The Controversial Princess

  “What if I don’t want this job?” I grate, stabbing at a prawn with my fork, just for something to take out my frustration on. I’m not going to eat it. I have no appetite. I’m just here to show some willingness.

  “You don’t get a choice.” Eddie leans across the table, and for the first time in forever, I see my father in him. Not because he looks like him, he looks nothing like him, but because he sounds like him. And I resent him for it. “This is your life, Adeline, and it is mine. I’ve gotten used to it. You should, too. Enough of the games. You’ve played them for long enough. Forget about him. Forget about your silly little fling. Move on and do what Adeline Lockhart does best.”

  “What do I do best?” I question. “Come on, what do I do best, Edward? Keep up appearances? Dance to the tune of the King and his minions?”

  “Really? Like you do any of those things.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. What I try to do is feel free. Try. That’s the key word here. I force it. Do things I tell myself will make me feel better about the restraints I live with. The rebelling, the behavior; it’s all my way of trying to hold on to my free will.” I take a deep breath, seeing I now have Eddie’s full attention, and I plan on keeping it. No interruptions. No more batting me down with a reminder of our obligations. That’s it, now. He asked, so he shall get. I drop my silverware and stand, resting my palms on the table. “With Josh, I don’t need to try. I don’t even have to think about it. It’s effortless. Natural. I’m not lying to myself. He makes me feel good about me. He knows me without even really knowing me. He sees me. Not the painted princess. He sees me. The woman. The desire. The need to have a man tell me that this is how it’s going to be, but he’s telling me that because he knows what I want. What I need. Not what my country needs. Not what the King needs. Not what the bloody monarchy needs. Me. It’s about me. So if that is bad, if you can’t deal with that, you are more than welcome to go join the army of power-hungry bastards who will try to stop us from being together.” I catch my breath, if only to make sure my next promise is as level as every other word I have spoken. “I will take you down as hard as I plan on taking them down. With no mercy. No guilt. No looking back. This is about me being a better person, a more useful person, because I have what I so desperately need in my life to function. Him. Josh.” I manage to note through my declaration that Eddie’s eyes are wide and startled. “I would rather sacrifice my entire existence as a royal than be without him. I’m useless without him. I have been useless without him. For the first time in my life, I feel valued. I have a purpose beyond answering correspondence and keeping up appearances. I want to do the things with my life that I never dreamt I would be able to do. He is a blessing to me, and I will not let you or anyone else try to make him out to be anything else.” Throwing my napkin on the table, I walk away, so damn proud of myself for getting all those words out without so much as a stutter or a crack in my voice. There. I think I made myself clear.

  Olive moves swiftly from my path as she enters with a tray, and when my phone rings in my hand and Josh’s name appears, I be as bold as one can be, answering and greeting him by his name, just so Eddie knows exactly who I’m talking to. Call it blunt. Call it brazen. I don’t care. “Josh,” I breathe, taking the stairs steadily.

  “You sound out of breath. Everything okay?”

  “Not really. I just had a horrible argument with my brother.”

  “Oh? About . . .”

  “Us.”

  “I won’t ask what he said. I caught the way he was glaring at me yesterday at the polo match. Are you all right?”

  “No.” I make it to my bedroom and shut myself inside, collapsing to the couch. “Eddie is my favorite of them all. I hate fighting with him.” Leaning down, I start to pull off my riding boots. “And the worst thing is, what I just faced will be nothing compared to what is to come.” All the fortitude Josh filled me with yesterday wanes, and I flop back on the couch on a heavy sigh.

  “Maybe I can help out.”

  I would laugh, but that would be condescending, so I settle for an eye-roll instead. “And how do you propose you will help?”

  “I’m going shooting with the King and my dad tomorrow.”

  I’m sitting up straight all of a sudden. “Tomorrow? When was that arranged?”

  “Just before I left the match. Some tall, lanky old dude told me where to be and when.”

  “Davenport,” I tell him. “Looks like his face would crack if he smiled?”

  “That’s him. Who shit in his coffee?”

  I chuckle. “He has one expression. Has since I’ve known him.” I get up and wander into the dressing room, getting myself out of my jodhpurs with one hand. “He served my grandfather before my father. He is a piece of the royal furniture, and I’m pretty sure he hates me.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Just the way he looks at me. Like I’m a thorn in his side.” I pull my phone away to get my jumper over my head and drop it to the floor. As I’m wandering out, intending on heading for the bathroom, my eye catches my grandmother’s Spanish tiara. I nibble my lip, smiling to myself. “Guess what I’m looking at?” I lift the heavy piece and turn it in my hand.

  “If you say you’re naked and standing in front of the mirror, there will be serious consequences.”

  “I have my underwear on, and the mirror before me is hanging over my dresser, so I can only see the top half.”

  “That’s still not fair play. Wait. Your dresser?”

  “Uh-huh.” I grin, looking to my reflection. My eyes are sparkling nearly as much as the encrusted headpiece in my hand.

  “Put it on your head,” he orders. I pull my ponytail free, letting my hair tumble over my shoulders, and then rest the heavy weight atop of my head. “Take a picture and send it to me.”

  I don’t even think to question him. Pulling my camera up, I pout and snap a quick selfie before attaching it to a text and sending it on. “Done. Did it come through?”

  “Oh Jesus,” Josh breathes.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “That’s my new screensaver.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” I laugh, lifting the heavy weight from my head and placing it down. “People will see. How would you explain it?”

  He grunts, annoyed. “Where are you?”

  “Just about to take a shower.”

  “Adeline!”

  “Well, I am.” I laugh, entering the bathroom and grabbing a towel.

  “Come see me.”

  “I can’t.” I sigh, pouting as I flick the shower on. “Damon’s going home soon. I’m going nowhere tonight.”

  “Then I’ll come to you.”

  “Yes, you do that. Wear your invisibility cloak and all will be fine, I’m sure.”

  “Damn it, Adeline, why’d you have to be so fuckin’ important?” He sounds utterly exasperated, and I have to admit, so am I. Although he’s a fine one to talk.

  “You are hardly a nobody yourself, Mr. Jameson,” I point out. “I did tell you this would be impossible.”

  “God, I need to see you. Tomorrow I’m going to blindside the King so much, he’ll be begging me to date his daughter. And if that fails, I’ll put my gun to his head until he agrees.”

  I snort down the line. “I hope you’re ready to fail.” I stare at myself in the mirror, thinking how desperate I am to see him, too. So desperate. How could I make that happen? I gaze into my eyes, an outlandish idea coming to me. “I could sneak out,” I mumble, more to myself than to Josh.

  “What?”

  “Of the palace,” I explain. “I could sneak out of the palace.”

  “Wanna borrow my invisibility cloak?”

  I look at my phone quickly, registering that I have roughly thirty minutes until Damon clocks off. I need to be quick. “I’ll be there in an hour.” I hang up and shove my hair in a messy knot before I dive in the shower. I haven’t the luxury of time to wash and dry my mane. I fly over my body with soapy hands and quickly wash it
off. A quick check of the time tells me I’m down to twenty-five minutes. Christ, it will take me ten minutes to get myself to the garages, possibly longer if I have to crawl combat-style through the palace to avoid being seen. My heart starts pumping fast with adrenalin and excitement.

  As I’m rubbing in some face cream, my phone rings, and I peek down to see Josh flashing up on my screen. “I haven’t got time to speak,” I say to myself, letting it ring off. I spritz, and then dart into my dressing room, grabbing some black skinny jeans and a black lightweight jumper, throwing them on quickly. I finish with a black scarf looped round my neck a few times, and I release my hair, letting the messy waves do as they damn well please. I hope Josh appreciates au naturel. I have not a scrap of makeup on, and I don’t care. I’m too desperate to see him, and my window of opportunity will close any minute.

  Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I grab the first pair of comfortable shoes I can lay my hands on. My Uggs. It’s the wrong time of year, but I shrug and pull them on, then I dip into the bottom drawer of my dresser, knowing it was in here the last time I saw it. “Come on, where are you?” I ask, as I rummage through the contents. I smile when I lay my hands on it. Taking myself to the mirror, I slip the New York Yankees baseball cap on. “Perfect.” If I keep my head down, I should be good.

  As I’m rounding the gallery landing, my phone rings again, reminding me to turn the sound off. I can’t answer and risk being heard, so I let it ring off again. The next second, I get a text.

  You’re shitting me, right? Sneak out?

  I ignore him, not willing to let him talk me out of it, and make my way through the palace, choosing a less than efficient route through endless connecting rooms, but a route that will ensure the chances of me being seen are minimal. My only stumbling block comes when I have to pass the kitchen in order to get to the garage. With all the other external doors fitted with active sensor alarms, it is my only way. I hear Damon and Dolly chatting in the kitchen as I creep down the corridor, the exit into the small courtyard that leads to the garage block in sight. I’m as quiet as a mouse, tiptoeing with my shoulder close to the wall. A quick peek around the corner tells me Damon has his back to me and Dolly is rifling through a cupboard. I’m clear, but just as I am about to shoot across the doorway, Olive strolls into the kitchen, and I jump back, sticking myself to the wall.

  “That’s me for the evening,” she declares.

  “I’ll be off, too,” Damon says, and I hear the feet of his stool scrape the tile floor.

  Damn it! It’s now or never. I hold my breath and practically dive across the doorway, and then run to the door on light feet, praying I don’t hear the signs of anyone coming after me. I only start breathing again once I have made it into the courtyard, shutting the door quietly behind me. Then I run toward the garage like my life depends on it.

  Scrambling for Damon’s car keys in the cabinet, I click his car open and replace them before getting in the back of his car and wedging myself in the space behind the driver’s seat. I’m squished completely, but my time mentally moaning about my uncomfortable form is limited to seconds, because the heavy footsteps of someone approaching the car makes me still. My phone, however, doesn’t get the memo to be quiet and vibrates in my hand, illuminating the car with the light from the screen. “Bugger,” I curse quietly, fumbling in my confined space to get my phone in sight.

  Answer your phone!

  Josh rings again, and I apologize to him in my head as I turn it off quickly and try to settle in for the ride. My knees are virtually in my mouth, my body scrunched and bent in the most awkward way. A contortionist I am not. The door opens, and I hold my breath once again as Damon drops into the seat and starts the car. All is well . . . until he decides he is too close to the wheel and presses the button that slides the chair back. Oh God! My shoulders meet my earlobes, and I scrunch my eyes closed, waiting for the crack of bones.

  For a moment, I question my sanity. Then I remind myself of what is waiting for me at the end of what is going to be a journey that is the furthest from first class travel I could find. Mentally willing Damon to drive, I force myself into complete stillness, aware I’m so wedged into the back of his seat, he will feel even the slightest move I try to make. This is hell. Pure hell. But Josh is heaven, and if I need to go through hell to reach my heaven, then so be it.

  Damon pulls out of the garage and crawls along for a few moments before slowing again when I assume he reaches the gate. He lets the window down. “Have a good evening,” he says, low and gruff.

  “You too, Damon,” the gateman replies, and I hear the gates starting to creak open.

  The car picks up speed, and my misery gets some light relief when Damon turns on the stereo and starts singing along to . . . Take That? I have to hold my breath to stop myself from laughing out loud. Oh my, how will I ever refrain from teasing him about this? My big, bruising Damon belting out the lyrics to Never Forget is high up there on my list of most entertaining moments. Not because he’s good. He’s not. He’s terrible. My ears are bleeding, but his gusto and the effort he is putting into his rendition is priceless. I suppress my snort of amusement, wincing constantly. The man is tone deaf.

  It already feels like the longest—and loudest—journey ever, and I know I have a way to go. From memory, Damon lives in Lambeth, all the way on the other side of the river. The Dorchester is a mere mile away from Kellington, on the other side of Hyde Park. I’m going miles out of my way, but it’s the only way to escape the palace.

  After ten minutes, I’m covering my ears. I assumed Take That was on the radio. I was wrong. Damon has the greatest hits album wired through his iPhone, and he knows every single word to every blasted track.

  It is a relief when his phone rings and interrupts him. “Hey darling,” he answers, all chirpy.

  “Hey, you on your way home yet?” his wife, Mandy, asks.

  “Just left the palace.”

  “Good day?”

  “Always interesting.” He takes a corner a bit too sharply. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes. Dinner’s nearly ready. Will you stop and pick up some wine?”

  Yes! Stop and pick up some wine. Right around here would be super.

  “Sure,” Damon says. “Red?”

  “We have steak, so that will be perfect.”

  “Steak?” The interest in his voice makes me smile. “Steak’s my favorite.”

  “I know it is,” Mandy teases. “And if you eat it all up like a good boy, I have something special for dessert.”

  My eyes bug, and I blush, despite no one being able to see me. I’m sure the car picks up speed.

  “I’ll be quick.”

  She laughs. “But don’t kill yourself being quick, okay? I want my husband home in one piece. Save your speed skills for when Princess Adeline needs them.”

  “Got it.”

  Listening to my bodyguard chatting with his wife, just like a normal married couple, makes my heart swell. I want that. Normal. Talking about what’s for dinner and what wine we might have with it.

  “I’m just coming up to Sainsbury’s. See you when I get home.” Damon pulls to a stop. “And Mandy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be naked when I get there.”

  I die where I’m balled up, covering my twisted face as best I can with my limited movement. This journey has been more painful than I ever imagined, and not only because my arms and legs are bent at the most insane angles. When Damon gets out of the car and slams the door, clearly in a hurry, I release all the air I have been holding, breathing properly for the first time in fifteen minutes. He’s in a rush. It won’t be long before he’s heading back out of the store with his bottle of red to race home to his wife.

  Peeking up out of the window, I see the entrance to the store and Damon disappearing into it. “Thank goodness,” I sigh, wrestling my way up from the floor of the car. Pulling the door handle, I practically fall into a pile onto the pavement. I can’t appreciate the sense of freedom
, nor can I relish the stretch of my muscles. No. I get none of those luxuries, because the alarm of Damon’s car starts screaming at me. I stiffen and look left and right, seeing plenty of people, yet none of them particularly bothered by the shrill sound of the nearby car alarm. I skulk away, pulling the peak of my cap down, at the same time trying to gauge where I am. It’s only at this point in my thirty-year existence that I appreciate how isolated I have been. I’ve lived in this city for three decades, yet I haven’t the first idea of where I am. I recognize nothing.

  I resort to finding a sign to gain my bearings. Chelsea Bridge. It’s only my mental map of London that can offer me my route and how long it might take me. It’s at least a forty-minute walk. That doesn’t bother me so much. It’s the vigilance I’ll need to maintain that worries me more. The thought makes me lower my head, while trying to look up for signs of a black cab. I spot one and wave my arm, but it sails by. And then another does, and then one stops but some rude person dives in before I make it off the curb. I sigh and start a brisk walk toward the end of the road, my shoulders huddled high, my head bowed. I don’t make eye contact with anyone, dare not look up higher than the slabs before me. I’m jostled on the pavement by the crowds, and with each step I take, my nerves become more frayed. I feel so small out here, alone in the world, so utterly vulnerable.

  My breathing is labored half an hour into my walk, and it has nothing to do with the brisk pace I have maintained. A harsh bump of my shoulder nearly spins me on the spot, and a suited man curses me for getting in his way. “Look where you’re going,” he yells. I mutter an apology, my chin nearly touching my chest to avoid what I know will be an angry glare.

  I collide with another pedestrian, my body ricocheting back a few feet. “Watch it!”

  The thuds of my heart are becoming heavier, my anxiety growing. I’m out of my depth. I reach for my phone and realize I haven’t switched it back on. My shaking hands fumble to bring it to life as I’m knocked out of the path of a young woman.

  “Pay attention,” she barks as my phone crashes to the ground. The back of my mobile cracks and the screen shatters as it jumps around my feet. I gasp and lower to gather it up, my crouching body obstructing the pavement. I’m kicked by someone passing, and someone trips up my arm as I reach to snatch up my phone.