The Anti-Cinderella Takes London

by Tawdra Kandle

  The Anti-Cinderella Takes London

  Tawdra Kandle

  Tawdra Kandle Romance

  Contents

  The Anti-Cinderella Takes London

  How Long Will Kyra Wait?

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  The Wedding

  Epilogue

  The History of the Duke of Kendal Title

  The Anti-Cinderella Takes London Play List

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Tawdra Kandle

  The Anti-Cinderella Takes London

  Falling in love with a prince wasn't something I planned . . .

  When I reconnected with the first guy I ever kissed, I never dreamed I'd end up moving to England to be closer to him. But Nicky and I are in love, and living together was the next logical step.

  If I thought dating royalty was a tough gig when I was living in the USA, I'm learning that it's even more challenging now that I'm in London. Every move I make, every word I say, is under the microscope. Becoming part of Nicky's family while staying true to who I am isn't easy.

  Nicky makes everything worthwhile. The hours when we're alone together are paradise. And if the press and the pressure are the price I have to pay for him . . . I'll choose Nicky, every single time.

  After all, London's just another town. Right?

  This book is dedicated to two generations:

  * * *

  To my grandparents, whose lives and love were a constant blessing and inspiration to me;

  * * *

  And to my much-beloved granddaughter, born during the writing of this book,

  whose arrival reminds me of the greatest truth of life:

  * * *

  It goes on.

  * * *

  Harry and Marian June Shute Thompson

  Robert Andrew and Martha Ann Bowles Murray

  * * *

  Delia Joy Prado

  Copyright © 2019 by Tawdra Kandle

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  How Long Will Kyra Wait?

  By Garrett Smith

  If you haven’t heard of Kyra Duncan, the American who has apparently won the heart of Britain’s most dashing playboy bachelor Prince Nicholas, then you must have been living beneath a rock for the better part of a year.

  Duncan was a graduate student in Maine when she re-kindled a childhood friendship with the prince about eighteen months ago. The two dated while living on separate continents, a situation which insiders say led to their temporary split last fall.

  But by May, reporters began spotting the couple together again, both in London and in the US. Recently, following her graduation from the masters’ program at Grant College, Kyra moved to England, and we understand that she and the prince are both living in his cottage at Kensington Palace. Duncan works at Honey Bee Juices, the natural juice business founded by her grandparents, Cal and Maggie Duncan. She and Prince Nicholas are spotted occasionally, eating dinner or visiting friends around town, but there’s been no word on an engagement being announced any time soon.

  Meanwhile, sources tell us that Kyra is growing increasingly unhappy with the girlfriend role into which she’s been cast, seemingly forever. While we haven’t seen the prince with any other woman, Kyra must be wondering if he’s ever going to pop the question.

  “He wants to make sure she’s ready to stick,” confides a source close to the couple. “She freaked out and left him last year, and he knows she can’t do that again. So he’s giving her time to get used to the reality of royal life before he asks her to commit to it—and to him.”

  Another source says that Duncan’s work in sustainable agriculture is not only part of her own career, it is also a passion she shares with the prince. The two have paid private visits to several local farms which are attempting to implement the suggestions both Prince Nicholas and Miss Duncan presented them.

  But according to friends of the couple, Prince Nicholas better get ring shopping, and soon.

  “She won’t wait forever,” this friend reports. “She loves him, but she’s not going to hang around as a person without a title or a role for much longer. It’s a lot harder being the prince’s shack-up partner than it is being his fiancée or wife.”

  And apparently, it’s not only Kyra who’s getting impatient. Insiders say that the Queen and even the prince’s parents are urging him to make a decision, one way or the other.

  “They want to know whether or not this girl’s the one. The Queen, in particular, wants to see her favorite grandson happily settled—whether that’s with Kyra Duncan or with another woman.”

  1

  “Heading home, Kyra?” Serena Kessel turned a bright smile toward me as I passed her desk. Although it was only mid-afternoon, I was on my way out of the brand-new London offices of Honey Bee Juices.

  “Actually, I am. I know it’s early, but I’ve found that it’s—ah, easier to avoid—well, it’s better if I vary the time of day that I come and go.” I hated being so vague, but I’d learned the hard way that discretion was the better part of valor—or wisdom, in this case. Being my normal chatty self could potentially put an innocent person into a bad position if she was cornered by the press.

  “Of all people, Kyra, you certainly don’t need to explain to anyone why you’re leaving before five. No one would ever question you.” Serena didn’t sound anything but respectful and cheery, but her words struck a nerve.

  “Do you mean because my grandparents own the company? Is that why it’s okay for me to cut out early? Or is it because of who I’m . . .” I stopped abruptly. I heard the almost-shrill tone in my own voice, and I hated it. “Serena, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t—well. I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  “I understand.” The woman was completely unflappable. Here I’d just insulted her, and she didn’t even lose her smile. “I only meant that you work so hard and put in so much more time than the rest of us that no one doubts your dedication.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate your understanding.” I was certain my cheeks were red with embarrassment. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Not at all.” Serena inclined her head. “Have a lovely weekend. I’ll see you Monday?” It was more of a question than a statement.

  “Yes, of course.” I hiked the strap of my handbag more firmly onto my shoulder. “See you then.”

  My heels clicked on the gleaming tile floors as I walked out of the suite of our offices and down the hallway to the elevator. I passed a few people, some of whom greeted me with a nod and smile, and others of whom glanced at me with open curiosity. I worked hard to keep a blank but pleasant expression on my face. The hardest thing, I was finding, was not reacting to anything or anyone around me. I thought I’d perfected that ability back in Maine, when the press had first begun following me, but it turned out to be much more challenging here in London.

  The elevator was blessedly empty, and I sagged against the wall, closing my eyes with a long sigh. But on
ce the doors slid open, I was alert and ready again.

  “Heading out, Ms. Duncan?” Alfred, our tall and elegant doorman, smiled at me. “Anything I can do for you?”

  Alfred asked me the same question each day as I left, as if he might be able to suddenly wave a magic wand and make all of the reporters and photographers waiting for me beyond the frosted glass doors disappear. I only wished he could.

  “Thanks, Alfred. I’ll be fine.” I paused to offer him a genuine smile. “I hope you have a nice weekend.”

  “You too, Ms. Duncan.” He paused. “Keep your chin up, if you don’t mind me saying it. Everyone here thinks the world of you.”

  “Thank you.” I wished I could say something more—I could tell that Alfred, like so many of the people with whom I worked, hoped that I might relax and share a little with him. But I liked him too much to put the dear man into that position.

  So I simply gave him a wave and another smile before I braced myself for the onslaught and pushed open the door.

  The late-afternoon sun in London in November was anemic at best, but it was shining directly into my eyes, making me blink madly. And it was then the clicking began.

  “Kyra! Kyra! Look here. Kyra!”

  “Are you joining Prince Nicholas in Africa this weekend? A little pre-engagement honeymoon?”

  “Has the Queen given her approval? Have you met Her Majesty, Kyra?”

  “Give us a smile, love! One good picture, Kyra!”

  They all shouted at once, and the flashes went off, and they crowded around me. The same panic I felt every single time this happened roared to life, making me long to push them out of my way and run. Run far away and escape from their relentless questions, particularly when they were asking about matters that were tender spots just now.

  My car was parked just a few yards down the block, and with as much purpose as I could manage, I waded through the hoard of press, my lips pressed together and my jaw clenched. I didn’t make eye-contact with any of them, and I tried not to react when they shouted out my name . . . over and over again.

  Once I was finally safe in the driver’s seat, I wasted no time before I started the engine and carefully eased away from the curb. I’d learned my lesson during my first week at Honey Bee London, when, in an effort to make a fast getaway, I’d peeled out without looking over my shoulder and nearly side-swiped a passing car. That had made the newspaper and the internet rounds, with the less-charitable publications christening me ‘Krashpad Kyra’.

  Today I managed to get into my lane without any issue. By now, I could make the drive from my office to Kensington Palace with my eyes closed, and it didn’t take long before I was pulling in through the gates at a special residents-only entrance, restricted from public view. The guard waved to me, and I waved back with a quick grin.

  I always experienced an odd mix of feelings when I was back here at the Palace. There was relief, of course, because this was one place where I didn’t have to worry about photographers or reporters, provided I stuck to the more secluded sections of the grounds. But at the same time, I felt a pang of sadness, a sense of being stifled, because in all of the small island nation, this was the only place where I could relax. It felt rather like living in a zoo, I thought as I made my way slowly to the cottage that Nicky and I shared. A beautiful, historic zoo with tons of security and lots of benefits—but a zoo, nonetheless.

  Since it was Friday, there weren’t many people around the palace grounds. Most of the residents had decamped for the country either yesterday or earlier in the day; Nicky’s cousins, all of whom were ahead of him in the line of succession, owned estates outside of London, where they could indulge in fun things like hunting and riding horses. One of his sisters lived here with her husband, but they too were away now, representing the Queen on a trip to Spain.

  I let myself into the cottage and glanced around. We didn’t have a housekeeping staff, although Nicky had had a weekly housekeeper before I’d moved in, and she still came by to dust and sweep every Friday morning. But I knew that with Nicky in Africa, I could stay here in the cottage all weekend and never see another soul.

  I wasn’t sure if that idea was appealing or appalling.

  But first things first. I glanced at the clock on the wall and gave a happy little hum as I kicked off my heels and settled onto the plush loveseat, retrieving my laptop from the leather bag I’d been carrying. It was just after four here, which meant that in New Mexico, it was . . . I frowned, doing the mental math. Eight in the morning. The perfect time to call a friend.

  Within moments, I had the FaceTime app open and was waiting expectantly as the line buzzed. It stopped abruptly, and the screen was suddenly with the sleepy face of my best friend, Shelby.

  “Hey,” she croaked. “If it isn’t my favorite princess-to-be.”

  A wave of unease slid over me. “Don’t say that. Someone might hear you and think there really are plans in the works.” I paused. “As of right now, I’m still just the girl living at Kensington Palace with Prince Nicholas. His shack-up lady. The cow who’s giving him the milk for free.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Shelby cleared her throat and rolled her eyes at the same time. The woman had talent. “First of all, you know you’re more than just a fling for Nicky. You’re living with him because you both decided you didn’t want to have an ocean between you—and if I remember correctly, darling friend, you’re the one who told Nicky you didn’t want to rush into anything official, since you’d never lived in the same time zone. Second, what’s this business about the cow giving away the milk? Are we living in 1955? You aren’t giving anything away—you’re having loads of hot and heavy consensual sex with the man you love.”

  “I know you’re right.” I dropped my head to the back cushion of the couch. “It’s just been a long day. A long week, actually. And all of those things I just said are shouted at me daily by the reporters who follow me around. So it’s hard not to internalize some of them.”

  “Hmmmm.” Shelby shifted her phone slightly, and I could see that she was still in bed.

  “Hey, shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?” After we’d finished our graduate program in Maine, Shelby had received and accepted an offer for an internship at a center for experimental farming in New Mexico. It was quite an honor, since each year, hundreds of applicants vied for those positions.

  “Nah, I don’t go in until noon today. I worked a late shift last night.” A shadow passed over her eyes, and I wondered if everything was as great as she’d been claiming. Before I could ask, she spoke again. “So you’re just finishing your work day, right? What do you and Prince Charming have planned for this weekend?”

  I blew out a long sigh. “Nicky’s in Africa at a conference for No Hungry Child. He won’t be back until Tuesday.”

  “And you didn’t go with him? Why not?”

  “Because he’s there in an official capacity.” I lifted one shoulder. “I can only travel with him when we’re going someplace for leisure. Like a vacation or a holiday trip. Because as I’ve been reminded more than once, I don’t have any official standing now.”

  “That’s bullshit. You’re the prince’s girlfriend. Can’t he tell them he wants to take you with him?” Shelby was bristling, ready to jump to my defense as always.

  “No. I mean, he could, I guess, but it wouldn’t make any difference. There are ways of doing things in this family, and they don’t change on a dime. We’re talking centuries of tradition.” I hesitated. “It’s not easy, though, for either of us. I spend a lot of time here at the cottage by myself.”

  “That sucks.” Shelby was still indignant, tradition be damned. “What about Nicky’s sisters? His family? Can’t you do things with them?”

  It was all so complicated, a situation mired in potential pitfalls for me, and since I barely understood all the whys and wherefores, I knew it would be difficult to explain to Shelby. “If we’re invited to dinner by his parents or Alex and Jake, his sister and brother-in-la
w, I can go, as long it’s just a family meal. But they don’t do that very often. Everyone’s busy with their own lives and commitments. And if it’s the larger family, with the Queen and all the aunts and uncles and cousins—then I’m not included. I can’t go with Nicky if he’s going to a party or a movie premiere or a charity benefit if he’s there in his official capacity.”

  “But if he’s going as a board member for his charities—the hungry child one and Waste Not—those you can go to with him, right?” Shelby persisted.

  “As long as it’s deemed a quiet event, like a lunch or a tea or something at a private home. It’s just the way they do things here, Shel. I’m not mad or anything—I understand it. Only, sometimes I’m a little lonely.”

  “Of course, you are.” She was quiet for a few seconds. “Have you made any friends of your own there, so you have people to hang with when Nicky’s occupied?”

  I shook my head. “No. I have a working relationship with the people at Honey Bee, but I can’t socialize with them really—not in any genuine way, because I’m constantly worried that one of them might go to the press and share something. I can’t just go to a pub and make friends, either. If I’m not here at the cottage, I’m at the Honey Bee offices. That’s my life.” To my horror, a sob caught in my throat. I backed away a little, hoping Shelby hadn’t heard it.