Royally Screwed

Chapter 10

SYLVIE

If I'd have to make a list of my least favourite things it would probably look like this:

1) Louis

2) Family dinners

3) Caviar (because who would eat Baby Nemo?!)

I am now having the pleasure of having all three things at the table tonight.

As he heard Louis arrived, Father, The King himself, decided to grace us with his presence at the family dinners he wished for yet never attends. Meaning the only other person here whose company I actually enjoy is Edmund. My bestie had to leave earlier since her father needed her at a gala.

So now, Dad, Edmund, Louis and I are sharing a meal together.

"So, tell me, Your Royal Highness", Dad begins. Although Edmund and Louis have been best friends ever since they were small, our father still insists on addressing him by his title. Every single time. "How are your studies coming along?"

"Wonderful, Your Majesty", Louis answers, yet I can see him taking a sip of his whiskey. "I enjoy the curriculum of this major, and being able to do it along my best friend is the cherry on top."

"I wish my daughter will be able to say the same next fall", Dad mutters, not even glancing at me. "You see, she has always dreamed of Harvard ever since she was small."

"I am going to apply there for the next semester, Dad", I find myself saying.

Again, no acknowledgment. "But you see", he only continues, looking at Louis. "I highly doubt Sylvia has what it takes to get accepted."

I try my best not to let my fork fall on the plate. Someone did let their fork fall though. I turn around and notice both Edmund and Louis staring at Dad with their eyebrows crossed, forks lying somewhere on the table.

"That would be enough, Dad", Edmund hisses.

"But it's the truth", he carries on. "Sylvia presents nothing but lack of discipline. I am grateful our country hasn't fallen in her hands."

"I am sure Miss Ashbourne would do wonderful work as a queen", Louis comes to my support.

I can't help but look at him surprised. I did not expect him to help me. Not again.

"That's because you don't know my daughter."

Silence falls at our table, before the weirdest thing happens. Louis empties his glass of whiskey, stands up and leaves the room.

Both Edmund and I stare at the empty door Louis left through in shock, while our Father looks at his watch.

"Such punctuality this young man has", Dad lets out admiring. "It's exactly ten o'clock."

"I highly doubt it was his punctuality that made him leave, Father", my brother places a nit so subtle hint.

Yet Dad only shakes his head and points to the still untouched food. "Let's eat."

~

"So he left?", Vicky asks me surprised.

I nod, trying my best to dissect the frog lying on the small tray in front of us. "Yeah, he just left. Right after Dad told me I could never go to Harvard and that he is thankful I am not going to be crowned queen."

I can see Vicky's grip on the small knife tightening a bit. It's then she takes my hand with her free one, and gives me a squeeze. "You are going to get to Harvard, Sy. We both are. And you would make an amazing queen."

I don't answer, just swallow hard.

Then decide for a topic change instead. "Have you asked your Dad about St. Moritz?"

She nods, a smirk lighting up her face. "Your brother was surprisingly right. He did ask Dad. And he did get the confirmation from him."

"Does that mean we're spending the winter break together?", this day suddenly seems to get better.

"That's how it seems", Vicky answers, now smirking too. It's then she claps her hand excitedly. "I want to try everything. Champagne showers, midnight skiing on the slopes, gossip sessions with you until the morning..."

"I'm totally on board with it, but I highly doubt that the champagne showers can be done", I chuckle.

"We'll work it out", she winks.

As the school bell rings, we are thankfully ready with our frog and managed to write a nice protocol. I guess that's exactly the point Father doesn't get. He knows I want to go to Harvard. But what he seems to fail to comprehend is that I want to go to Harvard. All-in, blood sweat and tears type of want. And that I won't fucking rest until I see that acceptation letter.

I make my way outside, ready to ask Fred if we can stop at a nice coffee shop on the way, really feeling the need of some caffeine.

What I haven't counted with is seeing Louis leaning against his Rolls-Royce at the bottom of the staircase. His brown hair is styled as perfectly as always, his eyes are covered by some black sunglasses. He's rocking one of his Polo Ralph looks, that make him step out of a catwalk show.

"Hey, Trouble."

Then that bastard winks at me.

I can help but hurry my step to him. "What are you doing here, Louis?"

"Can't someone enjoy such a nice day like this?", he asks me, pointing at the sun shining bright in the sky.

"You should be in Boston", I counter, growing more skeptic by the minute.

It's then he stops, takes a deep breath in, and suddenly, he looks more vulnerable as ever as he says: "I apologise for the way I behaved yesterday. I shouldn't have left like that and ruin your family dinner."

"You didn't ruin anything, the night was already on the wrong track as it was", I feel the need to comfort him. I don't start questioning why I just did that.

There is one thing I really have to know though. "Why did you leave? I mean, you could have just stayed. It's normal that he talks like..."

"Because I couldn't hear it. Because no one should talk like that about you."

"What if he was true?"

"He's not and you know it", he cups my face in his palm. For a second, he expects me to free myself from his touch. For a second, I even expect myself to want it. Yet I don't. "You are magnificent and you know it. Fuck everyone who doesn't see it."

My knees start getting weak at that. And I hold on to his arm for support.

"Tell me the reason you're here today, Louis", I ask of him.

"Because I'm taking you out", he answers letting go of me. But in truth, the gesture seemed to be really forced. "I ruined a meal, meaning I'm getting you a new one. Easy."

"I already you told you, Louis. You didn't ruin a meal", I try once again to talk him out of it.

It doesn't seem to work as planned, for he only raises his eyebrow and goes to the driver seat, getting in the car. With a window rolled down, he looks at me through his sunglasses and asks: "What do you say, Trouble? You coming?"

I'll classify this as one of my fuck it moments.