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LOUIS
It’s been over a week since the memorable reception. Every morning since then, Rudy has driven the lot of us to MINDFUCH. In the afternoons, he takes me to the embassy, while Camille goes home on her own. She claims that she learns more about the local mores during hermétroride than from the paid lessons she receives every weekday morning.
At MINDFUCH, she has her own office.
Yasmina Joury, the head of the Strategic Planning and Rationalizing Department, gave her a special task that’s equally time-consuming and inconsequential to keep her busy. Even though Camille’s clearance is higher than that of a rank-and-file employee, it doesn’t grant her access to work on anything important or sensitive.
This morning is the exception to our new routine. Her tutor had asked to move the lesson to the afternoon, so Camille is riding with me to MINDFUCH. She hasn’t said much since we set out. As a matter of fact, she hasn’t said much to me, at any rate, in over a week.
To be fair, I haven’t said much to her either. We haven’t had sex since the night of the reception. I haven’t been sleeping well… Must be due to the stress of the new job.
I’ve dived headlong into my responsibilities as emissary to France while also keeping an eye on Royal Riviera. Because my cousins are just as committed as I am to revive the studio, they had no choice but to start talking to me again. Celeste is still upset over my sudden marriage and the complications it’s added to an already messy situation with the movie. But Jonas seems to have gotten over it. I’ll see him tomorrow at the MINDFUCH Christmas bash.
Given how few people I trust, it is my hope that I can mend my relationship with both of them.
It is also my ardent hope that I can use my position to help my country avoid the collapse that Kurt Ozzi has been cooking up for us.
Even if the Evorians are allowed to keep most of their personal assets, the devastation caused by the loss of statehood would be colossal. Unless we stop Kurt, our royals and elites will be forced to submit helplessly and watch his power grab from the sidelines. No longer will we be able to shield our people from impoverishment and injustice. Our constitutional monarchy will be no more. The robust Evorian economy, protected from the speculative abuse by finance sharks like Kurt, will take a nosedive while our taxes will soar. Europe’s sole oasis of true democracy and good government—the Renaissance humanists’ dream come true—will be lost.
“Your Grace,” Angie says from the front seat, “I’m happy to report that the gift and flirty note you’d asked to send Magdalena have been delivered.”
I’d forgotten all about it!
Nor can I recall asking her to send Magdalena a gift and a note. Pretty sure it was Angie’s idea that I’d okayed. As for the message being flirty… Hmm, overstepping like this isn’t like her, which is why I won’t embarrass her by contradicting her in front of the others.
“What was the gift?” I ask instead.
Looking over her shoulder, she flashes me a bright smile. “A Cartier necklace, of course!”
Like the one I got Camille? What the fuck?
I sneak a glance at Camille. She’s staring out the window, lost in thought. Is there a chance she didn’t hear the exchange? I wonder what’s on her mind right now. Could it be our relationship? No, I don’t think so. It’s probably the challenges of her new life. Or her investigation into the palace fire that’s been at a standstill since we left Mount Evor.
Angie looks back again. “Has everyone gotten their ugly Christmas sweaters for tomorrow’s party?”
She’s a little too perky this morning…
Rudy nods. “I’ll wear the one I bought two years back when the trend reached Mount Evor.”
“And you, Your Grace?” Angie asks. “Would you like me to buy you a new one?”
“No, thanks. I’ll just reuse the one you purchased in Lisbon last year for the party at the embassy.”
She twists in her seat to look at Camille. “What about you?”
I realize that Angie never uses “your grace” when addressing Camille. While both Rudy and Angie know that her status as the Duchess of Arrago has an expiration date, they also know it is real. My marriage to Camille may have been arranged, but it’s valid. She is my wife until the day we divorce, and my staff owes her respect.
I open my mouth to give Angie a dressing-down, but then I remind myself that this behavior is highly out of character. She’s never allowed herself such liberties before.
Have her migraines been more frequent of late, bothering her more than she lets on and making her forget herself? Am I, in part, responsible for her disdain? By having barely spoken to Camille all week, have I set the tone? Has Angie been taking her cue from me?
Camille levels her gaze with Angie’s. “I’ll figure something out.”
“I saw a bunch of hilarious models in a shop window a short drive from our residence,” Rudy says. “I can take you there, Your Grace, before your class this afternoon.”
“I have a better idea!” Angie exclaims, looking at Camille. “You could dig out one of your old sweaters. They’re so hideous they don’t even need to try.”
That’s it, I’ve had enough of her bullshit!
