Page 58 of The Heir Apparent
“Yes,” she said again, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head and staring into my eyes. “It’s a beautiful thing she’s doing for her brother.”
I gaped at her. “You know.”
“Yes. For a while now.”
“And you’re okay with them using Amira like that?”
She dropped her head for a moment, thinking. She was so calm that I realised she must have known about Louis and Kris for far longer than I might have guessed. Had they gone to her seeking advice? Had she known before Amira and I did? She was the first person I would go to if I had an unsolvable problem. But then I realised that wasn’t quite right. The first phone call I had made was to Papa.
“My son is a gay British Indian boy who’s in love with the future king,” she said. “If that becomes public knowledge, it’ll be difficult for everyone. But do you know how awful it will be for Kris? What they’ll say about him? What they’ll do to him? Amira can protect him.”
“But what aboutherlife?”
Vikki took me by the hands again. “This is not forever—it’s just for a little while. And I know that you’re savvy enough to see how it would help her prospects to be linked to your brother.”
I wanted to shake her. Everyone wanted to join the swirling nebula of our family. No one seemed to realise there was a gaping, insatiable black hole at its centre. By the time they were trapped in our orbit, it was too late to free themselves.
“Vikki, this entire plan depends on Louis and Kris breaking up, and everyone going on with their lives. What happens if they stay together?”
She smiled mournfully. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead. My son is in love with someone under impossible circumstances. I’m doing my best to protect him.”
“You’re doing that at Amira’s expense,” I said. “You said it was up to me to look out for her. I’m telling you. This is a mistake.”
Vikki brushed my cheek, and it was then I realised I was crying. “Darling, I know you’re thinking of your mum right now, but this is different. Amira has a family to protect her.”
I thought of Mum: a motherless girl whose father had often forgotten she existed. When they had found her body, she was floating in a huge nest of sargassum. That’s why the search took so long—they didn’t notice her at first, nestled among the seaweed. I couldn’t stop thinking of her long, dark hair intermingled with the algae. Would things have ended differently if her parents had loved her enough?
“I can’t be a part of this,” I said and opened the Shankars’ front door.
“Lexi,” Vikki called as I hurried down the steps and onto the street, my security detail giving chase to keep up with me. “What are you planning to do, Lexi?”
But I was already running. I didn’t stop until I was in Tasmania.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
10 June 2023
“Don’t wave so much, dear girl.” Granny sighed as our carriage glided down The Mall beneath two rows of plane trees, now lush and green as spring edged towards summer. The Band of the Grenadier Guards led the way, clashing their cymbals and beating their drums, but we could still hear the crowd lining the road as we passed. “You were the same as a child, constantly flapping that hand around.”
I returned my fingers to my lap. “Sorry. It’s hard not to get carried away,” I said.
Granny gave her famously fluttery wave, which Louis always said looked like she was changing an invisible light bulb.
She smiled at the crowd. “Yes, they are rather nice, aren’t they?”
Trooping the Colour came every June, filling central London with a sea of red tunics, horses, Union Jacks, regiments and brass instruments. The parade is a birthday gift from the Household Division to the monarch and culminates with a flypast by the Red Arrows, who leave a smear of red, white and blue through the sky.
Much to Richard’s consternation, Granny had invited me to ride in her carriage down The Mall. Instead, he had tolead the procession on horseback, swaddled in his army regalia with a black, woolly bearskin atop his head. Mary declared the day a draw, since we’d both walk away with a winning photo opportunity.
“Are you enjoying your time back home, dear girl?”
I was surprised by the question. No one had asked me that before. “Yes, Granny, I am.”
“You must miss your life in Australia.”
I thought of the cottage, smoke rising from the chimney, making it look like the cosy storybook house it was. I missed its jasmine-covered walls, the firewood chopped and stacked under the eaves, all our boots jumbled together by the door. I missed working on the wards and then coming home, Jack greeting me with a smile and a glass of pinot. The simple little life that I’d believed to be hopelessly complicated was just a memory now.
“I miss my friends,” I admitted. “And I miss the hospital.”
