The Anti-Cinderella

by Tawdra Kandle

  I closed my eyes and snuggled down against my pillow, feeling the tension fall away. “I love you, Nicky. So much.” Clearing my throat, I added, “And, um, maybe now I am in the mood for a little bit of long-distance nookie. If you were interested, I mean.”

  “Ky, when it comes to you, I’m always interested.” His voice lowered. “And I happen to know that any kind of sex is a terrific stress reliever. We’d be wrong not to do it under these circumstances.”

  “If we must, we must.” I giggled. “Should I close my eyes and think of England?”

  “Only if England is what makes you hot and looks like me, baby.”

  I gave a little hum of anticipation. “Nicky? I can’t wait to be in London with you.”

  “Neither can I. Now, tell me what you’re wearing . . . and let me help you get rid of some of that tension.”

  By the time I fell asleep forty minutes later, the phone on the pillow next to my head, I was very relaxed.

  GROWING UP, I’D TRAVELED QUITE a bit with my grandparents, but only within the borders of the USA. Honey and Handsome had no objection to international travel, but they were adamant that their grandchildren had to explore and know their own country before venturing out to the wider world. That was why all of us—three generations of Duncans—had spent weeks in their custom RV on road trips, driving to national parks and sites of historical importance during summers and school breaks.

  My parents had offered me a trip to Europe for my high school graduation gift, but I’d asked for help buying a car instead, and they’d readily agreed. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to travel more, but a vehicle felt like a more practical choice.

  This was why, when my plane touched down at Heathrow on a gray November day, it was the first time I’d set foot on a continent that was not my own. Now that I considered it, Great Britain wasn’t a continent at all—it was an island, so technically, I was still a European virgin.

  I was also jittery. I hadn’t been able to sleep the night before my trip, so I’d consumed so much coffee on the way to the airport and during the flight that I’d lost count of how many cups I’d drunk. The caffeine buzz made it tough for me to focus on the task at hand—which was getting from the plane to the driver who was meeting me just beyond customs and security. Nicky had texted me a picture of the man, because clearly he couldn’t hold up a sign with my name—that would’ve been gimme to the press, who were already in a frenzy about this trip.

  We hadn’t been able to cloak my flight this time, and someone on his side of the Atlantic had let it leak that I was going to be a visitor at Kensington Palace. The media presence at my house had quadrupled since that story had broken, and I cringed as they yelled their obnoxious questions at me every day.

  “Are we getting a ring, Kyra? Is this trip an important one?”

  “Will you confront Prince Nicholas about the Lady Sylla rumors, Kyra? Is that why you’re going over?”

  “Is a meeting with Her Majesty on the schedule, Kyra? Are you going over to be approved?”

  I’d thought I’d reached a place with the reporters where I could ignore their more incendiary questions and simply play along where I was able to give bland, innocuous answers. But they’d stepped up their game now, and I found myself nauseated each morning before I left the house, putting off my exit until the last possible moment.

  And then the day before I’d left, I’d lost my cool altogether. The question yelled had been one I’d heard all week, but for some reason, it had pushed me over the edge.

  “Will you just mind your own goddamn business?” I’d exploded, turning with my hands on my hips. “Please, just go away and leave me alone. Just . . . go.”

  For one solid moment, they’d all gone silent, probably shocked that I’d yelled. And then, like cockroaches, they’d surged forward, coming back even stronger. I’d fled to the relative safety of my car, and after class, I’d snuck to Honey and Handsome’s house, where I could find a little peace and quiet. Shelby had been kind enough to drive my already packed suitcase to me at my grandparents’ home, and I’d left from there the next morning. It felt like I’d chickened out, but at this point, I didn’t much care.

  The flight had been calm and uneventful, even though I’d caught more than one person casting speculative glances my way. On the way to customs, I tried to blend in with the crowd, convincing myself that over here, the press wasn’t going to care about me. Not when they had real celebrities and the royal family . . . I meant nothing here in the UK.

  That delusion was shattered the moment I stepped beyond security. I was suddenly surrounded by people and cameras, and for the first time, a wave of flashes went off within inches in my face. Up until now, reporters and photographers had only harassed me outside, but here in the airport, they had all to use the flash. I hadn’t expected it, and I was so blinded that I was afraid to move.

  “Kyra! Kyra! Over here, love! Kyra!”

  I could hear my own name and a few other random words that rose above the cacophony. Engagement. Prince. Queen. Family. Move in.

  Panic paralyzed me. I wanted to cover my face and my ears, to curl up into a ball and hide, but I could only imagine that if I did that, they’d trample me and tear me to bits. I was terrified.

  “Here, get out of the way. Move, move. Stay back. Stay back, now.” A warm hand gripped my arm, and I glanced up into the face of the man connected to it, recognizing him as the driver Nicky had sent for me. He smiled and patted my hand. “Don’t worry, miss. I have you now. Let me show you to the car.”

  Numbly, I let him lead me forward until we reached a steel gray sedan with dark windows. He opened the door to the backseat and handed me in, and as I sat, my carry-on bag, slung over my shoulder, bumped against my hip.

  “Oh!” I stopped him from closing the door. “My luggage. I have to get my luggage.”

  “I’ve got it handled, miss. Do you have the claim tickets?” He smiled reassuringly.

  “Right here. There are two of them, and they’re both green. They match. About so big.” I held out my hands to demonstrate the size, but my new friend only nodded.

  “Got it. No worries. You just settle down in here, and don’t open the door for anyone, all right? Even if they knock on the window—and they will. Just sit tight. There’s bottled water in the center compartment if you’d like some. I’ll just grab your bags and then we’ll be on our way.”

  He slammed the door, and I slumped back against the cool leather seats, trying to calm my racing heart. Adrenaline surged through my veins. That had been . . . frightening. Up until today, I’d had a mixed bag of feelings about the press, but most of those feelings were benign annoyance. I didn’t like them following me, and I didn’t like that they took unflattering pictures of me, and I hated that they complicated my life and Shelby’s, too. Still, I’d understood that the reporters had a job to do, even if I found it distasteful. I’d even made friends with a few, especially with Sophie Kent, who was one of the most consistently present members of the media. She was always polite, even when she asked intrusive questions.

  But I’d never been afraid of them. I’d never feared for my safety when I navigated through them between my front door and my car. It had felt like a sort of game between good-natured competitors . . . until today. Today, I’d felt as though those reporters in the airport would’ve cheerfully ripped me to pieces, if it meant they got an exclusive scoop. I cringed, thinking of what the resulting pictures were likely to be. So much for all of my practiced smiles with my head held high.

  Even now, as the driver had warned, I could hear them just outside the car, knocking on the windows and pounding the roof. I concentrated on some deep breaths and on the idea that in just a little bit, I’d be with Nicky.

  The popping of the trunk at the back of the car made me jump, but when I peered out, I saw it was only the driver loading my suitcases. He was speaking to the reporters, too; he wasn’t being loud or threatening, but the strength in his voice apparently did the tri
ck, since they all began to back away.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat and closed the door, turning his head to smile at me. “All right then, miss—we’re all set. Are you ready? Feeling okay back there?”

  I cleared my throat. “Yes, thanks. I—don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come along when you did. They just surrounded me, and I couldn’t move.”

  “Pack of vultures,” he remarked cheerfully. “Just doing their jobs, I guess, but they can get out of hand if you’re not stern with them from the start. But don’t worry, you won’t have to deal with them once we’re inside KP.” He glanced in his mirror and slowly eased away from the curb. “By the way, I’m Harold. I’ll be driving you while you’re here in London. I hope you had a pleasant flight.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Harold. I’m Kyra.” I rested my head against the back of the seat. “The flight was fine. And now that I’m in the car, I’m all right. Thanks again for saving me.”

  “Part of the job. Sit back now and enjoy the ride. The prince tells me this is your first time in England?”

  “It is.” I gazed out the window, eager to see anything that might remind me how far away from home I was. Mostly, I realized, things looked the same, aside from the fact that many of the cars were different and drove on the opposite side of the road. “How long is the trip from the airport to Kensington Palace? Will we pass anything special?”

  Harold considered. “Hmm. It’s about thirty minutes, give or take, and it’s mostly just roads between here and there. But you’ll have plenty of time to see some of the city while you’re here, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, of course.” I willed myself to relax, fighting off a mix of travel exhaustion, caffeine-induced nerves and post-terror recovery. Outside the tinted window, a new world was flying by, and I wanted to take it all in, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to close my eyes for just a moment . . .

  Harold coughed loudly, rousing me from my dozing as the car slowed. We were underneath a portico, and when I craned my head to look around, I saw high walls and lots of green.

  “Welcome to Kensington Palace, miss. If you’re ready, I’ll show you inside. I understand you’re the guest of Princess Alexandra?”

  “Yes.” My voice still sounded groggy, and I hummed a bit to clear it. “Thanks, Harold.”

  He jumped from the car and came around to open my door for me. I eased out carefully; my foot had gone to sleep along with the rest of me, and I didn’t want to make my grand entrance by stumbling over the threshold.

  Harold took my carry-on from me. “I’ll take your bags go up to your room through the back entrance. Let me get this door for you.” He stood back and gestured for me to go ahead of him up the four white steps that led to a simple black door.

  At the top of the stairs, I paused, my stomach suddenly doing flips. I didn’t know if Alexandra and her husband were inside waiting, or what I was expected to do or how I should act. Part of me wanted to turn around and beg Harold to tell me how to behave, but I knew that would be the wrong move. From here on out, I had to do my best to figure all of this out for myself.

  I squared my shoulders, ran the tip of my tongue over my lips, and gave the driver a slight nod of my head. He smiled in what I took to be an encouraging manner and leaned forward to open the door for me.

  Fixing on my face an expression that I hope said confident and yet pleasant and friendly, I stepped forward. For a moment, I blinked in the transition from the sunlight outside to the dim foyer, which appeared to be blessedly empty. Maybe no one was home yet. Maybe I’d be able to get my bearings before I had to be charming and make a good impression.

  “What did you do to your hair?”

  I lurched to the side, my head turning in the direction of his voice, and there he was, standing in the doorway, the sun backlighting him. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans, and his hands were tucked into the front pockets so that his shoulders hunched slightly. His eyes were fastened on me, and in them I saw the same steadfast love I’d been missing since he’d left me in Florida.

  “Nicky.” And then I was in his arms and he was holding me so tight that I could hardly breathe, but it didn’t matter, because I was here and so was Nicky. His hands gripped my ass, and my hands linked together behind his neck.

  “I can’t believe you’re really here.” He covered my face with kisses, and then drew back a little, frowning. “Ky, why are you crying?”

  “Am I?” I didn’t know I had been, but a sob racked my body. “I just—I missed you so much, Nicky. I couldn’t wait to be here, and then the reporters at the airport—I was so scared. They were all around me, and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t see to walk forward. If it hadn’t been for the driver you sent for me—Harold—well, he was wonderful.”

  “I’m sorry that was your welcome to London, sweetheart. If I could’ve been there to kiss you the minute you stepped off the plane, you know I would’ve been. But that would’ve been even more of a mess.”

  I nodded. “I know. I was fine. But now, I’m even more fine because I’m here with you.”

  “You are indeed very fine.” He mock-leered, making me giggle even though salty tears were still running down my cheeks. With a slight grunt, he hoisted me up so that my legs wrapped around his waist and took advantage of this improvement in position to kiss me hard, his mouth open over mine.

  “Nicky?” I managed to ease just far enough away to murmur his name. “Isn’t this your sister’s apartment?”

  “Mmmmmhmmm.” He captured me again, lightly biting my lower lip.

  “Is she . . . she’s not here, is she?”

  “Oh, yes, she’s just here in the sitting room behind me.”

  With a small screech, I madly attempted to wriggle away from him. “Are you out of your mind?” I hissed.

  “No.” He laughed, his hands molding more possessively over my backside. “I was only joking, Ky. Alex and Jake aren’t here. Jake’s at work, and Alex is at a meeting. We’re alone, and we’ll be alone for at least three or four hours.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “So I’m going to take you upstairs to the guest room my sister had made up for you, and I’m going to lay you down on the wide bed . . . and I’m going to make very sure that you don’t have even one doubt about how happy I am that you’re here.”

  I hung onto Nicky’s shoulders as he turned around and began walking up the staircase just beyond the doorway on the other side of the foyer.

  “My bags are—oh, shit, Nicky. Harold. He said he was taking my luggage upstairs. Is he here? You know, the driver you sent for me?”

  Nicky gave a short huff of laughter. “Harold isn’t exactly a driver, love, although he does drive. I sent him for you because he’s part of my security team. He’s one of my policemen—actually, he’s one I trust the most.” He reached the top of the steps and walked a short distance to an open door. “I wanted him to collect you, because you are precious to me, and I needed to be sure you got to me safely.”

  New tears filled my eyes. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  He smiled and used his arm to click on the light in the bedroom we’d just entered. “I meant it. And now that we’re here—” He kicked the door closed. “Alone. And together, finally. I’m going to spend the next few hours showing you in great detail exactly how happy I am that you flew over an ocean to come to me and trying to convince you that you should never, ever leave me.”

  I kicked off my shoes and pressed my body into his, nuzzling his neck. “I might be a hard sell, you know. I’m very stubborn.”

  Nicky chuckled and dropped me onto the soft mattress. “Oh, my Ky . . . I know. But that’s all right. I’m fairly sure I’m up to the task.”

  And he was.

  BEING IN LONDON WAS . . . a whirlwind of adventure and new experiences. I woke up every morning in the beautiful bedroom Alex had kindly lent me, pinching myself to prove that this was real. I was in England, in the land of Shakespeare and the Beatles and Benedict Cumberbat
ch. I was staying at Kensington Palace, a place I’d only ever read about. Queen Victoria had been born here. History practically littered this place.

  Alexandra and her husband, Jake, had welcomed me warmly, urging me to consider their apartment my home away from home. Nicky lived only a short distance away, in a small cottage around the corner; I visited him there frequently, even though I was sleeping in his sister’s home.

  “Why didn’t you ask me to stay here?” I wondered one evening, as we sat by his fireplace. Nicky’s arm enveloped me, and our legs were twined together. It was warm and romantic, and I was blissfully happy.

  He hesitated. “Well, I was going to do that, but then I thought . . . I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable with impropriety. I am very fond of your grandparents, and if your grandfather was unhappy with me because he thought I’d done something to damage your reputation, I’d feel horrible. Alex offered her home, and it just seemed to make sense. You’re close enough to me that we can see each other whenever we want, and I can still look your grandfather in the eye.”

  I twisted a little to smirk at him. “Isn’t that a tad hypocritical, considering you just spent the last fifteen minutes with your head between my legs, making me scream? I appreciate your concern for me, Nicky, but I don’t think Honey and Handsome are worried about my virtue.”

  Nicky snorted. “Maybe not, but I still don’t think they’d want to know the details about what we do when we’re alone. Trust me, I’m not sharing that with anyone, either. It’s our business.”

  I rolled over so that my breasts were crushed into the hard planes of his chest. “You’re so right. Let’s get down to business again, shall we?”

  He rolled his eyes at my bad pun, but then he kissed me until I was breathless, and what happened next was just one more thing we would not be sharing with my grandparents.

  I didn’t spend all of my time in bed with Nicky, even though that was an appealing idea. He managed to get us some private tours of places I was dying to see—the Tower of London, for instance, and Westminster Abby—and he even took me with him to a couple of meetings with Waste Not, where he asked me to explain some of what I’d learned about food sustainability and better farming practices.