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Her sad eyes widen in recognition at Etienne. She curtseys so low I reach for her to keep her steady on her poor, surely-aching feet. “Your Highness. I’m so sorry you two cut your honeymoon short,” she says.
“I’m not,” Etienne says, then immediately realizes how that sounds when Amanda’s expression turns curious.
“I mean. I knew my wife would never forgive herself if she couldn’t make it.”
I shoot him a look that tells him he’s laying it on a little thick, and to my relief, he says nothing more.
We wander toward the refreshment table where a group of people are gathered, their backs to us.
Two women with short, grayish-blonde hair turn to me.
Oh gods. It’s Kelly and Kirsten.
I swallow, gathering my nerves.
When they see my husband, they curtsy. “Your Highness.” As a unit, they then turn their attention back to me without using my title. But I won’t quibble.
“Ladies,” I say warily.
Kelly pouts. “We were so disappointed we didn't receive a wedding invitation.”
Kristen nods. “Yes, what happened to us.” By “us,” she means our friendship.
Etienne tries his best to shift their blame to the palace. “The queen keeps tight control of the guest list. Your royal’ gram account is evidently more famous than you realize.
Kirsten laughs, and Kelly narrows her eyes. “Yes, one wonders why there were no journalists invited at all. One wonders if the palace was worried they might dig something up.”
Oh no…are they hinting that they know something? I need to fix this. Keeping my smile intact, I explain, “You weren’t invited because I didn’t include you on the list. This should not be a surprise because of how you changed toward me after our first year together.”
Kirsten looks hurt. “And after we were there for you when you lost the big prize.”
She means Torben. And they weren’t “there for me.” They wanted information. They wanted connections.
“My husband is the prize,” I say, a little overly sweet. I only hope my husband doesn’t think I’m faking it. Because he definitely is the prize, as far as I’m concerned. More and more every day.
“She always knows the exact right thing to say. She’s so talented at working a room, isn’t she?” Kelly says to the prince.
“Speaking of working a room, my wife is being overly kind and waiting for you to move aside so she can get something to eat. We’re exhausted and hungry from the trip,” Etienne says with all the charm he can muster.
Kelly bows her head and moves out of the way. Etienne meanders around the buffet while Kelly bends his ear about one thing or another, leaving Kirsten and me alone.
And that’s when the claws come out.
“So, how’d you do it?” Kristen asks.
“Do what?”
“Don’t be stupid, Kala. I know you. How’d you meet? How did you win an engagement out of the laziest prince in history? How’d you have such a short engagement? How did you manage it?”
I blink at her. Is she serious? “I didn’t manage anything. We met, we connected, we got married. People have been doing it for millennia.”
These are technically all factual statements, even if the connecting happened after the wedding.
Kirsten narrows her eyes. “You weaseled your way in somehow. And I want to know how it’s done. There’s one spare prince left. Something tells me that after everything shakes out, Sigurd will be king.”
Boundaries, Kala. Boundaries. Sigurd is my brother-in-law, and she’s implying she wants to meet him and make a play for him.
Just then, Kelly sidles up, looking sour. No doubt, Etienne deflected her questions.
