The Anti-Cinderella Takes London

by Tawdra Kandle

  “Yeah, well . . . if anyone’s listening out there, the CIA or MI6 or whoever, this was all just two girlfriends joking, okay? We have no desire to separate anyone from his head or even to toss him into the dungeon. It’s all in good fun.”

  “I’m sure they’re mighty relieved and even now calling off the agents they were sending to take me out.” I swung my legs idly. “Let’s hope so, anyway.”

  “If you get into trouble, text me and I’ll send in the cavalry. Meanwhile, though, I have to get to work, or Cabe won’t be happy with me.”

  “Oh, Cabe, is it? Is that . . . oh, what was his name, Dr. Mallar? He’s your supervisor?” I felt a twinge of guilt. At the time Shelby had been gearing up for her internship in New Mexico, I’d been wholly absorbed in my move to England. I’d only realized later that maybe I hadn’t been a very attentive friend for quite a while.

  “He’s . . .” She hesitated. “He’s the project leader.”

  I wasn’t entirely familiar with all the details of how Shelby’s program worked. “Does everyone work closely with him? Or is that just you?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Her voice was defensive.

  “Nothing.” I wished I could unsay the words. “I was just curious about what you’re doing, and—dammit, Shel, I’m trying to be a better friend here. I was just thinking that I suck. I haven’t come to see you, I haven’t even texted you weekly to find out how the hell you’re doing out there. Or what you’re doing. I feel like I’ve been a shitty friend, and I’m trying fix that.”

  For the space of several heartbeats, I heard nothing from the other side of the phone, and then Shelby spoke slowly. “Sometimes I don’t feel as though I can tell you what’s going on with me anymore, Kyra, because my life is . . . ordinary. I’m a regular person, and it feels like you’re not. Your problems are so much bigger—you’re worried about things leaking to the press and meeting the Queen and which famous people are going to attend your wedding, and meanwhile, I’m worried about whether or not this new strain of hybrid pepper seed will actually sprout. I’m worried about this experience translating into a job in the real world afterwards.” She took a deep breath. “And I’m worried about how the other interns think of me, because I’m sleeping with our boss.”

  I swallowed as her words washed over me. On some level, I’d suspected this truth for a while; Shelby had been cagey and evasive when it came to her supervisor. But I’d hoped that I was wrong.

  “Oh, Shel,” I breathed. “Is this . . . is it a good thing? Or—I mean, I know you’re a smart woman and you know what you’re doing, but is this serious? Are you both on the same page about where you’re heading?”

  “I don’t know, Ky. God, I wish I did, but right now, it’s all screwed up, and I’m not thinking clearly.” She gave a little cough, and I wondered if it was to disguise a sob. “Listen, I do want to talk to you more, but I legit have to go now, because if I’m late, it just complicates everything.”

  “All right, but let’s make a date to catch up, all right?” I reached for the tablet on my desk. “Tell me when, and I’ll put it in my schedule.”

  “I’ll have to look and text you.” She was anxious to get off the phone, and that only notched up my worry. “I promise I’m okay, Ky. You—you hang in there, okay? Figure out the leak situation and try to enjoy the fun stuff. Oh, and my love to Nicky, all right? Tell him to take care of my girl.”

  “I will—and Shel, don’t forget to text me. I’m serious. If I don’t hear from you, I’m blowing off all the people here and flying to New Mexico. Don’t test me, woman. You know I’ll do it.”

  “Okay, Ky. Got it. Love you—bye.” And she was gone.

  For a few moments, I sat there on the edge of my desk, holding my phone, filled with unease and worry. Being royal—or almost royal—was hard, but talking with Shelby, I was reminded that no one was immune from trouble.

  9

  “Legs together, swing them out. Lips relaxed. Hello, thank you so much for inviting us. I’m so glad to be here.”

  Next to me, in the back seat of the gray sedan, Nicky smirked. “Do you think that’s going to help? I’m beginning to think I should have made you a cheat sheet. Or maybe we should have written it out on your hand, like kids do in school.”

  “If you could manage to do it in ink that was only visible to me, that would be perfect. But since all the reporters would love to crow about the obnoxious, clueless American with writing on her hand, I think we’ll have to do this my way and hope for the best.” I clenched my fingers together. “I don’t want to embarrass you, Nicky. I want to make you proud of me.”

  “I already am, Ky.” He caught up my hand. “I don’t expect you to become a cookie cutter member of the family firm. I want to see you make this role your own, as much as you want to do it. If you decide in a few months that you hate doing this kind of thing, that royal engagements are too much for you or just too boring or . . . well, anything. Then we can back away from it.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean? Back away?”

  Nicky looked decidedly uncomfortable. “There’s no rule that says you have to take part in the royal schedule just because you’re marrying me. There’s precedent for you not doing it, in fact. Many of my cousins have spouses who stay out of the family business.”

  “But you do it. You told me yourself that you feel that representing your grandmother—the Queen—on these engagements is your duty as part of the family.” I stared at our joined hands.

  “That’s true. Duty is a big deal in my family.” He smiled slightly. “But I’ve figured out on my own a way to combine that duty with things I love, the foundation here in the UK and the larger anti-hunger organizations worldwide. I give a little time there and a little time for the less interesting but still necessary things . . . and it works. I hope it will for you, too. My point is that if it doesn’t, that’s all right.”

  “I want to be part of it. I’m going to give it my best, Nicky.” I straightened in my seat. “I can’t make a decision for the long-term until I give it a try, right?”

  “You’re about to find out, then, because here we are.”

  The car slowed to a halt, drawing up to a curb where crowds of people waited, held back by several members of the police. I had a fleeting impression of bunches of flowers and many faces turned to peer inside the car just before the door opened.

  Nicky climbed out first, and I thought distractedly that the lucky man didn’t have to worry about how he did it. Then the door next to me opened, and I went on auto-pilot, smoothing down my blue flared skirt, holding my legs together as I pivoted to drop my feet onto the street.

  The cameras clicked, the flashes began to pop and the shouting started. I focused on that vague smile that I’d been practicing for weeks and turned to search out Nicky.

  He was waiting for me, encouragement and love evident on his face. I allowed Harold, who was on our security detail today, to guide me around the back of the car to join the prince.

  “Hello! Thank you for coming out today. Have you met my fiancée, Kyra? Here you are, darling.”

  And then I was in the thick of it, shaking hands, accepting flowers and standing still as people took quick pictures with their phones. I forgot all of the rules I’d been so busy learning and memorizing and simply let myself be.

  “Oh, look at you.” I knelt next to a stroller where a chubby baby girl with dark ringlets sat. “Aren’t you adorable!”

  “Her name is Elizabeth, after the Queen.” The baby’s mother laid a gentle hand on her daughter’s head. “Because she was born on Her Majesty’s birthday.”

  “Isn’t that sweet.” Nicky stood a foot away from me, mugging for the camera for a group of teens, and I reached up to tug at his sleeve. “Nicky, look. Isn’t she just lovely?”

  “A little beauty,” he agreed, grinning at the baby and then glancing at her mother. “Congratulations. You’re very blessed.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She bobbed a little curt
sy, her cheeks going pink. “Might I have a picture with you both and the baby, please? It would mean so much, and I could put it in her baby book, even though she’ll never remember it.”

  “Oh, we can do that, can’t we?” I beamed at Nicky, whose brows drew together.

  “Ah . . .” He glanced back until he spotted Sophie, who had come in another car and was here to help me make sure everything ran smoothly. She’d been carefully staying in the background, but now, Nicky beckoned to her.

  “Sophie, can you take a picture for this lady, please?” He held out a hand to the baby’s mother. “I’ll hand your phone to Sophie, if you don’t mind—then you can be in the photo, too.”

  The expression of surprise on Sophie’s face didn’t escape me, and as Nicky and I flanked the stroller, I wracked my brain, trying to remember if this had been on my list of no-no’s. I knew we weren’t supposed to allow selfies, as it meant the picture taker turning his or her back on us, which was considered rude, but what was the harm of allowing a photo taken by someone else?

  Sophie snapped the picture, returned the phone to its owner, who thanked us both profusely. Nicky pressed his hand to my upper back, steering me toward the doorway of the Center.

  “We should go in now. We don’t want to delay their schedule here.”

  I kept on my smile and leaned toward him a bit. “Was the picture a problem? I’m sorry.”

  “No.” He waved to a group of people pressed up against the police rope as we climbed the steps. “Not really. It’s just that it can set a dangerous precedent—you do it for one person, and everyone wants one. Then you’re stuck either telling some people no or posing endlessly and getting behind schedule, which affects not only us but the people we’re here to visit.”

  “Oh.” I bit the corner of my lip and then immediately released it, remembering my training. “I didn’t think of that. She was so nice, I thought it would be all right.”

  “It was.” Nicky patted my arm and then slid his hand down to hold mine. “It’s just maybe something you don’t want to encourage. In those cases, generally, I just carry on talking to the child or the baby, or I hold the baby, so the mum can take the picture of the two of us without it becoming a big deal. We can’t stop people from snapping photos, but we can work around it.”

  “Okay. Lesson learned.” I squared my shoulders as Nicky drew me up to meet the officials who ran the Center.

  “Your Royal Highness.” The man bowed his head. “Thank you for coming today. We’re honored by your visit.”

  “Oh, thank you for inviting us.” Nicky shook his hand. “May I present Kyra, my fiancée? Kyra, this is Mr. Anthony Nickles, the coordinator of the center.”

  Mr. Nickles offered me his hand, smiling widely. “The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Duncan. Felicitations on your coming nuptials.” He paused. “That’s the correct thing to say, isn’t it? I studied up on it, as my wife was positive I’d get it totally wrong.”

  I laughed. “Oh, it seems you and I were both cramming to be ready for today, weren’t we, Mr. Nickles? Well, I’ll tell you what: I won’t point out your mistakes if you don’t judge me on mine. Is that a deal?”

  The gentleman chuckled. “Absolutely, Ms. Duncan. You are just as charming as I expected.” He spread out one arm, ushering us further into the room. “And now, if you’ll come right this way . . .”

  “That was well done,” Nicky murmured at my ear. “You’re doing perfectly.”

  Relief and pleasure coursed through me at his praise. Maybe this royal thing wasn’t going to be so hard after all.

  Two days later, still flushed from the success of our visit to Brixton, Nicky and I joined his sister and her husband for a benefit performance of the ballet Giselle at Royal Albert Hall. I was excited about this outing; I was wearing a long black gown of satin and tulle, with a simple V-neckline. Three thin straps ran over each of my shoulders and then joined together to form an intricate design on my back. The skirt was formed by multi-leveled tiers of satin-edge tulle that danced around me.

  I felt glamorous, like a celebrity on the red carpet.

  “You look amazing, Kyra, really.” Alexandra leaned forward to offer an encouraging smile as the car sped through the dark night. “And this sort of thing is actually much easier than an engagement during the day—you needn’t say much of anything, just smile and nod and have a good time.”

  “That’s true,” put in her husband, Jake, an irreverent man whom I’d come to like a great deal since I’d gotten to know him. “But do pay attention to what people are saying before you nod. Once, right after Alex and I were engaged, I found myself stuck in conversation with an elderly gentleman at the theatre. My mind drifted, but I kept nodding, and I only came aware when I saw Alex’s face go red. Turned out the old gent had segued from horses into, er, his struggles with erectile dysfunction. He’d asked if I knew much about it, and apparently, I’d nodded vigorously and said, ‘Oh, quite so. Very much.’”

  I fell against Nicky, shaking with laughter. “Oh, Alex, what did you do?”

  She grinned and shrugged. “He got himself into the mess, so I let him flounder a bit before I extricated us both. And I never let him forget it, either.”

  “That’s true.” Jake dipped his head to kiss his wife’s long, elegant neck, exposed by the plunging neckline of her silver gown. “But on the plus side, whenever Alex brings it up, I’m compelled to prove my manhood to her. And that’s a good time for everyone.”

  Alex rolled her eyes. “You’re a scamp, as my great-grandmother used to say.” She smirked. “Actually, I think she used to say it about Nicky.”

  “I might be a scamp, but you know you love it.” Jake tipped Alex’s chin up and planted a firm kiss on her lips. “And you love me.”

  “I think when Gan Gan called me that, it was a term of affection, not of disapproval,” Nicky added. “She adored me. She thought I was a lovable scamp.”

  “Hmmm.” Alex’s tone evinced skepticism. “Well, at any rate, Kyra, my point was that tonight you should be able to relax and enjoy the ballet.”

  “There’ll be some representatives from the charity sponsoring the benefit whom we’ll have to meet as we go in, but beyond that, it’s just sitting in a box, watching the show.” Nicky ran a finger down my arm over the skin exposed beyond my black wrap, making me shiver.

  “And the charity—Service Support—it’s an organization that works with military families, right?” I’d done my homework, not wanting to embarrass my soon-to-be sister-in-law.

  “Yes.” She paused. “Specifically, tonight’s benefit is raising money for AfterCare, the branch that offers help to families after a loved one has been lost. It’s the grief support network, which includes counseling, fundraising and guidance going on . . . after.”

  I nodded, and the car was quiet for a few moments. I didn’t know all of the details, but years ago, when Nicky and I were both teenagers, Alex had been engaged to another man, Grayson, Viscount Elmore, someone whom she’d known since they were children. Nicky had told me that they’d been deeply in love and happily anticipating their wedding until one night, driving back to London from a weekend house party, they’d been run off the road by a man who’d stalked Alexandra for months. Grayson had been killed instantly in the crash, and Alex had been in grave danger, held at gunpoint by their attacker. If it hadn’t been for the quick and heroic action of Alexandra’s policeman, she might have died, too.

  Nicky alluded now and then to the years during which his sister had struggled to overcome the devastating grief at her loss. Listening to her tonight, I couldn’t help wondering if it was her own experience that had attracted her to this particular charity.

  The car drew up in front of Royal Albert Hall. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach; I wanted to lean forward and crane my neck to see the famous venue, but if I did, that would probably end up being captured on film. I could just see the headlines now:

  Hick American Looks in Wonder at British Landmark

 
Stifling a sigh, I waited by turn as first Jake and then Alex exited the car. Nicky went next and turned to offer me his hand.

  Climbing out of a limo like this was considerably easier than getting out of the backseat of a smaller sedan, but even so, tonight I had to worry about the voluminous layers of my skirt. I was glad I’d practiced at home; otherwise, I might have ended up flat on my face in front of the photographers.

  I tucked my small black clutch under one arm, gathered the material of my dress in both hands and eased out, bending slightly until I cleared the car’s roof. Nicky caught my arm to steady me, and I released the dress, smoothing it down before I allowed Nicky to take my hand in his.

  The flashbulbs went off, their effect intensified by the darkness. I smiled and looked beyond them to avoid the glare, keeping my fingers tight around Nicky’s. He stepped a bit in front of me, shielding me from the worst of the press, until Alex leaned toward him and murmured something.

  Nicky glanced back at me with a small smile and slid his arm around my waist. “Alex says I need to let you shine and stop trying to protect you.”

  My eyes went wide with alarm. “Oh, no. It’s okay. Keep protecting me. I’m cool with not shining.”

  He chuckled. “I’m going to be right here with you, sweetheart, but these folks want to see you. Just give them a moment, then we’ll move on.”

  So saying, he gently urged me forward, and we stood together, facing the phalanx of reporters and other enthusiastic onlookers. We were rewarded instantly with more flashes, more shouts and lots of greetings and well-wishes. I tried to focus on those only.

  “All right, thank you.” Nicky guided me forward. “Have a wonderful evening.”

  We trailed slightly behind Alex and Jake, pausing when they did to be introduced to officials and other Very Important People. I found myself smiling over and over, nodding my head as I repeated the endless loop: “Thank you so much for allowing us to be here. Thank you, yes, we’re very excited about the wedding. Can’t wait!”