Princess Vittoria Olympia of the Romana Family of Olympus
The press room was down the east wing, behind two sets of marble doors and a hallway that smelled like lemon polish and dread. Even before we reached it, I could hear them.
The cameras. The shouting. The low, constant buzz of journalists trying to sound like they weren't desperate. It sounded like a hive. It sounded like my entire life was about to be picked apart in real time.
I stopped walking.
Campbell stopped with me. He was in the same navy suit from breakfast, but he'd added a jacket and a watch. He looked like he'd been born for this. I looked like I was about to be executed in champagne silk.
"Where are they?" I asked, keeping my voice low.
"Who?"
"Alexie. Mario. Papa."
