“No,” I said, but black fear struck my heart. I didn’t remember everything from my time with Tessa and Joyce in the hotel room. They ended up staying and holding my hair back as I threw up. I woke up in bed with Tessa next to me and Joyce slumped over in a chair. Young people do take care of their elders, apparently.

  Was it possible I mumbled Amalia’s scheme to them? No, of course not.

  “Good,” Dierks said. “By the way, where have you been?”

  “Out,” I stammered. “I had to think. Out in the country.”

  “For one week?” he asked skeptically.

  “Yes.”

  “You sure you didn’t tell anyone?”

  “Yes, Dierks.”

  **

  I wonder how Katharine spent her last night as crown princess, her last few hours. Did she lay her head on her pillow and toss that last night thinking about Veronica Dudley?

  Did she riffle through the clothes in her closet and pass over the black dress she’d put on in a few hours’ time? Did she smile in her mirror, not realizing that soon, the face that stared back would be filled with sadness and grief?

  Did her heart skip a beat when she was told? Did her stomach squeeze?

  Or did she feel nothing, nothing at all? Did she simply say, “A moment,” and did she dress and say goodbye to her handsome young ex-boyfriend and get on the plane for the journey to the other side of the world, to the queendom that awaited?

  On April twelfth, she went to bed and became queen of England the next day. If not for my chance encounter with the woman called Tessa, I could have gotten to Katharine at the bar and told her. She could have stopped her mother.

  Or maybe she would have done no such thing. Maybe she would’ve said, “Tell Mum yourself. Use your words, Alicia.” Maybe she would have chosen the crown. Maybe this young woman, twenty-one years old, had decided that she was finished with being told what to do. Finished with being manipulated. It was time for her to join forces with her mother in a strange, unorthodox way and to seize the crown.

  She has been a good queen, a lovely and gracious queen. She is everything her father was not.

  **

  It took a few days, but I finally connected Princess Margaret’s new fiancee, the future Countess of Wessex, to the woman I encountered in the bathroom in that bar. Apparently, the woman called Tessa had used to guard Katharine and could have, undoubtedly, gotten me instant access to the princess whenever I needed.

  Small, strange world teeming with missed opportunities.

  I have a picture of us together, the future countess and I. We are in my hotel room, her arm slung around my shoulder. We’re laughing at something no doubt nonsensical. It’s a blurry picture that Joyce must have taken. I discovered it on my phone after I settled into my seat for the flight back to London. I nearly deleted it, but something made me hang onto it. I’m glad I did. I look at it every once in a while, at our happy, smiling, drunk faces. I think about these two young women, Tessa and Joyce, who extended a kindness to me, a stranger, and took care of me in one of the darkest moments of my life even though I gave them permission not to. There’s a second picture, a similar one of me and Joyce. That one is somewhat clearer.

  In any case, what is done is done, and the Duchess and Countess of Wessex seem very happy together. I saw them the other day trying to go under the radar. Margaret wore a headscarf and eyeglasses. Tessa wore a brunette wig and eyeglasses. I wouldn’t have noticed them if not for the child, the two-year-old Henry who is rarely photographed. He broke free from their hands, tumbled into me, picked himself up and ran shrieking to a candy machine. “Want!” he cried. “Me want candy! Chocolate! Mama Mama Mum Mum, look, I have chocolate!” Practically everyone in the area turned to look at the child, but it was his mothers I studied because I recognized them somehow.

  Crimson colored their cheeks, and it dawned on me who they were. Tessa carried a shopping bag. They were trying to pass as another ordinary family out for a day at the shops. No doubt some of their fellow shoppers were part of the Royal Protection Command.

  I don’t know what possessed me, but I went over to the child and drew out a packet of crackers from my purse. I knelt with him as his mothers were doing and offered the crackers.

  “Chocolate?” he asked, peering hopefully at the packet.

  “Cheese crackers,” I said. “Just as good.”

  “Thank you!” he said, and his mothers smiled gratefully. No recognition glimmered in Tessa’s eyes, nor should it have. She’d been drunk that night years ago, only not as drunk as I. If she recalled that English wreck of a tourist at all, it was as one of millions of stars in her brain. Besides, I had aged since then. When I go out and about, I alter my appearance, although not as drastically as the Wessexes do. I’d rather not have patients come up to me in public.

  Memory and appearances, they’re funny things.

  We parted ways. Oh, they really did look adorable, the three of them. Such a cute little family.

  Have you read the earlier three books in the series?

  Knowing Katharine: Tessa Donovan is a New York City cop tired of pounding the streets, tired of the long hours, tired of the wrecked relationship with the woman she used to love. So, when Cliff Sandings with the Royal Protection Command approaches her for a job opportunity, she jumps at the chance.

  Her task: going deep undercover, including a new name, to protect Britain’s Katharine Anne Elizabeth Amalia, heir to the throne. Katharine is entering her junior year at Purcell College in Maine. She won’t let a near-successful assassination attempt deter her plans to live as normally as possible.

  Tessa (undercover name Trisha) moves into a dorm room near Katharine’s, and the security officer quickly learns that protecting Katharine is tricky. Not necessarily because of physical threats but because lust gets in the way. Plus there is the fact that Katharine is poised to be the future queen of England, and an out lesbian relationship with her is all but impossible. There’s also another lesbian in the picture, the persistent Joyce Thomas, and Trisha can’t help but be drawn to her too.

  Will Trisha succeed in getting to know the true Katharine, or will it be one of the other women in Katharine’s life? Does anyone truly get to know her?

  And what about the woman who fantasizes about ending the lives of Katharine and her father, the king?

  Loving Katharine: When Britain’s crown princess Katharine came out of the closet and ran off with one of her security officers, they knew they were destined for a fling, not for true romance. They would take what they could get in the little time they had together and resume their separate lives.

  Except Katharine is queen a mere three months after they parted, and her former lover has been summoned to her side. What about the feelings that deepened in Puerto Rico? Can the two women make a go of an actual relationship?

  Maybe. Maybe not. Plus, some things are not what they seem. Namely, Katharine’s youngest sister, Emma, is struggling with her own sexuality. Secrets and fear run deep, and they imperil the chances of a happily ever after.

  Marrying Emma: Britain’s Princess Emma, an out lesbian, is trying hard to make romantic connections, but they never seem to succeed. In one case, Emma discovers in the middle of lovemaking that the woman is married. In another case, the romantic prospect simply never gets back in touch.

  Emma’s eldest sister, Queen Katharine, seems happily married, and even her middle sister, Margaret, with her laundry list of issues, is on the cusp of happiness.

  So it’s no wonder Emma feels desolate. That begins to gradually change with the intriguing reporter Marisol Richards, but she says she’s not the one for Emma. There’s someone out there, though, someone who yearns to get her fairy tale ending. In fact, she and Emma were meant to be together years ago. Will they finally find their way together?

  Excerpt from Marrying Emma:

  Chapter One

  Emma

  I debated whether to bring the matter to my sister’s attention, but in the end, it had to be done. So, at ten-thirty on a Saturday night, I walked from Kensington Palace to Buckingham and met with Katharine and her wife of seven months.

  Veronica smiled, standing to greet me while Katharine stayed put on the sofa. My sister wore clothes meant for lounging while Veronica remained in the sharp women’s suit she wore to the opening of the Birkbeck Art Gallery earlier that evening. John Birkbeck, the actor, started the gallery to showcase art from maligned populations, and it had been Veronica’s first solo appearance.

  “Hey! How did it go?” I asked my sister-in-law as we hugged quickly.

  “Really well,” she said. “Our jam sessions paid off.”

  “I’m so glad.” She’d given me printouts on the artists whose works were scheduled to be showcased and asked me to quiz her on them. We’d spent a good hour or two in person and on text covering what we could.

  It was important to Veronica, and, of course, to everyone else that this first solo appearance go off seamlessly. What each of us had to do on a daily basis was immense. Every event, big or small, took hours of preparation by many people behind the scenes. While it was second nature to me and Katharine, Veronica was relatively new to it all.

  But she’d enjoyed tonight. Good. As time went on, she’d develop her own tricks and shortcuts so that “homework” didn’t take up too much of her time.

  “What did you need to talk about?” Katharine asked, stretching her arms behind her. While Veronica had been at the Birkbeck, Katharine spent the evening with Lucas and Jo, Veronica’s children. Now Katharine’s children too, via adoption. They were wonderful kids but could be handfuls.

  “Okay,” I said, my heart hammering as I settled into a chair for what was poised to be an awkward conversation.

  “Charlotte came to see me yesterday,” I continued. She was our middle sister Margaret’s main nurse and had taken over last month from a woman who could be her twin, the red-faced, sweaty and stout Louellen Smith. “She said that…” I licked my lips. “Well, she…”

  “She should’ve met with me too,” Katharine said in an irritated tone. “If it was that important.”

  “Yes, perhaps,” I conceded. However, rising to Charlotte’s defence, I explained, “She knew it was an embarrassing subject and it would be easier to approach only one person.”

  “What is it?” Katharine asked, stifling a yawn with her fist.

  “Margaret is a woman,” I put forth. “With needs.”

  “Needs,” Katharine echoed.

  “Apparently, there have been, ah, occurrences that Louellen never told us about. For a few years now, Margaret has been, she’s been…look. She’s a thirty-four-year-old horny virgin, okay? She’s in a wheelchair most of the time and her memory is shit, but she’s still a woman with needs. She wants a man. She wants sex.”

  Katharine went pale, and I ventured a glance at Veronica.

  “Oh,” my sister-in-law said, offering a weak smile. “Well, that makes sense.”

  I nodded and returned my gaze to Katharine. “In fact, Charlotte was upset with us. She said we should’ve considered this earlier. She claims that we see Margaret too much as her disability, her disabilities, and not as a person. It happens a lot, she says. Normally abled people forget that people with disabilities are sexual too.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” Katharine said. “Find her a fuck buddy?”

  “Yep,” I said. “Pretty much.”

  She laughed uncomfortably.

  “Look, I’ll handle it,” I said. “I’m happy to.”

  “Wait. Please tell me Charlotte didn’t bring this to Mum,” Katharine said.

  “Nah. She knows better.”

  “So what exactly did she tell you?” Katharine asked.

  “Margaret has kind of been harassing some of the male staffers,” I explained. “Grabbing them, looking at them improperly, saying improper things. Charlotte says it’s obvious what Margaret needs.”

  “Right-o,” Katharine muttered. “Harassment, lovely. Who in particular?”

  “Men such as Doyle and Trevor.” Trevor was Margaret’s personal secretary. On the face of it, she had little need for one, but people did write her. They did ask her to appear places. It was Trevor’s job to correspond with them, among other tasks. Doyle Holbrook worked in the stables, and Margaret had always loved horses. That love remained even after our father’s accident.

  “Any man, really,” I added in a whisper. “Charlotte says that Margaret gets looks in her eyes when a male crosses her path.”

  “Is she still on birth control?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Katharine sighed and looked at her wife. “If I haven’t said it before, welcome to our family.”

  Veronica smiled. “Never a boring day.”

  Katharine clasped her hands together and returned her focus to me. “You said you’re happy to handle it?”

  “Yes,” I replied. Katharine was pretty good about delegating and trusting me to do things properly.

  “Have you talked to Margaret? Or are you going to?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” But I hadn’t been planning to, and Katharine must’ve known it judging from the small smile on her lips. Fine, fine. I was guilty of the crime of sometimes seeing my middle sister as a “disability” and not as a person.

  “All righty then,” Katharine said. “That should be an interesting conversation.”

  I snorted and rose to my feet. “A delight. I’ll keep you updated.”

  Katharine and Veronica exchanged looks. “Hey,” Katharine said. “Don’t go yet. Since we’re on the subject, there’s something I wanted to talk about with you too.”

  Uh-oh. “Okay,” I said, sitting back down and plastering a smile on my face. “What’s up?”

  “I, well, I…”

  I struggled to keep my expression still. You’re pregnant, Katharine. You’re pregnant. Or will start trying.

  For quite a few years now, I had been, for all intents and purposes, heir to the throne. Sure, Margaret was ahead of me, but she was in no shape to be a proper heir, much less queen. She’d done only four official public appearances.

  As the days and years went on, the odds seemed to grow in my favour that I would one day be queen. Perhaps I’d be in my eighties or nineties, decrepit and shrivelled, but I would be queen, and it would be my children who carried on the dynasty.

  Not anymore.

  Mixed feelings rushed over me. If a baby was what Katharine wanted, then I was happy for her. At the same time, I had allowed the hope to seep in that all the work I put in every day, all of the pain and crap I’d been through, would one day culminate into something tangible. The throne.

  “I’m pregnant,” Katharine said.

  “Wonderful!” I shrilled, jumping to my feet.

  Too cheerful. Too fake. Tone it down.

  “Wonderful,” I repeated.

  My sister chuckled. “Thank you.”

  I hugged her and Veronica. “How far along?”

  “Only about a month,” Katharine said. “I needed you to know in case I got sick or couldn’t make an appearance. You or Veronica would have to step in quickly.”

  “Of course.”

  I itched to enquire how they’d done it. Sperm bank? Probably. Which one? What did the donor look like? How did they choose him?

  I didn’t ask. Katharine and Veronica would get enough speculation in that regard. I’d stay quiet.

  “I’m scared,” Katharine admitted.

  “Hey,” Veronica said. She scooted closer to Katharine and took her hand. Kissed her on the cheek, and I looked away. The love Veronica had for my sister, it was just so…so there. Sweet and accepting and prevalent. If that made sense. Truly a rare kind of love, something I didn’t think I was destined to get.

  “Why are you scared?” I asked.

  “My age,” she said. “The risk of something going wrong is higher. It’s already high for younger women. I hadn’t realised how common miscarriage is.”

  “It’s scary,” I agreed.”

  “Do you want children?” she asked. “To get pregnant?”

  “I think so,” I said and became aware of the tick-tock of the clock in the background. Hello, biological clock! Katharine was thirty-six years old, me thirty-two. Childbearing was a decision I could not put off for much longer.

  “I need a wife first,” I pointed out. Most people wouldn’t need a spouse, but Britain’s royal princesses did.

  “True,” she murmured. “And that can take time. Why not start dating? It’s time to get yourself out there. You’re emotionally ready.”

  “I suppose.”

  I’d come to have a hard conversation with my sister about the reality of our middle sister’s situation, but in the end, it was me who got schooled. I needed to decide what I would do with my future. Stop putting off dating. Start putting myself back out there.

  Deal with the crushing fact that I would never be queen.

  Katharine yawned. “I’m tired. I should go to bed.” She rose. “Good luck with Margaret.” She hugged me, kissed Veronica on the lips and disappeared into their bedroom.

  Veronica walked me to the door.

  “Like Katharine and you touched on earlier, welcome to the family,” I said brightly. “Never a boring day.”

  A smile ruffled Veronica’s mouth, her red, full mouth. “Indeed.”

  “And the baby news. Wow! Are you ready to have a baby again?”

  A soft smile. “There are pros and cons.”

  “I’m sure. So, anyway,” I said before I lingered overlong as I could do too easily with Veronica. “Good night, and I’m glad the Birkbeck appearance went well.”

  “It really did,” she said, her cheeks glowing. “I was so nervous, but I had a lot of fun. Maybe I’ll do a halfway decent job of this queen thing.”