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I blink. Sure enough, when I glance over Jenkins’s shoulder, my father is chuckling at something Mr. Park said, but his gaze quickly meets mine, and he tilts his head toward the others.
“Really?” I say in a low voice, but I already have my answer. “You’re sure it won’t ruin the photo shoot? Or insult the first family?”
“Quite sure,” says Jenkins, and he offers me his arm. “If you please.”
Tibby prods me in the small of my back, and I loop my elbow around Jenkins’s and do my best not to limp. Maybe kicking off my broken shoe wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world, even if it means I’ll lose at least four inches. But before I can weigh the pros and cons, Jenkins is handing me off to Alexander, and it’s too late to do anything about it now.
“You look lovely,” murmurs my father, kissing me on the cheek. “Why don’t you and Maisie stand with Thaddeus?”
While I expect him and the president to be front and center, they both step aside and position the three of us in the middle, with Thaddeus Park towering over me and my half sister. And as he peers down at me, I swear he smirks.
“Nice to meet you,” he says in an American accent that matches mine. I’m so used to hearing the seemingly endless varieties in the UK by now, however, that it sounds strangely alien to my ears. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
“You were?” I say, taken aback. “Why?”
He chuckles, and while it’s the kind of laugh that probably puts most people at ease, I bristle. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not really,” I say, and before he can explain—or formulate a witty comeback, which seems more his style—the official palace photographer clears his throat. The seven of us all face forward, and I smile, hoping like hell that my sudden spike of anxiety doesn’t show on my face.
“A little closer, if you would, Your Majesties,” says the photographer, and while this is clearly directed at my father and Helene, who could fit half a continent between them, Thaddeus shifts toward me, too.
It’s a small movement—barely more than an inch or two—but instinctively I edge away, and that minor adjustment is too much for my shoe to bear. The strap snaps, and with a sharp jolt of pain in my ankle, I’m suddenly falling, dangerously close to taking the president down with me.
But then, like this is all some choreographed dance we’ve practiced together, Thaddeus catches me effortlessly, his arms strong and secure around me. I gasp, and as I slowly absorb what’s happening, I realize I’m staring directly into his dark eyes.
Click.
A camera goes off, and then another, and another, until all I hear are the echoes of shutters and phones as seemingly every single photographer and member of the Royal Rota take our picture. With a self-satisfied grin, Thaddeus helps me back to my feet, his hand lingering on my bare arm for much longer than it should. And if there was any question of which photo the press will use for tomorrow’s headlines, there isn’t anymore.
Terrific.
CHAPTER TWO
@TheDailySunUK: Has Evangeline broken things off with Christopher Abbott-Montgomery, Earl of Clarence and nephew to Queen Helene? Our preview of tonight’s state banquet, featuring the royal family, America’s President Park, and the swoon-worthy moment between Evangeline and Thaddeus Park.
9:53 PM · 18 December 2023
@dutchessdame172: @TheDailySunUK lucky bitch.
9:57 PM · 18 December 2023
—Twitter exchange between the Daily Sun and user @dutchessdame172, 18 December 2023
KIT LAUGHS SO LOUDLY THAT I have to pull Tibby’s phone away from my ear.
“Only you, Evan,” he manages, and I can picture him shaking his head, his dark wavy hair nearly skimming his jaw now despite the number of times Helene has begged him to cut it. “Turning one of those stuffy banquets into a cheating scandal. I’m impressed.”
“It’s not funny,” I say, shifting on the cushioned window seat in one of Windsor Castle’s massive libraries. The room is almost completely devoid of light, and the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves loom eerily around me, but I can take a little spookiness as long as it comes with privacy. “Everyone’s saying we’ve broken up—”
“Have we?” he says, still chuckling. “Did you meet the love of your life tonight, and you’ve rung to tell me you’re kicking me to the curb?”
His voice is slightly muffled now, and I make a face. “Of course not. You’re Googling the photos, aren’t you?”
“Naturally,” he says, and a beat later, he bursts into another fit of laughter. “He escorted you and Maisie into the banquet? Whose idea was that?”
“His,” I groan. “Alexander thought it was chivalrous. Stop—I told you it was bad.”
“On the contrary, this is the highlight of my week,” says Kit, and I can hear him grinning. “The snap of him catching you is actually rather stunning. If I were the one you were gazing at so lovingly, I’d frame it.”
