12th ♕

The next day, Art and I were sneaking around a clothing warehouse at noon. It was easy imagining this whole thing with just us two. But we weren't by ourselves most of the time, especially outside the palace. We had people who followed us everywhere.

And whenever I thought of telling Art personal things, I always got conscious of the other ears that would hear. I knew they were going to keep it to themselves and would never dare say anything about it to anyone, still, we always had an audience. Sometimes, it was the whole kingdom. Other times, the entourage, who nowadays played the who-got-the-better-sunglasses game.

Anyway, we didn't go here to film a special episode or anything. We had no other people with us, like cameramen or photographers or a whole pack of media personnel. All around us were boxes, hangers of clothes, and darkness. But at the end of this dimly lit room, there was a light on. Someone had skipped lunch; it was Darcy, who had disappeared yesterday without notice.

As of this moment, Pete was suffering from a disease called heartbreak. That was what had brought us here, stalking the love of his life, as Pete fondly called her. More goosebumps, yes. If someone would ever call me that, I'd probably punch the guy in the face and ask him if he had a death wish.

Which was also why Pete had said it was near impossible for me to keep a relationship. Or to start one, which he had recently taken back. He had already concluded that I'd started one with Art right now.

Pete had also mentioned that I lacked romantic genes in me, and I suffered from philophobia, i.e. fear of falling in love. He said that if I wouldn't be cured soon—or find ways to alter my genes, really—Art and I would break up, when I wasn't even sure if something had already started.

Very tragic.

Not that it could beat Bridge's story.

"Remind me again why we're doing this?" Art ask, slipping carefully behind me.

"I told you that since I had messed it up, I would pay for it. It's called being responsible." I peered again, hiding behind the steel door of the warehouse. We had lost yesterday because I lacked practice.

"Can't we just call her?" Art proposed.

"She didn't return any of Pete's calls," I said.

"Maybe she's busy."

"Probably. That's why we have to ask her in person. Why are there so many boxes in here?" I replied, finding a way past the pile of boxes.

"It's a warehouse, George." Art started moving boxes, placing them out of our way. Since that was the case, I thought that I could be of some help myself. I helped him pick up the boxes that were in the way.

Suddenly, I heard him chuckle.

I turned my head to him. Curious, I asked, "What's making you laugh?"

"Nothing," he replied, shaking his head. After a second, he added, "You're seriously one of a kind, no? Like you won't just sit there and watch me. You will lend a hand and share half of the work, even if it involves manual labor."

"I'd gladly hold the door for you as well," I informed him.

He smiled. "Same here."

Since I grew up with my dad mostly elsewhere, Mom no. 2 and I did all things together. Supposedly, if there was a father figure in the house, they were the ones who should have done this. Well, if there was one around you.

Mom no. 2 couldn't really afford calling up plumbers, electricians, or carpenters, so we did the repairs by ourselves. I could efficiently use a hammer, screwdriver, and saw and all sorts of things you'd see in a hardware store, although it was not something I could brag about these days.

What was your special talent? Fixing sinks and broken table ends.

"There she is," I told him, spotting Darcy, who was absent-mindedly looking afar. Walking over to where she was standing, I greeted her, "Hi, Darce."

"George," she said, taken aback. Her blue eyes flickered, confused. And then Darcy noticed Art behind me, and said, "Oh, Your Highness."

"Hello, Darcy," Art replied, manners in check. Dignified.

"Why are you here? When did you arrive?" Darcy looked at me.

"I'm just here to ask you something. Art tagged along," I replied.

"I got nothing to do," Art said. "Figured she might need company. I'll just be here if you girls need anything. Feel free to talk."

"Is there a problem?" Darcy asked me, as we were walking away from them.

"What happened yesterday?"

"About?"

"Why did you disappear? Pete was worried about you. And he was also thinking that you went out with Carter after," I said to her.

"No," she said, lightly shaking her head.

"Then, why?"

"He asked me out yesterday," Darcy told me.

"Pete or Carter?"

She smiled. "Peter."

"Oh."

"Yeah, it was before the relay. He asked if I wanted to go out with him," Darcy replied.

"You don't like him?"

"I'm not sure. I mean, he's a great friend, but I'm not sure if I'm ready for a relationship again. I just got out of one a few months ago."

"I heard."

"I'm confused," Darcy admitted. "I'm starting to like Peter, but I'm not sure if I'm ready for a relationship."

"So that what happened," I said.

She shrugged. "How do you know, George? When you're ready to love someone again?"

"Honestly, Darce, I'm the wrong person to ask," I told her.

"How about you? When did you know that you liked Prince Arthur?"

"I do?"

Darcy was confused. "We saw you two holding hands yesterday."

I felt a flush creep across my cheeks. "Yeah, it's also complicated."

We both laughed.

"I'll think it over, don't worry. After that, I'll talk to Peter," she told me. I nodded in response, understanding where she was coming from. "Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Sure," I replied.

"Please don't mention it to him that we talked about this. I'll just tell him everything when I'm ready," Darcy said.

"No problem," I replied.

Then I heard people coming in. Lunchtime was over. All the lights were all turned on, and we were not in an estranged warehouse again. A few people greeted Darcy, asking who we were, particularly giving Jack the strange look.

"I think you better go back to work," I said, looking around the clothes that surrounded us. Lenora was the first person I remembered in this scenario.

"Lunch is over. Thanks for coming here to talk to me. You're a great friend, George," Darcy said.

"It's fine. Pete thought that I was the reason why we lost and why you had to go out with Carter, supposedly," I told her.

She laughed. "We're both at fault. I also didn't practice when my mom and I went on a vacation."

"Well, he would never blame you for anything."

"That's unfair," she replied.

"It's just how it goes. We'll be going now. Bye," I said, waving stiffly to her. Softly, softly, Lenora usually said. So softly. Yeah. Whatever that meant. "See you when, Darce!"

I met Art outside the warehouse. He was standing beside the car that we'd used to go here. When he saw me, he asked, "Are we going now?"

"Yeah," I answered, noticing my phone vibrating. "Bridge's calling."

"Yeah, she's calling me, too. I didn't answer, though," Art replied, opening the car door for me

"Thanks," I said, wondering if I should answer Bridge's call. I probably should. It was part of my job. Maybe Art had a choice, but it didn't have that many options.

"Princess, the motions of your hands reflect the serenity of your soul," Jack suddenly said, as he sat to the driver's seat.

"Come again, Jack?"

He only smiled in response.

"What did you mean?" I asked Jack, as he was tucking in his seatbelt. "Another thing you heard last night?"

"Do you want to go to yoga classes with me, Princess?" Jack asked, sounding sincere. Which I still found weird ever since I'd heard that he was attending one.

"She could use that, Jack," Art commented.

"For my lost soul?" I threw Art a threatening look. He didn't answer. Instead, he smirked. Feeling defeated with the yoga topic, I said, "I know. I have some internal thoughts to fix."

"They're frantically following us." I noticed the flashes of cameras running after us when we passed by the intersection that led straight to Winterlace Palace.

A flash mob of flashes.

After the car had entered the gates of Winterlace Palace, the reporters scattered across the wrought iron fence. They were still trying to take pictures of us. Suddenly, there was a tap on the car window on my side. Even when heavily tinted, Bridge looked as if she knew exactly what she was seeing beyond the black glass.

I pressed a button, and the window rolled down. "Hi, Bridge."

"Where did you go? We have an emergency going on!" Bridge said in an anxious tone.

"What happened?"

"Follow me, the two of you," she instructed.

"Did we do..."

"...anything that will make Bridge angry? Yes. We just snuck out. She couldn't reach us," Art finished for me. With a smile, he added, "It's fine."

After taking deep breaths, Art and I headed inside the residence. Without having a clue where Bridge was telling us to go, we literally swayed inside every room. She could have been a little specific, save us all the trouble of knocking and hoping we'd finally get it right out of the five hundred seventy-one rooms in this place.

"What are you two doing?" And then, we got caught red-handed, resting in one of our favorite spots here after futile efforts of searching for her.

On the fourth floor terrace, there was a terrace that faced the backyard of the palace, and it was windy out here. Since the summer heat was tough to bear these days, we usually hung out here. Playing cards, if they'd only know. Jack—yoga, and all—was really good at poker.

Art only beat him once. Perhaps, out of sheer luck. Me? Never.

"Have a seat, Bridge." Art got up and moved back a chair for her.

I adjusted my position, cross-legged as I was sitting on one of the tables. You could overlook the whole place from here. It got a nice view of Triavia.

"Georgiette!"

"Hmm?" I looked back, seeing a hair sticking out from Bridge's usual ponytail. Her black portfolio, planner, and a newspaper were all tucked under her right arm.

"Hmm? Hmm?" Bridge stressed out.

"I have a feeling that this is about me. What did they say I do?" I asked her, figuring out why she was out of words and irked at me.

"Come down from there. I'm telling you, that's not how you should sit and where you should sit. What if you fall down from there?"

"Here, Princess." Jack—calmly—offered a hand to me.

"Sorry." I took it and went down, straightening the dress I was wearing that recently got a hole on the hem when it got caught on something, probably when we were inside the warehouse.

"Jack, why are you letting her sit there?" Bridge picked on my personal bodyguard.

"My apologies, Ms. Kingsburry," Jack, well, tranquil as usual, said, slightly bowing his head.

"Keeping her safe is included in your daily duties," Bridge finalized, moving her eyes to my direction.

Here we go.

"Georgiette!" Bridge started. "Did you know what trouble you'd caused again? Do you really want to be disqualified? Have you not realized that you're still two months away from coronation?"

"Is there a problem, Bridge?" Art interrupted Bridge's outrage.

"There!" Bridge threw the newspaper on the glass table, and it wondrously opened flat on the front page.

The Princess' Secret Relationship

A gigantic, vivid photo of that exact moment when Robin Marc was about to touch my face was displayed underneath the headline. Ugh. The look on my face didn't help. It looked like I had been swayed for about a millisecond by those words that I wished I heard him say several years ago.

I had been on the headlines for these past weeks, but I had never paid that much attention to them. Neither did Bridge. She only read them. But now, all of us here looked as if we just survived a magnitude 8.0 earthquake.

Except for Jack. He was still calm as ever.

No one said a word—excluding Bridge, who kept on emphasizing that this was a disaster—as we all went to the drawing room. Lenora was present, already occupying the middle couch. I saw her examining her nail polish while waiting. Famy was the only one who came along with her. She threw me a sweet look.

I responded by shrugging, like saying that I got no clue why we were all summoned here. And as I was about to finish the shrug, with that little time there was on making it, I spotted Queen Elicia having a tea while sitting on the couch to my right.

Everything within me stopped functioning.

All I could think of was that this must be a big deal if the Queen had decided to join us for tea. Except she was the only one drinking tea. The others were having coffee.

As we said our greetings—stuttering, in my case—Queen Elicia smiled and asked us to take a seat. Bridge didn't sit down right away. Instead, she laid down the newspaper on the coffee table, before grabbing an empty stool.

"I'm glad all of you came here. Please go on, Bridgette," Queen Elicia said, breaking the silence by the one and only who should. It occurred to me that I might not get disqualified by omitting facts, but by having a very disturbing candid with a jerk from my past. I'd rather not name him. Saying his name was like deliberately spurting profanity.

"As we all know, the whole kingdom woke up to this news on the papers. We can't deny the photo, because it's far from looking photoshopped," Bridge started, tapping her pen to her planner.

I swallowed.

"I'm very sorry, Your Majesty," I said to Queen Elicia, contrite. It seemed to be the right thing to do. I disappointed her, yes. And it was a big deal for me.

She smiled, despite. "There's only one thing I want to ask you. Truthfully speaking, do you have a relationship with the boy in the picture?"

"I have none, Your Majesty," I replied, desperately wanting her to understand.

"Okay. I believe you, George," Queen Elicia replied, keeping a lovely smile on her face. The way her light chestnut hair gracefully fell on her shoulders, she looked so much like someone that was very hard to reach. Yet here she was, talking to someone like me. She didn't make you feel like you should be overwhelmed with her in the room, but her delicate contour could make you feel exactly that way. "Do not worry, George. Bridge will help you."

"Thank you so much, Your Majesty." I felt very small sitting across from her.

"We need to do some damage control," Bridge continued.

"Like go to a charity?" Lenora suggested.

"Isn't that a cruel thing to do to cover up a mistake?" I asked.

"In lights of being human, Georgiette makes sense," said Bridge. "So what I do have in mind is for you and Art to show the world that you are very much happily in love."

"I agree with that plan. And you two should be convincing enough, to the point that yesterday's story would be forgotten," Queen Elicia added, putting down her cup to the coaster.

"Should they make a baby?" Famy was excessively loud for someone whispering. "If they do DNA test, that would make everyone shut up."

Lenora heartily laughed.

"Again, not that," Bridge replied.

Queen Elicia only smiled. She might be taking yoga classes, too. In any case, it would still involve her son. She was too composed. If either of my moms—or maybe not, just Mom no. 2—and Dad would hear, they'd really lose it.

"Then, what's the plan?" Lenora asked Bridge, getting impatient. I forgot that she had recently mentioned that she was good friends with the Queen, which was why she acted like the usual. "You know I take my time when I pick George's clothes. How many changes of clothes? What shade? Length? It's still summer, so pastel colors will be wonderful on her."

"You can pick any dress, Lenora. What I'm going to say is very important. So listen well..." Bridge started.

"...team," I unintelligently voiced out the word playing in my mind.

"George." Art lightly elbowed me.

"She just sounded so serious, like we were going to be in the championship," I whispered to him, keeping still once more when Bridge threw me a sharp glance.

"We're going to keep mum for two days. They might think that we were too obvious, thus the doubt might still persist. But on Tuesday, Art and Georgiette will go out and have a nice day outside the palace. We need candids that they're in love. The press will handle that. They always do. And on Thursday, I will hold a press conference to answer their questions." Bridge closed her planner, scanning the room for a response.

"How exactly are we going to do that?" I asked after a minute.

"Act like a couple. It will be easy, George. We'll be right behind you two," Bridge answered.

I impassively nodded.

There were protests running in my mind at first. Then it got settled down by the funny things I'd read on the internet. Would we do that? Hold hands? Would he put his arm around me? There was also this famous fanfiction story that involved us getting drenched by sprinklers in the park.

Would there be sprinklers?