But right now he had no idea what to tell her, or how.
A ROYAL SCANDAL
A Royal Affair Series - Book Two
By Christina George
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Interior and Cover Design: Fusion Creative Works, fusioncw.com
First Printing
Printed in the United States of America
chapter 1
By the next morning, word of the Prince who “gave it all up for love” was making international headlines. In all the years of monarchy rule in Belgium, they’d never received so much press coverage.
And not all of it was good. Royal experts, as they called themselves, said this could be the beginning of the end for royal rule in Belgium. Surely the royal family would never “go away,” but their effectiveness would be strongly diminished, until one day they’d be nothing more than a fairy tale found only in rare and dusty old volumes.
Peter’s flight to New York was delayed due to heavy lightning in Brussels, so he needed to call Em the minute he landed. If he waited until he got to the Hamptons, Em would certainly hear the news from other sources, perhaps even from her grandfather.
He knew Marcel, who was still a good friend of his father’s, followed all the Belgian royal family news. Generally there wasn’t a lot, but today the newsmongers hit the jackpot. A prince, heir to the throne, had abdicated, and run off to marry “some girl.” No one (not even Peter or his parents) knew who she was, but it was only a matter of time before an enterprising journalist found marriage records, and her entire life would be dug up and presented for the world to see. If she had skeletons (and who didn’t these days?) the media’s feeding frenzy could go on for days.
A sedan was waiting when he arrived at JFK, and he quickly climbed in and urged the driver to use every trick he knew to get them to their destination sooner rather than later. When Peter was settled into the back of the car, he picked up the phone and called Marcel, who answered on the first ring.
“Marcel, it’s Peter.”
“My son,” Marcel said softly, “I’m so sorry.”
“Then you’ve heard.”
“I have. It’s all over the news here, and I’d stay away from your office today if I were you. I just saw a live shot of your office building, and several national news vans are parked out there, hoping for a glimpse of you. In fact, if I were you, I’d lay low for a while.”
“I can’t. I have to see Emma.”
“She’s downstairs. Let me get her for you.”
“No, Marcel, please, stay where you are. I’ll call her next.” Peter hesitated before he continued, struggling to maintain an even tone, “Promise me you’ll take care of her.”
“I will, I promise. I understand this is totally out of your control now, Peter. I’m so sorry it happened.”
“So am I, Marcel, more than you can possibly understand.”
Peter set down the phone and looked out the window while the city sped past. The driver was making good time; he should be in the Hamptons in less than thirty minutes. On the flight over, Peter resigned himself to the fact that he had no choice but to be King. He might have been thrust into the spotlight against his will, but he promised himself he’d do the best job he could.
Astrid was right. It was his duty to serve the monarchy. There was no getting around it.
His phone dinged with an incoming email. According to his mother’s assistant, his parents planned to move forward the engagement to offset any “negativity,” a bland platitude to describe the bad press that had gathered like vultures around this royal scandal.
Despite everything, there was a part in him that clung to the hope that something would change—some unexpected miracle would happen, and things would go back to the way they were.
chapter 2
Emma stood in the bookstore and watched it all unfold on the television her grandfather kept in the shop. A cold trickle of dread froze her heart as she watched the news vans parked outside Peter’s office, and a memory kept floating back into her mind. It was Fitz, regal and proud and King of Belgium. Now Peter was about to follow the same path. She flicked off the TV and was stashing the small unit on the floor behind the checkout counter when she heard the bell over the door chime and looked up.
Peter.
Her blood rushed to her temples, too hard, too fast, and she nearly blacked out, having to brace herself on the counter for a moment.
He stood there looking tired and wrung out. “I tried to call,” he said, his voice brittle.
Without thinking, Emma ran to him. He opened his arms and folded them around her.
“I’m sorry, my ringer was off,” she said into his shirt.
He kissed her hair and said, “I went to Belgium to tell my parents I intend to marry you.”
Marry? The news unbalanced her, and Emma could swear she felt her heart stop.
“I know we haven’t talked about it. I mean, why would we? It’s crazy, right? Knowing with utmost certainty, after only two weeks, that I want to marry you.” Peter pulled back slowly and looked down at her. “Crazy, but not crazy. I mean, I don’t feel crazy. I feel love. Pure and simple love. I feel like I’ve found something I lost a long time ago.”
When he kissed her, his lips felt soft and warm. How she’d missed him, his kisses, his strong and loving presence.
He pulled back gently and said, “I envisioned us married, with two children…”
“…A boy and a girl,” she smiled, and saw something light up within him.
“You thought about it, too?”
Emma nodded. “I…um, I had a dream.”
Peter kissed her again and she held onto him tightly. “I had a dream, too, Emmeline, and now it seems…” His voice broke.
“You can’t help this, Peter, and it’s not your fault.”
When he looked at her again, Emma saw it, the shattered look in his eyes. Her heart broke for him, and a sting of tears pricked her eyes. She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him again. He gripped her tightly.
“Em, you need to know I don’t want this, and I don’t want to let you go. But this world, my world, is unrelenting right now, and you and your grandfather would be thrust into this unforgiving spotlight with the rest of us.”
“I know,” she said, “And I also know marrying me, especially now, would probably create insurmountable diplomatic and political problems, not to mention scandal.”
He combed his fingers into her hair, his warm fingertips triggering a wave of goose bumps. “No, my darling. This love, what I feel for you, is not a problem—can never be a problem—and if this were any other time, I would carry you out that door right now and marry you today.”
The words hung between them for a moment, and Emma remembered a saying she heard once, long ago: Good things happen slowly, and bad things happen fast.
Memories she’d tried to bury rushed in after the thought: her parents leaving her—first her mother, then, less than a year later, her father—saying goodbye to each one, and blaming herself for their departure. This was why she hated good-byes, because the words tore a hole in her heart and left her feeling hollowed out. Winner take all.
A tear slid down Emma’s cheek, and Peter pulled her against him and stroked her hair. “I’m sorry, darling,” he whispered.
“It’s not your fault,” she managed, her voice thick.
Emma heard the bookstore door open again, followed by a rapid-fire clicking she didn’t recognize for a second.
“Peter!” someone yelled.
Emma looked over and saw a crowd of
paparazzi wearing badges on lanyards. She could see the names of news agencies.
Oh, noooo! Em shriveled inside.
“Peter, can we get a statement? Is this your fiancée? We hear you’re getting married.” The cameras continued to snap pictures, and even though Em hid her face, she knew from having worked with the media for so long that it was too late. No doubt they got a few solid pictures they could use; they’d probably taken a few from outside the store.
“Get out!” Peter yelled. He pushed Emma behind him so the photographers couldn’t see her. “Out!” he roared. “Or I will call the police!”
The group retreated, but not before snapping a few more pictures of an enraged Peter.
Emma could hear Marcel’s footfall on the stairs. “What’s going on?” he asked when he reached the bottom.
“Marcel,” Peter’s voice was tense. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think they’d find me here so quickly.”
Marcel sighed. “The media is hungry, boy, and you’re dinner.”
Peter turned back to Emma, cupping her face. “Are you all right?” When she nodded, too upset to speak without floods of tears, he kissed her gently.
“I should go,” he whispered. “But I want to continue this conversation.” Emma nodded again, but she knew in her heart there wasn’t much left to discuss.
“I’ll coach Grandfather on what to say if and when the media calls here.” She threw a weak smile to Marcel.
Her grandfather threw a hand up in the air, “I know what to say. ‘Damn the lot of you!’” He shook his fist while Emma shook her head. She’d have her work cut out for her with her outspoken grandfather.
“I will call you later,” Peter promised while he held her tight.
“Peter, they’ll be waiting for you at your house,” Marcel said.
“I know, but they won’t get past the gate.” Then he sighed and stepped back, expression calm, but a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Madness.” His voice was hot and irritated.
“I’ll check online to see what’s being said and do damage control if I can,” Emma offered.
Peter took her hand, “I can’t let you do that.”
“She’s very good at it,” Marcel said. “The best, in fact.”
“I know she is.”
“It’ll be fine, you’ll see. I’ll find a way to spin this.” Though Emma wasn’t altogether sure she could.
Less than five minutes after Peter left, Emma got a series of alerts on her phone. Pictures of them embracing, kissing, and then kissing again, were popping up on blogs everywhere.
The royal family no one cared about was making headlines, and, much to her chagrin, she, too, was center stage. Within fifteen minutes, her phone was buzzing nonstop with calls from reporters, most of whom she knew, of course. She listened to a few voicemails that sounded all too familiar:
“Em, girl, how are you? What’s this I hear about you dating royalty? Quite the step up from #BadBoyRob. Hey, call me. I’d love to get a quote for…”
Em deleted the message, then listened to the second, and third, and fourth, before realizing she needed to suck it up and deal with them. Call them, give them a little something, and get it over with.
She picked up the phone and called a friend at TMZ.
“Eddie,” the deep voice said at the other end of the phone.
“Eddie, it’s Emma Avery.”
“Why, if it isn’t the Princess Bride.” She could hear him smiling through the phone. “So what’s the story here, Em? You dating the future King?”
“No, not at all, Eddie.”
She could hear him chuckle, “Well these pictures sure look like you’re dating him. At the very least. The party you two attended, what was it again?”
Crap, the charity ball. She’d almost forgotten about the photographers there.
Emma swallowed and said, in her best “I’m the publicist and I’m in control” voice: “Eddie, you know Peter and my grandfather have been friends for years, right? Grandfather served during World War II with the current King of Belgium.”
“Is that right?” Eddie said, sounding bored. He wanted something juicier than a lifelong friendship story.
“Because they’re still friends, Peter and I have known each other for a long time,” she said, rolling her eyes at herself. Why let the facts get in the way of a good story?
“You’ve known each other?” Eddie sounded skeptical.
“Yes, we practically grew up together.”
“Then why are there no other pictures of the two of you together?”
“Eddie, you know as well as I do that I avoid being photographed like the plague. But in recent weeks, well, things happened.”
“What happened, exactly?”
“Nothing,” she said, so resolutely she almost believed it herself. “His date got sick, so I stood in for her at the charity ball.”
“I have some accounts saying you two looked pretty chummy there,” Eddie added, with a teasing note.
Emma had about reached her limit, but she steeled herself and said, “Eddie, look, we’ve worked together through a lot of celebrity crisis situations. I’m not jacking with you. There’s nothing going on here. I wish Peter all the best.”
“Even with his upcoming marriage?”
Emma sucked in a breath. The words, especially from this mocking reporter, cut her deeply. If Eddie knew, then it was on a blog somewhere out there, and soon enough everyone would know.
“Y-yes, yes of course. Very excited for him.”
She could hear paper rustling, and then Eddie said, “Her name is Alexandra, and from what I can gather, she’s quite a looker.”
His words felt like a razor slice with an acid chaser. Emma wanted to slam the phone down, but instead she said, “Ed, listen, let me see what I can find out about her and maybe get you an interview.”
“I’m not interested in her, Emma dear. I’m interested in you. It’s so incredibly Grace Kelly.”
“And we all know how that ended. There’s no story here, Eddie. Trust me,” Emma said, ending the call before Eddie could come up with any more things she didn’t want to hear.
She couldn’t take it anymore and she couldn’t stand why they were so interested in her. She looked up and saw there were still a few reporters outside. This media siege would, no doubt, go on for a while, at least until Peter announced his engagement. Something twisted inside her, and she could feel a throb in her stomach at the thought of never seeing him except in celebrity shots of him with his gorgeous Romanian bride.
Emma stood at the counter, jumbled, angry, sad, and worried about Peter. Then a memory flashed. Being with Peter on the beach, their first night, and their first kiss. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the memory, but it wouldn’t go away. It continued to replay through of the rest of that awful day, mocking her.
Em spent the rest of the afternoon working, or trying to. The store was busier than she expected, though she knew some shoppers had only come in out of curiosity or to see the media camped outside the store. She resolved to have Ben, the new guy she’d been training to help Grandfather with the store, start to work full time the following day. It would best for everyone if she spent time away from the island.
Maybe once she was back in the city, she could connect with friends for coffee or keep it simple and spend quiet time in her apartment, which she hadn’t visited for more than a month. No doubt her mail, and the dust, were piling up.
But while Emma bagged books and finished ringing up the last customer, she thought of another thing she needed to do.
chapter 3
Alexandra Dalca sat with her assistant in the large, heavily decorated sitting room where her father would often welcome business associates and other dignitaries. Now she was here, planning for her entrée into the royal world, so she would be ready for all eve
ntualities by the time her engagement to the Prince of Belgium (soon to be King) was announced.
Alexandra swept her long, dark hair off the shoulder of her sleek Chanel dress and admired her brand-new, matching Prada pumps. What a lucky break it had been, the crown prince running off to marry his cheap tart and leaving Peter as heir to the throne.
Alexandra had originally insisted her father pair her with Christophe so she could be Queen, but when they entered negotiations her father learned they were a few years too late. The eldest son of the King of Belgium had been promised to someone else.
With so much industry moving offshore and to China and with their government in disarray for years, Belgium badly needed an economic shot in the arm. Her father held the purse strings on some big industry Belgium wanted and, for that matter, needed. Her marriage to Peter would assure many years of lucrative trade agreements, as well as several new manufacturing facilities in Belgium, which would supply hundreds of thousands of jobs to factory workers, office staff, and shipping workers. It was a real win-win.
Now it was an even bigger win for Alexandra, because almost overnight she’d been promoted from Princess to Queen. She was so thrilled she could scarcely sleep.
Her father had received word from the King and Queen today that they wanted to move the engagement announcement up from fall to, hopefully, within the next few days, which suited Alexandra perfectly. She’d seen the pictures of Peter with his current fling, Emma something or other, the granddaughter of a boring old coot who had served in the war with the present king. But Alexandra didn’t care about such things.
Nothing mattered to her beyond her own looks (which were remarkable), fashion, and now, becoming the next Queen of Belgium.
chapter 4
“Peter,” It was Astrid, who sounded hoarse. Peter checked his watch. Three p.m. in New York meant nine p.m. in Belgium. Astrid was normally in bed by now, which meant something very serious had gone wrong.
A Royal Affair Series: Book 1, 2, and 3: A paranormal, time travel, royal romance Page 10
