The Crown of the Sea: A Novel by Sara Salam

Author:Sara Salam [Salam, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Peacock Pen Press, The
Published: 2021-06-28T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

Diana

2008

“Sarah.” Between sobs, I realize I sound like a wailing foghorn. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

It’s the truth, awful as it is. Despite my love for him, this ridiculous Rochambeau of rules hangs on every cell of my body. The body that I’m supposed to nourish, but treat like a punching bag for my angst and depression. I am depressed. No one sees or hears my calls.

I don’t use words. Words are senseless things. No one listens. Actions speak louder than words, isn’t that right? I am acting on my body.

“Di.” Sarah sits on the edge of the master bed, which is coated in the silkiest duvet from the latest American designer. It’s a bed of comfort. I need comfort now. “You’re just getting pre-wedding jitters. Everybody has them. It’s very normal to feel this way.”

Normal to feel like my body is eating itself alive just so it can survive a day dedicated to ritual? A wedding isn’t even about the marriage itself. It’s about everything that surrounds it.

“I am so unhappy.” I don’t know what else to say. Words fail me again. “I’m alone in this nightmare, and Charles doesn’t help me. He helps Camilla.”

“Maybe she needs more help than you do.”

I consider this. Maybe? “But I’m his future wife. Shouldn’t that mean more?”

“It should. But that doesn’t mean it does. And quite frankly—and I say this with all the big-sister love possible—I think you need to be okay with that and move forward.”

Sarah was always one for zingers. It’s one of her boss lady traits.

“And,” she stands to smooth out the comforter behind her, “the place cards have already been printed. It’s a little late to change your mind.”

The place cards, yes. What a waste it would be if they never saw the event they were intended for.

Is that what my life amounts to? A printing inconvenience?

Sarah meanders over to my dressing table, a beautifully ornate vanity built in the Tuscan tradition and imported from Italy. It was a gift from one of the major winemakers, I’m told. “Don’t you want this?”

This. “What is this?” I process her question as I speak aloud, hoping that bringing the words into the world will clarify their meaning. It doesn’t.

“This life.” She dabs on some of my new Chanel lipstick, a natural pink. I still prefer Bobbi Brown, but Mum insists. Windsors aren’t showy, Sarah says. Their opulent standards of living excluded. “This life of luxury, comfort, stability. Don’t you want those things?”

“I could still have those things without Charles.” It’s a fact everyone seems to overlook but me. Why is that?

“True. But not to this extent. This is the top one percent, Di. It’s unlikely you’d get another offer as good as this one ever again.”

I don’t really understand this fascination with the top one percent.

Sarah continues, “If the United States has 325 million people in 160 million households, according to the IRS, that means 1.6 million households fall into the one percent category. If we’re

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