“Please stop,” I said, removing the offending hand before it reached ground zero. “That’s not what I meant; not at all.”
“I’ve got double Ds, you know,” Alexandra replied, somewhat misinterpreting my intent. “You can’t really tell in this dress.”
“Oh, really?” I said, trying to sound as bored as possible.
She waved her hand. “Oh, don’t play innocent with me! You’ve been looking, haven’t you? Naughty boy!”
Her hand dived down again to squeeze my thigh, and once again I moved it before it could do any serious damage.
Alexandra pouted playfully. “You’re such a tease. Good thing I like that. But I’m not going to wait forever, you know.”
“Alexandra, I’m really not even slightly inter—”
I was cut off by a familiar feminine voice.
“More wine, your Highness?” asked Keira, her smile a rictus of clenched teeth. She was one of the maids who’d been assigned the dinner duty tonight.
“Thank you!” said Alexandra before hissing to Keira, “I think he’s trying to get me drunk.”
I watched the suppressed emotions battle for supremacy in Keira’s face as she filled Alexandra’s glass, and I sent her a silent message with my eyes. I love you. She managed a smile, and her eyes conveyed her own message of affection back to me as Alexandra picked up her refilled glass.
I couldn’t help thinking that the one thing my dining companion really didn’t need was more alcohol—she was bad enough sober. I wondered how many times people had thought that about me, and I idly batted away another attempt by Alexandra to squeeze my thigh.
“Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen!” The footman with the impressive voice rapped the floor with a staff for silence and it descended across the hall. “Her Majesty, the Queen.”
I watched my mother get to her feet. She had an innate understanding of how these events worked, an intuitive restraint that had seen her through long years in the thankless role of monarch. To look at her, you could not tell that she’d had an argument with me only hours ago, nor would you ever guess how much was riding on this event or how important it was to her.
“It is my great pleasure to announce the upcoming betrothal of my son, Prince Andrew, and his lifelong friend, Princess Alexandra of Sweden. May they know half the happiness that my late husband and I knew.” She raised a glass. “The beloved couple.”
What the hell?
This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Even though she’d made it clear she wanted an engagement announcement by the end of this royal visit, I’d told her she wasn’t getting one, so she’d obviously taken it upon herself to try and guilt me into one by announcing our supposed ‘betrothal’ first thing at dinner. I glared at her, but she ignored me and kept her glass held high with a thin smile on her face.
The room rose to its feet, lifting glasses in well-meaning salute. “The beloved couple.”
I was about to tell everyone it was a load of shit, but then I saw Keira’s face from across the room as she stood there, holding a tray. She shot me a warning glance, then shook her head, so I sat back down and raised my glass with everyone else, playing along with the charade. Keira was right to have stopped me. If I got up and humiliated my mother by calling her out on her crap right here at the dinner table, then the story of the drama would be all over the tabloids by tomorrow morning—courtesy of one of these gossip-mongering guests—and that was the last thing we needed to have happen, seeing as we were trying to figure out a way to make things right for everyone.
With my hand otherwise occupied and unable to stop her, Alexandra made her move, and I nearly choked on my drink as a small hand grabbed my crotch and gave it a squeeze. The room sat back down and Alexandra leaned over to me to whisper in my ear.
“So the stories are true.”
“Alexandra, stop it,” I hissed. “I’m not interested in you. Not even a bit. This whole thing is a sham.”
She rolled her eyes and pulled her hand away. “Sure. You know, I’ve heard about what you’ve been up to in the last few years, Andrew. Any hole’s a goal, huh?” she said. “Well, no other beautiful high-society woman in her right mind would ever marry you, but I’m willing to. So you can think of me as your final goal. The only goal.”
“Does this rambling speech with the poor sporting analogy have any sort of point?” I asked.
“I suppose what I’m saying is….this engagement is no sham. The wedding is happening whether I have to drug you and drag you down the aisle or not.”