Veronica and I waited until cocktails after dinner that evening to enact our plan. The instructions toward each prince’s treasure were handed out only a few minutes before. The instructions were written on notecards, and given discretely to each candidate.
Veronica, when given hers, ripped hers up and threw it in the garbage. I folded mine and tucked it into my pocket.
We waited until Bridget was on her second glass of white wine, and the cameras turned elsewhere, interviewing the princes, before we made our way over to her.
“Hi, Bridget!” I said, forcing myself to be happy to see her. My part of the plan Veronica and I had hastily pulled together was clear: distraction. “What are you drinking?”
Bridget’s returning smile was friendly enough, but a hint of curiosity darkened her eyes. P
