by Imani King
The spoon drops from my hand landing on the couch with a thwap and dropping ice cream across it. Wide-eyed I look at Eva and shake my head.
“I think… I might… I think I love him.”
Eva smiles and nods. “Yeah?” she asks, but it’s clear from her face and tone this is what she wanted me to think about.
“Oh shit,” I say, my mind blank, my heart racing like a thundering race horse, a cold sweat forming on my back and arms.
“Yeah?” she prods again letting me work it out for myself.
Shaking my head, I try to say things, but the thoughts and feelings in my head and heart are too big for words. A storm of emotions. I’m whipped from one side to another as they war within me. I can’t love him. I can’t, now it’s more impossible than before. I thought he was a bad boy and I didn’t think it would last. I didn’t think I could trust him for that alone but now this? He’s a prince. I’m a princess? What do I know about being a princess? And we were married by accident, in secret. The ramifications of that could be… I don’t know what they could be.
“This is bad,” I say at last.
“Why?” She shakes her head, obvious in her surprise at my answer. “Who doesn’t want to be a princess?”
“That’s just it. I’m not a princess. I’m a secret fling! I’m a scandal, not the woman he fell in love with then courted. What customs have been broken? I would have to be accepted by not only his family but his entire country. That I don’t even know where it is.”
“Ooohh, you’re the bad girl now!” Eva laughs, holding up her glass in salute to me.
“You’re terrible, Eva.”
“Hey, I’m not the secret princess.”
“Agh, I can’t let anyone find out about this. I don’t want my name in the papers, dragged through the mud. What would my parents say?”
“It might be too late for that already,” she says. “You said Roger knows. You think he’s going to keep quiet about it?”
“If he doesn’t I’ll…” I trail off.
I’ll do what? Tell everyone he cheated on me? And that’s going to compare to this how?
“Cross that bridge when you get there,” she says.
“Yeah,” I agree.
“So what are you going to do?”
“There’s nothing I can do. We have to go through with the divorce, but by law, I have to live with him for a year.”
“That’s definitely a conundrum,” she says.
“The more we’re together the more likely it is that someone will put two and two together,” I try talking it out. “But I have to appear to be living with him, legally.”
Eva nods as my mind fills with all the negative things that could happen. My picture and name spread through tabloids around the world. The talk of dozens of internet sites. How the hell do I do this?
“What if you just stay married?”
“We can’t,” I say.
“Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”
“His entire country could rebel for all I know. Besides, he lied to me.”
“Sure. It was more lying by omission. And he didn’t cheat on you like Roger did. No matter his bad boy image he’s been faithful to you. Hell, he moved to Scotland for you. I can’t imagine that was easy for him.”
“You’re not making this easier,” I say.
“Oh, was I supposed to?” She grins.
I roll my eyes and groan.
“Thanks. Friends like you and all that.”
“No problem, any time you need the devil on your shoulder, just call.”
“Yeah, well I guess I shouldn’t forget you got me into this in the first place.”
“Me?” she feigns shock one hand to her chest, eyes wide.
“You’re terrible. Seriously, now, I have to figure this out.”
“Right, serious,” she agrees.
“I’ll change my mailing address to his apartment, that should do it right?”
“I don’t know if that’s enough. You said there’s a doorman. If they don’t ever see you there, it could disprove the theory you’re living together.”
“Damn it you’re right.”
“How about weekends?”
“What do you mean?”
“Stay there on weekends, only. You can set whatever rules you want for it with him, though I’d certainly be using that hot body if it were me,” she grins evilly.
“You’re terrible,” I reply.
“What? He’s hot, and you know it. You can’t tell me the sex doesn’t ring your bell.”
My cheeks are burning red hot as I try to keep the subject on the matter to hand.
“That might work.”
“The sexy weekend plan?”
“We are not calling it that,” I reply.
“Aww. It’s really got a nice ring to it, I think.” She winks at me, and I roll my eyes. “When are you going to tell him?” she continues.
“He can wait. I’ll tell him this weekend. Let him stew in his own juices for a while.”
“What about Roger?” she asks.
“What about him? He made his bed too, he can lie in it with whatever skank he wants. I’m done with him.”
“Good,” she says. “So, to a sexy weekend for the rest of the year then on with the rest of our stunning, amazing lives!”
She raises her glass and reluctantly I clink mine to hers. This is for the best. Keep telling yourself that girl. It’s the best thing, sure. I’ll find someone else, someday. Someone who makes me feel like Kian does.
When I’m old I can tell my grandkids about the year I was Princess of Sorenia.
Or if I give him a chance now, maybe there’s something more that could come of us. Who knows? People change, don’t they?
I go to bed and lie there, looking up at the ceiling and thinking about the possibility of a life with Kian. A real one.
Just as I start to drift off to sleep, my phone lights up.
Text messages. Emails.
I pick up my phone and scroll through the bright screen until I’m wide awake, and there’s no possibility of my getting back to sleep anytime soon.
And what in the hell, I think, is this?
CHAPTER TWENTY
The apartment is quiet. Too damn quiet.
Lying on the couch staring at the ceiling, I wait. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. That’s a lie. I know what I’m waiting for, and it’s not going to happen. I’m waiting for her to walk in the door. Dammit.
“Get up, Kian,” I order myself.
The room is drab, lifeless. It doesn’t matter how pretty it is. There’s not point to any of it without her. An urge to smash everything I can see rises, but I push it down. That’s childish and petty. I’m better than that. I had the spare bedroom turned into a workout room, and that’s a better option.
Ripping my shirt off as I walk in, I let it drop to the floor then go over to the heavy bag. I punch, hitting it with a dull thud. It barely moves, so I set my stance and go to work, pounding it over and over until it’s swaying with each solid punch I land. My hands throb with each hit. The pain focuses my attention. Nothing but me and the bag. Frustration, anger, upset all pour into the bag to be beaten. Sweat pours off of me. I keep hitting.
Finally, breathless and covered in sweat, I stop. Grabbing the heavy bag, I stop its swing then grab a nearby towel and wipe off the sweat. Tossing the towel, I head for a shower. As I pass down the hall, the bedroom door is open. I stop in the doorway and stare at the bed where we last made love.
Walking closer to the bed, I smell her scent. Beautiful, enticing, and gone. Tearing myself away I go to the shower. The pulsing of the hot water pouring across me washes away the sweat but does nothing to stop the whirl of my thoughts. I can’t stop thinking about her. An empty ache in my core pulses with each thought of how much I miss her.
I pour myself a glass of juice then walk around the apartment, but every corner of it reminds me of her. We were here for a single night, and already, it’s her
s. I planned it that way, which doesn’t help. This place contains everything I saw she liked during our time together in Gibraltar. Each moment when I saw her eyes light up, every casual comment, I remember them all. I used each of them to decorate this place and make it perfect for her.
What am I going to do? I could go back to Sorenia. Return to my old life, chase women, follow the party circuits, make appearances and find pleasure but why? What is the point to any of that? My life is empty without her. There is no appeal in a return to what I was doing. So what do I do now?
As second in line, I’m a backup, also known as pointless in this day and age. Unless something horrible was to happen to Aidan, I serve no purpose in my family. They want to use me for a political advantage, marry me to someone else of royal blood like they are Aidan. Strengthen ties, that’s my purpose for them. I don’t want that, though. I want her.
“So what are you going to do?” I ask the empty room.
I have a business degree that I’ve never used and started a master’s program before I got caught up in the lifestyle. What if I finish that? If I was to do it here, in Scotland, maybe Abby and I could continue to see each other? I might be able to wear her down, make her mine. It’s work, but so what? She’s worth it.
I grab my laptop and wait for it to boot up. Mother and Father will love this. I’m finishing something I started—that should play well. They don’t need to know about the marriage and the fact I’m trying to win over a non-royal and an American at that. Father might have a heart attack if he found out. Speed things up for Aidan I guess.
After the browser loads, I type into the search looking for graduate colleges. The messenger in the corner chimes and flashes then it goes nuts. Chiming over and over with alerts.
“What?” I growl clicking the flashing icon. “Shit. Son of a bitch!”
Alert after alert. They know, the papers have found out about Abby and me. I follow the links and find grainy photos of the two of us together. Dozens of them. Some are from Gibraltar, but there are just as many of us here including several of the confrontation with Roger. I follow a link to one of the raunchier tabloids. They have a full video of Roger and I squaring off.
American Gold Digger Gets Claws into Sorenian Prince Kian!
The headline screams. An article goes along with it, going into great detail with their theory that Abby is after my title and money. They’re dragging her name through the mud. Site after site has the story including major news outlets. There is no doubt in my mind that Mother and Father. Worse, Abby knows about all of this too—there’s no way she’d be able to escape this much news. She’s not ready to deal with this. I’ve managed to escape most of this by keeping a low profile and avoiding pictures—but Abby made me sloppy. I wasn’t careful. This was my fault. She doesn’t deserve this.
How do I fix this? Fear grips my guts in a tight embrace. This is it. The final straw. I’m going to lose her, and it’s not going to matter what I do. These assholes who get their jollies digging into my life are going to cost me the woman I love.
I love. Leaning back on the couch it hits me. I love her. I set the computer down on the coffee table then stand up and pace the room. I love her. This, this is what love feels like. I don’t want to imagine my life without her. I don’t think I’m going to have a choice, but I don’t want it. Every part of me rejects the idea of a future without her in it.
This apartment is just as empty as my future if she’s not in it. What’s the point of any of it? The urge to smash things returns. There has to be a way to fix this. To make her mine, prove to her I’m worth the trouble. How? How do I fix this?
Skype sounds, so I look to see who’s calling. It’s Aidan—shit. Just what I don’t need right now. I could ignore him. I should ignore him, but maybe he can help me get ahead of this. I answer the call.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Aidan says the moment the call connects. “You were supposed to get a divorce and get the hell out of Scotland, not start a tabloid media frenzy.”
“I just saw,” I say. There’s a tightness in my chest I’ve rarely experienced before. True, unbending regret.
“It’s been out for hours. Father is livid and putting me through the ringer. He wants to know if the marriage was real.”
“Figures,” I say. “That would be his reaction.”
“You think? You need to fix this, now, Kian.” His voice is harsh, but there’s a part of him that’s hurting, too. Like he wishes it could be him.
“Got any bright ideas?” I groan into the phone.
“Same one I told at the first, push the divorce, fast.”
“I can’t,” I say.
“What the hell is wrong with you? You’re going to ruin her life. They’re already dragging her through the mud.”
“Aidan, I love her,” I say.
“Shit,” Aidan says. He sighs.
“Yeah,” I say.
“So now what?”
“I have to go, I need to talk to her, get to her before she sees this shit. Try to control it, somehow.”
“Good luck,” he says and ends the call.
Good luck. Shit, yeah, I’m going to need a lot more than luck. A miracle might make it work. No, there has to be a way. I have to make her see the truth. I dress as fast as I can then race out onto the street and try to wave down a cab. There isn’t one in sight, of course, so I start running.
My thoughts spin in an unending circle as I run pushing myself to faster through the streets of Glasgow. People cry out as I dodge through a crowd, but I don’t care. I have to get to her. I have to head this off. I can’t let this be it. If I can just get to her before she sees it or hears, I can control it, somehow.
My feet pound the pavement as I push. Faster, dammit. I’m trying to outrun the speed of information in an age where information is instantaneous, but I don’t care. I have to win. I have to get to her. She has to see that we belong together. It doesn’t matter what they say, who stands against us, she and I are meant for each other.
I reach her apartment and burst through the door then up the stairs. I pound on her door, breathless, my lungs and legs burning with exertion. Be home, please be home. What if she’s at school? No, she has to be here. The lock turns and relief floods through me. The door opens, slowly, I’m leaning against the wall panting.
It’s on her face. I know it as soon as I see her. She’s been crying, tears stain her cheeks, she’s pale, her skin has a gray tone. She knows.
“Abby,” I pant.
“Just go,” she says her voice tight with more tears to be shed.
“No, Abby. You have to listen to me. Please, you have to believe me.”
“Why? Why do I have to believe you? I was ready to give you a chance—and then, and then—this—all of this—”
“Because I’m telling you the truth,” I say desperate.
“Oh you mean like when you told me who you really are?” she asks anger turning her cheeks bright red.
“I did that for you,” I say. “I wanted you to know the real me.”
“For me? Are you really so self-centered that you believe that? You’re unbelievable.”
“No, I wanted to protect you,” I say.
“You wanted to protect yourself,” she barks. “I was right about you from the first, you and your bad boy attitude, it’s really all about you isn’t it? You know what they’re calling me. They’re calling me a gold digger—and much, much worse. Is that what you think of me? Or is it just what your country thinks of me?”
“No, Abby, please, just let me come in. Let’s talk about this,” I say.
“No, there’s nothing to talk about.”
“Abby—”
“I’ll have you know I was about to come find you. To give us a chance for real. But I got sent home from school today because of the paparazzi! You know that? There were so many cameras following me around trying to get a candid shot that they asked me to go home until this settles down. You’ve ruined my life!”
/> “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Of course you didn’t!” she screams, throwing the door wide and pushing me backwards. “It’s just another day to you. What does it matter to you if you got your name in the papers? It doesn’t affect you in any way that matters. It’s my life that’s being completely torn apart. Read the papers—you’re the victim of my feminine wiles!”
“I never said that,” I say. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I promise you.”
“Does it matter? It’s in print. The world believes it because it’s a good story. And none of this would have happened if you were honest with me in the first place. Or if you gave a single thought to how coming here would affect me. Or how it would stir up the media.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, caving in.
“It’s fine, it doesn’t matter anymore,” she says dropping her hands to her side.
“I can fix this,” I say.
“How? What could you possibly do now?”
I shake my head unable to answer because I don’t have one. I struggle to find something to say. Something that will fix this, but I’m blank.
“I…”
“Yeah, exactly. There’s no fixing this,” she says walking back into her apartment. “Go home, Kian.”
“Abby, I want to make this right,” I say.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve already talked to your family,” she says her shoulders slumping.
The air is knocked out of me just like I took a hit to the gut. The blood drains from my head leaving me light-headed.
“Who did you talk to?” I ask. I’m going to kill Aidan if he called her first.
“Your father,” she answers.
I blink several times. Father called her? Personally?
“You’re kidding me,” I say.
“No. He told me that if I will come to Sorenia and sign the papers, the divorce can be put through immediately,” she says.
“No, I checked. It wouldn’t—”
“He’s the king!” she yells. “He said he’d make it go. He also offered me a lot of money, in case you were wondering.”
