Take the Key and Lock Her Up (Embassy Row #3)(50)

“No,” Ann says. “You don’t.”

Then she turns and climbs the stairs. My following her isn’t up for debate or discussion. I have made my bed, I know. And now the most beautiful woman in Europe is going to go chain me to it.

“It’ll never work,” I call. “No one is going to believe that I belong here.”

“They will,” Ann says. “I do a great deal of charity work.”

“Great,” I say as I start to climb. I’m charity.

“This is your life now, Grace. And it can be a good life. Or it can be miserable. From this point forward, it is a choice. And the choice is entirely up to you.”

For a second, tears well in my eyes. My throat burns, and I can’t help it because, for a second, she sounds just like a mother.

Like my mother.

When Ann leads me down a long, wide corridor, I have no choice but to follow.

“The palace is comprised of many different spaces that serve many different functions. I believe you are familiar with the state ballroom and perhaps some of the more formal, public areas, but those are typically only used for functions of state. You’ve also seen the royal drawing room, if memory serves. As you might expect, there are a number of rooms dedicated to the royal family as well as individual apartments for those of us in permanent residence. In addition, there are guest quarters and entire floors reserved for servants. In total, there are, I believe, one hundred and seventy bedrooms inside the palace.”

Ann stops suddenly. She places a manicured hand against a pair of wide, double doors. Then she pushes.

“This one is yours.”

The lights are off, but the sun streams through floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the room, cutting through the darkness like a spotlight upon a stage. It’s fitting, I have to think. This is my great role, and I’m going to have to become a brand-new person in every way that really matters.

“Do you like it?” Ann asks. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, but I could almost swear that she sounds nervous, like she actually cares about the answer.

“It’s pretty,” I say, and that much is true.

“Grace. Is that all you have to say?” She flips a switch, and light fills the room, falling from a crystal chandelier that dangles from a ceiling that’s probably twenty feet tall. The walls are covered with silk. The bed is massive and canopied with lace. There’s an antique dresser, a vanity table, and a mirror. Every surface is covered with fresh flowers, and the hardwood floor is so polished that it shines.

“It’s the prettiest prison I have ever seen,” I say. It’s the only compliment I can muster at the moment.

Ann looks like maybe she wants to lecture me again, but she thinks better of it. I’m the textbook definition of lost cause, so she’s quiet as I walk to the tall windows and look out on the world outside.

“I really do hope you’ll be happy here, Grace. When I married the prince, I wasn’t prepared for this life. You will have a huge advantage, you see. By the time you are in my place, this will truly feel like home to you. Someday soon you won’t even remember what it felt like to live anywhere else.”

I’ve lived a lot of places—that’s the life of an army brat. None of them were a palace, and yet I’d trade this place for any of those in a heartbeat. But my deal has already been made and the devil stands behind me. It’s far too late to look back now.

“Yeah. Sure.” I force a smile. “Home, sweet home.”

“Hey, Mom, have you seen my—”

The words are in Adrian, and it’s a voice that I don’t know, but when I turn, I’m not entirely surprised by who is standing in my doorway.

His feet are bare and his hair is mussed, and overall the effect is undeniable. If I were the kind of girl who reads magazines or gossip sites, I’d probably be panting right about now. But I’m not that kind of girl.

I’m the girl he’s going to have to marry.

“Oh. Hello,” he says, switching to English.

I expect some kind of sly smile, maybe a roll of the royal eyes or something to show what he thinks of my situation—of me. But he doesn’t do any of those things. “So you’re the goddaughter.” He’s grinning as he says it. He actually steps forward, offers me his hand. “I’m the son.”

The prince, he means. The heir’s heir. Someday, this barefoot boy will wear the crown of Adria. And he’s the reason why I’m here.

“Darling, come in,” Ann tells him. “There’s someone I’d like for you to meet.”

I keep looking at the prince, trying to read his thoughts, but I can’t see anything in his eyes besides boredom. When he comes closer I realize that he and I are about the same height. He’s a little younger than I am, I remember. And he’s no doubt still growing. His hair is lighter than Ann’s, more like his father’s. But he has Ann’s eyes—her smile. If he were a girl he’d be beautiful, but he’s a boy and so that just makes him … striking. He’s going to break hearts, I know. I just hope that, someday, he doesn’t break me.

“Welcome to Adria,” he tells me.

“Do I curtsy?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“I have before,” I say. “I didn’t like it.”