“So if Carter Ogden is watching this,” Edgar continued, “on his couch with his friends . . .”

“How does he know that?” asked Adam.

“Does the royal family use drones?” whispered DuShawn, peering out the window.

“Where else would Carter be?” Louise said, sensibly.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Edgar was looking right into the camera. Right at me. He was making sure I was paying attention. It was like he had me by my shoulders.

“Carter, if you’re out there,” Edgar said, “I’d like you to know that I’m truly sorry for the way I’ve behaved, or misbehaved. And that I trust you and treasure you and would like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life battling with you about whether IHOP’s maple-flavored syrup is actually tastier than real maple syrup. Because I love you.”

“That fucker,” said Louise, with tears in her eyes. “It’s so not fair. When someone says ‘I love you,’ you should be given twenty-four hours to consult with your union representative.”

Adam and DuShawn were holding hands and singing “Seasons of Love” from Rent.

“And finally, Carter,” Edgar said, “I’d like to ask you one simple question. A question that everyone, everywhere can understand.”

He smiled. Full-on, abashed, heartfelt and my downfall. Edgar’s smile was already a proposal, but he went on. He looked into the camera and asked, “Carter Ogden, will you marry me?”

By the time I started breathing again, after Edgar had signed off and all the news teams were jabbering about what they were calling “His Highness’s surprise proposal, to say the least,” Louise was dangling my backpack, Adam had my passport and DuShawn was handing me the framed photo of Ruth. Within seconds, I heard Abby’s car screeching up to the curb downstairs.

CHAPTER 31

James was standing beside the car outside Heathrow, holding a cardboard sign reading “Peasant.”

“That’s me.”

“Get in.”

The flight attendants on the plane had been delirious, slipping me extra chocolate chip cookies and mini-pillows: “What are you going to tell him?” “Are you going to do a prenup?” “We took a vote and think you should honeymoon in Turks and Caicos,” “You have to post a picture of the ring,” and “Prince Edgar made me cry! I smacked my boyfriend and told him, ‘Why can’t you be like that?’”

When I let myself think about any of it, I ricocheted between inwardly jumping up and down, superstitiously repeating Miriam’s mantra of pretending to spit on the floor while saying “Poo poo poo” and drafting what I was going to say to Edgar. I didn’t want to sound rehearsed, so I kept wiping my brain clean and only skimming Abby’s barrage of texts about matching tuxes versus Edgar in his Royal Marine uniform and me in a rainbow sequined cape.