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She laughs again, any tension in her gone now. “I’ve got plenty of those, haven’t I? Your Kit’s a good lad. Brings out the best in us, or at least he tries, bless him.”
He brings out the best in me, too, but I don’t say that out loud. Kit and I’ve made more than our fair share of headlines since he took my hand at Wimbledon, and even though he and Aoife are friends, that’s the kind of thing I want to—need to—keep private.
Once I pay for the gifts, Aoife and I head out onto the sidewalk together, still trailed by my personal protection officer. Kit and Dylan are waiting for us beside the Range Rover, and while they’re chatting with the ease of two people who’ve known each other for years, Kit’s posture is rigid, and his foot is tapping on the pavement to a fast and erratic beat.
“Evan,” he says, too anxious to hide the impatience in his voice—or remember to call me Evangeline in front of his friends. “I’m afraid we really must go.”
“No worries, mate,” says Dylan, but Aoife’s round eyes go a bit watery, and to my surprise, she catches me in a hug.
“Kit has my number,” she says into my hair. “Stay in touch, yeah?”
“I will,” I say, already feeling guilty for the lie. But I don’t know how else to make a graceful exit, and it would take too long to explain that I don’t have a phone. “It was really nice meeting you.”
When she finally lets me go, she squeezes my free hand before latching onto Dylan’s arm once more. Kit and I both pitch what’s left of our ice cream, and I slide into the car, not sure whether I’m more relieved that’s over or nervous about what comes next.
“They seem friendly,” I say as soon as Kit joins me and closes the door. My protection officer climbs into the front seat beside the driver, and the car begins to move, leaving Dylan and Aoife behind. “Why did you never mention them?”
“Didn’t I?” says Kit, even though I’m sure we both know hedidn’t. “I’ll introduce you properly when you join us next year.”
I eye him, not entirely sure how to take this gentle dismissal. But before I can press, he glances at his phone again, and while I know it’s rude, I shift closer to him. “Who texted you?”
“Maisie,” he says grimly, and he tilts his phone to show me. “It’s a 9-9-9 text.”
“A what?” I say, squinting at the screen. Sure enough, Maisie’s texted a simple 999, and despite Kit’s three follow-up messages, she hasn’t responded. “What does that mean?”
“It means there’s an emergency,” says Kit. “Like your American 9-1-1.”
My heart stutters, and suddenly I feel like there’s a block of ice in my stomach. “My mom,” I say tightly. “If Constance did something—”
“You know how Maisie is,” says Kit. “It could be anything. A lost shoe, a bit of friendly gossip she’s blown out of proportion—”
“But she’d be answering you, then, right?” I say, silently willing the car to go faster. “If she hasn’t said anything yet…”
I trail off, and Kit takes my hand, his thumb stroking my skin. But while we don’t speak for the rest of the drive, my imagination more than makes up for our silence, and by the time wefinally arrive at Sandringham House, I’ve already come up with a dozen different scenarios, each more devastating than the last.
A footman opens the door for us, and as Kit and I hurry inside, I notice Paul packing the antique scale into a cushioned crate. He bows his head in greeting, but before he speaks, a torrent of words rushes out of me.
“Is everything okay? Maisie sent Kit a text, and she said something’s wrong, but we don’t know what—”
“Do you know where Princess Mary is, Paul?” says Kit, far more calmly, as he slides my coat from my shoulders.
“Her Royal Highness is in the white drawing room with Their Majesties and their guests,” he says. “Should I let her know you’ve returned?”
I’m already striding across the entrance hall as Kit responds, “That won’t be necessary,” and his footsteps quickly catch up with mine. “Evan, whatever’s going on, it can’t be a true emergency if the staff hasn’t been informed.”
“You don’t understand how bad things can get for my mom,” I say, keeping my voice low as we round the corner. “If Constance or Helene went after her—”
“Where have you been?”
I skid to a stop, nearly plowing directly into my half sister as she paces the width of the corridor. Her face is flushed, her eyes are wild with panic, and she sidesteps me without a single dirty look—which is how I’m suddenly sure this isn’t a false alarm.
“What’s going on?” I say, ignoring her question. “Is my mom okay? What—”
“Your mother?” says Maisie, taken aback. “How on earth would I know? Is she here, too? Has the entire planet been invited and no one’s bothered to tell me?”
Kit takes my hand again. “Evan’s mother is here as Uncle Alexander’s guest. What’s happened? Why weren’t you answering your mobile?”
“Mummy took it,” says my half sister, tugging on a lock of her hair. “She’s upset I missed lunch, or she was, but now—”
