I have things I need to say to Hank, but between getting his life in order, trying to talk to his family and looking after me, he’s so tired and anxious. I’ve decided it can wait.
We’ve settled into a strange little routine over the last few days. Without any sexual shenanigans or work to occupy our time, we’ve been reading his vast collection of books, drinking tea and generally lounging around the pool. Hank is one of those people who has to be constantly occupied. Now that the house is finished he’s got itchy feet and without a new project he’s spent most afternoons working out in the garden, lifting weights and making circuit training courses out of things he’s found in his truck.
This morning, for example, he’s doing something that involves crouching down on one knee and lifting a weight with his arm. I can’t look away, the glistening sweat, the little grunts and the deep sighs, and that’s just me.
I’m not sure the doctor would approve of me sitting under a lounger sipping tea and watching my hunky boyfriend lift weights in only a skimpy pair of shorts, it’s doing very strange things to my heart rate.
He turns to see me staring and I pretend to delve back into my book. “Ted called; he wants to know if we’re coming to Claire’s birthday party this afternoon.”
I look up, lower my sunglasses. “You told him about the magazine, right? I can’t cover it.”
“No, he’s invited us.”
“I thought your dad was going to make sure that your friends never speak to us again.” I laugh, but it is tinged with anxiety. When I think back to that night in the hospital, how angry I made his father, how it could have ended so badly. I’m glad I stood up to him, but I realize now the danger I put myself in.
“I think my dad has illusions of grandeur far higher than his actual power over us. My friends’ parents don’t want to get involved in a family feud and we’re all adults now. So do you want to go?”
“Will your family be there?”
He hesitates. “Yes.”
“Well then, the question should actually be, do you want to go?”
He puts down his weight and sits back on the grass. “I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
I smile. “I’m so proud of you. Standing up for yourself, doing what you want to do.” I know how that feels. I know that coming here to America was a bold move on my part, but I don’t regret a single second of it. “Well, it’s decided then.”
“Yup.”
“We need a gift. Can you take me into town?”
“Caitlyn.” I know what he’s going to say. He’s going to tell me to stop spending my money, that we have to be frugal now that neither of us has any income.
“I told you, I have savings. I don’t mind. We’re a partnership, right? I’m not a kept woman, I’ve been trying to tell you this for a while, but you and your billionaire family don’t seem to understand the principle of ‘real people’ actually having a little cash in the bank.”
“It makes me feel … impotent.”
“Trust me. I can assure you. Me spending money on you does not invalidate your masculinity in any way. Quite the contrary, nothing sexier than a kept man. Now drive me to town!” I click my fingers, and he bows.
“At your service ma’am.” His English accent is terrible, but I let it slide. I might treat myself to a new dress too. Something to cheer me up. Maybe something more for Hank as well. He’s been going on and on about a cordless drill, so I called a few people, bought him something nice. It’ll be ready tomorrow; I cannot wait to give it to him. After a week of thoroughly pampering me, he deserves all the power tools in the world.
I’ve yet to see Ted and Claire’s house. It’s as over the top as every other home I’ve visited in the last few weeks. No expense spared on the sweeping driveway, roman columns and surrounding gardens. Hank’s truck is now our only mode of transport and it sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the Bentleys and the Porsches.
I’ve opted for a long summer dress to cover up at least some of my bruises. They’re at the black to yellowing phase. Plus the weather is still unusually warm and my pale skin, unaccustomed to more than three days of sun a year, is positively peeling. I’m glad I managed to bag a boyfriend before I turned into a week old banana.
Claire, bless her, looks thoroughly miserable. She’s at the I don’t want to do this anymore stage of pregnancy and you can see why. I stride over, leaving Hank to catch up with his pals and hand her her gift.
“Hey you. Don’t get up.” We give each other the regal wave I did at our first meeting. As much as I don’t want her to get up I don’t want to bend down either. It’s a win-win situation. I show her the gift and she points to a table piled high with hundreds of boxes.
“Thank you, anyway.” She sits up, takes a sip of ice tea. “I missed you. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit on a stick,” I reply, making her smile. “But it’s getting better. What about you? Can you even walk anymore?”
“No. Ted is driving me absolutely mad and I haven’t slept in days. It’s too damned hot. Don’t have a baby in summer.” She rubs her belly. “I just want to meet him now, you know.” Jen comes over to join us, gives me one of her famous hugs, causing me to wince quietly in pain and sits down next to Claire.
“Can I get you guys anything to eat or drink?” I ask, salivating as I look over at the most magnificent display of food. I’ve been eating Hank’s cooking for a week and I need something that isn’t healthy. Zucchini isn’t pasta, and cauliflower definitely isn’t rice. I need to fill up on some carbs.
“Yes please,” says Claire, her eyes lighting up. Jen shakes her head.
I head over and grab a couple of plates.
“Hey stranger,” says a familiar voice behind me.
“Becky. How’s married life treating you?” She holds up her wedding ring and plays with it blinding me with the reflection of the sun.
“Awesome. Jonny is just the sweetest.” She genuinely does look happy. Far more relaxed and frankly less bitchy than the first time I met her.
“Excuse me,” says a voice from behind me. A hand pushes past my arm, and I turn to stare. “Well, hello there.”
I gasp at him, loudly. Just for a second I think it’s Guillermo. Same height, same portly shape, a few more hairs pulled across his head and a few years younger. “Oh, sorry,” I say, as we do where I come from, even though he pushed me.
He doesn’t reply, he just grabs a large shrimp from the edge of a silver bowl, dips it in sauce, sticks out his tongue and licks the sauce off before pushing the shrimp into his mouth. I assume this is supposed to be sexy in some way. This is his move.
I’m captivated and disgusted all at the very same time. He smiles at me and I nod and turn back to Becky, eyes wide. What the hell?
She winks at me. “It’s okay, he’s gone.”
“Who, what was that?”
“That …” she replies, with a laugh, “… was Baresi number two, Leo.” I throw up in my mouth. No wonder I mistook him for his father. Two peas in a pod. “He really did get the short end of the stick, genetically.” I’m glad she was the one to say it, I might have thought it, but never said it out loud.
I love Becky’s frankness. Honestly, I didn’t get it at first. She almost never has a nice word to say about anybody, but she’s growing on me. “Yup.”
“So tell me…” We’re interrupted by a loud shout and both turn to see what the fuss is about.
It’s me, I’m the fuss. It’s happening and I can’t do anything to stop it. And, of course, because karma hates me, the lads, minus Hank, are now sitting with Claire and Jen.
Everybody turns to stare.
“Lady DeVere. Lady DeVere! As I live and breathe.” An English woman I don’t know, drunk as the proverbial skunk, and wearing the most garish canary yellow suit and hat is standing a few feet away from me shouting, well, my name. I have about five seconds to come up with a plan. Run away? Hide under the buffet table.
I go for the Me, you’re talking to me? p
lan, which involves pointing to oneself and looking rapidly left and right as if to confirm that they must be mistaken. But she’s not having any of it.
She comes running over and takes my hand in hers. “My dear, it’s been years, how are you? I heard about your grandmother, terrible shame.” Her words are slurred, a slightly older gentleman in a suit is trying to drag her away from me. “Gerald, please, I’m talking to Lady Devere.”
He apologizes profusely and continues encouraging her to leave. Finally, coming to her senses, she calms down, and they make a rapid exit.
“Well, I think she’s been on the gin,” I say to Becky, my heart racing. I may just have got away with it; everyone could clearly see how drunk she was. A case of mistaken identity can happen to anyone. But Becky isn’t there anymore. She’s running over to the others, phone in hand. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “Becky, wait.”
I run after her, but I’m too late. She’s holding up her phone. Fuck, don’t let it be Wikipedia. An article maybe, something simple, not the whole goddam description, estimated worth and, I can’t even bear to think it, full title.
Jaws drop, phones come out and soon they’re all sat there Googling me. I stride over.
“Wow, what was that, eh?” I bite my top lip. I’m still going for mistaken identity, but it’s too much too late. The minute you’ve got the name you’ve got paparazzi photos, official photos and, um, the whole royal thing.
They all just look up at me. Except for Chad, who jumps up and gets a selfie with me in the background. That’ll be on every social media platform in seconds, with tags. He might be loyal to Hank and their group of friends, but he isn’t going to show that loyalty to me.
Hank bounds up to the group, stands behind me, wrapping his hands tightly around my waist and grins. “What’s going on? I just went for a whizz and someone said a drunk woman was shouting. What did I miss?”
Their attention turns from him, back to me, back to him. I shake my head. But this is too big. They’re going to tell him. “Please, let me do it,” I say, pleading with them.
I release Hank’s hands from around my waist and loop my fingers through his. “Walk with me.”
He laughs. “What’s going on?”
I lead him through the garden towards the sea. “We need to talk about something.”
“You keep saying that.” I know, and you keep putting it off. Or I do.
“Yes, well, now I really need to tell you.”
We arrive at a gangway that leads down to the sea, a bridge over the dunes. I lean on it and look out at sea.
“I’m going to talk, but you need to listen, please.” My heart is beating so hard, he must be able to hear it. The pounding is so loud in my ears I can hardly think.
“I’m going to start by saying that I have never lied to you. It might seem like it, but I promise everything I’ve ever told you about my family, it’s all true. I just kind of missed some bits out.”
“Okay. Just don’t tell me that my dad was right after all.” He laughs, but I don’t join him.
“Oh, your dad? He’s going to love this story.”
“What?”
I take the deepest breath I’ve ever taken in my life. “My name is Caitlyn Walsh. When my parents divorced, I took my mother’s name. It was just easier, for so many reasons. She was very well-meaning, my mum, she had a slightly different outlook on life than most people and I think that’s what drew my dad to her. They got married in a commune, in Ireland of all places. I spent the first couple of years of my life there until my parents divorced.”
“So far, so good.”
“Look, you have to see this from my point of view. I didn’t see my father from the moment he left my mum until her funeral ten years later. I spent almost every summer, at least two or three weeks, with my grandmother. She was an amazing woman. Incredible. Kind and loving and she doted on me. I lived with her until I was sixteen, but I’d never been to school and couldn’t envisage university, so I got a job as a secretary, moved out and did my own thing.”
Hank puts his hands on the bridge, leans back on to it. “Where is this leading, exactly?”
“I’m trying to give you context for the next bit.”
“Is it bad?” He looks worried, he knows it can’t be good or we wouldn’t be doing this here, now.
“No. I just should have told you sooner. I tried to, at the wedding, when you said you loved me and at the hospital, but I swear every time, something or someone interrupted me. Then it just sort of felt like I’d gone too far. I didn’t know how you’d react.”
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He steps forward, but I step back. I need to be standing tall when I tell him this, not safe in his trusting arms. I don’t deserve it.
“I know, but this big.” I take another deep breath. “So, my grandmother, appalled by my father’s behavior, especially concerning me, disinherited him, about seven years ago. He was her only child and I’m his only child. Which means that I inherited everything when she passed.”
“I get it. So what, you’ve got a bit of money. A house in the UK, that sort of thing.”
I close my eyes, take another deep breath. “Yeah, something like that.”
“God, Caitlyn, just tell me.” A line etches between his brows as his eyes narrow and a solitary bead of sweat rolls down my back. This is Hank, I can tell him everything and it will all be okay. Because he loves me.
“My official title is Lady Caitlyn of Becestershire, my grandfather having been Lord Henry of Becestershire. My other title, which is less used, but as valid, is Her Royal Highness, Princess Caitlyn of Mendava.” I explain how the country was dissolved, way before my birth, but the title remains. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me, mouth gaping open. “It’s just words. It isn’t me.”
“Princess. Like an actual princess with a crown? You mean you weren’t joking when you said …” People always love the crown thing. I don’t have crown hair. They just float, five inches above my head.
“A tiara. But it’s in a bank vault. It’s not like I carry the crown jewels around with me.” I laugh, but Hank just looks at me. He’s hurting and I get it. I’m not the person he fell in love with. Well, I am and yet, I’m not at the same time.
I scrunch my nose up. “There’s something else.”
“Another title?” He uses a mocking tone, it’s hard to tell if he’s serious or not.
“I’m rich. Like, you know how most of you are rich and then Ted’s family is like rich rich. I fall into the rich, rich category. In fact, ironically, I’m probably worth more than your father.” I stop talking and wait for Hank to take it all in.
He looks me dead in the eyes. “So you lied to me.”
“No. I never lied; I just didn’t tell you everything.” Not technically lying, but not truthful either. “I only found out about the extent of the money and all the titles when my grandmother died. This is all new to me too.”
“Being dishonest and hiding shit like this is lying, Cait.”
I rub my palms together and ramble on, hoping that something will click with him, that he’ll see my side. “I knew I was the queen’s third cousin removed or something, but I didn’t know the rest. I thought all the money would go to my father.”
“The Queen … of England, that queen.” Fuck. Yes, that queen.
“It’s not important, it doesn’t change who I am. I’m still Caitlyn. I’m still just a girl who wants to read books and write articles and take photographs.”
“But you lied to me. I was in love with you. I told you I loved you.” He strides back and forth, back and forth, his hand rubbing his forehead.
I stand in front of him, grab his forearms, but he rips them away. “You were in love with me? Nothing’s changed. I’m still me.” I need him to understand, to see why I did this. He knows what it’s like to be pressured into being something you’re not. He gets me, even if he doesn’t realize it.
He walks away again, turns his back on me, then comes sto
rming back. “No secrets. That’s what we said. I was willing to give up my family and my friends for you and you lied to me.”
“I was in too deep, you get that right? I was supposed to come here, live in an apartment and work for a magazine. None of this was supposed to happen. I just wanted to be the journalist I’d worked so hard to be. I wanted to take photos of local events and write articles about churches and wineries. I couldn’t do any of that if you all knew who I was.”
“Why?” If only he knew the millions of times I’ve asked myself that very question. Every cutting remark from Becky. Every time I’ve been treated like a second-class citizen. I am that person though, I’m not the title. I’m just Caitlyn.
“I’m supposed to have a security detail, chauffeurs, advisors. You know what it’s like you live in this world too. Kidnapping, robbery. Then there’s the paparazzi. This is not the life I was brought up in, in fact up until this year, it wasn’t even a life I knew I was going to have.” See my point of view. Understand.
Hank is running his hands through his hair, striding backward and forwards, his face getting redder and redder. I’ve never seen him so angry.
I’m frantic. I’m losing him. All my fears about telling him the truth are coming true, and I can’t do anything about it. I try to grab his arm again, to make some kind of physical contact. I need his warmth, his protection. He makes me feel safe and I need that now more than ever.
“But you could have told me, right? What were you going to do, just pretend for the rest of your life that you aren’t the Princess of fucking Switzerland?”
“Mendava.” I say. Tears well up in my eyes. I drop my arms, stop trying to make him stay. He’s going to leave me. “But it’s just a title on a piece of paper.”
“Were you just going to let us live off of beans and rice when you’ve got enough money in the bank to buy the whole fucking island?”
“I told you I had savings, we haven’t gone without. I saw something in you. Kindred spirits, remember? I saw the same person.” Somebody from privilege, who could have gone into the family business, but instead, chose to do what made them happy. “That’s what made me fall in love with you. You’re just like me. I was going to tell you … I tried.”
The Billionaire & the Princess Page 16
