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I gape at her—at both of them. “You want Ben to stay?”
“Of course not,” she snaps. Her eyes are red now, and despite the ferocity in her voice, she looks like she’s about to cry. “I want him gone just as badly as you do. But Ben knows too much, and this will go poorly if we force them to leave.”
“And you don’t think it will if he sticks around?” I say, my own anger bubbling to the surface again as I turn back to Alexander. “You’re really okay with us all sleeping under the same roof?”
“No,” he admits. “I’ve already instructed security to monitor Benedict at all times. But we’ll have a better chance of controlling the narrative if he’s here, where we can keep an eye on him. And, to be frank, I think more danger lies in what could—and likely would—happen if we banish him now. Not to mention the scandal it would cause.”
I open and shut my mouth, momentarily speechless. “Is that what this is really about? You’re going to let Ben get away with everything he did just to avoid another scandal?”
“I cannot disown him without reason—a very public reason,” says my father and there’s steel in his voice now. “I don’t like this, either, Evan, but we’re between a rock and a hard place, and certain choices must be made. Ben’s entire future is wrapped up in this family, and in my allowing him to remain an active part of it. Now that we all know what he’s capable of, he’ll take care to earn back our trust. And until—unless—he does something truly dangerous, we must find a way to live with him.”
My heart races, and I’m so furious that I can barely speak. “If something happens to one of us—to my mom—”
“Then I will destroy him,” says Alexander calmly. “You have my word.”
Maisie huffs. “We could just have him killed now and save everyone the trouble,” she mutters.
“Only as a last resort,” says Alexander, and I don’t think he’sjoking.
But no matter what my father says, I know—from the look in Ben’s eyes to the way he says my name to his charade of regret—that he isn’t here to win us over. He didn’t come back to beg forgiveness or to prove he loves us after all.
Ben is here for revenge. And I refuse to let him have it.
CHAPTER NINE
“Henrietta, would you say that it is unprecedented for the King to so blatantly flaunt his mistress at a royal family gathering?”
“In modern times, certainly, but historically, royal mistresses were extremely common and typically had a prominent place in the royal household. Anne Boleyn is likely the most famous example, though of course she eventually became the second wife of Henry VIII.”
“And lost her head for it, as we all know. What about Wallis Simpson, as a more recent example?”
“As the Prince of Wales, Edward VIII certainly made no secret of his affair with Wallis Spencer—who later became Wallis Simpson—after meeting her in San Diego in 1920. This was before he married Catherine Gable in 1927, however, so he was really the third wheel of her first marriage.”
“So it’s been more than a century since any king has had a mistress?”
“It’s been more than a century since any king was caught with a mistress. There have been whispers—particularly about Alexander I—for decades, but no woman was ever named.”
“Until Laura Bright.”
“Until Laura Bright, yes. Though while I will admit it does look rather dodgy, with His Majesty himself escorting Ms. Bright to Sandringham, one might speculate that she was joining her daughter, Evangeline, for Christmas, rather than coming as the King’s plus-one.”
“Is there any evidence that she and His Majesty may be resuming their affair?”
“It’s anyone’s guess, though to do so in such a public manner would be daring, to say the least. Especially with the Queen and Queen Mother present at Sandringham.”
“I expect the royals are in for an awkward Christmas, wouldn’t you say?”
“That’s certainly putting it mildly.”
—ITV News’s interview with royal expert Henrietta Smythe, 23 December 2023
BEN IS EVERYWHERE.
I have no idea how he does it, but for the rest of the afternoon, every time I venture into one of the common areas of Sandringham, he’s there—lurking in a corner, perched on an out-of-the-way armchair, or seated on the opposite side of the room, rarely part of the conversation, but always watching. And usually watching me.
The rest of the family barely bats an eye, as if they’ve already forgotten the reason for his apology in the first place. Even Maisie seems to reluctantly accept his presence, though she, at least, never actively acknowledges his existence. Despite her unspoken support, however, the whole situation is so unnerving that once I make sure my mom is still sleeping off her jet lag, Kit and I sneak away to spend the evening on my bedroom sofa, up to our eyeballs in cheesy Christmas movies. I’m not in the right headspace to enjoy them, not with Ben skulking nearby. But Kit gets sniffly every time the inevitable happy ending rolls around, so I don’t argue when he suggests yet another. At least one of us is having a good holiday.
Sometime in the middle of our marathon, we fall asleep on the couch together, and I wake in the gray morning light to the sound of indistinct whispers. They’re faint at first, as if they’re coming from the other side of the wall, but after a groggy moment, I realize they’re murmuring my name.
