I have put the bandage back on it? The skin is so red, and I know nothing about tattoos. If I need to have the intricate design removed, it’s going to hurt.

“You’ve got nothing to say for yourself?” My mother finally cracks, easing her ramrod spine into the back of my chair.

I wish I pushed her out of the way at the entry to the office. At thirty, I’d rather not be getting a lecture from my mother about my behavior. I didn’t even know this sort of conversation was still a possibility. Naïve, really. With my mother, it’s always possible.

“I believe, actually, that I might outrank you now. So, I’m not sure I technically have to explain myself,” I say.

Her eyebrows get lost in the sweep of her fringe. There are streaks of silver lacing her chestnut hair, but she’s never bothered to hide them. Vanity does not live in my mother. “Outrank me?”

There’s disbelief in her tone, and I wonder if my stubbornness is going to make this conversation worse than it needs to be. “That’s correct,” I say. In for a penny, in for a pound.

She splays her hands on the massive desk and takes a deep breath. “I was hoping we could have this conversation as mother and daughter. But if you want me to play the king’s secretary to your nonsense, I can do that as well.” She eyes my folded hands.

She was never going to let me have an even playing field. But drawing the mother card this early is surprising. “What do you want me to say?”

“I’d like to know how you went to Tanzania with the objective of keeping Nicholas out of trouble, and he’s landed in elephant dung up to his neck instead.”

“Marrying me is elephant dung? Such flattery.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t understand. I find it hard to believe you woke up this morning and thought: My decision-making skills are top-notch. Well done to me. You’ve been exemplary as my replacement the last three years. Whether or not you want to, you understand what a bloody PR nightmare this elopement is. The fact that the two of you look incredibly drunk in the photos is a problem on top of a problem.” She makes a heaping motion with her hand.

I rub my face and breathe out a sigh.

My mother gasps.

I freeze and close my eyes. The tattoo. Whoops. Man, I suck at secrets.

“You got a tattoo!” The pitch of her voice hits my ears, and I wince.

I draw my hands down and give her a sheepish look. “At least they can remove those, right?”

“You don’t want to be married to him?” Now it’s her turn to bury her face in her hands. “Oh, Julia. What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t say that!”

She glances up. “Then what’s with the talk of having the tattoo removed? The biggest crisis here is that I have to arrange a proper royal wedding on top of a coronation. If you and Nicholas don’t intend to stay married, that’s—that’s—” She shakes her head.

I swallow. I guess this is the moment where I come clean. “So.” I take a deep breath and twirl a strand of my hair around my index finger. “Neither Nick or I technically remember getting married.”

“Oh, God. Oh, Lord. Julia Louise Jensen, you have got to be kidding me.” She stands up and starts pacing behind my desk.

In the car, I realized this situation was bad, but sitting in her office now, I’m starting to see how much worse it could be. Funny, Nick’s usually great with worst-case scenarios, and he didn’t lay any of them out in the car on the way here. Or perhaps not funny. I could really use someone to help me sort out the mess we made last night.

“Nicholas wants to end the marriage as well?”

I twist my mouth, really wishing I could somehow avoid this conversation. Yes, she’s giving me a hard time, and although I’d never say it out loud, her frustration is justified. “So.” I take a deep breath. “We haven’t actually discussed that yet.”

“What? You had fourteen hours on the plane. Fourteen hours. That’s a lifetime in a situation like this. More than enough time for the two of you to have a plan.”

“We were hungover. Neither of us was even awake.” I toss up my hands. She can’t expect me to magically solve a problem I didn’t know existed. “Also, we didn’t discover we were married until the plane was descending to Bellerive.”