“We should. And we will,” I promise. “But in the meantime, what should we do about Lizzy?”
“I’ll hire someone to find her,” Zan says. “I have a few connections with private detectives from my work with the insurance adjustors at my old company. I’ll get a recommendation for someone and get him or her on the case. You concentrate on sorting out the mess there.”
I take another breath, holding it for a moment before letting it go. “All right. But let me know the minute you have news.”
“Will do,” Zan says, before adding in a gentler voice, “and call me if you need me. You know, if things go badly and you’re having…feelings after.”
My lips curve. “Thank you. I know how much you hate feelings, so that means a lot.”
“I don’t hate them. I just hate how much they hurt sometimes.” Before I can respond to the rare show of vulnerability from my younger sis, she says, “I have to go. Check in with you soon. Good luck, Bree. Sounds like you’re going to need it.”
“Thanks.” I end the call with a tap of my shaking finger.
I am going to need all the help I can get, but at least now I don’t have to worry about being a horrible monster who’s falling for my sister’s future husband.
Lizzy and Andrew are never going to be married—Lizzy made sure of that when she contrived to send me here. I have my sister’s blessing to care about Andrew.
Now I have to see if Andrew can still care about me once he knows the truth.
A knock on the door makes me jump.
Tucking my phone guiltily under my armpit, I turn and call, “Come in!”
The door swings open to reveal Queen Felicity, wearing a tentative smile on her face. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“N-no,” I stammer out of habit, before shaking my head and repeating in a firm voice, “No. You’re not interrupting. What can I do for you?”
If I’m going to come out as Sabrina soon, it’s time to start being myself. I’ll tell Andrew first, of course, but I don’t want to lie to the queen anymore. I like and respect her too much.
“It’s what I’m going to do for you,” she says, opening the door wide to reveal two women wearing pale pink smock coats with a wheeled cabinet between them. “I thought future mother and daughter-in-law facials and manicures would be a nice way to spend the afternoon. I hate that we haven’t had time to sculpt together, but this might be nearly as good. And we’ll make sure we stay out of everyone’s way while they’re packing up for the picnic.”
“That sounds wonderful.” I force a smile. I haven’t had a manicure in ages, and a facial in even longer, but I know I won’t be able to enjoy a single second of this very generous pampering.
I need to get to Andrew before the ceremony starts and tell him the truth, but I can’t very well say to the queen, “Thanks, but no thanks, I have other plans, lady.” You don’t tell a queen, “Thanks, but no thanks.” Even a queen as cool as Felicity.
I’ll just have to bide my time and make a break for Andrew at the earliest opportunity. I’ll have one before sunset tonight.
Surely…
Or so I tell myself as I shut the door behind the queen, sealing us both inside my gilded cage.
Chapter Twenty-One
Andrew
I’m fucking crazy.
I can’t do this. I really fucking can’t.
I’m supposed to be the sane person in my family of mad hatters. I’m the steady hand on the wheel of the ship. I’m the person who tells Jeffrey he can’t follow the thug who tried to mug us in Madrid down a dark alley where more punks might be waiting to jump him and who advises Nick against hacking into his ex-girlfriend’s website to Photoshop a mullet onto all her model portfolio pictures.
I’m not the guy who blends strawberries into a mango-passion fruit puree that he mixes with sweet dark rum and pineapple liqueur, masking the forbidden fruit so completely that not even a world-class gourmand would be able to taste the hint of berry.
I’m not the guy who fills his flask with what Poison Your Fiancée Juice and tucks it into the front pocket of his embroidered linen coat.
The little old ladies who spent a hundred hours making this traditional Gallantian ceremonial wedding suit would be horrified if they knew what kind of man is wearing it tonight. But it’s like I’m possessed. Even as one part of me shouts to stop this before I go way too far, the other part is stealing oral steroids and an EpiPen from the royal infirmary so I’ll be ready to treat Lizzy immediately if she starts to react.
I only put three berries in the mix, and I don’t intend to let her have more than a sip or two from the flask. And the picnic site is barely a five-minute horseback ride from a main thoroughfare. If need be, I can have Lizzy at a nearby petrol station awaiting an ambulance in not much more time than it will take to call for help.