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“91% popular,” Wolfgang replied, showing me his tablet and the French article with some popularity poll. I was number one by a landslide…more popular than their prime minister and even…the pope?
“Why is that?”
“Apparently, there seem to be many reasons. We just found this out, so we cannot really be sure. But you and your mother have a long-documented history in Paris, ma’am,” Balduin said, nodding to Wolfgang to show me all the pictures of myself and my mother on French websites. Some with me as a little girl. Others at fashion week. Pictures of me just walking down the street, going about my life before I met Gale. It looked like I was being stalked.
“There is even a hashtag, Odette et moi, all over France we just became aware of also.” Wolfgang clicked and showed me.
There were photos with me and local bakers, photos with me and local chefs, me with people in department stores…just me and people I didn’t remember.
“I just skimmed some of the stories underneath. They are similar. You coming in—sometimes you were alone—thanking the people for the food or service and asking to take a photo with someone for your blog.”
“You have a blog?” Gale asked me.
“No. I mean, I wanted to start one. But I ended up not doing it. I wanted memories of the places I went, and so I would ask for pictures. I told myself I’d use people I talked to for inspiration for songs…but honestly, it was just me being an excited American tourist. I never thought anything of it.”
“You also seemed to be a great tipper—”
“It would look bad for a c-list singer and daughter of a billionaire to be a poor tipper,” I interrupted Wolfgang, trying to tear down this image of me being some angel very quickly.
“C-list? That is a little harsh,” Gale replied, obviously not focused on the right thing here.
“Thanks, but this”—I pointed to the crowd outside—“is a bit much for a few photos and tips.”
“Well,” Wolfgang cut in. “There are a lot of stories of you doing works of charity or helping people. Like this man, he said that he was on hard times, and you came in, placed a large order at his clothing shop, and paid double.”
“I remember that guy!” I replied, pointing to the social media post. “I came into his shop because it said closing soon, so I thought there would be a sale. He didn’t notice me at first because some people were harassing him about his prices. When they cursed him out and left, he looked so heartbroken. I decided to buy as much as I could carry. It wasn’t that big of a deal. The clothes weren’t that expensive, to begin with.”
“And then you donated those clothes to a local homeless shelter,” Wolfgang added, showing me the next post.
“My mom bought too much stuff! I didn’t want to have a thousand boxes at the airport. There was no way in the world she was leaving anything behind. I didn’t really like all the stuff I bought from him, so I just donated it before we left. It’s not a real story of anything.”
They all just looked at me.
“What?” I looked between them all.
“How many times has this happened, ma’am?” Balduin asked.
I shrugged, which was unbecoming of a queen. But still. “I don’t know, once or twice…maybe three times. I’ve also gone to charities and stuff because of my dad’s company but again…no big deal.”
“So basically, she’s like a saint to them. Is that what you are telling me?” Gale ignored me and looked at them both.
“Yes, sir,” they both replied, and my mouth dropped open…again unbecoming, but I didn’t want to be a saint.
“Don’t say that. That’s too much pressure.” I looked back to Wolfgang, trying to find the words, but he clamped his lips down to keep from grinning at me.
“Come on, Odette the Good, let’s go see your people.” Gale chuckled as he got up from his chair, fixing his suit jacket, as Gelula and James brought our coats…freshly pressed.
“Don’t call me that,” I said as I got up as well. “It is almost impossible to live up to people’s perceptions of you. If I mess up—”
“You won’t,” he replied, taking the beret from Gelula and pinning it on the side of my hair once my coat was on. “This is good. All of this is good. Whatever the stories are…however, it happened. The more you shine, the more the monarchy shines…, the more I shine. So, let’s go there and let them have their perceptions of you.”
He leaned over and whispered into my ear, “So long as I’m the only man who knows and sees the real you, I don’t care.”
I smiled. But the twinge of guilt in me again…that one lie was eating me up. Since kicking Arabella out…I’d been feeling so much all the time. One moment I’d forget about it and be fine. The next, I felt sick and so guilty whenever he was so sweet to me. But I forced it back down and smiled anyway. Like now, as I gripped his hand tightly.
“Come on,” he said, leading me to the front of the plane where the sun was already beaming, and Iskandar and Thelma were waiting. He spoke into his earpiece and then nodded for her to go out first.
When it was finally time for us, Gale stepped out first, and not since our wedding did I feel the pressure of people screaming like this ever.
