The Anti-Cinderella Conquers the World

by Tawdra Kandle

  I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until it came whooshing out in a rush. Licking my lips, I swallowed back all of the fear and stark terror that had been lurking in my heart up until this moment.

  “Nicky.” I touched the side of his face, rough with whiskers. “Nicky, sweetheart, can you hear me?” My unspoken plea was do you know who I am?

  That beautiful blue gaze remained fastened on my face, and I saw my favorite expression there—the one that was the beginning of his smile, the slight crinkle of the corners of his eyes before happiness took over his entire face. It was the exact sight I’d been wishing to see.

  He tried to speak, but the ventilator tube prevented it. My mother-in-law, the Duchess, who’d been sitting down on the other side of the bed, jumped to her feet.

  “I’ll get the doctor.”

  At the foot of the bed, the Duke watched silently, his hands gripped together painfully. Alex and Daisy stood close together, and all of us were staring at the one occupant of the room who couldn’t say a word yet.

  Nicky’s eyes wandered over us again, taking in the way we all stood in a frozen tableau, and then he did the most amazing, wonderful thing ever.

  He rolled his eyes at us.

  There was no mistaking what he was thinking. This was no involuntary response or reflex that could be misinterpreted; this was my husband, my wonderful, gorgeous, loving and alive husband being a smartass.

  And I couldn’t have wanted anything else in the entire world.

  Two doctors followed swiftly in my mother-in-law’s wake, and as we all stood huddled, watching from the other side of the room, they did a few quick tests which apparently had the results they’d hoped. One turned to us, smiling broadly.

  “Your Royal Highnesses, we’re going to extubate the prince now. Might we ask you to step from the room while we do so?”

  I recognized that question as another one of those that could not be answered negatively. We traipsed into the hallway as a nurse stepped in with a tray and drew the curtain around Nicky’s bed.

  None of us spoke for a long moment, and then the Duchess turned to her husband and buried her face in his shoulder as she wept. Alex pressed her fingers to her eyes, and Jake drew her closer to him. Daisy enveloped me in a tight hug.

  “See? I told you he was going to be fine.”

  I was shaking too much to answer her beyond a nod, and sensing that, Daisy held onto me, almost holding me up, until the medical staff emerged, their faces wreathed in smiles.

  “Your Royal Highnesses, this is the best possible outcome we could’ve hoped for—or so it seems at the moment. We’ll run some more cognitive tests over the next few days, but initial results are beyond promising. The prince is as oriented as we could expect him to be at this point. Of course, he didn’t know exactly where he was, nor can he remember the . . . incident that led to him being here. However, his memory prior to that seems to be intact, although you will be able to assure us about that more fully as you speak with him.”

  “We can see him now?” The Duchess asked the question eagerly, almost hungrily.

  “Certainly,” the doctor agreed. “Perhaps it would be best to go in a few at a time, and we’re going to ask you to limit your visits to no more than fifteen minutes, so as not to fatigue the prince. He still has a road of recovery ahead of him.”

  “Mummy.” Daisy spoke up from next to me. “Kyra should go in first—alone. She needs to see him. And then the rest of us will have our turn.”

  I opened my mouth to protest—not that I didn’t agree with Daisy, but I didn’t want to be the selfish wife—but my mother-in-law nodded in agreement.

  “You’re absolutely right, darling. Kyra, go see him, and then just let us know when we can come in.”

  I was beyond grateful for their kindness and generosity, but I couldn’t do anything more than nod as I swung around and went back into the hospital room. The nurse had drawn away the curtain again, and Nicky’s face was turned toward the window, staring outside. To my own ears, my footsteps were silent, but he must’ve heard something or sensed my presence, because his head rolled on the pillow until his eyes fastened on me.

  For a long, long minute—practically an eternity in my heart—he simply stared at me, his lips in a straight line, his eyes steady but somehow neutral.

  And then he smiled and held up his hand for me.

  “Hi, Ky.”

  I didn’t know how I got from the doorway to his bed, but suddenly I was there, laying across him, my head on his chest pressed close to the rhythmic beating of his heart, and all the tears I hadn’t cried in the last few days—in the past months—poured from my eyes, soaking the blankets and the sheets.

  Nicky’s hand stroked my hair as he murmured wordless assurances. When I finally lifted my face to his, he traced the path of one tear with the tip of his finger, and in a voice still rough and hoarse from disuse, he spoke the words I had prayed to hear.

  “Love you, sweetheart. Love you so.”

  “YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS! SIR! HOW are you feeling?”

  “Prince Nicholas, are you recovered from your injuries, sir?”

  “Ky, have you been taking care of the prince? Are you happy that he’s coming home?”

  “Sir, are there any updates on the people who planted the bomb? Any arrests forthcoming?”

  Next to me, on the steps outside of Prince Edward VII’s Hospital, Nicky gripped my hand. He was still a little shaky, ten days after he’d been admitted to the hospital that bore the name of his great-great-grandfather, but then, I wasn’t exactly steady yet, either. The past week had been chock full of medical tests and treatments, and then once it had been determined that Nicky was stable enough to do so, the police had come in to interview him about the bombing. Officers from MI5 and Scotland Yard alike asked the same things over and over, and I could feel my husband’s frustration that he couldn’t answer most of what they wanted to know.

  The day of the bombing remained a hazy memory for Nicky. He remembered everything with crystal clear clarity up until about midday Saturday, and then it was nothing but random images and emotions. The doctors had all assured us that this was normal; the brain protected itself from traumatic memories, and while he might eventually recall more details, it was also possible that he would never remember every detail.

  But the best news in the world was that today we were going home. Although he’d been given the option of slipping out a back entrance into a waiting car, Nicky had opted to do this brief photo op, which the Palace had suggested was a good idea to reassure the public that he really was alive and on his way to being well.

  As we clung to each other there on the steps, with the whirring of cameras and flashes of brightness all around us, I was reminded of the day we’d announced our engagement. Was it only just about a year ago? That day in the gardens at Kensington Palace felt as though it had taken place a lifetime past, and to two different people. So much had happened and changed since then.

  Nicky hadn’t answered any of the myriad of questions that had been tossed at him by the reporters so far, and I too was remaining mum. This was his day, his show, and I was only here for support.

  Finally, with a deep breath, he began to navigate the steps until we stood closer to the media pack. A microphone had been set up there at the bottom of the stairs, and Nicky cleared his throat before he spoke briefly.

  “The Duchess and I want to thank all of you for your support, your prayers, and your messages of love during this very difficult time. I’m grateful to be going home now to continue my recovery. The staff here at Edward VII Hospital has been brilliant and supportive, and we’re thankful to the doctors, nurses and everyone who made it possible for me to be standing here today.”

  Nicky turned slightly to bring me forward, his hand pressing against the middle of my back. “Most of all, I’m so grateful to my wife for her constant love and care. Kyra never left my side during this time, not even when ordered to by the Queen herself.”
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br />   A ripple of appreciative laughter rolled through the journalists, and it swelled louder when I rolled my eyes at my husband.

  “I know you all have questions about what happened, how it happened, but I can’t speak to any of that at this time. The investigation is ongoing, and there are people much more intelligent and knowledgeable than I am who are handling it. I’m sure once they have answers, we’ll know more. Until then, I’d like to ask that if anyone has information that might be helpful to investigators to contact their local police. I’d also like to ask for your understanding and respect over the next months as I require a little extra rest and quiet time with my family.”

  He paused for a beat to let that sink in and then added simply, “Thank you so much.”

  With that, Nicky grabbed for my hand again, and together we headed for the car, waiting for us at the curb. Simon stood between us and the press, his eyes ever watchful as he opened the door first for me and then for Nicky.

  Once the door closed behind my husband, I allowed myself to slump back into my seat, my eyes closing. “I’m glad that’s over.”

  “I am, too.” Nicky threaded our fingers together again. Ever since he’d opened his eyes last week, I’d noticed that he seemed as though he needed to touch me almost constantly. I certainly wasn’t complaining.

  The car pulled smoothly into traffic, and for the first time, I noticed that while Simon was driving, there was another occupant of the front seat. With a start, I exclaimed, “Harold! You’re back!”

  He turned slightly, grinning at us, his cheeks pink with pleasure. “Yes, ma’am, I am. Very happy to see you, if you don’t mind me saying, and sir, I’m so glad you’re recovering nicely and going home.” His smile faded. “I’m sorry about what happened. I guess it seems no matter how prepared we tried to be, somehow they still got the better of us.”

  We were all silent for a few moments. While I was extraordinarily thankful that my husband was here next to me, still in the process of recovery but undoubtedly whole and sound, I was also aware that four people had lost their lives in the bombing—and that it very easily could have been worse. The police had been close-mouthed about much of the investigation, but what we had learned from them was that if the bomb had been placed differently—if the location had been changed by a matter of feet—the repercussions would have been much worse.

  At Harold’s remark, Nicky stiffened a bit. I wondered if our protection officer’s offer of sympathy had simply struck a nerve . . . or if he was worried that Harold had spilled the beans in front of me, acknowledging that I’d been kept in the dark for months.

  As if I didn’t know that already. My jaw tensed, my back teeth grinding until a sharp pain there forced me to relax my mouth.

  We hadn’t had this discussion yet. During the days and nights in the hospital, I’d intentionally avoided bringing up anything that could upset Nicky and possibly interrupt his recovery. I was wise enough to realize that it was neither the time nor the place for the depth of conversation we needed to have. So for a week, I’d pretended that I wasn’t upset, that I didn’t have a flood of words and emotions dammed up ready to burst forth. I’d held myself together.

  But now we were heading home, and I had a feeling that once we crossed the threshold into the cottage, all bets would be off.

  For the moment, however, I put on a happy face and addressed Harold. “We missed you so much.” And then, mindful of Simon and all he had done in our service, I added, “But Mr. West was superb at his job, too, and we’re grateful to you both. Will you be resuming your position with us now?”

  Harold nodded. “Yes, ma’am. With the added training I received, I’m more than ready to tackle the increased security that’s necessary now. And Simon’s staying on, too, for the time being. We’ll all work together.”

  “That’s excellent news.” I leaned back again and stared at the blur of scenery as the car sped down the road. I was numb again, although this time, it was not terror making me feel that way; this time, it was exhaustion and worry and the looming question of what now that hung over our heads.

  When we arrived at the cottage, Nicky and I both thanked Simon and Harold again before we escaped into the blissful silence and privacy of our home. Inside the front door, I kicked off my shoes, peeled away my coat and fell onto the sofa.

  “God, it is so good to be home. I could sleep for a month. Maybe more.”

  Nicky sat down near me, his sigh reverberating in my ear. “I agree with that. Which makes no sense for me, since it seems all I’ve done is rest and sleep. But you’ve been having to make do in that uncomfortable lounge chair in my hospital room, and you’ve barely had a moment’s peace.”

  It was true. Although I had finally given in to family pressure to return to the cottage to sleep one night after Nicky had been awake for a day, after that, I’d insisted on staying with him. The consequence of the decision was that I was now bleary-eyed and on edge from fatigue. I knew that the smartest thing for me to do at this point would be to go upstairs and sleep before anything else, but as history had demonstrated, making the smart choice wasn’t always my strong suit.

  “Shall we—” Nicky began, but he never got the chance to finish his question, because at that moment, the dam burst.

  “You lied to me.” I hunched my shoulders, the subconscious need to protect myself strong. “About . . . about so much. How could you keep this from me?”

  I felt Nicky’s heavy sigh. “Ky, I didn’t lie so much as I avoided sharing certain things with you. And I did it because I didn’t want you to worry. I wanted to keep that burden from you.”

  I sat up, my eyes opening and flashing fire. “It was a lie, because every time I asked a question where you could’ve been honest and open, you chose to go another way. Did you think I wasn’t aware that you were hiding something? Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you were withdrawing and avoiding certain conversations and intentionally excluding me from parts of your life? Do you know all the pain and the doubts I’ve suffered, thinking that—worrying that it was something I’d done? That you regretted marrying me? That I wasn’t good enough to be your wife, wasn’t worthy to be part of this family?”

  “Kyra.” Nicky went pale. “How on earth could you ever imagine such a thing? I love you with every mitochondria of my being. You are my wife, and that makes everything in my world complete and whole. I would never regret marrying you. Falling in love with you changed my life, in the best way possible.”

  “Then why did you hide all of this from me?” I demanded. “I’ve heard bits and pieces of the entire story. I know that you learned about the threats right after we got married. Your father confessed that most of these weekends you’ve been away for royal duties, you’ve actually been training with anti-terrorism units, because of the letters and emails the Palace has received that were aimed at you.”

  Nicky nodded. “Yes, that’s true. That’s why I couldn’t have you come along. And then when I did have legitimate engagements, I was too worried about you being at risk to have you with me.”

  “But you were going out there, and if I would’ve been at risk, you were, too. I didn’t have the option to say yes or no. You took that choice away from me.”

  “The idea of you being in danger almost destroyed me.” He hung his head. “Kyra, sweetheart. I’ve taken so much from you, just because I’m selfish enough to want to keep you to myself. I took away your freedom, your privacy, your chance for a future career . . . and I told myself that I would give you the entire world in return for all you were giving up. I reasoned that it was enough.”

  “More than enough,” I whispered. “Nicky, you never took anything from me. I have willingly given you everything, and I would willingly give you even more. But I don’t see it as a sacrifice. Being your wife is a privilege . . . it’s been better than any dream I ever had. Freedom, privacy, career—those are all just words. Yes, my life is different than it might’ve been if you weren’t a prince, but being a prince is pa
rt of who you are, so it’s part of the reason I fell in love with you.”

  “I wanted this year to be carefree and happy for you.” Nicky reached for my hand and lifted my fingers to his lips. “When they told me about the threats, I went cold. I had visions of you being hurt or worse—or taken from me—and it was the most powerful fear I’ve ever known. I made the decision not to tell you out of that place of fear. I see that now, but I reasoned that I was doing it because I love you so much.”

  “Not knowing the truth, I spun possibilities that were even more terrifying to me.” As the anger began to drain away, I leaned into my husband’s broad chest. “You always tell me that you don’t want this life to change who I am. You’ve asked me to stay true to myself, and I’ve tried to do that. But you have to do the same. Nicky, you have to stop feeling guilty about who you are. Stop apologizing for what you think you’ve taken from me and realize that you are more than enough for anything I might not have. Do you understand this?”

  His eyes drifted shut briefly, and then he opened them and gazed at me, steady and clear. “I do. Or I will try. I can’t promise that I won’t backslide now and again, but I won’t shut you out.”

  “You’d better not.” Now that I’d had my outburst, tears followed—not sobs, but just silent, flowing tears streaming down my face. “I don’t want to live without you, Nicky. I want us to have a marriage where we are partners—true partners—in every sense of the word. What worries you is what you must share with me, and I’ll do the same. We share joy, laughter, successes and love—and on the flip side, we have to share the not-so-fun stuff, too.”

  “How on earth did you get to be so wise?” Nicky used his free hand to wipe tears from my cheek. “Here all this time, I thought I was the older and more seasoned person in our marriage. But it turns out that you’re so much smarter about everything than I am.”

  “I have good teachers,” I sniffed. “Honey and Handsome. My mom and dad. And you.” I touched his chin, letting my fingers trail over the warmth of his skin. “You told me that I didn’t have to change to love you. You told me that we were better when we worked together. And guess what? I listened to you.”