A knock sounded on the door.

  “Come in,” Tessa called, knowing that by now, John or Sasha, or both, had to be awake and aware that something was happening.

  Margaret entered fully clothed. She looked at Tessa with red, puffy eyes and did the unexpected. She asked, “Can we have sex again?”

  Tessa blinked. “Uh…but…but…”

  “I need to double check something,” Margaret said.

  “Double check what?”

  “I don’t want to say yet.”

  Enough of this nonsense. More sex would not happen. “Margaret,” Tessa said. “No more. We’re done.”

  Margaret half-smiled, perhaps thinking Tessa was playing. After a moment, Margaret understood Tessa meant it. Consternation registered in her eyes.

  “Why?” Margaret whispered. “Can you forget I cried? Please?”

  “Come on. There’s no reason for us to have sex again. There was no reason for us to in the first place!”

  “Fine,” Margaret said with a strained smile. “I only wanted to get close to you anyway to find out what you’re hiding.”

  “What?”

  “You know something about my father’s death,” Margaret said. “At least, you suspect something, but you’re being an arsehole and not telling me.”

  Tessa had to laugh. “That’s why you wanted to fuck? That’s why you wanted to sleep with me again?”

  “Well, no, I actually wanted to sleep with you again because…never mind. Just tell me what you’ve been hiding,” Margaret said. “If you don’t, I’m going to press myself into you and kiss you hard and fuck you hard and make you tell me anyway because I think if I use my body and my mouth, I can make you do things.”

  Tessa stared, Margaret’s words igniting twin storms of fury and desire inside her. “Too fucking bad,” Tessa said. “I have nothing to tell you.”

  Margaret’s face grew thundery, and Tessa collected a deep breath. The princess deserved to know about her mother, but Tessa felt guilty telling her because no matter what Tessa’s gut said, she could be very wrong. Her feelings about Amalia clouded good sense.

  Tessa touched her hand to Margaret’s arm, hoping it would calm her. “Don’t touch me,” Margaret snapped.

  So much for that.

  “I have suspicions,” Tessa said. “They are probably wrong.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “I think someone told you about them killing your father, and you’ve got it mixed up. You think you did it.”

  Margaret’s eyelid twitched. “That’s it? The big secret is that you think I’m crazy like everyone thinks I am?”

  “Your memory is slightly off, that’s all. It can happen to anyone under the influence of sleep, sleeping pills, alcohol, medi—”

  “Who do you think did it?”

  Tessa sighed. “It was your mother who killed your father.”

  Margaret froze. At last, the ice sculpture that she had become exhaled. “I’m going to sleep. Good night.” She grabbed her cane and hobbled out.

  **

  Margaret was glad that Tessa waited a minute or two before leaving the bathroom. Margaret had headed straight for the air mattress, collapsing on it and pulling the blanket over her.

  Her chest hurt but not as much as it should. Tessa’s words had landed in her heart with a sort of, “Ahhh, yes!” finality. Margaret must’ve always known on some level, at least since Adriena Agata.

  The cleaner’s horrified expression when she realized who Margaret was. It wasn’t the expression of someone seeing an old friend, enemy or acquaintance. It was simply the expression of someone stunned about something that did not compute.

  The cheque. The 500,000 pounds. Very little about that situation made sense to Margaret, but she clearly remembered being in Adriena’s old flat and giving her the money and thinking that Adriena was a good person and there weren’t many people like her. She would rather not taint Adriena with the stain of murder.

  Why a cheque? Why that amount? Why Adriena?

  Who knew?

  On the walk back to Kensington, Adriena asked about Margaret’s mother. How she was doing, what a nice woman she was and so beautiful and elegant and…oh!

  Adriena said that Amalia always smelled so good with her Baccarat Les Larmes Sacrees de Thebes perfume and that Adriena had gotten a few bottles of her own. “Expensive,” she exclaimed. “But worth it.” The information had been so shocking that Margaret instantly blocked it.

  It had been Amalia, not Alicia, that Margaret smelled. It had been Amalia’s breath on Margaret’s neck, and Amalia still wore the perfume. Idiotic, deep-in-denial Margaret never noticed until now.

  So, her mother had…what? Been like everyone else and treated her daughter like a potted plant that needed some clucking over and the occasional dusting but that more or less afforded freedom? People did and said what they wanted in front of her, including her mother.

  Had Amalia curled up in bed with her daughter one night, or multiple nights, and thinking there was no way Margaret could remember, unburdened herself of a terrible secret? Narrated it in painstaking detail, telling her about the halo around Alicia’s head and the maps she drew up for Alicia?

  Perhaps.

  No perhaps about it. Yes, she had.

  The floor creaked as Tessa made her way back to bed. “Margaret?” she whispered from above.

  Margaret ignored her, and Tessa took the hint, settling into her bed and sighing.

  Too much going on. That orgasm—series of orgasms—the feelings they produced, the tornadoes of emotion, the feelings of inevitability that it was the person she was meant to marry who had given her these orgasms.

  This outpouring of emotion, it somewhat resembled how Margaret imagined she’d feel the first moment she met her husband.

  She’d looked into Tessa’s worried face, into the face of…the person she was meant to marry? She should’ve felt relieved and happy, but mostly she was confused. Marry a woman? To become the third sister to…could she? How would it work? And she barely knew Tessa. They weren’t in love! Sure, they’d had fun and she was incredible and Margaret could look at her all night and she’d even gotten jealous when a guy at the diner hit on Tessa, but…marry her? That feeling had come out of the blue.

  She needed to grow up, did Margaret. Stop having her stupid fourteen-year-old-girl fantasies. She had something concrete to worry about, and Amalia’s face floated into her mind.

  “How do you know?” Margaret asked Tessa.

  “Gut feeling based on my personal experiences with her. Like I said, only suspicions that may be off base.”

  “She did it. You’re right.”

  Tessa hesitated before answering. “Yes. Yes, uh…I can look into it more if you want and find out how she and Alicia Hastings know each other.”

  “No. Leave it alone. Actually, can we not talk about it right now?”

  “It’s dropped.”

  Margaret dug her pretty shiny fingernails into her skin, welcoming the pain, but it wasn’t enough. “What personal experiences?”

  “Thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “I don’t after you answer my question.”

  “Okay. Well, when I was guarding Katharine, your mother threatened to ruin my life unless I stayed away from your sister. Your mother forced me to resign. Katharine and I hadn’t done anything, really. We were friends, but because I was gay and looked gay with the dyke haircut I had back then, your mother hated me on sight. With Emma, it was more about your mother knowing I knew about your father. She said after breakfast that bad things happen to police. She meant it as a threat. As I recite them right now, the words sound juvenile and easy to shrug off, but they weren’t. Anyway, I had the feeling what kind of woman she was, and when I heard how your father died, it was like my brain already knew she did it.”

  “Are you still going to help me stay in New York?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do I get started? Do I find a place to rent?”

  “Yes. I assume you must have private funds, a decent bit.”

  Margaret snorted. “The irony is that Mum controls them. She has final word on anything to do with me legally, medically and financially. I had to get her permission to release the funds to pay for this trip. The only way that will change is if I make a miraculous recovery.”

  “You seem to be doing amazing, Margaret.”

  “I’m not, not really.”

  “You are.”

  “Or if I got married,” Margaret said, thinking out loud. “Mum would give her permission for me to be married, and then my husband could…” Or my wife. My wife! Margaret sat up straight, any earlier misapprehensions gone about marrying Tessa.

  “Tessa! If we got married, you could be in charge of my affairs. I could be free.”

  “Whoa. Whoa, Margaret.”

  “We would need to get permission from Mum, and of course from Katharine because anyone who’s sixth in line and above has to get the monarch’s consent, but…” Excitement made Margaret scramble into bed with Tessa. “If we got married, it would solve a lot of problems.”

  “It would introduce new problems too, Margaret. A lot.”

  “Like what? Other than the fact I’d be the third sister in a lesbian marriage, but Mum would no longer have a say in my business. It would be worth whatever blowback.”

  “For one thing, you can’t divorce easily. More than anyone, a royal needs to marry for the perfect blend of love and practicality,” Tessa said. “Take a deep breath, Margaret, please.”

  Margaret closed her eyes and directed her stomach. In. Out. In. Out. She tapped the lamp on so she could see Tessa and took in her lovely, sexy face, the concerned slant of her eyebrows, her everything, and Margaret said, “I would never want to divorce you.”

  “Okay, but…” Tessa smiled in a peculiar way, grounding her lips together, but one end curved upward. “My job. My family. My desires. I mean no offense, but I’ve always seen royals as being in a sort of prison. They have no freedom. They have to follow these strict rules and do what’s expected of them instead of doing what’s best for them and for everyone.”

  “If you loved me, would you marry me?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “Answer it.”

  “I don’t know,” Tessa said. “That’s impossible to answer when I don’t love you.”

  “Yet,” Margaret said.

  Tessa quirked her eyebrow. “Yet?”

  “We’re going to get married, and we’ll be happy together.”

  Tessa started shaking her head no, no, no, and Margaret looked at her, this woman who would be her wife, and said, “It won’t be easy all the time. Maybe it won’t be easy most of the time, but we can do great things together. We will change the world. I want this to work for you too. I want to make you happy, and I think I can. You had fun tonight. You miss being with a woman. You miss kissing and sex. You—”

  Anger on Tessa’s cheeks. “Hey, hey, stop. I don’t want to hear one word about us getting married. Ever. Got it? If you want my help getting settled in New York, then respect my no and lay off. Stop pressuring me.”

  Margaret gulped. “I’m sorry.”

  “Just…okay. Turn the light off, please, and let’s try to sleep.”

  **

  At first, Tessa couldn’t believe her ears at the marriage proposal. In theory, it sounded wonderful. After all, she’d been dreaming about it earlier, dinners at Buckingham, wandering walks in the countryside, a grand old wedding and the title of “Her Royal Highness.”

  But. That had been a fantasy, and Tessa had seen through it enough to stop herself from making love with Margaret. Going down on her didn’t count.

  Plus, Margaret wanted children, babies. Tessa sussed that out at the diner when a young couple with a baby came in and sat in front of them. Margaret did everything she could to avoid looking at the baby, it was too painful to look at him.

  Tessa, she never really wanted kids. She would’ve gone along with them if she ended up with a woman who wanted them, but on the whole, she never felt that deep abiding desire to be a mother.

  So, Margaret would have to find someone else to marry. Maybe Adam, maybe someone else, whoever, and he or she would be on TV with Margaret and on magazine covers and—fuck. It would be like with Katharine and Emma when regrets popped up unexpectedly, seeping into Tessa and creeping outward. Like last week, she got a fortune cookie message reading, “You will meet your prince or princess today.”

  She’d already met her two and chosen to reject them because she was a coward, afraid of their mother. No matter how many times she told herself the truth was more complicated than that, it wasn’t.

  Funny that Margaret wanted to marry Tessa because of Amalia. Maybe that was the sign that this third time was the charm. The one meant to be.

  “Margaret,” Tessa whispered after agonizing over it for what felt like an hour but might have been two hours or, hell, five minutes.

  “What?”

  Tessa’s heart nearly burst out of her chest, she was so nervous. “I’m willing to date and see where it takes us. If, if, uh…if everything goes okay, I’m not against something permanent.”

  “No, you’re right. I was out of line earlier. I jumped on a certain thought and got too excited to see how stupid it was.”

  “I’m saying that if you think you could enjoy being with me, kissing me, having sex with me, then it’s not such a stupid idea.” Tessa brushed her hand against Margaret’s and said, “I very much enjoyed you kissing me on the neck. Did you like what I did between your legs?” She replayed Margaret’s tears, Margaret’s embarrassment. Tessa used to have a girlfriend who cried after some of her orgasms, and she described them as intense, soul-wrenching, joyful, the best thing in the world.

  “You made me cry, Tessa. Not even Alec did that.”

  “That’s in a good way, right? Cry in a good way.”

  “Yes. I want to have sex with you so much, Tessa, lots of sex. Can we have sex even if we don’t get mar—the…that word I can’t say.”

  No. I don’t know. Maybe? The irony is that if we do have sex, I’ll agree to get married because that’s how my brain is wired.

  Tessa got out of bed and padded to Margaret’s side to turn on the light. She sat next to Margaret, and the words slipped out before Tessa knew she would say them. She said, “Look, Margaret, I’ve decided. We’ll get married.”

  She hoped she wouldn’t regret them one day. She and Margaret may have gotten engaged faster than Emma and Cheryl did.

  Margaret looked happy with a wide silly grin, she looked very much in love, and she said, “We can live in New York. Or wherever you want! I don’t expect you to move to London.”

  “Can we maybe celebrate first before talking logistics?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  Tessa should have kissed her, or Margaret could have kissed her, but they stared at each other, suddenly awkward, shy, unsure, knowing that they had done a reckless thing because…well, they weren’t sure why they’d done it, and it didn’t feel real. It felt like pretend, and if they kissed, if they had sex, this foolish conversation would be harder to take back and it would be like they had become engaged for real.

  **

  Tessa and Margaret slept in, and Tessa awoke first. The sun streamed through the windows, and Margaret’s head rested on Tessa’s chest. She had barely slept.

  The living room was empty, and it was eleven o’clock. Tessa showered and read several snooty texts from John. The most mild: Why would there be gossip articles showing pictures of you and Margaret in New Jersey last night? Gee…

  Tessa ignored them for the time being. She replayed the events from the night before. They felt like a dream, each and every one of them: the cab ride, forgetting her wallet, Omar, Langford, Noyrleen, the talk of getting married.

  At eleven-thirty, Margaret stirred. Tessa offered her a few stale muffins she’d found in her cupboard, and Margaret accepted. She ate, drank water and took her medicine.

  The two of them exchanged a handful of words. Tessa itched to come out and say it, “We were crazy, right? We’re not actually engaged, or are we?”

  **

  It was about two p.m. when Tessa and Margaret returned to The Mark. Tessa had suffered enough with the tension and confusion, so she came out with it once they were alone again: “Can we discuss what happened last night, that talk about getting married?”

  Margaret nodded. She was sitting on her bed and fiddling with a gold bracelet she’d picked up from the nightstand.

  “It was crazy talk, right?” Tessa tried, sitting with her but careful to keep a few inches away.

  “Yes, it was,” Margaret said quietly. “I got carried away. I just want to be my own person. I’m tired of Mum controlling my life. And she did it. The thing. It makes me sick to have her one hundred percent in charge of my life.”

  Tessa ventured a hand on Margaret’s shoulder and slowly pulled her in for an embrace. Margaret’s head rested on her breast, and Tessa ran her fingers through Margaret’s fine, soft brown hair like she had last night.

  So. It really had been crazy talk. No engagement. No getting married. Tessa had known it deep down, but it still disappointed her. Of course, if Margaret had said yes, they were engaged, Tessa would be terrified and running for the hills. No way to win with this situation.

  “I hate seeing you sad,” she said.

  Margaret drew back and offered a slight smile. “I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll tell Mum I know, and maybe that’ll be enough to make her willing to transfer control over to Katharine or Emma. I don’t want them governing my affairs either, but they’re better than Mum.”

  “She should sign your rights back over to you. You seem competent.”