The Croft Estate had been transformed into a crystalline fantasy. Though it was late May, the theme chosen for the Christening Gala was “The Thaw”–a nod to the blizzard that had heralded the birth of the heirs.
Thousands of white roses and hanging crystals caught the light of the floodlamps, creating a shimmering tunnel up the main driveway. Black limousines idled in a line that stretched down Old River Road, delivering senators, tech moguls, and rival CEOs.
Inside the Great Hall, the orchestra began a swelling waltz. At the top of the grand staircase, Victoria and William appeared.
William wore a classic tuxedo, but it was Victoria who commanded the room. She wore a gown of silver silk that pooled around her feet like liquid mercury. On her chest, she wore the Croft Sapphires–jewels that Lady Beatrice had retrieved from the vault for this specific night.
“They look like American royalty,” a gossip columnist whispered into her voice recorder as the couple descended.
Victoria gripped William’s arm. Her smile was perfect, practiced, and impenetrable. She was no longer the struggling singer or the “Stripper Mother” the press had once mocked. She was the Chairman, and this was her coronation.