How To Love A Fake Prince

by Jasmine Ashford

  “I can take it,” Jacob remarked and turned to Wesley. “I've gone undercover to the Americans before.”

  “You have?” Enola asked Jacob in surprise. She didn't want to doubt him, but she hadn't ever seen him undertake any such mission. “When?”

  “Can't tell you everything, Enola,” Jacob answered.

  “But you do tell me---” She started and he shot her a look. “I understand.”

  “So that's settled,” Wesley said. “I can draw up something with proper wording this afternoon. Lola, the plans?”

  “Oy,” she said, a bit overwhelmed. “Do you all want to come?”

  “We should be back in our new camp,” Harold said. “It would look suspicious if we were all here for long, and we don't know who’s watching. Visiting you quickly is one thing, but looking around the theatre and drawing the blueprints is a completely different story.”

  “I'll be back at the camp in two hours,” Wesley promised.

  “Do you want me to stay?” Enola spoke up, hoping he'd say no. Patrick hadn't come along, and she would have rather stayed with him, helping to settle her people. However, Wesley had been insistent that she represent them, and her father had surprisingly agreed. Either he thought that she was finally an adult, or he had another plan altogether.

  “No,” Wesley said. “The less suspicion, the better.”

  “We could go back and pick raspberries,” Jacob said to her and she shoved him.

  “Don't say that,” she said. “I'll give up raspberries for the rest of my...marriage.”

  “Which will be how long?” he wondered as they left the theatre.

  “I don't know,” she answered truthfully. If he had asked her a few days ago, she would have talked about dissolving it as soon as she could. “When are you going to marry Mary?”

  “Touché,” he answered, and they reached the pavement.

  Inside, Lola and Wesley found an awkward silence now that they were left alone. It was an off chance that they had caught her. She had come in a few hours before the matinee to work on scenes that she felt had come out wrong last night. She liked everything to be perfect; everything to be rehearsed and in-step.

  She knew there were actors who made things up on the spot, and never followed the script. That usually didn't happen when performing Shakespeare, but there were other scripts that she had seen performed and knew it was nothing like it was written. In real life conversation, she never faltered. However, on stage, if they didn't plan everything, Wesley's idea wouldn't work, for her or for anyone new to the bright lights.

  “Well,” she murmured as she turned toward him. “I suppose I could just walk you through everything if you like. This is the lobby.”

  “The passageways,” he said. “The entrances into the audience, the catwalk, the ropes. Those are the things I need to see.”

  “You can't sneak in a thousand soldiers,” Lola said as she took him down the hallway into the main auditorium. “You can seat a thousand of them in here, but to have that number on stage and backstage? It will be impossible.”

  “We don't need that many,” he assured her. “Don't you remember the sneak attack I told you about when we were still on the Stallion? War is not about numbers so much as strategy and planning.”

  “The fire ship case?” she asked him. “Oh yes, I do remember that.”

  “I've many times been in the situation of outnumbered and outmanned,” he said. “Never out planned though.”

  “No,” she gave him a brief smile. “Never out planned.”

  It almost felt like old times, the banter between them. They were such different souls, and they did know that from the beginning. Wesley and Lola's love story was the opposite of a typical fairy tale romance. He had seen her singing on the street, looking like a beggar, and stopped, captured by her voice. He hadn't realized who she was; a star of stage just practicing some new arias, and Aaron Bamber's childhood best friend. She loved his mind, and he loved her bravery; her extroverted personality.

  They had waited so long to marry because they weren't sure that it was going to work. Now, it appeared they had been right, save for the small glimmers of hope that were happening now and again. Lola tried not to focus on them, for she knew a smile did not repair a marriage that had been broken for years.

  “So, this leads through here,” she said, stepping through a passageway and leading him through a dark hallway that circled around and came out stage right. “And if you go through here, this will take you this way....”

  “These would fit a cannon,” Wesley said, looking at the height and size of the passageways. “Of course, we risk blowing up the theatre if it backfires.”

  “At that point, you would need to buy the theatre,” Lola said, giving him a look. “Unless the military is going to pay for the damage too.”

  “Technically, we have the right to overtake any building we want and use it for military purposes,” he said, not without a touch of pomposity.

  “They,” she reminded him. “They have the right. You aren't military anymore.”

  “Right,” he muttered, but didn't take offence to the comment. She paused, looking him in the eye.

  “Do you want to be?”

  “Do I want to be what?” He turned back to her, from staring at the ceiling.

  “Military?”

  “Huh?” He shook his head. “Why discuss this possibility?”

  “It's just...” She took a deep breath. “Aaron had a quiet word with me this morning.”

  “About what? He's not thinking of returning to the military, is he?” Wesley asked in shock. “He can't.”

  “Not quite,” Lola said. “But he would like a more normal life, even if it has to be hidden away.”

  “So what is he proposing?” Wesley asked, confused.

  “He's proposing that you switch estates with him,” she said. “The Bambers can take up residence in one of the Rippon country estates, living together as a family, out of the way, and you...he suggested I as well, but I told him we weren't sure, would take up residence in the main Bamber Manor, close to the city as you like. I know you; you filled out the paperwork to discharge properly from the military. You could reinstate your status and they'd take you back in an instant.”

  Her whole paragraph stunned Wesley into silence and he leaned against the wall. “Why didn't he come ask me about this?”

  “He....” Lola tried to phrase it delicately. “He thought that I could put it better. You know how he gets overexcited about such ideas.”

  “That's uh...a novel idea,” Wesley said.

  “But wouldn't you like that?” she asked. “Returning to planning more than one ship? No doubt they'd put you in charge of a whole fleet. And you'd be in the middle of the city, which you want as well.”

  He snorted. “And leave behind a life of pillaging and looting? The military has rules, Lola, rules and restrictions that ended lives. When I work with Aaron, I don't have to worry about any of those things.”

  “But you also don't want to be a cold blooded killer,” Lola cried out. Wesley met her eyes.

  “Is that what you think of me?”

  She fell into silence, looking away. He repeated the question.

  “Lola, is that what you think? That I'm a murderer? I was always a soldier.”

  “You're different,” she defended herself. “When I heard the stories, the legends of you, I thought that surely it couldn't be true. But the more time we spend together in person, the more I see that the stories are true. Your heart has gone cold and your mind is clouded. There was nothing that your mind couldn't do, Wesley, and I still believe that. But its path is now about violence rather than peace.”

  Her words stunned him, and he sighed, looking down at his hands. “It's not,” he said at last. “It's just an easy distraction.”

  “An easy distraction from what?” she asked, begging him to open up to her.

  “From thinking about you,” he cried. “From thinking about how I failed you, how I
failed this marriage and our title. There, are you happy now?”

  “No,” she sobbed as tears came to her eyes. “I haven't been happy since we decided to separate.”

  Both of them fell into silence, looking at the floor, the ceiling, anything but each other.

  Lola wasn't sure how long they stood there. A million responses went over and over in her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to say any of them. However, both of them were interrupted by the theatre manager strolling in, a quizzical look on his face.

  “Lola?” he asked in confusion. “What exactly is going on?”

  Lola stood up a bit straighter. “I'm sorry, sir?” she asked. “Should I not have guests in the theatre?”

  “Of course you can,” he said. “But I've just heard the oddest thing.”

  Lola turned pale, glancing to Wesley. “What did you hear?”

  “One of the cleaners came running into my office in panicked tears. You aren't...planning an attack in my theatre, are you?”

  “Uh...” Lola said, and Wesley stepped forward.

  “Sir...”

  “I'm offended,” the theatre manager put his hand over his heart. “I'm offended that you would not even ask me.”

  “We would pay, sir,” Wesley said. “The rental cost and the damages.”

  “Who are you?” he turned around, looking the Irish lord in the eye. “You're not dressed as military.”

  “He's uh...undercover,” Lola said. “A consultant, working with them. Sir, we would have asked, but it's a top secret mission. And I believe, during war time, the military does have the right to...”

  “Stop, stop, stop,” he said and held up his hand. “Stop.”

  Lola fell silent. Wesley's heartbeat increased, and he glanced around for any sort of weapon. He certainly didn't want to hurt this poor man, but if he stood in the way of an attack, he would have to do just that.

  What stopped him from grasping a prop fire poker were Lola's eyes, watching both of them. If he did that in front of her, he would lose her forever.

  And he didn't want to lose her forever, he realized.

  “For if you had asked me,” the theatre manager said. “You would have found that my answer would be a strong yes. Anything to support the military.”

  Lola and Wesley let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir,” Lola said. “Thank you.”

  The manager smiled wide. “Excellent,” he said. “We'll be the first theatre ever to do something like this. Imagine the fame, the word that will spread. Our seats will be packed.”

  “After we repair them,” Lola pointed out and he shrugged.

  “After we repair them,” he said, clearly thinking the damage was going to much less than it was. “You will be first to grace its stages as a heroine.”

  “I was just saying that,” Lola said, noting the irony. She didn't want the pessimistic view forward.

  “Well, I have to know who I'm working with,” the manager said, turning to Wesley. “My name is David. And you are?”

  “This is Wesley...” Lola said softly. “Earl Rippon, of Ireland...and my husband.”

  David responded in shock. “Really?” David said. “I didn't know you were married. A countess, imagine. When did this happen?”

  “Several years ago, actually,” Lola replied.

  “Well, welcome, welcome,” David said and shook Wesley's hand enthusiastically. “Let's make this a success and blow the American scum back where they came from.”

  “Hopefully,” Wesley said, glancing to Lola. “Hopefully.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  JUST PLAYING A PART

  JUST PLAYING A PART

  I don't think this scene is actually necessary for the play,” Enola said when Lola had outlined each of their parts. “I think that she just wants us to...be close, on stage. Because she's a romantic.”

  “It's not the worst thing in the world,” Patrick said to her as they sat by the river. Lola had outlined a scene at the top of the play that had Enola and Patrick meeting in the middle of the stage, coming from their respective groups. They would join hands, and then they would kiss, a forbidden love story that was supposed to shock both sides. It was also supposed to draw attention away from weapons and sharpshooters that would be getting into position. The attack would start not two minutes later.

  It was a good plan, whether the audience was for or against a mixed race relationship. It would get their attention; distracting them from the fact that they would soon meet their makers.

  Enola knew all of those things; she had listened to Wesley outline the plan. Nevertheless, it still made her blush fiercely.

  “And I actually have to say...lines,” Holde said, looking at the scribbled notes they had been given. “I am not an actor, that's for sure.”

  “It's not hard.” Enola leaned over his shoulder. “Just say the words like you mean them.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, I forgot all about you and your extensive experience.”

  “Just around the campfire,” she answered. “Nothing like Lola's thousand seat theatre.”

  “So are you nervous too?” he asked. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “I'm just....it's so radical, so different, and we have such a short time in order to do it. And if it succeeds and drives them back...it could bring us peace, at least for a time.”

  “Peace,” Holde said. “What would we do with ourselves?”

  She noted that he said we and not I. She chose not to comment on it, looking down at the scribbled notes that she had received.

  “Shall we practice this?” she asked. He stretched, yawning.

  “Yes,” he said. “But let's remain sitting. This is comfortable.”

  “Mmm.” She wanted to nestle deeper against his shoulder, agreeing that it was comfortable. “Alright. So I move forward and say...your name. What should your name be?”

  “Cameron,” he said without thinking, and she brought her head up.

  “Oh?”

  “It's my middle name,” he replied. “I thought it would be easier for you to remember.”

  “I didn't know that,” she said with a smile.

  “Do you have a middle name?”

  “Not...really,” she said. “Our names are chosen to decide our fate, in a way, and then we are just known by our tribe, our rank.”

  “And what does Enola mean?” he asked.

  “Solitary,” she answered. She thought that she had told him that already, but it was possible that he forgot. There was so much to learn about each other. “Which seemed accurate for a long time.”

  “No one wants to be alone forever,” he said. “Even if they pretend that is what they want.”

  “I know,” she said. “But sometimes it's easier...if there isn't anyone.”

  Their faces were just inches apart. She knew that she wasn't supposed to be feeling anything for him. She knew that this was an arranged marriage, and she knew he had come into it with a broken heart. He had done this for Britain, not for loving her.

  However, it didn't stop her from leaning in and kissing him. Her body tingled as it had done the very few times they had kissed before.

  They were starting to learn each other’s crevices; each other’s movements and touches. She knew when to tilt her head, when to lean back.

  It was the longest kiss they’d had to date. She broke away only when she felt she couldn't go a moment longer with air. Their hands remained joined together, and their shoulders still touched. It felt natural to lay her head against his shoulder and shift so she fit into the way his body curved.

  “Was that alright?” he asked, stroking her hair.

  “Yes,” she whispered, shivers going down her spine as he worked out a knot in the ends of her hair.

  “Good,” he said with a smile. “Because one day I'd like to do it again.”

  “One day?” she asked, and he realized she was teasing him.

  “Maybe before one day,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “If your father
approves. He looks like he constantly wants to knock me over the head.”

  “That is the way he behaves toward everyone,” Enola said with a smile. “Don't be afraid.”

  “Afraid isn't the right word,” he answered. “I was worried about him seeing through our charade when the idea was first suggested...and now, it's different.”

  “Because it's not a charade.” She played with his strong hands, entwined in hers. “At least...I don't know. There could be...a future.”

  She was afraid of saying that, but he didn't react negatively.

  “There could be,” he said, glancing down at the crumpled piece of paper in his hands. Then he chuckled. “Look.”

  She glanced at his sheet, and chuckled. She realized that they had basically been trading the lines that Lola had scribbled for them.

  “She knows us well,” Enola replied. “It's as if the words were taken from us.”

  “Some sort of magic,” Holde stared at the fire. He heard the snap of a twig in the woods, and spun around, but saw that it was just a deer. “Where is your Jacob, by the way?”

  “Jacob?” she asked, surprised to hear his name after they had just shared such an intimate moment. “I don't know. Asleep, likely. Why?”

  “He's just not been around lately,” Holde said. “Usually he's glued to your side.”

  “I can get him if you want.” She started to get up and he pulled her down, laughing.

  “No,” he said and she laughed.

  “Jacob does this sometimes. He's around and constant for days, and then his mind...requires space, and I don't see him much. It's a pattern, it doesn't bother me. It gives me space to breathe as well.”

  “Hunter is like that,” Holde answered. “He's a wonderful sergeant, but sometimes the crowds that are constantly around us bother him.”

  “And you?” she asked. He shrugged.

  “Sometimes,” he said. “Crowds don't really bother me. You are either alone in your heart or you are not.”

  “Mmm,” she murmured happily and laid her head on his shoulder again. “Shall we rehearse it again?”