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Jo
I’m not sure what a media coach is, but I feel like I’m watching Jakob prepare to be cross-examined in a courtroom.
Word traveled like wildfire that the princess had identified Jakob as the one who broke her fall from the balcony during the royal appearance at her brother’s birthday celebration.
It’s been stressed to Jakob and me that the focus is now “containment” and “getting ahead of the story.”
I don’t know what any of that means. All I know is we’re standing around in a windowless room in the bowels of the palace. There are no chairs and no fancy trays of pretty little snacks. Not even a glass of water.
I do not like this.
On top of everything, the palace’s media coach is a very serious and fast-talking American named Doug.
Doug has corralled the king, queen, Jakob, Suzanna, Princess Flora, and me to go over our “talking points.”
This is, of course, after Uther and the small army of security guards and drivers whisked us all away from the wedding, then silently and swiftly marched us through a secret door once we reached the palace.
So many hidden entrances, so much secrecy. Why can’t the princess just talk to Jakob like a normal person? Why does there have to be so many people involved?
Doug has his hands clasped together as he paces and thinks. Tapping his chin thoughtfully, he strides up to Jakob. “Here’s what you say when they ask you who you are. You’re a starving artist who was out scrounging for food in the plaza on the prince’s birthday.”
Already, I don’t like Doug.
He is dressed like an extra from The West Wing or Scandal or one of those political dramas that stress me out.
And speaking of stress, the vibe in this place has switched from celebratory and optimistic to downright pandemonium. When Doug brought us down here, every staffer in this place seemed like a whisper away from a full-on meltdown. I want to get the heck out of here.
“Don’t you think that’s insulting? He’s not starving,” I interject.
The king and queen stare me down as if daring me to speak again.
“Who are you?” Doug asks.
“That’s my wife, and I agree with her.”
I look at Jakob, still dapper in his wedding suit. I smile up at him and hook my arm through his. My husband’s eyes rake over me, and a sense of calm starts to nudge away the unease.
“This is the first I’ve seen you up close in that dress. You look incredible,” he says, his cheeks red.
My body’s Pavlovian reaction to Jakob staring hungrily at my breasts is inappropriate for the palace. My fucking nipples. Gods, I hope the tape is good enough to cover them up for now. I’m not used to going without a proper, full coverage bra.
I’ve felt a weirdness between Jakob and me ever since this morning. This moment feels like we’re finally tying our loose ends back together.
He reaches for my hand that’s on his arm and squeezes. Hopefully this will all be over soon, and we can go to our room and have makeup sex. I wouldn’t call this weirdness even a real fight, but who’s going to say no to makeup sex? Not this girl.
“That’s a sweet sentiment,” Doug says, pressing his hands together pleadingly. “But I’m afraid it’s not up to the two of you. This is about optics for the king and queen and the royal family.”
The king grunts an interruption. “I don’t need to say anything, and neither does the queen. The princess is going to give Jakob his medal of honor and what have you, and the rest of us will stand around and smile and look grateful.”
I have to hand it to King Otto. He has a point. There’s no need for any of us. This entire revelation is about a simple act of heroism.
My eyes catch Flora’s, who smiles at me. Normally very expressive, from what I’ve seen of her in the media, Flora now looks subdued and overwhelmed. Thoughtful.
I picture the scene of that fateful day—Jakob catching Princess Flora, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment before he disappeared into the crowd. I wonder what had transpired in his heart during that split second, what thoughts had raced through his mind as he made that decision to rescue her, and then to run.
Is there something more between them? My insecurities really need to take a back seat once and for all.
“Look grateful?” Queen Hilde says to the king, put off by her husband’s shortness. “My dear, he saved our daughter’s life. Let’s hope the gratitude is genuine.”
