“Because . . . because . . . because up until that second, I was winging it. On Valentine’s Day I’d asked God and Ruth Ginsburg for guidance and true love and now all of a sudden, it was happening. Answered prayers. I’d met this amazing guy who’s ridiculously out of my league and all I can think about is—no. I can’t do this. It’s too much, it’s too real. It’s the ultimate hall of fame triple-platinum lottery jackpot opportunity for me to fuck everything up. Because that’s what I do.”

Abby was staring at me, with clouds scudding across the Balinese night sky behind her, and I could tell she was deeply pissed off. She was about to say something, but she held up her hand, to stop herself from being too harsh. And then:

“Carter, if I could reach through this phone I would grab you by the throat and strangle you till you were dead. So you listen to me. You are not just a smart, handsome, fabulous man with so much to offer, you’re even better than that, because you’re my brother. Edgar is after the most awesome package deal. Why hasn’t it sunk in that Edgar is thinking, ‘I’m in love with the perfect guy and also his irresistible pediatric surgeon sister’? He’s all about free medical advice. It explains everything.”

“Abby . . .” I said, smiling.

“You need to be fucking clear about something. This is the guy. And if he’s going to become the king of England, well, boo-fucking-hoo. You found him. He found you. You both got so lucky. And you are not going to fuck this up. You are going to believe in it. You’re going to show Edgar and yourself and the universe that this can work. You can’t run away or talk yourself out of it. You’re going to do the opposite. You’re going to go for it.”

“But . . .”

“What part of ‘Fuck you, it was bad trifle, get over yourself and have an incredible life with the guy you love’ don’t you understand?”

The next day Edgar called Cassandra and promised her the use of the royal crest as an endorsement on her website if she gave me two more unpaid vacation weeks.

I was intent on using these weeks to prove Maureen, Her Majesty and all the haters wrong. I’d convince everyone, and myself, that this was for keeps. That I was ready. That I’d been tested by the rugby match and the children’s hospital and the Jubilee, and I’d never make such rookie mistakes again. I would unveil not just a revamped, slightly more aware version of myself, but a completely new product. Someone confident, polished and adult, someone who belonged at Edgar’s side, or at a respectful distance behind him, on the world stage.

Over the next two weeks, here’s what happened: