30

30

ANNALISE

My arms were crossed so tightly they were starting to resemble pretzels. Dad, on the other hand, looked like a kicked puppy – all droopy eyes and slumped shoulders. We were in a stalemate, the kind that usually involved a silent treatment lasting for days (a record was two weeks, fueled by a particularly disastrous attempt at a soufflé on my part). This time, however, the silence crackled with electricity.

“But Dad,” I finally burst out, unable to contain myself any longer, “it’s a prince! A literal prince!”

He sighed, a sound that seemed to deflate him further. “Annalise, honey, there’s more to life than tiaras and carriages.”

“But isn’t that kind of the point?” I countered, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “It’s a chance to, you know, do something grand! Make a difference!”

Dad snorted, a dry, humorless sound. “The only difference you’ll be making is the colour of your bank account, sweetheart. And trust me, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows on the other side of fa