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He was cross, too, at her stab about him not texting her except about work—as if she didn’t get how hard it had been for him to seem normal this week.
He was suddenly bizarrely tempted to have her removed.
Actually, it wasn’t that bizarre, because if anyone else knew the threat she posed to the monarchy then yes, she’d be removed.
Her five-foot-two, pink-shouldered body was a serious threat indeed.
Because if he didn’t do the job...
Jasmine couldn’t.
This morning’s anxiety attack had made that exceptionally clear.
Was he really considering Beatrice as a hetaera?
She was by far too common and his father would refuse.
Then again, so would Beatrice.
He laughed to himself like a mad man at his own thoughts.
‘Sir?’ Tobias hauled his attention away from yellow-frocked temptation. ‘Il Presidente...’
One of his potential fathers-in-law was here, and Julius was always brilliant at small-talk, he reminded himself.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FIVEDAYS.Just five days.
Her life felt like some dreadful Advent calendar, with no chocolate reward at the end.
She was thoroughly ashamed of herself for the way she’d behaved on Saturday. And at least some of that was because it had showed Julius that she cared.
Maybe she’d had sunstroke. Could she use that as an excuse?
Or she’d tell him she was premenstrual—which she wasn’t. But she would be next week. Yes, she’d start banging on about periods and he’d back away. But then again, maybe Julius wouldn’t.
Beatrice gave herself the same pep talk she’d give to one of her clients—well, except for the royal client, who didn’t want one.
Just carry on as if nothing has happened. And deny, deny, deny, even to yourself, she added, as she pulled on one of her many grey dresses and tied her trainers for the journey into the office.
She bought her coffee, poured it into her new cup, and took the shuttle bus. And then she walked with purpose, fighting not to turn on her phone as she marched along Prince’s Lane.
Even the peacocks seemed to know she needed a little help today, because one was up early this morning, fanning his gorgeous white tail, showing off.
‘Thank you,’ she told him as she passed, and even turned around to admire him some more.
And then she silently swore as she saw a van make its way to the stables.
Occhi da Cucciolo. Puppy Dog Eyes. It was written in red on the side of the van, surrounded by hearts, and it was driving down the lane. For once it was Beatrice making a panicked call to Jordan, rather than the other way around.
‘Jordan, did you approve that puppy and pony photoshoot?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I’ve just seen a van on its way to the stables.’
‘Oh, no!’ She could hear Jordan frantically tapping. ‘No, I haven’t booked anything.’
