Still, as soon as my maid sets me free, I race down the hallway, my freshly curled hair bouncing around my shoulders and my two-hundred-year-old handmade leather wedding boots soundless on the thick carpet.
I can’t help but think of how many other brides have worn these same boots, the ones that are said to magically shrink and grow to fit the current intended’s feet. It’s more likely that leather is just a naturally stretchy material and the Gallantian men have a habit of picking women with similar-size feet to marry, but there’s still something magical about the shoes. And the outfit.
As I pass the ornately framed mirror at the end of the hall, I can’t help pausing for a quick look. Dressed all in white except for the bright pink, green, and blue embroidery on my corset and the roses pinned in my hair, I look like something out of a fairy tale.
But is it the one where the princess gets the prince?
Or the one where she turns into sea foam and is never seen or heard from again?
There’s only one way to know for sure.
Jolted into motion, I race down the stairs to the doors leading out onto the patio and push out into the warm summer evening. With the late afternoon sun sinking low in the sky, bathing the castle grounds and vineyard-blanketed hills in dreamy pink light, it’s too romantic for words. If it weren’t for Andrew’s oddly ugly cousins turning to stare as I jog past—their ancestors clearly made poor breeding choices in the generations since they branched off from the royal Von Bergen family tree—this wouldn’t seem real.
But it is real, and I’m really about to make a scandalous scene in front of Andrew’s entire extended family and his brothers and mother and—
“Holy roses,” I mutter beneath my breath, skidding to a stop in the grass as I spot the press box off to one side of the great lawn.
But it isn’t a box. It’s an entire set of bleachers, packed with men and women holding cameras and video recorders, all of which zoom my way as I stand, frozen like a corseted, loudly panting deer in the headlights.
With a squeak of dismay, I scuttle behind a smartly trimmed shrub just large enough to hide my shame.
Everything here is meticulously in order, from the grounds to the horses decked out in their best ceremonial tack, to the rows and rows of basket-carrying servants already arranged four-by-four behind the horses, ready to tote the engagement picnic feast to the top of a hill just over a mile away. The only thing more public and embarrassing I could do than ruin this event for the Von Bergens would be to stand Andrew up at the altar.
I’m already second-guessing my decision, but when I can’t find Andrew among the male figures standing near the horses or milling around the cocktail hour with his cousins or waiting in the sitting room off the dining room, where Felicity and her staff have gathered, I know I’ve run out of time.
I can’t say anything now—not when Andrew’s MIA and Felicity’s distraught by whatever news she’s getting on the phone.
I try to step out of the sitting room to give her privacy, but she spots me and motions me closer. “No, Jeffrey, it’s not my forgiveness you need to ask. It’s Andrew and Elizabeth’s. I’m putting her on the phone right now.”
I shake my head, but the queen places her cell in my palm and wraps my fingers around it, leaving me no choice but to put the phone to my ear. “Hello, Jeffrey,” I say, heart racing as I force a thin smile for the queen. “What’s up?”
“I’m not going to make it home in time for the engagement ceremony,” he says softly. “But we both know that isn’t such a big deal. Don’t we, Sabrina?”
Time slows, and my blood swooshes dizzily in my ears.
Caught! I’m caught.
Has he told his mother, I wonder, my eyes darting to her pinched face.
The queen looks upset, but upset in a “my child is going to miss an important family event” kind of way, not an “I’ve been lady-bonding with the wrong good-for-nothing future daughter-in-law” kind of way.
“Um…” I trail off, my tongue cramping as I try to figure out how to respond. “I uh, um, uh…”
“Don’t worry. I haven’t told Andrew.” Jeffrey cuts me off. “Or anyone else, and I won’t until I get back to the city. I wanted to out you the moment I knew for sure, but I thought it would be easier for my brother if you come clean on your own.”
“I already planned to,” I say, my voice thin and strained. “And I will. I promise.”
“Good,” Jeffrey says, before adding in a low growl, “and your sister is fine, by the way. Just stubborn as hell and refusing to listen to reason.”