AURORA
"If it's somebody we know, you owe me twenty bucks."
It was the worst bet I had ever made. Worse, I said it with confidence, a cocky grin spread over my warm, third-glass-of-wine face. Maybe I wouldn't have said it at all if everybody at Maude's viewing party--a handful of her closest friends, including me, Kiara, and Sophie for some reason--would talk and drink louder than they already were. Maybe I wouldn't have said it if I cared to listen to the prime minister on Maude's bright flat screen, going on about war or debt or military or whatever the second-most important leader of the country had to say. Maybe if the prime minister would get on with the reports and get to the real show of the night. The only reason I was making bets in the first place.
Any minute now, any second now, she would give up the podium, and Prince Thomas would stroll on stage, and thirty-five girls would have their lives changed forever. Maybe that was it. The excitement in the air, the idea that it could be you or somebody you knew. Maybe that just made people act dumb.
And in any other province, my bet might have had a shot, but Waverly had a still-climbing population of twenty-five million. That was probably why Kiara laughed at me. "If it's somebody we know, I'll give you fifty."
I shrugged, taking another sip of my wine. "Keep your wallet ready, sweetheart."
She rolled her eyes, returning to toying with a piece of gouda from the wrecked charcuterie board on Maude's ottoman, glancing only briefly at the TV. She didn't say it, but the Selection made her nervous, too. Kiara was a newer friend of mine--we only started being friends after Play It Sane's premiere party, where we got drunk together and I discovered she wasn't uptight, just nervous--but she came up with the idea to break up with Pierce after she heard my constant complaining during our tequila-filled scary-movie nights. We filled out our applications together on the floor of her new apartment three weeks ago, and did each other's makeup for our headshots when we went to turn them in at the town hall. Kiara had a crush on the prince like everybody else, so getting picked would be a dream come true. She just didn't drown her nerves in wine like I did.
I told myself to take it slow at the start of the night, just in case, but I was my mother's daughter, so I giggled at nothing when I turned to face the TV. "You're prob'ly right," I said, my words slightly slurring. "It's gonna be some cashier, or... like, a receptionist." I take another sip, careful not to spill on my new white skirt, like I had the last two white skirts. "That's news."
Kiara scoffed. "As if you know."
"My dad happens to own the news." It was a half-joke. Dad's company ran one of the most viewed news stations in the country. "The transformation is the whole schtick. You're not gonna see Sophie strutting in for a makeover she's already had. That's not good TV."
"Did you say my name?" Sophie asked from the adjacent couch, turning away from her conversation with Billie.
"Only saying you'd never get picked," I replied.
Sophie's eyes narrowed, probably hoping her name came up in a more interesting discussion. The Selection was only uninteresting to her because she thought she was too special to care, and because Dad led the way for all of her opinions. Not that I had any resentment, or anything. Sophie replied, "Like you would, either."
"That's a great point, Soph," Kiara said as she faced me, a gamble flashing in her grin. "What if it's you?"
"I'd win, obviously." I shrugged. "Or my dad would shoot me in the foot before I get on the plane. Either or."
Sophie giggled. "The latter will be first."
Kiara ignored her. "And what if it's me?"
I pretended to think it over. "I don't know, you'll have to bring back a vial of palace air. And sell it."
"Yeah, as if I need the money."
I hit her shoulder with the back of my hand, but I couldn't hide my laugh. "You will when you get eliminated," I said instead, just as Summer jumped up from the loveseat.
"Everybody shut up!" she shouted, and, surprisingly, the room listened to her call. On a regular day, I wouldn't listen to a word out of Summer's constantly-moving mouth, but it was like somebody pressed a mute button on the room. Or, like Natalia Ross came on screen.
The audience on set of the Report burst into applause, and we echoed it. Thankfully, I already had a prime spot on the couch—Nathan had to squeeze himself next to Maude, and Robin took the last seat on the floor, all of us desperate to get every word.
"Thank you, thank you!" Natalia called over the applause, grin dancing on her face. Anytime Natalia appeared on the Report, it meant something exciting, something important, a royal interview or a royal event or a royal death (but that only happened once, when I was eight or so). Tonight was the biggest event anybody our age had ever seen.
"Good evening, Illéa!" she exclaimed, and the crowd erupted again. Natalia let the noise settle before jumping in. "We all know why we're here, don't we?" More applause, and she chuckled, letting it settle again. "Then I won't waste our time. Let's check in with our royal family, shall we?"
She strode right over to them, the three thrones side by side, Queen Samara in the center, Prince Thomas and Princess Cecily to her right. Natalia approached the queen first. "Good to see you, Your Majesty."
The camera centered on Queen Samara, who, in her fifteen years as sovereign, hadn't changed a bit. When I was little, five or six or something, the Report was my favorite show, because every week, the queen would come on screen wearing some beautiful new gown, sitting in her throne besides her beautiful family, Prince Consort Julian at her right side, sometimes a little Prince Thomas at her left. Even now, she had barely aged, the same refined calm sewn into her face like the jewels sewn in her blue gown. Back then, Dad didn't hate her so much, and wouldn't correct me whenever I loudly claimed she was the best queen ever. Dad wasn't usually home on Friday nights, anyway.
Natalia curtsied, a motion that would've been awkward for anybody else wearing a deep red pantsuit. "How are you this evening?"
"Quite well," the queen replied. Her tiara gleamed in the studio light. "Thank you."
"Excited, are we?"
The queen paused, an unbearably elegant smile on her lips. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't breathing in the energy," she confessed. "We're about to meet a lovely group."
"Better than your Selection, even?"
She let out a rare chuckle. "Well, ladies do tend to behave better than suitors." The audience laughed, and I hid my smile behind my fingers. "I have high hopes for my son, and the choice that will be made."
"Wonderfully said, Your Majesty, thank you. And speaking of our prince..."
Her gaze, along with the camera's, settled in on Prince Thomas. My heart skipped--I felt embarrassed for a second before I remembered nobody could hear it. Kiara whistled, which made Billie and Maude giggle, but my ears rang. Even more than Natalia, even more than the queen, Prince Thomas stole all the attention from the room. Maybe it was just a royal thing, to steal attention away like that, to keep it tucked under your arm until you decided to let go. Yeah, having a crush on the literal prince probably wasn't worth my time. But everybody did, so who cared?
Today, he wore a dark gray suit, this time paired with a dark blue tie. Natalia waited for the cheering again. I made a mental note to learn that trick for the Play It Sane press tour. "Your Highness," she began with a smile. "Have you gotten a look at any of the lucky ladies yet?"
"I haven't had the pleasure," the prince replied, his smile and tie and hair as perfectly prim as always. "Illéa is only as good as its queen, as my mother has proven, but I believe these ladies will meet every expectation. Even exceed them."
"Then I'm assuming you're excited, too?"
He thought it over briefly, the same slight pause as the queen's. "Not excited, something more than that. Although I think I lack the vocabulary to share that word. At least on TV."
Natalia laughed and stepped back. "Well, without further ado. Your Highness, if you please."
Prince Thomas stood, striding from his throne to the center stage with no hesitation at all. It felt like a short introduction, but there wasn't a ton that could be said with the fourth throne missing. They never talked much about Prince Julian, besides saying he was beloved or a good prince or whatever, even if it would probably be better TV if Natalia milked Queen Samara's memories of her Selection and got some stories about Prince Julian that we hadn't heard before. But I didn't really mind. Less talking meant the real show could get on.
The audience applauded for the prince, and everybody around me clapped too, at the edge of our seats. My hand clutched Kiara's. I wasn't sure when I grabbed it.
The prince took his place behind the podium, envelopes laid out on the surface. "Good evening, Illéa. And thank you for the introduction, Natalia."
"My pleasure!" Natalia called off-screen.
More laughter. Prince Thomas replied dryly, "Always the charmer." He faced the camera and moved straight into his speech. "The Selection is a time honored tradition, one I am proud to simply partake in. Truly, I am just as eligible in these women, and since I can't say in confidence that I could find a wife under any normal circumstances--" laughter, and he let his smile grow a little-- "this will be as beneficial for me as it will be for them."
"Prick," Sophie muttered. Billie giggled and shushed her.
The prince gestured to the envelopes. "These thirty-five women were selected randomly, one to represent each province of Illéa. I would've preferred to tamper with the results, of course, but I can assure you of the validity of this process." The laughter then was short, and he didn't let it drag on. "I'm honored to introduce you all to the ladies you'll be seeing too much of in the coming months. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in congratulating the following ladies."
Kiara nudged my arm, jarring me out of my focus on the screen. "Fifty bucks," she whispered. I breathed out a shaky laugh, then masked it with a louder giggle. I didn't want to look as nervous as I felt.
Prince Thomas picked up the first unsealed envelope and slid out a headshot, presenting it to the camera. The photo was of a freckled girl, smiling brighter than the sun. "Miss Taya Chinen, of Hansport."
Applause. Nathan groaned from the arm of the couch. "They're not going alphabetically."
Maude said what we were all thinking. "They'll probably put us last."
"So I'll be last, then," I joked, ignoring the sting it sent through my heart. I reminded myself that I knew better. It was going to be a random girl from northern Waverly that I wouldn't recognize, or one of those social climbers from Quentin's parties, or somebody like Summer, who I knew and would have to hear about until the end of time. God, please don't let it be somebody I know.
"Miss Holland Young, of Yukon."
Before I could mutter to Kiara that the surname Young was pretty ironic for a girl who looked way past the age limit, Sophie piped up from her seat. "Did you apply?" she asked, and it took a good half a second for me to realize she was asking me.
"No," I lied swiftly, making a face. "What? That would be ridiculous."
She sat up, because she was my sister, and she knew when I was bullshitting. "Are you serious?" I exchanged a glance with Kiara as I let go of her hand, the slightest smirk on my face, but Sophie was adamant. "Aurora, don't fuck around, did you apply?"
I shrugged. "Maybe I did. So what?"
"Why?"
"I... wanted to?" I sipped at my wine, pretending to focus on the prince, or the headshot he was showing of a girl with incredibly thin eyebrows, and not the blood rushing in my ears. Maude's living room wasn't the place I thought I would make that confession. "What other reason is there?"
"You're insane."
I met her eyes. "You're interrupting His Highness, Sophie."
"Miss Aliya Atela of Labrador."
Nathan and Billie reacted in unison as all our heads turned back to the screen. "Aliya Atela?!" they exclaimed. Next to me, Kiara let out a surprised little hum. Aliya Atela was a musician, young but undeniably the biggest breakout singer of last year. And for her to be one of a few million in Labrador? That conversation starter would last for years.
Apparently, Sophie couldn't care less. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
I turned to her again, away from Aliya's award-winning grin on the screen, plastering innocence in my voice. "What?"
"You said, like, a billion times that you weren't applying."
"Why're you making such a big deal about it? It's not like I lied. I changed my mind."
"That's not the point, you still--"
My voice sharpened. "Well, I'm not gonna be the one in a million girl, Soph, so I think you can--"
"Miss Aurora Wilder, of Waverly."
I cut myself off and turned my head to the TV so fast I almost gave myself whiplash, only to see my face. In his hands, Prince Thomas held my headshot from a week ago, my hair pinned back on one side of my face to get the most of my sharp features, my makeup simple and sweet, a screw you smile on my lips. That was the face of a girl who knew this would totally mess with her parents--who thought she was only messing with her parents. Even for a girl whose face was constantly on a screen, it was the last thing I expected.
The noise in the room sucked out like a vacuum, the brain-melting impossibility of what just happened setting into everybody at once. Prince Thomas moved on to the next envelope. The whole world collapsed inside of me.
I managed to open my mouth, but all I could say was, "You're fucking kidding me."
Then the penny dropped. Sound rushed back like a tidal wave--Kiara screamed in excitement and jumped off the couch, a string of curses coursing out of her mouth as she threw her arms around me. Everybody followed, cheering as they stood, and I barely caught the flicker of shock in Sophie's eyes melt away into fury before I stopped being a person and became a tangle of arms and legs and spilled wine, everybody grabbing me and hugging me and screaming.
Maybe it was all the alcohol in my blood, or the shouting and tugging and cheering, or maybe the terrible, unshakeable, double-over-and-puke reality that my parents were watching, too, and that I was in some hot water when I got home, but I almost fell over before Kiara took my hand and put something in my palm. A fifty dollar bill.
She grinned. "I think this is yours."
⭑
I never wanted to return home less than I did that night.
And that was saying something. Eighteen years of living in the same place as my parents taught me that no matter how big our house was (three of them in my lifetime, not counting vacation homes), there wasn't a chance in hell I could avoid them. Funnily enough, when I didn't try to avoid them, they were almost never there. Mom would be in another province or another country doing a photoshoot for some magazine cover, and Dad would be at his office in a meeting or in a meeting on his jet, and no matter what I needed them for, there was always an assistant or nanny or legal counsel that could answer for a skinned knee or a first heartbreak or a film contract. But that wasn't the case this time.
Kiara thought it'd be best to go home straight away. Get it over with. Better to deal with my parents before I had to deal with the palace, or worse, my agent. Naomi was probably already knee-deep in furious phone calls, delaying all the projects on my schedule, the press tour for Play It Sane, the Mckenzie film I was hand-picked for, and who knew if they just needed to be postponed?
Compared to all that, Leonard and Darcy Wilder's wrath seemed like an easier ladder to climb. Until my car pulled up outside our building.
When I was thirteen, Dad moved the six of us to the penthouse floor of an eighty-story building in the heart of the city, with an enormous entrance and a porte-cochere, because my parents favored presentation over convenience. I hated it. When I moved out--and I was supposed to soon, another thing I didn't tell my parents--I wanted to live in a quiet apartment, away from the constant horn-honking and siren-wailing of the city. I didn't hear it so much eighty-stories up in the air, but still.
As my car pulled up, I saw a man and woman donned in the dark green guard uniforms standing outside the doors. Both sides of the entryway were roped off to prevent the thick swarm of people from blocking my way in. Not people--paparazzi.
Their cameras flashed and flashed as my driver, Walsh, left the car to pull my door open. The volume increased by a million percent, people shouting my name and already screaming strings of questions, like if I was excited or if I'd spoken to Pierce. I looked up at Walsh, whose stocky frame blocked most of the cameras. "Kill me," I said.
He chuckled and offered his hand. "I think those guards'll stop that from happening, ma'am."
"Ha ha," I replied sarcastically, even though it was kind of funny. I took his hand and let him help me from the car, cursing myself for wearing heels to Maude's party. I made sure to be paparazzi-ready at all times, regardless of occasion, so I wasn't self-conscious but I was annoyed. The mention of Pierce made me want to ram my head against the doors. I hadn't even thought about him.
Walsh rushed forward to get the door for me, and I breezed into the lobby. When the doors shut, the noise quieted, but suspiciously. There were one too many residents milling about, and it wasn't hard to figure out why once I walked in and their heads flung up like birds. I ignored them all and went straight to the elevator.
The elevator ride was disappointingly short, even with the rush of nausea that fluttered in my stomach. The last of the wine was leaving my brain.
The elevator quietly slid open, and voices filtered in from the living room, the loudest being Dad's. I paused at the mirror outside the elevator to check on my face, making sure my teeth were free of lipstick and my eyes were free of smudges. I went through the foyer to the living room, stopping by the wall so I wouldn't be seen yet.
Another guard stood in the archway between the sitting room and the kitchen, her hands folded behind her back as Dad, in one of his less impressive suits (only a few thousand dollars worth of fabric), spoke to her--or, more accurately, at her. "I have sufficient security," he was saying, in the business-savvy voice he switched to every time he picked up the phone at dinner and never returned to his seat. All business, no mercy. "We don't need you."
"We're only doing our job, sir," the guard replied. I had the sense it wasn't the first time she had to say it.
"Not one I hired you for, though--"
"Dad," I interrupted. He turned around fast. Even with everything else calm and composed, his eyes betrayed his fury.
"Aurora."
If I didn't know my dad, he might've sounded relieved, or happy, or whatever emotion a father should feel when his daughter just got the chance of a lifetime. But eighteen years of tiny nods at my other one-in-a-lifetime opportunities--my first role, my first lead, my first award nomination--set my expectations pretty low. Dad was a businessman, and that was what businessmen did. Hide their fury, and find better ways to communicate their fuck yous.
That was when it hit me. Dad's voice and his anger and the red in his skin--that was it, right? That was why I applied, to piss him off, even just slightly. It made everything feel a bit more worth it. Fuck, I couldn't wait to see Mom!
"You wanna leave the poor woman alone and celebrate in private?" I asked, adding a tilt of my head.
Dad forced his face to keep calm, his mouth twitching just barely as he turned back to the guard. "I expect you all to be gone the next time that elevator opens."
"I'll be out of your hair as soon as I'm not needed, sir."
Her face remained stony, but there was a teeny smile in her voice. I wanted to ask her to be my personal bodyguard.
Dad left the sitting room and I followed, giving a small sorry gesture to the guard, a gesture I made a whole lot wherever Dad and strangers were concerned. I followed him into the living room, where my family sat in front of the TV, muted but still idly flashing the Illéan crest. My brothers sat together on the lounge chair in the corner, and Mom on the sofa with wine in her hand, her cheeks slightly rosy. Sophie didn't stay at Maude's, but didn't come home with me either, probably not wanting to deal with the explosions. I didn't blame her.
"Teddy said you should be Princess," Peter blurted out the second he caught sight of me. Teddy nodded fervently and signed the same thing, then started telling me about how Mom and Dad had gone completely silent when my name was announced. Teddy had a lot to say all the time, and would sign it whether he was listened to or not, but his hands were frantic now, which betrayed the nervousness he was good at hiding. Peter wasn't good at hiding anything, and wouldn't take his eyes off Dad until Dad acknowledged them.
"Both of you, upstairs."
It didn't take any convincing. Peter got up without letting Teddy finish, which he rarely ever did, and Teddy finished telling me that Mom's first words in reaction were What are we going to do with her before he dropped his hands and scurried upstairs behind Peter, leaving me and my parents alone for the first time in who knew how long.
Dad walked fully into the living room, closer to Mom. Seeing them side-by-side was always a little surprising if you didn't pay too much attention. Dad wasn't ugly, not by any means, but he was plain, pale and graying and plain. Compared to Mom, anyway, who was beautiful in a startling way and never let you forget it.
Once the door closed faintly upstairs, Dad folded his arms over his chest. "What were you thinking?" he asked me.
He was calm. Merciless, businessman calm, but still calm. I shrugged. "Not that I'd be picked. I think that's obvious."
"When did you apply?" Mom asked.
"A week ago, like everybody else."
"You weren't going to tell us?"
"I was, if you were ever home." I leaned against the side of the second couch, acting like my heart wasn't exploding out of my chest. "Really, it's funny. I mean, I think everybody knew except for you guys."
"Bullshit," Mom said, her words less slurred as her anger rose. "You were never going to tell us."
I scoffed. "You don't think that little of me. I'm not stupid."
"Well, that's great," Dad replied. "Then you won't be surprised that you're not going."
I made a face. "You think you can stop me?"
"I'm not letting the queen make a fool out of my daughter."
It was so dumb that I laughed, and not a fake one. "I'm not letting some old business grudge keep me from going. I don't even know if I'm allowed to not go."
"It's not just a business grudge," Mom chided.
"That's exactly what it is."
"You're dropping out," Dad repeated.
"Like hell I am!" I snapped back. "I didn't think I'd get picked, but I still--"
"Then why'd you apply?"
"For fun!" I lifted my hands slightly, then put them down again. Dad had a way of shutting down any conversation if he felt like I was getting hysterical, and I wouldn't give him the chance. I lowered my voice. "That's the point. It would've been stupid not to. It was stupid for Sophie not to."
"The Selection is the real deal, Aurora." Great, now he was lecturing. "It's not just some dumb TV competition."
"If you were honest with us," Mom added, "we wouldn't be upset."
I put my eyes on the ceiling. "You two are such fucking hypocrites," I said, almost to myself.
Dad's voice rose, finally. "Aurora!"
"You called it a 'dumb TV competition' last week!" I exclaimed. "And you never forbade me from applying."
"I didn't think I had to. I thought you would have enough sense to not want anything to do with them. Did that only apply to your sister?"
"I don't have anything against them."
"You know exactly what kind of people they are," he spat. "The queen has never worked for anything."
"She runs the country!"
"Because it was handed to her!" he shouted. He composed himself just as quickly. "Don't betray me just because you feel like being selfish, or--contradictory, or whatever it is you feel like being this week."
"I'm not competing for the queen's hand, am I?" I asked, searching for an answer like they would dignify me with one. "I was announced on live TV, and I don't think the palace is gonna want to issue corrections in every newspaper tomorrow. It's out of our hands, so you shouldn't have shit to worry about."
"Don't talk to me like that, I'm your father. You knew exactly what you were signing up for. You're not stupid."
"But I am eighteen." I folded my arms. "I made up my mind, I'm going."
"Why don't you think about it for a few days?" Mom asked.
"Why? So I can fall behind?"
"So this fight can be over!" she exclaimed, putting her hand over her forehead. "I just can't handle all your drama."
"Jesus Christ, Mom, you're just drunk."
She opened her mouth to exaggerate her offense. "I've had one drink."
"Then why haven't you shut up?"
Dad stepped forward. "Don't talk to your mother like that!"
"What do you care?" I shouted back. I didn't care anymore that my voice was as loud as his. "I want this, so I'm going to do it. It's not your choice."
"I won't allow it."
"What're you gonna do, Dad? Really?" I moved my hands to my hips. "Demand an audience with the queen? Are you even allowed in the palace anymore, with all the shit you talk about her?"
That hit a nerve, and he stepped back, bringing his voice back down. "Aurora, if you choose to do this, that's it. You might as well not be my family."
I laughed. "Oh, yeah? Like all the other times I might as well have not been your family?"
"I mean it. You knew what you signed up for when you applied. In a week or so, when he sends you home, I don't want to see you. You won't have any support from me."
"Good thing I have a career."
"Right, and that career is going so well," he replied sarcastically.
I wanted to hit him--I wasn't sure why I was so frozen. "It is going well, actually," I said, before I could stop myself. "But fine. I'm not your family anymore? Good fucking riddance."
I turned around and stalked out. Somebody called after me, but I ignored them, my heels stomping obnoxiously against the hardwood as I returned to the elevator and went back downstairs. I didn't know where I was going yet, but I had no shortage of options, Kiara or Maude or even Pierce. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't turn me away. Nobody could turn me away anymore.
Everything hit me at once, how hard I was breathing, how fast my heart beat, the elevator floor blurring in front of me as white hot anger ripped through my head. Dad's threats didn't upset me--he had thrown around the whole cutting-off threat a billion times--and Mom was just ridiculous, only upset because I had a chance to outshine her. I didn't need to let them upset me, never again, because I was upsetting them for once, and that was all I wanted. They just didn't realize it yet, that I didn't need them for anything, that I wouldn't want anything from them in my life.
And maybe I wanted to go, too! Maybe I wanted to go just because I could, because it would be good for me whether I won or not, because just being a part of the Selection was life-changing. Maybe I wanted to make that decision, and fuck them for wanting to make it for me. Fuck them. I was too angry to cry. I was too angry to do anything.
I just wanted to win.
⭑
aaaand we're off! thank you for reading!