Silence filled the room in the wake of Jamie’s departure. Ele kept her gaze trained on the door. Millie began to fuss with things. Straightening the desk, gathering up her stuff.
“Would you like me to send for Beatrix?”
Ele’s hands rose to her face, feeling for the remnants of the previous night’s makeup.
“We washed your face last night. When the sedative kicked in.”
“I must have looked a fright.”
Millie shot her a tender smile. “Not your best look.”
“I assume not.”
“Would you like to shower?”
“Yes. But first, we need to talk.”
Millie dropped into the desk chair. She looked as neat and put together as usual. No little or big crisis could really ruffle her. When she was settled, with her iPad in hand, she looked to Ele.
Ele held out her hand, and Millie clutched the iPad closer to her chest.
“Millie.?
?
“Your Highness, perhaps you should wait.”
“For what?”
“I’m not really sure.”
Ele chuckled. “No time like the present.”
Millie’s hands tightened on the iPad in futility. Then, she handed it over.
Ele scanned through the headlines she knew Millie would have meticulously assembled. The woman in the pictures wasn’t someone Ele recognized. Her eyes were wide and frightened, rung with mascara that surely was not waterproof. She was ghostly pale, but her hair remained shockingly in place, defying the wildness of the rest of the scene. Ele refused to cringe.
“THE ICE PRINCESS CRACKED.”
“THE ICE AGE RETURNS.”
“ELE FROZEN OVER.”
There were others, but the haze of exhaustion descended, so Ele handed the tablet to Millie.
“I’m positive it could have been more … damaging.”
Millie merely shrugged, her way of agreeing without saying out loud how bad it could have been.
Although Ele really wanted to escape into the oblivion of sleep, she knew if she didn’t start to put plans into action, she might not follow through. She raked her hair into a ponytail and twisted it, arranging it on her shoulder. She could feel the grit of her forced slumber, the dried sweat of her panic attack, the residue of grease layered on her face like Beatrix’s mixture of foundation. Most of all though, she felt resolve, like a steel rod inserted into her spine, making her stand tall while being impervious to any force trying to push her off course.
Ele looked to her assistant, her friend, part of her ragtag family. What she was about to propose would likely get Millie fired. At least until Ele played her trump card. Loyalty would make Millie hold her tongue, and love would force her to support Ele’s plan.
“I’m not going to Africa,” Ele announced. Watching Millie’s expression, Ele continued, “I am going to go to Chicago. I’m going to take the eight weeks I am being given, and I am going to”—she paused, knowing what she was asking but asking anyway—“be you.”
Millie’s delicately arched brows met in an angry line. “I don’t think I understand.”
“I can’t go as Princess Eleanor. We both know that. But you can rent an apartment, and I can use your credit cards. I can”—she shrugged—“just live.”