“I don’t know that it’s our family—which, Ky, is your family now, too, like it or not—but Granny and Grandpa certainly seem to think she should move to the Palace. My parents have mixed feelings. Mummy’s like you—she’s worried about Daisy. Daddy says it’s time for her to be more responsible.” Alex cast me a sideways look. “Which means you feel as though you and Nicky are being kicked out.”
I nibbled at the corner of my lip. “Nicky’s been telling tales on me.”
“Not really.” She shrugged. “It was more that I remember feeling the same way. You probably don’t know this, but I lived in that cottage before Nicky moved in.” She paused for a beat. “Grayson lived there with me. And it’s where I hid until Jake dragged me kicking and screaming back into the mainstream of life.”
“I didn’t know it.” I wasn’t quite sure what to say. “When did you move out?”
“Right before Jake and I got married. Nicky was finished school and anxious to move out of our parents’ home. Jake already had a place in the country which suited us, and our apartment was perfect for what we needed.”
“That worked out well for you. I know we’ll be happy wherever we live, but I’m horribly sentimental, I guess. I hate change.” I gave an exaggerated shudder. “But I’ll adjust. As long as Nicky and I are in it together, I can live anywhere.”
“Which is exactly how I feel about Jake.” Alex grinned at me as the car turned onto the grounds of Kensington Palace and made its way to her door. “Here’s my stop. I’m glad we had this time together today, Kyra. Let’s plan something soon—with Daisy, too.”
“Definitely.” I leaned toward my sister-in-law for one of the careful hugs that was routine in this family I’d married into. I’d come to realize that the formal gestures which seemed so foreign to me were genuine marks of affection in the Windsor clan. They meant as much as the exuberant embraces and smacking kisses that were hallmarks of my own more tactile family.
After the car door closed, I watched the graceful, elegant princess who was my sister-in-law disappear into her lovely home before the driver eased away from the curb, making the short trip to my own cozy cottage. I felt a twinge of envy that Alex was going home to her husband, while my house was empty for another day.
But I knew I’d survive being alone. I was my own woman, strong and capable even when I was ga-ga in love with my own handsome prince. Then, once Nicky was back with me, we had a promising weekend in the country ahead of us . . . and that was definitely something I’d enjoy anticipating.
“WHAT HAVE WE HERE? I thought I’d married Cinderella, but maybe I was wrong. It seems Sleeping Beauty is in my bed, instead.”
Gladness surged through me as I rolled over, tugging the covers from where they’d tangled around my hips and blinking. “Nicky! You’re home.”
He bent over me and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I am. Prince Charming, come to wake the sleeping princess.”
My forehead wrinkled. “Pretty sure Charming is the love interest of Snow White. Sleeping Beauty’s OTL is Prince Philip.”
Nicky nudged me over and sat on the edge of the bed. “First of all, dare I ask, what is OTL?”
I smiled smugly, my eyes still heavy. “One True Love. Duh.”
“Ahhhh, yes, how stupid of me. Second, you realize Prince Philip is my grandfather, right? I love Grandpa, but I don’t think any of us want him being your—uhh, OTL.”
“Ugh, no. You’re right. But there’s no Prince Nicky in the fairy tales. Not even in Cinderella’s story.”
He brushed my messy hair away from my face. “Who’s Cinderella’s fellow? Remind me.”
My brow furrowed as my sleep-addled brain tried to recall. “I don’t think he has a name. He’s just the Prince.”
“I see.” My husband eased the sheet down my body slightly, his eyes widening as he took in the expanse of my skin revealed. “Ah, well, didn’t you once tell me that you’re the anti-Cinderella? So I must be the anti-Prince.”
I stretched up my arms to wind them around his neck and tug his face down close to mine. “Whoever you are, I’m just so happy you’re home. I missed you.”
“Missed you, too, my love.” Nicky’s lips covered mine, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth until I opened for him. His kiss was languid, exploring and soft. I melted into his embrace.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep.” I spoke up when he paused to catch his breath. “I meant to wait up for you, but I was reading, and the next thing I knew, here you were.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I turned out to be a bit later than I’d planned.” He straightened up and traced a fingertip over my cheekbone. “I’m glad you got some rest.”
Now that I was more awake, I noticed the shadows under Nicky’s eyes and the scruff on his jaw. I liked that last improvement—I’d always found him extra sexy when he’d foregone shaving for a few days—but I knew that little bit of whisker-growth was frowned upon by the royal establishment. I had a sense that something was going on.
“I’d ask you how the conference went, but from the look in your eyes, I’m going to guess it didn’t go as well as you’d hoped.” My gaze steady on his face, I laced my fingers with his.
Nicky heaved out a long breath. “Yeah, you could say that. Actually, the meetings themselves were productive. It was what was happening outside the hotel that was . . . disappointing. There were people marching each day, protesting the conference. Or rather, why it was held.”
“What exactly were they protesting?” The meeting hadn’t involved anything that seemed controversial or extreme to me; it was a symposium to discuss the impact of climate change.
“The very fact of us, apparently. From the signs I saw, it seems these were the groups who deny the existence of global warming. It’s hardly new, but they got a lot of coverage there, and they were a fucking nuisance. We had to be rerouted several times in order to get into the conference halls. And they’re obnoxious.” He ran one hand through his hair, drawing a deep breath. “I can support people who have a genuine cause. The environmental world has always had to make a bit of noise to be heard, so I’m used to that sort of thing. But these people were angry because we want to make the world better. They’d rather that we go back to polluting the air and the oceans. God forbid our efforts for clean soil and healthy food should impact their all-important lifestyle.”
It was rare that I heard that note of bitterness in my husband’s voice. “I’m sorry, Nicky. I know it’s hard when you’re working to make the world better, and it seems that so much of that world is working against you.” I hesitated for a minute, trying to figure out how to say what I was thinking. “You know that I’m on the same side you are, sweetheart, and you know how passionately I feel about what we’re trying to do. But these protestors . . . some of them just don’t understand. When it comes to people like you and me, all they see is privilege. They assume that we’re out to change things so radically that their jobs, their very ways of life, could be destroyed. It’s fear driving those protests.”
“Maybe.” His skepticism was evident. “But that’s part of what we’re trying to do—to eliminate that kind of ignorance. The sort of willful burying one’s head in the sand that slows down our progress and means thousands of people will continue to go hungry, all so that these companies can continue to make their millions.” He snorted. “And those protestors think we’re operating from a position of privilege.”
“Hey.” I touched his chin. “It’s late. You’ve been away for three days. Take off your clothes and get into bed. I’ll help you take your mind off protestors and conferences.”
“Yeah, okay.” He stood up and began unbuttoning his shirt. “You’re not wrong there. I’m glad to be home.”
“Your enthusiasm for my offer to distract you is overwhelming, Nicky.” I folded my pillow in half and sat up a little, yawning. “Please, please, calm down. Don’t rush into bed to jump my bones.”
His shoulders slumped, and his lips tightened. “Ky, I’m not—it
’s not you. I’m just tired and pissed off and—”
“Grumpy,” I finished for him. “That’s okay. I’m not taking it personally. And I’m honestly not trying to seduce you—not tonight, at least. Not unless you change your mind, that is. I’m just offering to snuggle up with you until you fall asleep. I think that’s what you need most right now—a decent night of sleep and me.”
His expression softened. “You’re right. Let me undress and shower, and I’ll join you in a few moments.”
Nicky strode into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Watching him, I frowned. I understood the rigors of travel and how tiring meetings and public appearances were, but this was something . . . more. There was an undercurrent of worry and tension in my husband’s face and voice that wasn’t usually there. And although we’d never kept secrets from each other, I had the uncanny sense that tonight, he wasn’t telling me everything.
Nicky was still sound asleep when I left for my office at Honey Bee Juices the next morning. He hadn’t stirred when my alarm went off, and his face was still buried in the pillow by the time I was showered, dressed and ready to leave.
I stood next to the bed, gazing down at him, watching his face as he slept. He was finally relaxed, his lips slightly parted and his hair tousled. He hadn’t shaved last night, and the scruff was thick on his jaw.
Kneeling, I brushed my lips over the soft whiskers on his cheek and then murmured into his ear.
“I’ll be home a little after lunch. If you want to wait for me in bed, I’ll be happy to climb back in with you then.”
“Mmmmm.” He stirred slightly. “Love you, babe.”
“I love you, too. Rest well.”
Outside the cottage, our police officer, Harold, was waiting for me, leaning against the side of my car. I greeted him with a smile as we both climbed into our respective seats for the drive to the office.
After Nicky and I were married, I’d half-expected to come under pressure from both the family and the Palace to stop working at my family’s company, Honey Bee Juices. But since Nicky was fairly well removed from the direct line of succession, no one had actually made that suggestion. In fact, Her Majesty always asked me about my job whenever I saw her and seemed to be interested in what I was doing.
At the same time, though, I’d made a commitment to undertake official engagements on the Royal calendar, just as Nicky and his sisters Alexandra and Daisy did. As the Queen grew older, she was slowly cutting down her own daily schedule, allowing her family to pick up the slack. There were enough of us that it wasn’t a terrible burden to any one member, but still, I had pared back my hours at Honey Bee to accommodate my new royal duties. I only went into the office two or three days a week, although I worked at home more often than that.
I’d met Harold, our security officer, on my very first visit to London, almost two years ago now. He’d always been kind to me, with the sort of deferential respect that made me feel safe around him, comfortable as we shared my daily routine on a regular basis.
After Nicky and I had announced our engagement, Harold had begun accompanying me to the office each day. Back then, he’d always taken the wheel, since I was still getting used to driving on what was to me the wrong side of the road and dealing with the extreme media attention. But nowadays, I drove us downtown while Harold rode shotgun. I still wasn’t a perfect driver, but I felt more comfortable with the British roads than I had before.
And the press? They were still following me around, but we’d fallen into a rhythm that I could handle. I did my smile and nod as I walked in, they took their pictures, and life went on.
Now, I glanced sideways at Harold as I turned out of Kensington Palace. “Any big weekend plans, Harold?”
He shifted in seat, his eyes never pausing as they scanned the street around us. “Ah, not really, ma’am. I’m on duty tomorrow and Saturday, and then on Sunday, when I’m off, I’ll likely go around to visit my mother.”
“Oh, careful there, Harold,” I teased. “Such wild behavior could put your job at risk.”
He laughed along with me, with the ease of a friend, even though both of us were well aware of the necessary distance between us. We could be friendly, but never friends. I knew I couldn’t confide in him, just as he didn’t share with me anything he shouldn’t. Harold often reminded me of the older brother I’d never had: he was protective of me, occasionally offered some sage advice, and basically shared little to nothing of his own life, even though we were together almost every day.
When we arrived at the tall building that housed Honey Bee, I slid my car into the spot that was reserved for me and shifted into park before I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned to Harold.
“I’ll be leaving just after lunch today. I’d like to be home by one.”
He gave me a brief nod and answered as he did every morning that we drove to work together. “If you’ll text me fifteen minutes before you leave, I’ll have the car here. Have a good day at work, ma’am.”
“Will do, Harold. You do the same.”
It was the identical exchange every day that I worked, and it revealed so much about the intricacies and oddities of being a modern royal. I maintained a façade of a non-royal’s life, in that I drove myself to the office. All of us who had jobs did that, so that we didn’t appear to be too different or entitled. But at the same time, we all drove with protection officers who removed our cars from where we’d left them once those same officers saw us safely into our offices. It wasn’t deemed safe for our automobiles to stay in a predictable space each day, because it left them vulnerable for interference, which was a euphemistic way of saying that a bad person could plant a bomb on or under them.
And the fact that Harold now called me ‘ma’am’ after a year of easy use of my first name was also telling. It had been all right for him to call me Kyra while I was only dating or engaged to a prince, but the moment I was married and took on the title of Duchess of Kendal, I could only ever be ‘ma’am’ or more formally, Your Royal Highness. It drove me nuts, but there were certain rules I was never going to change. I had to accept them or risk insanity.
We always exchanged good-byes and information about when I planned to go home here, in the relative privacy of the car. Once inside the building, after he’d inspected my office, Harold would take his leave, but there were too many listening ears in there to risk talking about anything that shouldn’t be overheard.
Once we got out of the car, Harold locked the doors and then stayed close by my elbow as we navigated the path to the front of my office building. The usual journalists were there, and by now I was used to their questions.
“Kyra, is it true you had a huge row with Princess Alex?”
“Your Royal Highness, would you address the rumors about your job situation?”
“Look here, Kyra! Is that a baby bump?”
I didn’t pay attention to what they said anymore—hell, I almost didn’t even hear what they called out. I’d learned that the press was forever trying to create the appearance of rifts within the family, particularly when it came to women. Yes, we lived in the twenty-first century, but clearly, the world at large still believed that two strong, attractive women could not exist in the same circle without one of them trying to outshine the other. If they weren’t pitting me against Alex, they were imagining that Daisy and I were drifting apart after I’d apparently “usurped her limelight”. And if it wasn’t one of Nicky’s sisters, it was one of his cousins who supposedly resented me for the attention I’d taken from them.
All of it was nonsense, and I treated it as such, ignoring any question or statement that suggested argument or disagreement. I did the same when they asked about my job, which according to the media, I was ever on the verge of losing because of my new royal lifestyle. And the baby bump question? Well, reporters had been shouting that one since the day Nicky and I had gotten married—even slightly before that. The normal order of things was love, marriage and baby, and they were impatient for us to
move along to the next step.
But today there was something new added to the repertoire, and it caused a slight stutter in my step.
“Kyra, is Prince Nicholas all right after the protestor scare this week? Are you both backing down from your activism in climate change and environmental work?”
When I heard that last one, I couldn’t help turning my head to look at Harold. His mouth was set in its usual straight line, and his face was expressionless . . . mostly. But I detected the faintest glimmer of frustration there all the same.
Once we were inside, standing by the elevator, I wheeled around to face him, addressing him in a furious whisper. “What did they mean, Harold? What protestor scare?”
“Ah, ma’am, you know the press—”
“Harold, stop it. Don’t bullshit me. Not you.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Your Royal Highness.” He inclined his head slightly and gazed directly into my eyes. “Please don’t put me in this position.”
I didn’t have an answer for that, but dammit, I was frustrated. I understood that Harold’s first loyalty had to lie with the Royal Family. Yes, I was a member of that family, but he couldn’t betray his commitment to the greater whole in order to satisfy one part—me. If I pressed him, he might give in . . . but it would be at the cost of his conscience and maybe even his job. I would never do that to him.
“Is it something I can find out myself?” I’d gone on a news fast since marrying Nicky. I didn’t like everything that was written or said about me, and the easiest away to avoid being upset by what was in the media was to play ostrich and bury my head in the proverbial sand.
“I would imagine so.” Harold widened his stance and stabbed at the elevator button again. “Slow this morning, isn’t it?”
The Anti-Cinderella Conquers the World Page 3
