The Controversial Princess

  I feel unwell. “Father!” I run after him, throwing a scowl back at David, unable to let go of the notion that he has something to do with this. And now I come to think of it . . .“Where’s Davenport?” I ask.

  “Unwell.” The King stops at the door for one of the footmen to take his coat.

  Unwell? He’s never been unwell. Not ever, though I can’t deny he has been out of sorts for a few weeks. But more not like himself rather than physically ill. This is all very strange. And hopeless. So hopeless. I turn my glazed eyes onto Damon, maybe searching for some backup. I don’t know why. There’s no one who can help me.

  “John should be here imminently,” the King tells one of the staff. “Prepare his room, as well as suites for Sir Don, Sampson, and the doctor.”

  Great. My eldest brother, too? I don’t stand a chance. I just manage to avoid taking my face and burying it in my palms, but I can’t stop the swelling in my throat. David and Sir Don follow my father like the lapdogs they are through the corridors of the castle to his office. The door is slammed before I can join them, and I stare at the wood for an eternity, my head in bedlam. My eyes drift to a window when I hear the sounds of another chopper. It’s not Josh. He’s still in Glasgow. It’s John. More muscle to bully me.

  “Your Highness?”

  Dragging my heavy head to the other side of me, I find Dr. Goodridge. He’s always been old to me, but today he looks exceptionally old. How much longer can he tail the King wherever he goes?

  “Are you okay?” he asks me.

  I blink and return my eyes to the door of my father’s office.

  “You need to rein that girl in, sir,” David says, his voice clear through the wood.

  “She’s spirited.” There are a few chinks, undeniably glass on glass, the crystal decanter on my father’s desk meeting the edge of a tumbler. “If I struggle to keep her in check, how do you suppose your son will?”

  My hand is on the doorknob and I’ve pushed myself into the room before I can think better of it. “I am not marrying Haydon,” I declare, as stable as I can. “And you cannot make me.”

  “I knew it,” Sampson snarls at me.

  “Oh, shut up,” I retort. “This has nothing to do with you. Stop clinging to my family. I will not marry your son.”

  The King points his glass at me, sure and steady. “Make no mistake, my girl, you will do as I say.”

  “No,” I shout, losing my shit. Enough is enough. No more. I will not be held hostage by expectations any longer. I ignore the stunned expressions I’m facing, powering on, to hell with them all. “I refuse to marry Haydon, and it is unfair for you to ask him to marry me, especially when . . . when . . .” I feel like I’m starting to hyperventilate, no air to be found to help me put it out there. “When . . .”

  “When, what?” David snaps.

  I breathe in and exhale what I’ve so desperately wanted to tell the world for so long. “When I am in love with someone else.”

  My confession echoes around the room, bounces off the old stone walls. And then silence. Deafening silence. For ages, there is only silence and three sets of round eyes pointed at me. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  “The banker?” Father laughs.

  That’s it now. I’ve taken the leap. “No, not Gerry Rush.”

  “Then who?”

  I breathe in more strength to say his name, trying to ignore the feeling that I’m feeding Josh to the wolves. But we can’t go on like this. “Josh.”

  My father looks plain confused, David annoyed, and Sir Don just closes his eyes, probably thinking his work is cut out for him.

  “Who the hell is J . . . ?” The King’s question wanes, realization dawning. I was right all along. The King and his people aren’t responsible for Josh’s trashed hotel room. They really had no idea. “The American?” he asks. “Jameson’s son?”

  I nod sharply. “Correct.”

  Father bursts into laughter. It’s the most insulting reaction to my news. “How preposterous.”

  “How so?” I ask calmly.

  “He’s American.”

  “And?”

  “An American in the Royal Family? I won’t hear of it. Stop living with your head in the clouds, Adeline. You will marry Haydon Sampson and that will be the last we speak of it.”

  “Wrong,” I say shortly, calmly, and the King recoils at my dismissal. “I love him.”

  He bears his teeth, a true lion of a king. “I forbid it.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You’ll be an outcast.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You’ll lose everything!” he roars.

  “Not everything,” I say coolly, giving each of the men in the room a moment of my attention. “I’ll have him.” Josh is the only thing that matters to me in the crazy world I’ve been born into. The only person I bow to is him. I turn and walk away before I’m dismissed. “Good day, Your Majesty.”

  “Adeline!”

  My pace picks up at the sound of my father yelling, my feet taking me through the castle to the garages at the far end of the East Wing. I grab the first set of keys I can find in the cabinet on the wall and press my thumb into the button on the fob, making the lights of a Land Rover at the back of the garage blink. I don’t drive nearly enough to be confident, so I pull away slowly before I find the will to put my foot down, the castle getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror as I go. When the gates to the estate come into view, I quickly conclude my current speed will have the Land Rover bouncing back off the iron rails. So I brace myself, closing one eye and pressing my foot into the accelerator, my arms ramrod straight, braced for impact. Call me mad, call me desperate, call it extreme. But it’s the only way out of my new prison. I drive at them with nothing but sheer determination, suppressing a yell and closing my eyes when I’m upon them. The metal keeping me contained bursts open, the Land Rover juddering violently, pain shooting up my arms. “Oh my goodness!” I swerve, mounting a grass verge as I fight with the steering wheel to line up the car again, bumping and bouncing all over the place. I’m tossed around, so much so my forehead crashes against the door window. I yelp, but keep my hands where they are, hitting pothole after pothole on the dirt track, none of them helping me pull the car straight. The persistent ringing of my phone doesn’t distract me from gaining back control of the Land Rover, and I only find it in my pocket when I am on even ground, driving steadily again. I expect to see Damon calling, mad and frantic, but it’s Josh. Just the sight of his name on my screen sends my emotions off the deep end, all adrenalin draining. “Josh,” I blurt down the line, keeping a keen eye on the road, one hand on the wheel. “My father. It was my father in the chopper I could see. He followed me to Scotland. He came to discuss arrangements. Press releases, announcements. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Fuckin’ hell, Adeline,” he breathes. “Where are you?”

  “I left. I’m driving south.”

  “On your own?”

  “I didn’t have time to think, Josh.” I need to calm down. Right now, keeping my head is of paramount importance.

  “You need to calm down.” He mimics my thoughts, but he doesn’t sound very calm himself. “How long before you reach any kind of civilization?”

  “I don’t know. There’s a small village thirty miles from here.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “Sellington Heights.” I hear Josh relaying the name of the village to someone, and then the sound of helicopter blades start, building up, louder and louder, until he’s forced to shout down the line. “The pilot says I can be there in thirty minutes. Find a field north of the village. Drive to the middle so we can see you, got it?”

  I nod, wondering how on earth it came to this. Me, on the run, and Josh in a damn helicopter trying to find me. It’s crazy, yet it’s happening.

  “Adeline, did you hear me?”

  “Yes, I heard you.” My phone bleeps and I quickly glance at my screen to see an incoming call from Damon. “D
amon is trying to call me.”

  “Will he be tracking you?”

  I look up at my rearview mirror, to the never-ending length of road stretching out behind me. “Undoubtedly.”

  “Just keep driving. Not too fast. Just make it to that field in one piece, okay?”

  My smile is poorly timed, but I can’t help it. “Are you regretting this yet?”

  “Never. I’ve already told you. I’m prepared to lose everything I have, except you. Now get your royal ass to that field.” He hangs up, and I drop my phone into my lap, returning both hands to the wheel. I ignore the calls from Damon, keeping my attention on the road. My main objective, the most important objective, is making it to Josh safely.

  THERE ARE DOZENS OF FIELDS. My mind is so messed up, I can’t even make the simple decision of which one to put myself in. I pull up to some large wooden gates and jump out of the Land Rover, jogging up the lane a bit and pulling the heavy bolt across. They slowly swing open with little help from me. I turn and run back toward the car, but my pace slows when I hear a familiar, distant sound. Spinning around, I search the sky, the noise growing by the second. He’s here. I need to get myself to the middle of the field. Urgency springs into my muscles as I turn . . . and freeze.

  Damon reaches inside my Land Rover and shuts off the engine, pulling the keys from the ignition. “Adeline, what on earth?”

  My steps back up, my attention split between the sky and Damon. “Don’t try to stop me, Damon. Please, you know I can’t do what they’re demanding.”

  Damon looks past me, his head tilted back, lines spanning his forehead. I follow his line of sight, seeing a chopper appear over the trees in the distance.

  “I have to go,” I tell him, reversing my steps.

  Damon shakes his head, despair wracking him. He seems to take a timeout, thinking. And he eventually sighs. “Who the hell’s going to keep me busy if I don’t have you?”

  Relief allows me to smile at him. “Thank you, Damon. For everything.”

  “Just go,” he orders, straight and short, his eyes back in the sky.

  But I don’t. Instead, I run to him, throwing my arms around his big shoulders and cuddling him with all the love and appreciation I feel for him. And he returns it. There are no words. None are needed. Gently breaking away from me, he steps back and nods.

  I take his silent order and go, running as fast as my legs will carry me to the center of the field, my arms flailing in the air crazily. The helicopter gradually lowers, hovering, the blades of the grass flapping crazily around me. My phone vibrates in my hand.

  “Move back, we’re coming down,” Josh shouts when I answer.

  I back away, my arm held over my head to stop the brutal whip of my hair across my face from the wind, my clothes clinging to my front. The moment the chopper’s feet come to rest on the ground, the door is open and Josh is out, running toward me. The sight of him renders me paralyzed, so many emotions holding me where I am. It’s all too much, my relief savage in its intensity. A sob rips through me. The only energy left in me lets me lift my arms when he crashes into me. The moment our bodies reunite, my heart explodes, as do my eyes. I grapple at his back, clinging to him with all my strength. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you,” I cry into his neck, unable to pull myself together.

  “I do, baby. Trust me.” I’m hushed, kissed, stroked, squeezed, my hair whipping around my head, our clothes flapping, the sound of the helicopter deafening. But I hear him as clear as if we were standing in silence. Reluctantly breaking away from him, I let him feel my face, kiss me over every inch of it. “These past few weeks have been hell. You’re not leaving my sight ever again.” His palms graze down my cheeks, over my shoulders and down my arms, until he has hold of my hands, his fingers linking with mine, reinforcing his words. “Ever.” He looks past me, and I turn to follow his sight, finding Damon has approached behind us.

  My head of security raises his phone. “You should go.”

  He’s warning me. “Thank you.”

  Damon shrugs. “I was thinking of taking early retirement, anyway.”

  I’m being tugged toward the helicopter, but I keep my eyes on my beloved bodyguard until the final second, my many years with Damon playing through my mind. His presence, his comfort. I’m going to miss him so much. And then he smiles, as if knowing what I’m thinking. Maybe because he’s thinking it, too.

  Damon slowly raises his hand as I’m forced to turn and climb aboard. Josh places some ear defenders over my head and secures me in the belt before seeing to himself and taking my hand. He looks at me and smiles, small but expressive, as we slowly rise from the ground and soar toward my heaven.

  I’D HOPED WHEREVER WE WERE going we would have some space so we could catch up on lost time. It wasn’t to be. The second we landed at a small airfield on the outskirts of London, we were swarmed by Josh’s PR team and protection, and hustled into the back of a car parked a few meters from the chopper. Flurries of rushed, panicked words blended into nothing, and it was obvious each one of his team, mostly Americans, didn’t have the foggiest idea how to greet me. All of them curtsied. It was embarrassing, but Josh seemed to find it amusing, as well as Bates and his men. I let them talk tactics on the journey back into London, though I hardly heard a word, most of my time spent cuddled into Josh’s side, wondering how it had come to this. Technically, I’m on the run. I’m on the run from my family, and it’s only a matter of time before the media catch wind of my whereabouts.

  I’m cloaked in one of Josh’s security men’s jackets as I’m helped from the car, surrounded at every angle, squished in the middle so not to be seen. I don’t recognize where we are, though it seems to be residential from what glimpses I have had through the army of people flanking me. I had seen Bates take a call earlier. He watched me the whole time he was talking. I smiled as he nodded through his conversation, knowing it was Damon on the line giving him instructions. It was reassuring to know that even now, my head of protection is looking out for me.

  When Josh’s people disperse, we’re in the foyer of a plush apartment block, and I look at Josh in question. “A friend’s place,” he tells me. “He’s in LA. Said we could camp out here.”

  I suddenly feel like such an inconvenience. We’re whisked up to the top floor, the lift opening up directly onto a huge open penthouse. “It’s not a palace,” Josh’s publicist says as she exits before us, “but it’s off radar for now.”

  “I hate palaces,” I say mindlessly, letting Josh guide me across the open space to the window spanning the far side. The clear view across London is extraordinary. I’ve never seen it like this. “Oh.” I laugh lightly, pointing across the skyline. “And in case I get homesick, I can see Kellington.” The royal residence, nestled between one of the smaller royal parks and a row of Georgian terraces, looks so small from here, unimportant and almost bland amid the rest of London’s grandeur. “Oh, and there’s my parents’ house.” Claringdon appears anything but unimportant; the colossal structure looks like it has grown there over hundreds of years. The lack of a flag tells me the King isn’t home yet. No, he’s in Scotland, undoubtedly still ranting and raving. Dr. Goodridge has probably been forced to feed him a sedative.

  “Why don’t you take a shower?” Josh asks, moving in behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. “One of the guys has gone to collect some things for you to change into, but until then, there’s a clean robe on the back of the door.”

  I turn in his arms. “And what are you going to do?”

  His blue eyes look so tired, lacking the brilliant sparkle I love so much. And his dark hair is a wild mess atop his head. His stubble is well overgrown, too. All because of me. “I have a few things to go over with everyone.”

  I cast my eyes across the room, where a dozen people have set up office, laptops popping up everywhere, people circling the room on their phones, other making notes on pads. It’s a little chaotic, all of them talking loudly. I sigh, hating the significance of the
scene. Again, all of this because of me. “Shouldn’t I know what is happening?”

  “No, trust me to deal with it.” He turns me by the shoulders and leads me on, persistent and firm.

  “When do I get you to myself?” I grumble as we enter a lavish shower room, all black marble and chrome.

  “I won’t rest until I know exactly how we’re moving forward, so you need to be patient.”

  “I already told you, take me back to America.”

  “You have your passport?”

  I turn my nose up to the mirror before me. “Smuggle me out.”

  Josh rolls his eyes and flips the shower on, filling the room with steam. “Just do as you’re told.” A towel is pushed into my front and his lips pushed to mine. “Please, Your Highness.”

  I smirk through a scowl. “So I have to stay locked in here while you discuss with your people how to deal with me?”

  “Oh, I know how to deal with you.” He hunkers down, his hands on my arse squeezing hard. “But I’m not sure everyone out there wants to hear the details, darlin’.”

  “No, but I do,” I say, goading him, taking a little nibble of his chin. “I want explicit details.”

  Josh groans, capturing my lips gently. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “We do.”

  “Your ass is gonna be stinging like a bitch.”

  “Good.”

  He smiles around our kiss, as do I, and I lock him in my arms. “I may even let you sit on your throne.”

  I laugh, losing the contact of our lips. “You’re terrible.”

  “And you love it.” He turns me and swats my bottom. “In the shower.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He winks and leaves me to sort myself out.

  BY THE TIME I’M WRAPPED in a luxurious robe, my phone is set to explode from the volume of missed calls. I can’t look at who has called me though, because at this point, my decision to run is still completely surreal. After the adrenaline rush of racing through the countryside, leaving Damon, leaving my family, I feel so flat. So exhausted. Yet I know there is much to be done. Time to rally my royal-arse façade of strength and meet the new people who will manage me. At least, for now.