The Anti-Cinderella Conquers the World

by Tawdra Kandle

  I didn’t bother answering. Instead, I remained silent as we took the empty car that whisked us up to my floor and then as Harold walked me to my office, where he did the same cursory check that he did every time we arrived.

  “All good to go, ma’am.” He moved to the doorway and gave me a small bow. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  “Harold,” I began and then stopped speaking. He paused, and I saw his eyes go on alert.

  “Never mind.” I shook my head. “I’ll text you just before I’m ready to leave.”

  Once he was gone, I sank into my desk chair and opened my laptop, clicking on an internet browser and typing a few words into the search bar.

  Prince Nicholas, protestors, Scotland

  I didn’t have to look far. There were multiple articles, some written as recently as an hour ago, detailing how a small, radical subset of the larger marching group outside of the conference hotel in Scotland had rushed my husband’s car when it had pulled up at the doors. My stomach clenched as I read an eyewitness describing the way the car had rocked and how police had descended to push away the crowd. There was even an aerial photo taken, showing how completely engulfed Nicky’s car had been . . . how vulnerable he had been and how easily he might’ve been seriously hurt.

  My eyes still glued to the computer screen, I reached for my phone, following my first instinct to call Nicky and ask why the hell he hadn’t told me about this. But then I stilled my hand. He’d seemed so tired last night, so down. With any luck, he was still asleep now. I’d hate to wake him up only to give him a hard time.

  There’d be plenty of time for to do that when I got back home this afternoon.

  But Nicky wasn’t at the cottage when I got home.

  I could tell the house was empty the minute I walked inside, but even so, I climbed the steps and looked around our bedroom. I even snuck down to the tiny guest room, but it too was unoccupied.

  Back down in the kitchen, I found a note on the counter:

  Ky—

  Had to run out for a quick meeting this afternoon. I’ll be home soon.

  Love you,

  N

  Well, that explained his absence. I was slightly annoyed that he hadn’t texted me—if I’d known he wasn’t going to be home, I’d have stayed longer at the office—but at the same time, Nicky had been aware that I’d had an important conference call this afternoon. He had probably reasoned that it was a better idea not to disturb me.

  With a sigh that was one part frustration and one part resignation, I went back upstairs to change into yoga pants and a T-shirt and then spent the next hour doing absolutely nothing productive. I puttered around the house, thinking I’d tidy up a little, but the inimitable Mrs. Winston had been in today, which meant the entire place was spotlessly clean and organized.

  It also meant that my leftover caponato Siciliana had been tossed out of the fridge, and that, too, made me unreasonably irritated. I was hungry, at loose ends, and on the verge of being pissed at my husband. It was not a happy combination.

  I was hunched in the armchair in our bedroom, idly flipping through a social media app on my phone, when I heard the front door open and close.

  “Ky? You upstairs?”

  I let out a breath I hadn’t realized that I’d been holding before I answered. “Yes. In our room.”

  There were a few thumps on the steps, and then Nicky rounded the corner and came into our bedroom. He stopped short, frowning when he saw me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I lifted my eyes to his, although the rest of me stayed still. “What could be wrong?”

  “I . . . don’t know.” Nicky folded his arms and leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Why don’t you tell me? I come home, and you’re sitting up here with a look on your face that says you’d like to see me drawn and quartered. Since the last time I saw you, you kissed me good-bye and said you’d see me this afternoon, I really can’t imagine what I could’ve done to make you angry.”

  “Can’t you?” I countered, tossing my phone onto the bed. “Really, Nicky? Well, let’s start with the fact that you lied to me about what happened in Scotland.”

  If I hadn’t been watching his face so closely, I might have missed the subtle withdrawing, the way his eyes shuttered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t lie to you about anything.”

  “You didn’t tell me everything, Nicky, and that’s a lie of omission.” Anger bubbled up within me, and even though I knew it was mostly borne out of fear for my husband’s safety, that knowledge didn’t temper my words. “You didn’t say that you were in danger in Scotland. That your safety was—compromised.” My voice trembled.

  “I told you about the protestors, if that’s what you mean.” A tic pulsed in Nicky’s cheek. “We talked about them last night.”

  “You said there were people outside the conference hotel. Didn’t you think I might see how much more it was than just that?”

  Nicky closed his eyes. “I’d hoped not, to be honest. I hoped that no one would say anything, and that since you tend to avoid the news, you’d miss it altogether.” Some of the stiffness melted away from his body, and he ventured closer to me, dropping to his haunches next to my chair. “Ky, darling, please. I wasn’t trying to lie to you. I didn’t want you to worry.” He spread out his arms. “I’m here, alive and well. Unharmed. I promise you, it looked more frightening than it actually was. Security was in complete control the entire time. I was never worried at all.”

  “You could have told me all of this last night.” Despite my lingering mad, I reached out to cup his jaw. “A reporter asked me about it this morning, and I looked up the footage on the web. Nicky, it was terrifying.”

  “It wasn’t as bad as it looked,” he repeated. “I’m here with you. I’m fine. These things happen from time to time. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Hmmm.” I linked my fingers behind his neck. “I don’t like being kept in the dark. But I suppose you could make it up to me this weekend while we’re in the country. As long as you promise that you won’t try to hide this sort of thing again.”

  Just as I had the other night, I saw a shadow fleetingly cross Nicky’s face. “Ah, actually, this weekend is going to have be postponed. I’m sorry, but that’s where I was just now—over to the Palace offices. There was some kind of mix-up, and I’m going to have to cover one of my father’s engagements.”

  “Oh.” Deflated, I released my hold on Nicky and sank back in my chair. “Well . . . that’s all right. We can go another time. I don’t have anything on my agenda, so we can still enjoy being home together.”

  “Unfortunately, I won’t be in town. I have to leave tomorrow morning, and I won’t be home until Sunday.”

  “Where are you going?” I had still the uneasy sense that I wasn’t getting the whole story.

  “Winchester. There’s a training regiment at the military post, and Dad’s an honorary colonel. I’m presenting awards to a unit there.” He was smooth, I’d give him that, but I prided myself on having a graduate degree in all things Nicholas Windsor. He wasn’t being totally open with me.

  “Okay. So not that far away, right?” We’d opened a senior center in Winchester early this year, before our wedding. I knew where it was . . . generally speaking. “I could go with you.”

  “I don’t think so, Kyra. I’m sorry.” He stood up, his hands on his hips as he stared past me through the window behind my chair. “This isn’t the sort of engagement where I can just bring you. I’ll be staying on the post there, in guest barracks. It’s not a pleasure trip.”

  “Well, I could stay nearby.” I was being unreasonably stubborn, but part of me hoped that pushing Nicky might annoy him into coming clean with me.

  “Why would you want to do that?” Nicky turned around and circled our bed, pausing to take off his watch and drop it onto the dresser. “It would be a waste of your time and a colossal pain in the ass to organize. No, Ky. This time, you’ll have to stay
home.”

  The note of finality in his voice and his tone of decisiveness threw gasoline on the spark of irritation already smoldering inside me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that our marriage was an autocracy, where you tell me what to do and I just agree, meekly. Like one of your subjects. I guess I missed that memo.” Standing up, I stalked around to the door. “Here I thought we were different. I thought my opinions mattered.”

  “Honestly, Kyra.” Nicky rolled his eyes, and I had the strongest urge to scream. “You’re behaving like a child. You know there are rules in our life. You knew this from the start. Don’t act as if this is some unpleasant surprise to you.”

  I fastened him with an icy stare. “I’m not behaving like a child. My husband is treating me as if I’m a child, and I’m expressing my unhappiness about that. I’ve tried to do so in a more reasonable way, but apparently, my message isn’t getting through. So until I can think more clearly—and honestly, until I can calm down enough to think—I’m going out to walk in the gardens. I need some air.”

  When Nicky began to speak again, I held up one hand. “And I need some space, too. Just let me go. Anything you say to me right now is only going to piss me off more.” Turning, I headed for the steps, hesitating for just a moment before I stomped downstairs. “Just so I’m crystal clear, Nicky, I wasn’t trying to cause more work for anyone at the Palace or to insinuate myself into your engagement in Winchester. I wanted to be with you. I also have the sense that you’re still holding something back from me—that you’re keeping a secret. So yeah, I’m unhappy.”

  Before he could respond, I stumbled down the steps, grabbed blindly for the hoodie that was draped over a chair near the front door and slammed out of the cottage.

  MY EYES WERE SORE AND throbbing when I blinked them open on Friday morning. For a moment, I flashed back to my college days, reminded of the mornings after I’d overindulged at a party or while just hanging with my friends at our favorite local bar.

  But all too soon, the reality of the present rushed back over me like a wave during a hurricane, and I pushed myself to sit up on the couch, wincing when the muscles in my back complained. The sofa where I’d slept was definitely vintage, something Nicky had liberated from his grandmother’s London home—his maternal grandmother, that was, the one whom I’d known when we were children. Not Her Majesty, whom I imagined didn’t make a habit of handing down shabby furniture to her grandchildren.

  I hadn’t intended to sleep all night on the spine-breaking couch. When I’d come back from my walk around the Kensington Palace gardens, I hadn’t felt much better than I had when I’d set out. I definitely wasn’t ready to go upstairs and try to smooth things over with Nicky, whom I’d heard moving around in our bedroom. I’d assumed that he was packing, and thinking about that just made me angry all over again.

  So instead of being mature and making the first move toward apology, I’d liberated a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream from the freezer and sat down with a spoon. Half an hour later, I didn’t feel much better, but I was full and suddenly sleepy. I had planned to close my eyes for just a little bit, but I must have been a lot more tired than I’d thought, because it was morning already.

  The empty ice cream carton was still on the coffee table with my spoon in it, I noticed. I wondered if I could surreptitiously dispose of the evidence of my pig-out before Nicky came downstairs.

  Standing up, I moved stealthily into the kitchen, hissing when the old wooden floor squeaked just inside the doorway. I dropped the trash into the waste bin and carefully washed the spoon before replacing it in the silverware drawer.

  The house was very still. I lingered in the kitchen for a few moments, waiting to see if I heard Nicky waking up. I couldn’t remember whether or not he’d told me what time he was leaving today, but it was still fairly early. Surely, he was still asleep.

  But when the silence stretched on for over fifteen minutes, my curiosity and the knot in my stomach both got the better of me. I crept up the steps, my shoulders stiff with tension (and let’s face it, probably from sleeping on the sofa, too), and hovered outside our bedroom. The door was open, and I cocked my head, listening for the sound of Nicky’s normal even breaths.

  There was no sound at all, only emptiness.

  Frowning, I ventured closer, leaning into the room. The bed was empty, neatly made, as though no one had slept there at all. I glanced around, looking for some clue, even as my heart sank. I knew the truth. He’d left already, gone to do his duty, and he’d done so without so much as a word to me. There was no note on the pillow.

  Feeling slightly nauseated, I sprinted back down the stairs and searched the kitchen and living room, just in case I’d missed something, anything, that my husband might have left for me. When I found my phone shoved into a crevice on the sofa, I checked texts to see if he’d contacted me that way. But there were no alerts, no notifications.

  I dropped back onto the couch. I wanted to pretend this didn’t matter, that it meant nothing, but adrenaline was racing through my blood, and sobs were collecting in my chest. I knew it was ridiculous; after all, it wasn’t as though Nicky had stepped out for cigarettes and just not come home. I was fully aware of where he was and why, and the fact that he’d left wasn’t a surprise at all. Above all else, Nicky did his duty, and he would never do anything to let down his family. Of course, he was already on his way to Winchester.

  But he’d left me. I was sitting here in our house, alone, with no note, no text and no chance of making up the harsh words we’d shared the night before.

  I allowed myself an hour of sulking and brooding along with the luxury of a good cry. I didn’t often give in to the urge for tears, but right now, I decided that I was entitled. After all, I thought, I hadn’t really been the one at fault. Nicky had avoided telling me about his experience in Scotland with the protestors, and any wife would’ve been indignant about that omission. What made it worse, though, was my certainty that even once he’d copped to that one, he was still holding back. I just didn’t know what.

  In the end, I couldn’t do anything about this situation while Nicky was away. I had to pull myself together and get on with life. Once he was back in London, we could deal with what had gone down last night.

  After a quick shower and a cup of coffee, I decided that I needed to get out of the cottage. I wasn’t scheduled to go into the office today; otherwise, I’d have popped over to Honey Bee to catch up on work and maybe even get ahead. But maybe I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for paperwork and small-talk chats with co-workers. Maybe I needed some good old-fashioned chick time.

  Grabbing my handbag, I shot a quick text to Harold, letting him know that I was leaving Kensington Palace and would meet him at my car. I dashed upstairs to twist my still-damp hair onto the back of my head and brush on a quick coat of mascara. I didn’t know what adventures I might get up to this afternoon with my favorite partner-in-crime, but I’d learned by hard experience to be as prepared as I could be.

  Harold was leaning against the car, scanning something on the screen of his phone when I stepped outside. He glanced up at me as I approached him, but I noticed that he didn’t greet me with his typical broad smile.

  “Good morning, Your Royal Highness.” Harold straightened, bowing slightly. “Where are we off to this afternoon?”

  “Oh, I found myself with an unexpected free day,” I replied, attempting to keep my voice breezy. The last thing I wanted to do was give our security officer the impression that I was upset. That was how nasty rumors ended up in the press. “So I thought I might run over to visit with Princess Daisy. Surprise her with a girls’ afternoon.”

  Harold frowned. “Ah, I’m sorry, ma’am, but Princess Daisy isn’t at home today. I’m sure she’d enjoy the visit. Perhaps another time.”

  I had the odd sense that once again, I was being manipulated. First it had been by Nicky, with his half-answers and dodging, and now it was Harold, his bland expression telli
ng me more than he realized.

  “Daisy didn’t say anything about being busy today. She and I often have lunch on Fridays,” I pointed out. “Where is she?”

  “At a house party in the country, I believe.” Harold’s swift response made me even more suspicious, although I was aware that part of his job was knowing the whereabouts of this very public family. All of the security officers were in contact, keeping each other apprised of our various activities and destinations.

  “Okay.” Momentarily deflated, I twisted the handle on my handbag. “Well, I guess . . . Alex and Jake are away, too, aren’t they?”

  Harold nodded.

  “Fine.” I heaved a long sigh. “Then I supposed I’ll go back inside. There’s got to be something I can do, right?”

  “It’s a lovely day, ma’am.” Harold looked out over the wide expanse of grass that lay between my cottage and the gardens where I usually walked. “Quite nice for this time of year. You might even manage a picnic.”

  I huffed out a laugh. “By myself? That sounds pathetic.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he repeated, but this time, the feeling behind his words were genuine. “Perhaps if you’d like to go shopping . . . we could go to Marks & Spencer. You always enjoy that. Or Selfridge’s. Have a bit of a wander, buy something pretty.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Harold, I think you’re having a brain blip. This is me, not Daisy or Alex or any of the cousins.”

  “Oh, now, ma’am, you enjoy the stores sometimes,” he protested mildly. “But if that doesn’t sound like what you’d want to do, why not go visit your gardens? We could manage that. What is it you tell me? You could fly under the radar, since it wouldn’t be a scheduled visit.”

  “I can’t.” My voice wobbled dangerously close to a whine. “They have a new group visiting today—a garden club from the local senior center. If I go over, it’ll disrupt all that.”

  “Ah.” Harold made a noise in the back of his throat. “I see.”