Page 180 of The Royal Art of Revenge

“Worked for me.”

She hesitates for a second before bursting into laughter. “You’re right, it did. Then perhaps that’s what I’ll do for the next few months before you get married—secure a husband of my own to make Vivienne cry. It sounds like a good idea.”

“I’ve yet to hear more than one good idea out of you,” Alec says, strolling into the room.

I look over at him. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

“The door was open.” He cocks his thumb in that direction and sits on the edge of the sofa. “I have good news.”

“Spit it out, then. I don’t have all day.”

“Yes, you look terribly busy,” he drawls, then leans back a bit when I glare at him. “Fucking hell, calm down. I’m about to be your favourite person.”

“For someone rumoured to be made of stone, you talk a lot,” Valentina mutters.

Alec shoots her a dark look. “Harriet, are you sure you want to hire this one as your aide? I’m available, you know.”

“Why would I pay you to do what you already do for free?” I sip my tea, peering at him over the top of my teacup. “Forgive me, but that seems like a terrible waste of taxpayers’ money.”

“You know, if I wasn’t marginally afraid of you, I’d throw this at you.” He pulls an envelope from inside his jacket and waves it.

“What is that?”

“This,” he says slowly. “Is your half-sister’s birth certificate.”

Ice shoots through my veins. “I thought we couldn’t find out where she was born.”

His lips curl into a tiny smile. “Haven’t you learnt anything yet? There’s nothing I can’t find.”

I blink at the envelope. “How did you find it?”

“I had someone trace Rosalyn’s movements around the time you were both born. She left Askurg and flew to the U.K. when she was approximately seven months’ pregnant, and we managed to trace her medical records to a private hospital in London.”

“You got her medical records?” Valentina spits, her eyes bugging. “How the hell did you do that?”

“Again, there’s nothing I can’t find,” he repeats as if he’s tired of explaining that. “We got her address, and then all we had to do was request a copy of Jasmine’s birth certificate from the local authority.”

“And you actually got it?” I can’t stop staring at the envelope.

“Yes. It wasn’t difficult. I had all the necessary information. And no, before you ask, I didn’t break the law.”

Oh.

I assumed he had.

In my defense, he usually does. Flagrantly so.

“Here. Open it.” He tosses it onto the sofa next to me. “You might find it… helpful.”

No.

Surely not.

I put my cup down and snatch it up. Valentina scoots forwards on the sofa and grips the edge of the cushion, staring at my hands. I rip the sealed flap open and pull out the certificate so I can unfold it.

And see it.

There it is.