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Still flummoxed at my warm greeting, she says, “It’s lovely to see you too, Etienne. The King just left; he’s at a meeting he couldn’t cancel. Are you alright?”
“I’m perfect, Mother.” And I mean that. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m a newlywed, remember?”
I know what she’s thinking. The look on her face says it all. Everyone in the family knows this wedding was forced upon me, and she was the last person who expected me to fall in line and be happy about it.
“You’re home very early and unexpectedly from your honeymoon,” she says.
I glance around the room as I drink my tea and see the servers have yet to clear Father’s breakfast place setting. In my usual careless demeanor, I stroll over to it and pick up a half-eaten slice of bacon.
Mother clucks at me, so I set it back down, but only after slipping a used spoon into my pocket without her noticing. My thievery skills have come in handy for the greater good: evidence.
At that moment, her team of publicists file into the room, all in black, like a murder of crows, waiting to peck my eyeballs out.
Ignoring their stares, I smile down at the queen. “Kala had an unexpected emergency. A funeral for an old friend.”
I’m waiting for her to acknowledge that we were supposed to remain stranded on the island for two more months. That we were held captive and isolated in an attempt to break my spirit.
Instead, she sprints by those details and says, “Yes, the publicists saw the photos on the news, the two of you leaving the Royal Museum. Really, darling, you should have alerted us you were coming home early.”
Is she really continuing with this charade? “I would have loved to, Mother, but under the circumstances of our departure from the island, I still had not received my phone. In fact, it’s a miracle we were able to make it home without passports.”
The look of utter confusion she gives me next is an Oscar-worthy performance. “Your phone…passports…my son, what are you talking about?”
“Really, Mother? Are you going to keep up the pretense that you didn’t know? Because I expected this of Father. I was shocked that you went along with it.”
“What exactly did I go along with, Etienne?”
I step back and examine the huddle of publicists murmuring amongst themselves, scrolling through feeds on their phones, glancing up at me, at my mother. They all look shifty as fuck, and I don’t like it.
“Come on, Mother. You know perfectly well that the security team confiscated our phones and passports.”
The queen gasps, and I’m starting to believe this act. “My dear, why would you think I would do that?”
My throat tightens. I examine her face; she truly did not know that happened. “Why do you think His Royal Gasbag would maroon me on an island with unlimited access to alcohol?”
“I have no idea, Etienne.”
She’s losing patience with me. Good.
“To control my movements,” I explain. “To keep me calm, drunk, or both. To keep me from having the clarity to plot my disappearance?”
Every word from my mouth chips away at my mother’s heart.
“Your father glossed over that detail when the palace planned that trip. All he said to me about security was that he would book a private security firm, and that the palace would book the entire resort out so you and your bride would have the utmost privacy. No chance of paps ruining things, nosing their way in.”
I nod and prepare her for the worst bit. “And did he tell you the palace booked out every room for three months?”
“Three months? Preposterous.”
“Yes, it’s a preposterous waste of funds. I’m curious, Mother. When do you think you might have started to wonder when I was coming home?”
She takes a moment to respond. “I need to speak to your father. This is horrible. What he did to you was horrible.” The queen raises her hands in reassurance that she’s going to take care of the situation. She’s going to smooth everything over between Father and me. “But first, we must meet with the publicists to discuss how to spin your abrupt homecoming.”
I am incredulous at this pivot. “Kala’s friend died. We came home to pay our respects. That’s the story.”
She nods. “Yes, yes. But the royal watchers already imply that the palace didn’t know you were coming home. They’re all extrapolating so many stories, Etienne. Do you understand now that you’re next in line to the throne, everyone who matters is watching every move you make?”
My mother gestures to one of the publicists, who seems to be in charge. A severe-looking young man in a trendy suit carrying a tablet I know is not on the market yet.
