Free The Crown (The Selection) by Kiera Cass

asked, feigning indignation.
    “Forever. Forever I am blaming you! I don’t like being on camera.” He shuddered. I was glad he didn’t actually seem angry, though I could sense how serious he was about it.
    I laughed, and he looked down bashfully at his plate as he smiled. It was then I realized Henri was stuck watching me chat with his translator while I was supposed to be on a date with him.
    “You know, Henri, maybe we could do a full Swendish immersion experience, and you could teach everyone to make that soup you were talking about.”
    Erik translated, and once again Henri was jubilant.
“Kala-keitto!”
he exclaimed.
    There were things I was curious about with Henri. I wanted to know more about his family, particularly his sister. And I wanted to know if he was at peace with the idea of living here and working beside me, or if it worried him that we could have moments like the parade all over again and he’d be stuck trying to protect me from angry masses for the rest of his life. I wanted to ask him about that kiss in the kitchen, if he’d thought about it much or dismissed it as a lapse of judgment on one or both our parts.
    But until I could ask him those things without having to ask Erik, too, there was no way I’d be able to.

T HE DRESS WAS RED. M OM hadn’t worn it in years, which was one of the reasons I chose it. Hale trimmed the long lace sleeves up to my elbows and pulled a few of the layers from beneath the gown so it wasn’t quite as full. He was right about some of this being irreversible, but he’d handled it all so tastefully that even if Mom eventually wanted it back, she’d probably be thrilled with the alterations.
    Eloise helped me do my hair, and it looked so smart, with braids leading back to a modest bun. I chose a tiara with rubies in it, and I looked like I was on fire.
    It was beautiful, really. I knew that, and I was thankful for all the hands that had gone into making me look like someone who could be trusted with the decisions that had to be made on behalf of the country. It just felt old, older than I truly was, though maybe closer to the age I should behave. Sighing, I came to terms with the dress. This was who I had to be for now.
    I was tugging at my seams in the studio when Josie came up to talk to me. “That dress is amazing,” she praised, unable to keep her fingers off the layers of satin.
    I kept straightening. “It’s my mother’s.”
    “I’m sorry about all that, by the way,” she said quietly. “Don’t think I’ve told you yet.”
    I swallowed. “Thank you, Josie. That means a lot.”
    “You know, since everything’s been so serious, it might be a good idea to have a party.”
    I huffed out an almost laugh. “I’m a little busy for that. Maybe once things settle down.”
    “I could plan it! Just let me talk to a few maids, and we could pull something together in a week.”
    I turned from the mirror. “Like I said, maybe one day, but not now.” I moved away, trying to focus.
    She trailed me across the room, insistent. “But why? Shouldn’t you be celebrating? I mean, you’re practically the queen, so—”
    I spun on her, enraged. “But I am
not
the queen. That title belongs to my mother, who nearly
died
. That you so casually brush over that fact makes the condolences you just gave me meaningless. What don’t you get, Josie? Do you think this job is nothing but dresses and galas?”
    She stood there, stunned. I watched her eyes dart around the room, checking to see if anyone was watching our interaction. I didn’t want to humiliate her. In a way, I understood her. There might have been a time when nothing brought me more joy than a reason to start a guest list, a time when I thought this role was nothing more than dresses and galas myself …
    I sighed. “I’m not trying to insult you. But it would be inappropriate to throw a party when my mother is still recuperating. Please, what I need from you tonight is some level of understanding,