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OK, I’m a stickler for déjà vu.
I get one of the drivers to take me in a limo to Nuernberg. In a reversal of events, I wait for Tatiana in the backseat. She’s right on time. She moves in gracefully beside me as I depress the button that shields the backseat passengers from the driver. She wears a sharp suit today – cerise jacket and skirt with black zigzag embellishments. Tatiana can pull any dress off.
She regards me with her bemused eyes.
“Turning the tables on me?” she says wryly. “You’ve won, you know. No need to rub it in.”
I clasp my hands. I’m nervous. “No, it’s not like that. I’m not here to gloat. I’ll never do that to you, or to anyone.”
She raises her eyebrows.
I say, “How are you, Tatiana?”
She does look different. Her shoulders are not as poised and a stray hair has escaped her usually impeccable coiffure. The sides of her mouth are creased. There are extra patches of concealer buried beneath her eyes, suggesting that she has not been sleeping well or looking after herself in the usual flawless manner.
My chest contracts. In this kind of war, there can only be one victor. I remember the state I was in when I left Alex for the first time. I was pretty depressed. It’s remarkable that Tatiana even managed to get out of bed and dress for me.
“As well as I can be, under the circumstances,” she says.
“I heard your father is really upset.”
“It’s a slap in the face for him. My engagement to Alex was a very public announcement after all.”
“Is your father . . . treating you OK?” I don’t know how royal fathers act towards their daughters, but suddenly, I am worried for Tatiana.
She smiles. “He hasn’t hit me, if that’s what you are implying. But he’s disappointed in me. He has always wanted a son, and this incident does not sit well with him. It’s an affirmation of his belief that daughters are and will continue to be disappointments to his lineage.”
“But it’s not your fault.”
“He insists it is. If I had been more persuasive with Alex . . . more beguiling, more giving.” Tatiana’s shadowed eyes flit away.
I feel really, really bad, but we are not close enough for me to reach out and clasp her hand. I’m not sure she would welcome my comfort either – I who have stolen away the love of her life.
“He thinks I should have been more ruthless,” Tatiana continues.
“How?”
She shakes her head. “There are things some royals do that never see print. You don’t want to know what they are capable of.”
Her eyes regard me again, and I suddenly feel a cold shiver slide down my spine.
She says, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to have you murdered.”
A smile ghosts her lips.
The thought of her hiring someone to kill me has never crossed my mind, and now she is suggesting that it should. Oh God. What am I playing with? Surely things like these don’t happen these days? With my heart thudding, I remember Princess Diana’s fatal crash in the French tunnel when she was with her lover.
That can’t be . . . no, no, it simply can’t. That was an accident, wasn’t it?
“You should see the look on your face,” she says, once again amused. She reaches out to grasp my hand instead, a gesture that takes me completely by surprise. “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. I am not your enemy. My father is not your enemy, if that’s what this visit is all about. We will not declare war upon Moldavia over this.”
I’m more than surprised. I’m shocked. Is she a mind reader?
She laughs. “I’ve hit the nail on the head, haven’t I? Yes, you are here because you want to barter peace. Very noble of you. We have no armies, but we can request defensive aid from Germany if necessary, just as Moldavia can request armies from France. But no army is going on the offense for us if we want to attack Moldavia over something as trivial as loss of face.”
That’s a relief to hear. But I’m still not out of the fire when it comes to assassination.
Tatiana turns a shade more serious.
“No, Elizabeth Turner. Neither I nor my father will be protesting this turn of affairs, although when it is made public, I cannot gauge the reactions of my fellow countrymen. They have been primed to accept it, however, thanks to the endless stream of photos featuring you with Alex for the past couple of months. No, the enemy is much, much closer to your home.”
“What do you mean?” I say.
“Exactly what I mean,” she replies cryptically. “It would do you well to keep your eyes and ears tuned. When the strike comes, it would be from the most unexpected of places.”
5
I spend the next four months being afraid of my own shadow.
I’m jumpy and nervous. “Is our food tasted before it’s served?” I ask Alex. “You know, as by royal food tasters?”
He’s astonished for a split second, and then he throws back his head and laughs.
“Oh Liz, darling.” He wipes tears from his eyes. “Where did you get that? We’re no longer in the middle ages.”
“It never hurts to be safe,” I argue.
“Yeah, but who in the hell wants to poison us?”
You never know, Alex, I think soberly. You just never know. It’s like the proverbial sword hanging over our heads. I don’t know when the strings tethering it to place are going to be severed.
To calm my nerves, I take French lessons. I spend a voluminous time with Marie Vassar whenever she has time for me. Now that her brother is King, their business and social calendars are filled with engagements and appointments. Marie has taken over a large chunk of the casinos so that her brother can be left to tend to more kingly matters.
My mother came to visit for two weeks. Alex paid for everything, of course – first class all the way. It was the first time my mother had ever met Alex, the first time she has ever been to Moldavia and the first time she has ever flown first class. In fact, it’s the first time she has ever been out of the United States.
Her jaw has not left the ground.
She has seen the pap photos, of course, and has been hounded by tabloid reporters to tell her side of the story. Or rather, my story. How I was as a child. Where I grew up. If I had any boyfriends as I was growing up.
Unlike Deanna, she never took the bait. Not even when they offered her a hundred thousand dollars.
Mom was like a fish out of the water everywhere. She never lost her awe of Alex (“But he’s a King! Yes, I know he’s very young and handsome, but he’s still a King, sweetheart.”). She had one tea with the Queen and Marie, and she clattered her way through with the teacups, spilling half her Darjeeling on her cheese and tomato finger sandwiches. She is clueless about dining etiquette.
I know I ought to be embarrassed for her, but I’d rather have my Mom for a Mom anytime than Alex’s mother, who is polite and smiling throughout, without the smile quite touching her eyes.
“I don’t belong here, sweetheart,” Mom says, abashed.
“Of course you do, Mom.” I hug her.
“No, I don’t. And neither do you, Lizzie, as much as I hate to say it.”
I hate to admit it too, but she is right.
“I have a bad feeling about this place, Lizzie.” She shudders as she looks around the grand palace. “It’s as though we are being watched all the time. Nothing feels safe. Nothing is private.”
Those are my exact sentiments, though I have learned to ignore it. Mom is far wiser than we give her credit for.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Lizzie, giving up college and all. But Alexander is a good, good man. He loves you very much.”
“I know, Mom. I know.”
I say a teary goodbye to Mom as she leaves for the airport. The time has now come for another major confrontation – the announcement of my official engagement to Alex. So far, the family knows about it and they have been majorly uneasy, except for Marie.
But it’s time to make it public now. It’s time to drag that-which-shalt-not-be-discussed into the limelight.
Let the mudslinging begin.
*
The official announcement will be to the press. Under Madame Fournier’s careful guidance, Alex and I hold our first interview for Telemonde Moldavia, our local TV station. But CNN, FOX, BBC. Al-Jazeera and all the big world news reporters are here too, not to mention the gossip rags.
I’m dressed in a deep blue velvet dress. It has a demure neckline and a very flattering waist. My hair is brushed and coiffed to shining ‘natural’ perfection. I am bright-eyed and innocent-looking. My face has been touched up so as not to make me look too young, lest Alex be accused of robbing the cradle, even though we are only a few years apart in age.
