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Aside from her feelings.
Were they even relevant here?
Did it even matter? Because clearly the world was carrying on, oblivious to the torch she carried for the Prince.
Perhaps it was time to snuff it out?
Bring forward her thirtieth birthday, maybe?
Make friends.
Say yes to life.
‘I’ll leave these with you to go through,’ Jordan said, and opened up a glossy navy folder that contained the official palace staff brochure along with an awful lot of forms. ‘Take your time to go through them and see what’s involved. Formal training in palace protocol...’ she turned the pages ‘...enhanced security vetting—that takes a few weeks...’
‘I had that in the UK; it’s still current.’
‘We’ll need our own, as well as counterterrorism measures. There’s no way around it. You’ll be working here upstairs, with full computer access, diaries, travelling with the royal entourage...’
Beatrice had a sudden image of herself at the rear of the royal jet, watching Julius and his bride. Or dressed in her clothing allowance wedding day best, but on the periphery. Stuck in a perpetual crush and never moving on.
Perhaps sometimes she’d get the evening offer of a cosy chair and a Limoncello and go home happy because he’d told her what a good job she’d done that day. Remain just a ridiculous teenager with a crush inside a twenty-nine-year-old body,
Or a forty-year-old body.
Or fifty.
Sixty?
The years would roll on and there they’d stand, both grey, on her retirement, and he’d smile and thank her for all her service, and his children and grandchildren would all be there...
‘Beatrice?’
Her breath was tight in her chest as she glimpsed her possible future. One in which she remained safe for ever because she had a crush on the unattainable—which meant she never, ever had to move on.
Beatrice wanted to move on.
That was why she’d gone searching for her friend—for someone who had always understood that, despite her coldness and aloofness, she was hurting.
She was ashamed of having barely searched for Alicia. Of having turned her back on the one person who had ever loved her. Just to survive.
She could hear Jordan’s voice, but it sounded as if it was being piped under water... ‘We can speak when I’m back. I’m sure you’ll have many questions...’
‘Actually, no.’ Beatrice heard her cold tone and softened it. ‘I’m flattered to be asked, but I don’t want to waste your time...’
‘Beatrice?’
Jordan was looking at the page Beatrice seemed to be fixed on—about security checks. Little did she know that it wasn’t the prospect of security checks that had Beatrice about to refuse the job offer. How could she know that it was the thought of being a part of the Prince’s entourage that made her hesitate?
‘I know already about the name-change. Is it that?’
Beatrice looked at her colleague...her almost new friend.
‘It was flagged for a security check.’
‘Of course.’
Jordan had Beatrice’s file in front of her, which contained a more detailed résumé than the bullet-pointed pages that had been handed to Julius to review. She had probably known all along that Beatrice was a Trebordi baby.
