by Carlyn Cade
And standing in front of her wasn’t Mark Bennett as Dr. Dean Fulton who, she knew, would have entered her imagination a short time later. Instead, a real live prince stood there looking at her intently, his solemn eyes filled with concern.
“I’m sorry, it gets rather emotional sometimes when you manage to connect with your character,” she said. “I just went back in time to the war and became the woman I’ll be playing.”
“Here.” Clay pulled a neatly folded hankie out of his jacket pocket. “Let me wipe those tears away.”
♥♥
The rest of the morning was spent quietly, walking slowly and talking softly as they continued their tour of London. They hopped onto a red, double-decker bus and sat on the top level. Clay had been right when he said a limo was no way to see London. What could be better than what they were experiencing together now? Nothing, was the easy answer to that question. And he was a perfect tour host, filling her in as they rode to their next spot – Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament.
They visited the museums at the Tower of London. They stood intimately close while Clay explained the history of the crown jewels. The beauty of their exquisiteness dazzled her.
“You’d look great in any one of these,” Clay said. “Which one do you like the best?”
She pointed to a sparkling, ruby necklace with matching earrings.
He laughed. “I should have known you’d pick red.” He took her hand. “Come on, we still have more to see.”
Busy sightseeing, the day passed quickly. The night scurried away as swiftly as Cinderella’s ball, but rather than being midnight, it was more like three a.m.
“I thought we’d go on a longer walking tour tomorrow,” Clay suggested, as they said their good-byes at her hotel room door. “If you have the proper shoes, that is. You set the time, as long as it’s morning.”
Stacia grinned. “I do need a few hours’ sleep, but ten o’clock is fine. And I do have the right shoes.”
Clay tilted her chin up toward his face with his finger. He gently brushed her lips with his. “Ten it is, then. Sleep fast.”
♥♥
The next morning, Stacia ordered breakfast from room service. When the waiter pushed the table of food into her room, a white orchid lay next to her plate. The hotel had also included a London morning paper, folded neatly alongside the elegant silver plate-covers blanketing her meal.
“May I serve your food, Miss Saunders?” the waiter asked.
“Thank you, but no.” She planned to have a leisurely breakfast, and she didn’t think he wanted to stand around waiting while she relaxed and took her time. After the waiter left, she wandered around her suite, stretching and yawning. Even though she hadn’t had much sleep, she felt rested and happy. But then who wouldn’t feel great with the fabulous day and evening she’d had yesterday? And she could look forward to more of the same today.
She picked up the newspaper and lay back against the sofa cushions. One second later, she bolted up and began pacing the floor. There in her hands and glaring up at her was the headline, LONDON AFFAIR. Under the words was a photo of Clay and her as he wiped her tears from her eyes. Its caption read, A LOVERS’ QUARREL? Next to that picture was another one of the two of them standing intimately together admiring the crown jewels, and it read, ENGAGED? How did the paparazzi in Europe recognize them? She’d had her hair tucked inside her floppy black hat and had sunglasses on as much as she could during the day. How did they even know who Clay was? He didn’t have a highly-recognizable face, but she guessed her brother had been right when he said Clay would be known all over the world after the Hollywood party.
Is the sexy red-headed screen star of the remake of the soon-to-be-filmed, London Affair, having her own little London affair with one of the richest princes in the world, Prince Clayton Alexander who now resides in Switzerland? Sources say actress Stacia Saunders and the prince met in Hollywood at the Caviar-On-Ice Extravaganza a mere week ago and fell in love at first glance, so much so, they planned a rendezvous in London. An anonymous insider claims the prince even carved an ice sculpture of her at his recent Harrods’ Ice-On-Ice exhibit, complete with flaming red hair. Is an elopement possible?
Stacia was furious. Leave it to the paparazzi to get the facts all messed up with lies. She began to pace the floor again. She couldn’t even go on an innocent day of sightseeing without the media making assumptions she would marry. She had to do something, but what? Why should she give up another day of fun just because of some insensitive photographers? An idea formed in her mind. She walked over to her telephone and called the women’s apparel store downstairs and asked if they had any wigs. They did, and she ordered a short, brunette one and a new hat sent to her room. Along with that, she asked for a pair of plain eyeglasses and a flannel shirt to go with the jeans she’d brought with her. Ten minutes later, her purchases were delivered and when Clay knocked on the door, Miss American Tourist answered, complete with freckle dots drawn on her nose and cheeks with her brown eyebrow pencil.
“Do I have the right room?” he asked, a puzzled expression crossing his face. “I’m here to pick up Miss Saunders.”
“Miss Saunders will be out shortly. Would you sit on the couch please and wait?”
Clay did as instructed. When he sat down, Stacia threw her arms up in the air, wiggled her butt in a victory dance and squealed out, “Yes!” She had fooled him! She took off her glasses and the wig and shook her hair free. “It’s me,” she said. “Did you see this?” She handed him the newspaper.
He laughed.
She didn’t think it was funny. “Don’t you care about your privacy at all?” she questioned him.
“I’ve had privacy all my life. I’m enjoying these fifteen minutes of fame. As long as it doesn’t harm anyone, what difference does it make?”
“But they’ve twisted the truth into lies, and they’re harming my reputation. They have me sleeping with you, and I haven’t slept with anyone in my life.” She realized what she’d admitted a split-second later and covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh, I didn’t mean to say that, I’m just so angry.”
“The way I figure it, we can do one of three things. We could ignore it and go about our business of having fun. Not see each other again...which isn’t even an option to me. Or hide out in your hotel room, and that might lead to its own dangerous explorations. Or...” A sudden smile appeared. “The fourth choice might be that I could make an honest woman out of you. We could elope.”
Whoa! Clay had ignored her little confession and didn’t say a word about it. But it wasn’t enough. She was still incensed, and he treated it all so casually, even about eloping. “They’re saying we’re having an affair, and you treat it as a joke?” She raced around the room. “I can tell you haven’t had much experience with the paparazzi. Well, neither have I – so far anyway, however, I’ve been warned about them.” She shook her hands in rhythm with each frantic word. “But,” she exclaimed, “what… do… you… think… my… parents… my friends...” Stacia spread her arms far apart, palms up for accent, before continuing, “Everyone for that matter will assume the worst.”
“Can’t you call the people who are important to you and tell them not to believe any gossip they hear?”
“You don’t understand. It’s difficult to live some things down. I’ve worked hard trying to make the right choices in my career. Now, they’ll say I’m just some...” Her mind stumbled around searching for the right words. “Bimbo floozy,” she hurled out.
“Come on, Stacia, it’s not that bad.” Clay got up and began pacing next to her. “When I said I wanted to walk today, I didn’t mean this.” He motioned to the room with his hands and grinned at her.
His remark, combined with his grin, caused her anger to subside as quickly as if he had waved a magic wand. “Okay, maybe I am over-reacting a little,” she conceded.
“Then let’s figure out what we want to do today. Do we stay here or venture out into the world of the paparazzi?”
<
br /> “We’ll go, providing we go out the back door of the hotel.”
“And...”
“I wear my disguise, and you wear this with sunglasses.” She handed him her Green Bay Packers’ cap.
“Frontwards or backwards?” he asked.
“Which do you like?”
“I’d better stick with frontwards, so it covers my face.” He put the cap on and pulled it low over his face. “There, how do I look? Do you have one of those flannel shirts like yours for me too?” He laughed. “It’s okay, I’ll make do with this. You know what? I’ve never worn a baseball cap before.”
“What a deprived life you’ve led,” she said as they walked out the door.
“Are you sure you want to walk?” Clay asked on the way down the elevator. “I could get a limo. We’d have more privacy that way.”
“No.” She shook her head. “We won’t let them dictate what we do.”
♥♥
They snuck out the back door, and when Stacia scanned the area, she didn’t see any cameras aimed at them. They walked fast and covered the Hyde Park area, stopping to snack on various treats and to listen to the men and women talking in Speakers’ Corner. They continued to walk and sightsee until they were both exhausted.
“Maybe we should call it a day and go back to my hotel. We could order room service and just relax,” Stacia suggested.
“After I’ve gotten used to this baseball cap, I have to take it off?” A smile crept across his face.
“How about if I give it to you?”
“I’d be honored to accept your gift.” He took a few steps past her, turned around and made a sweeping bow in front of her.
“I hope there were no cameras around to capture that Kodak moment,” she teased, half-joking and half-serious.
They reached the front door of the hotel safely, Stacia hoped. Soon they were in her suite. They both kicked off their shoes and sat on the sofa next to each other with their feet propped up on the coffee table.
“Shall I call room service?” she asked.
“Maybe later, unless you want something now.”
She shook her head.
“Tell me, Stacia, how did you get started in the movie business?”
She cocked her head sideways and looked up at him. “Do you want my whole life story?”
“I have plenty of time to listen to it.”
“Well, I was born…” She stopped and laughed. “I think the short version will do. I grew up on a farm in Wisconsin with my parents and my older brother, Ryan. When I was a teenager, my mother took me to Minneapolis – that’s a big city close to my home. Some man came up to us in a mall there and asked if I’d be interested in modeling. My mother said no, but he gave us his card anyway. It sounded glamorous to me, being a teenager. So after a few days of begging and pleading, my mother consented to let me try. I did and was pretty successful, but I had this deep longing inside me that I didn’t understand. Modeling made me discover that I liked performing in front of an audience, but something kept nagging at me, a thought that wouldn’t go away – I wanted to be more. Finally, I knew – I wanted to be an actress. When I graduated from high school, my brother graduated from college. I talked to him about my idea, knowing my parents would not consent unless my brother cooperated. He said he would, and between the both of us, we convinced my parents that he’d take care of me if we went to Hollywood, so I could try to become an actress. Are you tired of my story yet?”
“Nope.”
“Well, against all odds, I met a Hollywood agent called Hal Montgomery. He took me on, and the rest, as they don’t seem to get tired of saying, is history. Now it’s your turn.”
“I’ve led a boring life. My parents are great, but they sheltered me from everything.” He shrugged. “It turned out fine though, because they let me focus on my art. I studied painting and sculpturing, graduated and discovered ice sculpturing and fell in love with it. So, here I am putting on my little…” He placed his thumb and forefinger close together to show a small space. “…Ice shows around the world and enjoying myself immensely.”
“I wouldn’t call them little. You’re too modest. I’ve never seen talent like yours, and I’ve read and studied enough about art and even worked a couple summers at the art museum in Minneapolis. So I know I’m right about you.”
They continued talking until the outside turned dark, and the lights of London blazed on. It was then that Stacia noticed the little red light blinking on her hotel phone.
“Guess I have a message,” she said. “Do you mind if I check it out? It might be important.”
She called the hotel’s message center and listened to Jamie’s frantic-sounding voice. “Stacia, I couldn’t get you on your cell, so I decided to call you on the hotel phone also. Call me, please. You have forty-four messages, and I don’t know what to tell people. There’s a media circus here about you and the prince. Every newspaper, news channel and magazine in America, and everywhere else, has called to get an exclusive story. You aren’t engaged, are you?”
Stacia grabbed her cell and checked her messages.
First came Ryan’s voice. “Hey, Stace, what’s going on over there with that prince guy? It’s all over the news here. Call me.”
Next she heard Hal’s voice. “Call me. Why does an agent have to be the last to know? When’s the wedding?” He chuckled at the end of his message.
And another. “Sweetheart, I know not to believe gossip,” her mother’s voice said, “but please call me and tell me what to believe. I love you. My little girl and a prince, just imagine.”
Enough of this, Stacia decided. She tapped the off button and turned toward Clay.
“Was it important?” he asked.
She didn’t know how to answer him, so she decided he might as well know the truth, even if it was embarrassing to admit it. “Evidently, everyone in America and everywhere else, I guess, thinks we’re in love. They’ve contacted my assistant, and they all want an exclusive story. See, I wasn’t wrong with my first instinct this morning.” She got up and paced the floor. “Even my mother called.”
“Does your dad own a shotgun?”
“What?”
“Well, maybe with all the gossip, he might want a shotgun wedding.”
Stacia had to smile at that idea. It was enough to break the tension and stress gathered inside her. “Don’t laugh,” she said. “There are two people in this. Wait till you hear your messages.”
“I’m not afraid,” he said. He pulled out his phone and put it on “speaker.” Then he checked his messages. He propped his feet up and stuck his hands behind his head, and they both listened.
“Hey, Clay, I’m glad you’re having fun in old London town. Call me and let me know what you’re doing.”
“That’s one of my buddies. I told you there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Next, a woman’s voice spoke. “What is happening in London, Clayton Alexander?”
“My mother,” he interjected.
“I’ve warned you about things like this happening,” the recorded voice continued. “What do you know about this actress? If you’re serious about her, bring her to SwissDen. Or even if you’re not serious about her, bring her home anyway. And soon please, your father just said.” Clay’s face turned red. He clicked off the speaker button and the phone. “All right,” he admitted. “I see what you mean.”
“It doesn’t feel too good when you lose your privacy, does it? I guess I’ll never get used to it.”
“I hope my few minutes of fame are over with now.”
“Don’t count on it,” Stacia said.
♥♥
“Mother, what’s going on?” Clay asked when he returned to his hotel later that evening. “Why do you and Dad want me to bring Stacia home?”
“We’ve protected you all your life, son. For your own sake and the sake of your future reign, you must be careful of the women you choose to be with. If you can’t be, then you’ll need some guidance from us.”
>
“But we’re hardly serious. I only just met her in California, and the way we met...” Clay chuckled as he remembered how they met. “Could hardly be called romantic.”
“We agreed to certain stipulations when we allowed you to show your sculptures at private parties, and one of those conditions was you were not to get involved with any woman unless we had her checked out first and approved of her. You must not forget you’re being groomed to be king. There’s much more at stake here than love. There’s the crown you will be wearing someday, and you must learn, above everything else, to rule wisely. What you want personally for yourself and what is best for the crown are two separate and individual things.”
“Mother, you’ve uttered those words to me since before I even understood what they meant. I am a grown man now, and the world has changed a great deal since I was a boy. Things that were frowned upon back then are accepted now. Look at the difference between the days of King Edward and Wally Simpson and today with Prince Charles and Camilla.” Clay kicked off his shoes and bent over to pry off his socks.
“The underlying factors are still the same. Women want men who have money. And you being the person you are – young, handsome, charming and on top of all that being rich and a king one day, makes you one of the most lucrative bachelors in the world. And, obviously you have added one more thing to your resume – you are now a celebrity.”
“And how does being in love fit into your scenario? I know you married my father because you loved him, and he married you for the same reason. Why shouldn’t I be entitled to that also?” Clay unbuttoned his shirt and settled back into the comfort of the room’s plush couch.
“I guess your father and I were lucky because we fell in love. But there is one huge difference between you and this Stacia girl and your father and me. Both of us have royalty running through our veins. You have the same blueblood running through yours. The woman’s bloodline you choose must match yours.”
