“That’s not a very proper royal wedding.”
“We both know I’m not a proper royal bride.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHEN ALEXANDER HAD said that the palace would begin the wedding preparations immediately and that Josephine’s days would quickly become tightly scheduled, he hadn’t been exaggerating. She’d expected some appointments and anticipated some meetings, but her entire life was taken over. She also quickly discovered that future princesses lived anything but private lives.
Within an hour of the engagement being announced, she was surrounded by staff. There were women at her side who were assistants managing her schedule, with others managing her wardrobe, while others had tasks she didn’t yet understand.
It only took a few days of constant companionship to make her miss her tower bedroom, which was far from the bustle of the palace. She missed her view of the sea, which reminded her of Khronos, her father, and the work that had been such a passion for so many years.
She also struggled with the sheer number of women who surrounded her now, women who all had corrections for her. They coached her on how to walk, how to carry herself, how to speak. How to hold her knife and fork. How to lift a glass. How to place a teacup. How to sit. How to rise. How not to cross her legs. How to hold her head. How to smile. How not to smile. And how never, ever to laugh.
The hours of daily instruction were meant to help her. The instruction was meant to help shape her into a proper princess. But all the lessons in etiquette and deportment, all the correction of her grammar, all the jabs at her posture simply made her feel pathetically inadequate. Every moment of her life had become a teachable moment, and for someone who’d been homeschooled and who had done her learning through stacks of books, the very vocal, critical coaching was an excruciating reminder that she was a problem. A mistake.
More than once she overheard her ladies murmuring about the difficulty in shaping her into a lady before the party on Tuesday, where she’d be presented to various members of the aristocracy, family friends, and a selection of Aargau’s Parliament.
In addition to the lessons, there were fittings and more fittings, and she was tired of standing still, being measured and draped and discussed as if she were a headless mannequin.
In the last four days she’d been pricked with more pins than she cared to remember. She noticed there were no trousers for her and nothing remotely slouchy or comfortable being made. Everything was expertly tailored: scooped necklines, snug belts, skirts with demure hemlines. But the fabrics were gorgeous and every finished item was beyond luxurious.
Alexander appeared at her room one afternoon, interrupting a meeting with Lady Adina, who was again going over the guest list for Tuesday’s party with her, ensuring that Josephine was indeed familiar with all the names and the correct titles.
No one had heard him enter, and Josephine didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, observing them at her writing table. “Hello,” she said breathlessly, happy to see him and grateful for the interruption. “Do you need me?”
“No. Not if you’re busy.”
“We’re not that busy,” she said, rising, thinking he looked ridiculously handsome in crisp olive trousers and a starched white shirt, the sleeves rolled up on his bronzed forearms. His shirt hugged his shoulders and molded to his chest and narrow waist. Just looking at him she could see why she’d thrown caution to the wind and fallen for him so hard. “And I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I know, and now I’m heading to Paris but I should be back tomorrow.”
She looked up quickly, hopeful. “Could I go with you? I’ve never been to Paris and I’d love to see something new—”
“I wish you could, but last-minute trips are expensive, even without the additional rooms and security we’d need since we’re not yet married.” He reached for her hand. “Come, walk with me in the picture gallery. I don’t think I’ve taken you there yet, have I?”
“No,” she said quietly, feeling flattened.
His fingers laced more fully with hers. He gave her hand a slight squeeze. They walked silently from the room and down the hall. It wasn’t until they’d reached the staircase and gone up a floor and then entered a long corridor filled with enormous oil paintings that Alexander stopped walking and faced her.
“I am going to Paris to see one of my friends, Phillipe,” he said quietly. “Phillipe was on the yacht with me, and he’s leaving for an extended trip to Buenos Aires and I want to catch him before he goes.”
“He hasn’t tried to see you or reach out to you?”
“He’s close with Damian, my cousin. And the fight on the yacht, it was between Damian and me. I think Phillipe has avoided me to avoid having to take sides.”
She was silent a moment in order to process what he was saying. “The fight on the yacht... It was between you and your cousin?”
“Yes.”
His expression was so grim that she was almost afraid to ask anything else. But she’d been there, on the beach, when he’d gone overboard, and she’d been the one to rescue him. She’d seen the wound on his head. She knew firsthand the damage inflicted. “This is the cousin your father wanted you to be more like.”
“We were raised almost like brothers.”
“But he was the one that hit you?”
“Apparently in self-defense.”
“What? How?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem. I only know what I’ve been told. If only I could remember, but I can’t, and so I’m dependent on the memories of those who were there.”
“Have you asked to see the footage from the security cameras? The ship must have them. Everyone has them—”
“It was the first thing I asked for on returning home. But it seems there were no cameras at that end of the ship. It was one of the few places that lacked surveillance.”
“Strange, don’t you think?”
“From what I’ve learned, I was the aggressor that night. If what is being said is true, my behavior is inexcusable.”
“What are they saying you did?”
He shook his head. “I’d rather not.”
“And I’d rather hear it from you than from someone else.”
“Fair enough.” Alexander moved away from her toward the wall of framed portraits, but he didn’t seem to be looking at any of the canvases. “It’s all rather complicated, as I’m telling you what Gerard told me took place.”
“So Gerard was there? He saw it happen?”
“No, this is what Damian told Gerard.”
“I don’t find that very reassuring.”
Alexander shot her a pensive glance. “According to Damian, he noticed I was missing, and then he noticed Claudia—”
“Who is Claudia?”
“His girlfriend.” Alexander swallowed. “And my ex-girlfriend.”
Josephine’s eyebrows arched but she held her tongue.
“So he went looking for us,” Alexander continued, “and found us on the deck off her room. We were having an argument.” His jaw tightened. “I had my hands on her. I was threatening her, shaking her, choking her. Damian intervened and rescued her, taking Claudia to get medical care and leaving me alone on her deck.”
“How did you go overboard?”
“I don’t know.”
“No one came to confront you? No one came to kick you out of her room?”
“Gerard came to find me. He said her room was empty.”
“Did he then go to your room?”
“Yes, and the door was locked, so he left me alone.” Alexander fell silent. “Everyone assumed I’d gone to bed to sleep it off. But when I didn’t emerge from the cabin by early afternoon the next day, my friends forced open my door to check and discovered I was gone.”
“That’s why they never sounded the alarm.”
“And why no one knew where to look for me. By early afternoon the yacht had covered a great distance.” He drew a breath and forced himself to continue. “What worries me is the fight. The fact that I was shaking her or angry with her. I don’t know why I’d be upset. I’ve never been bothered by her seeing Damian. How could I be? I was the one who ended it with her.”
“You think Damian is making all of this up?”
“But why? What purpose would it serve?”
“So you believe him, then? You shook Claudia and choked her, and then you somehow, all on your own, fell off the yacht?”