The Princess Affair

by Nell Stark

  As the train pulled into King’s Cross station, she double-checked the map of the Tube on her phone. It was public knowledge that when in London, Sasha resided in Clarence House, the royal residence attached to St. James Palace in Westminster. Perhaps by the time she made her way there, she would have a reply from Sasha on her phone.

  But when she emerged from the Underground half an hour later, her phone continued to taunt her with a blank screen. As she paused on the sidewalk opposite the gate to Clarence House, a cold drizzle began to fall. Perfect. For one insane moment, she considered approaching the guard booth and asking to see the princess.

  “They’ll probably arrest you,” she muttered. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she turned back toward the Tube station, looking for a place to take shelter from the rain. When her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d forgotten to eat lunch, she settled on the Red Lion pub. She sat at the bar, ordered a pint of London’s Pride and an order of the bangers and mash, and decided to send one more text. The last train back to Oxford left just before midnight.

  I’m in a pub around the corner from Clarence House called the Red Lion, she wrote. I’ll be here until eleven o’clock. I need to see you. Please.

  Before she could second-guess her wording, she hit “Send.” While waiting for her food, she forced herself to get a jumpstart on the reading she needed to do for next week. It was slow going, especially since she couldn’t seem to stop herself from checking her phone every five minutes, but she had managed to make it through a chapter and a half before she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Adrenaline flooded her system as she spun on her stool…only to see Ian, dressed in his customary dark suit, gray trench coat speckled with raindrops.

  “Good evening, Ms. Donovan,” he said formally.

  She blinked at him dumbly for several seconds before collecting her wits enough to return the greeting. She had no idea what else to say. Why had he come? What did he want with her?

  “Is she all right?” Kerry finally asked, not wanting to mention Sasha’s name in the crowded pub.

  His mouth tightened. “Frankly, no. She refuses to speak with anyone. I saw your message on her telephone and I’d like to take you to her. If you’re still willing.”

  “Even though she doesn’t want to see me?”

  “I don’t believe she knows what she wants, frankly. She’s in a very dark mood, and she’s been drinking. At this point, I’m willing to risk her ire.”

  “That makes two of us.” Kerry stood, threw a few pound notes onto the bar, and grabbed her backpack. Ian had sought her out. He thought she could help. Silently, she vowed not to disappoint him, or herself.

  “I’m ready. Take me to her.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ian led her back to the main entrance of Clarence House, where he flashed his credentials at the guard booth. After producing her driver’s license, Kerry was granted entry through a small door to one side of the main gate. As they walked briskly down the gravel driveway, Kerry admired the elegant stucco façade of the residence. Clarence House had been conceived during the Regency and built shortly thereafter, but the building had been given a near-complete overhaul after suffering bomb damage during World War II. Little of the original structure remained, and Kerry had read that it was quite modern inside. She was about to find out for herself.

  She caught only a glimpse of the foyer—its gleaming wood floor giving way to cream-colored walls punctuated by several large oil paintings—before Ian led her upstairs. Four flights later, Ian paused on the landing before a large oaken door.

  “This is Her Royal Highness’s suite of rooms.” He produced a set of keys and fitted one into the lock, then gestured toward the bench resting against the opposite wall, where the other security officer Kerry had met at Balmoral was seated. “Either Darryl or I will be right there should you happen to need any assistance.”

  “Thank you.” Kerry felt a surge of trepidation. What sort of “assistance” did Ian think she might need? What exactly was Sasha up to?

  “I shall ask Her Royal Highness’s valet not to attend her tomorrow morning, if you think it best,” Ian continued.

  Her valet? Kerry’s brain spun into overdrive as she tried to formulate a response. Sasha’s morning routine was apparently worlds apart from her own. Unsurprisingly. “I’ll manage, thanks.”

  “Very well.”

  When he pushed open the doors, she was struck first by the darkness and then by the music. After pausing to let her eyes adjust to the gloom, she saw that a long corridor awaited her, culminating in a set of double doors. They were slightly ajar, and flashes of light danced in the gap. The music died, to be replaced by the low murmur of voices. Was Sasha watching a film?

  Kerry startled at the quiet snick of the door shutting behind her. Ian had well and truly thrown her into the lion’s den, but right now, there was no place she’d rather be. At the sensation of thick carpeting beneath her feet, she slipped off her shoes and left them just inside the door.

  The voices grew louder as she walked slowly down the hallway, their dialogue tantalizing her memory. Whatever Sasha was watching, she’d seen it before but couldn’t quite place it. Feeling like an interloper despite the fact that Sasha’s own guard had granted her access, she took a deep breath as she stopped in front of the doors. And then she pushed.

  The doors opened soundlessly to reveal Sasha in profile, seated on a black leather couch, a half-empty snifter in her right hand. Wearing only a black tank top and matching bikini underwear, she was focused on a large television on the wall, but as Kerry lingered in the threshold she turned her head. Surprise flashed across her face before she laughed, quietly and without real mirth.

  “Perfect. How did you get here?”

  Kerry felt like she had just found herself in a minefield, filled with foreboding that whatever step she took would be the wrong one.

  “It’s true what they say about British trains,” she said lightly. “Regular and reliable.”

  Sasha turned back to the television. “I don’t want you here. Please go.”

  Despite having expected this sort of reaction, Kerry couldn’t suppress the stab of hurt that pierced her stomach. She almost turned around. Sasha was a princess, after all. What right did she have to disobey? But Sasha was also woman she cared for. A woman in pain.

  “I’m not going anywhere. And since Ian was the one who brought me here, I don’t think he’ll throw me out.”

  “He put you up to this.”

  “He didn’t put me up to anything.” Kerry made her voice soft but firm. “I came as soon as I could. He saw the messages I’d left on your phone.”

  “I’m sure you can appreciate why I haven’t touched my phone in hours.” Sasha drank from her glass. “I’ve been sitting here praying one of your precious celebrities dies or gets pregnant.”

  The rawness beneath her words tore into Kerry’s chest, but she had to tread carefully. Sasha would reject out of hand anything that even remotely resembled pity.

  “May I come in?”

  She didn’t look away from the screen. “If you must.”

  Kerry crossed the threshold and sat gingerly on the matching chair to the right of the sofa. Uncertain, she turned her attention to the screen, only to realize she recognized the movie.

  “The Age of Innocence?”

  Sasha raised her glass in a salute. “One of my favorites. I may be a fuck up, but at least I’ve avoided a loveless marriage. So far, anyway.”

  Kerry gripped the arms of her chair, reminding herself not to take the bait. If she expressed sympathy, Sasha would use her as the focal point for her anger. And while Kerry would gladly have painted a bull’s-eye on her own belly if it would help, she knew that in this case, turning herself into a target wouldn’t do a hint of good. Sasha needed to talk about the real problem.

  “Have you ever read the novel?” When she remained silent, Kerry pushed harder. “It’s a beautiful book. I read it in my first year of college for a seminar
on the literature of New York.”

  Finally, Sasha leaned forward, her face a mask of pain and fury illuminated only by the light of the screen. “What do you want me to say? I can’t bloody read, all right? Wasn’t it obvious today?”

  Kerry reached for her hand and held on even when Sasha would have snatched hers away. Tenderly, she stroked her thumb over Sasha’s knuckles. They were slightly abraded, as though she had hit something.

  “Don’t misrepresent yourself,” she said quietly. “You can read. You’re just dyslexic.”

  Sasha blinked, shock trumping her anger. “How did you—but—everyone else in the world is saying I was drunk or high or that I’m just a dumb slut—”

  “I’m smarter than almost everyone else in the world.” Kerry dared a small grin, mostly to hide her boiling rage at the catalogue of insults. Sasha needed her to be calm right now. “Also, my youngest cousin has it. A pretty mild case, but some of the signs were familiar.”

  Sasha worried at her lower lip with her teeth. Her gaze darted back and forth between the television and the floor. She looked like a trapped animal. Kerry just kept on stroking the back of her hand, hoping the touch would soothe her. Hoping she would open up.

  “Mine is…moderate.” Sasha threw back the rest of her drink and rather unsteadily set the glass on the coffee table. “When I was young and began to fall behind in school, my father thought I was lazy. Even after I was finally diagnosed, he seemed to consider…this…a personal failing on my part.”

  Kerry couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “A personal failing? Did anyone bother to tell him that dyslexia is genetic?”

  “He certainly doesn’t have it.” She smiled wanly. “He believes that if I concentrate hard enough, I’ll be able to force my mind to work properly.”

  “And that’s not how it works for you.”

  “Not at all.” Sasha looked down at their joined hands. “I do much better when I’m relaxed.”

  “So this morning…” Kerry thought back to exactly what had happened. Sasha had seemed to have the event well in hand at first.

  “It was so silly.” Withdrawing her hand from Kerry’s grasp, she slid back against the couch and pulled her knees up to her chest. The unconscious defensiveness of her position made Kerry want to hold her.

  “I was fine until that gust of wind knocked over my papers. But when that happened, I worried one of the sheets would get lost, or that they would be out of order. When the anxiety hit, I…” she trailed off, squeezing her eyes shut as though she could block out the memory.

  This time, Kerry didn’t resist her instincts. She slid onto the couch next to Sasha and wrapped one arm around her thin shoulders. Her body was rigid, and Kerry sensed she was fighting back tears. As much as she wished Sasha felt comfortable letting go in her presence, she could understand not wanting to show weakness. She focused on taking slow, even breaths, hoping the steady rhythm would prove soothing.

  After several tense minutes, Sasha finally relaxed into Kerry’s embrace and opened her eyes. This close, Kerry realized they were bloodshot with exhaustion.

  “Let’s get you to bed,” she whispered.

  “Are you finally propositioning me?” The words were one hundred percent “Sassy Sasha,” but the tone was hollow.

  Kerry stood and offered her hand. As Sasha rose, she swayed once and reached out to grip Kerry’s upper arm for balance. The movement drew their bodies flush, and suddenly Kerry’s head was spinning too. Sasha flexed her fingers and licked her lips.

  “I need to see you naked. If you look even half as good as you feel…”

  Kerry swallowed hard, wanting nothing more than to give in to their mutual desire. But not like this. Not like this. She lowered her head, lips caressing the delicate shell of Sasha’s ear.

  “I want you so much, but I’m not going to sleep with you tonight. You’re so tired, and you’ve had too much to drink. I want you to remember our first time perfectly.”

  Sasha shivered at the words, and Kerry pulled her even closer. Struggling to tamp down the fire in her veins, she stroked her palm along Sasha’s spine. She wanted to comfort her with promises—that everything would be better tomorrow, that the world would forget quickly, that her father would handle the fallout with compassion rather than judgment. But she had no control over any of that. All she could control was herself.

  “Don’t be angry with me, okay?”

  Sasha took a step back and looked up at her with a small smile. “I’m not. How could I be?” She cupped Kerry’s cheek briefly. “I’ll be right back.”

  Kerry watched her walk unsteadily toward the bathroom. When the door closed behind her, she took her first good look at the rest of the room. A four-poster, king-sized bed stood with its headboard against the far wall, flanked by two marble-topped nightstands. In the far corner, a table and two chairs were arranged near a fireplace. She approached the bed, switched on the nearest lamp, and turned down the covers. As she tried to figure out the television remote, Sasha emerged from the bathroom wearing a green silk nightgown the precise color of her eyes. Its hem came to mid-thigh, the material caressing her breasts and hips as she moved toward the bed.

  Kerry groaned in spite of herself. “You’re not making this easy.”

  Sasha’s gaze carried a hint of its former fire. “Who said I was obliged to?”

  “Touché.”

  She slid under the covers and patted the empty side. “It’s too late for you to go back to Oxford tonight. Stay.”

  “I will.” Kerry felt her smile turn rueful. “But I can’t sleep there.”

  Sasha sighed. “The guest room is the first door on the left as you walk back down the hall, and you should help yourself to anything you need. But will you at least come here? Just for a moment?”

  When Kerry perched on the edge of the bed, Sasha ran two fingers up and down the length of her forearm. She shivered.

  “You like that?”

  “I like it anytime you touch me.”

  Sasha raised her hand to cup the back of Kerry’s neck. “When you finally let me, you’ll regret having put me off for so long.”

  But Kerry shook her head. “No, I won’t.” She pressed one firm but gentle kiss on Sasha’s lips, wanting to linger and knowing she couldn’t. “When we make love for the first time, I don’t plan on having any regrets at all.”

  Sasha’s breath hitched, and she stared up at Kerry with an unfathomable expression. Kerry squeezed her hand once and then withdrew.

  “Good night.” She headed toward the door, but Sasha’s voice made her pause.

  “Kerry. Thank you.”

  She turned back, savoring the sight of Princess Alexandra reclining on one elbow, looking at her with a mixture of desire and affection.

  “Sweet dreams.”

  She left the door cracked behind her and quickly found the guest room. Its bathroom contained a medicine chest with several spare toothbrushes—the one item she’d forgotten—but as she stood contemplating the queen-sized bed, she realized it simply wouldn’t do. She grabbed a pillow and a spare blanket from the closet and crept back into Sasha’s room.

  Sasha was already asleep and snoring lightly, dark hair fanned out against the pillow, one hand clutching the covers to her chest. Simply stunning. Reluctantly, Kerry tossed her own pillow onto the couch and spread out the blanket. Was she crazy for not taking Sasha up on her invitation? Now that Sasha was sleeping, couldn’t she indulge her need to be close by sliding under those covers?

  Kerry lay back on the couch with a sigh. Too tall to fit comfortably, it took her several minutes to find a relatively un-cramped position, but she simply couldn’t move to the bed. She didn’t trust herself.

  She didn’t trust herself at all.

  *

  Sasha woke to the sensation of a distant drumroll in the back of her head. When she opened her eyes, the throbbing intensified. It took her several disoriented moments before the events of the previous day filtered through her headache. T
he botched speech. Enduring her father’s subsequent tirade over the phone. Retreating to her rooms to lick her wounds. Kerry’s arrival.

  Kerry.

  She sat up too quickly and squeezed her eyes shut as the pain sharpened. Once it had receded back to a dull ache, she dared to take a look around the room. It was empty, but a glass of water and two aspirin sat on her nightstand, and her snifter was no longer on the coffee table. Kerry had cleaned up after her. What an impression she must be making.

  After taking the pills, she brushed her teeth, pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and a black, v-neck sweater, and then went on the hunt. It was just past seven o’clock, and she hoped Kerry was still asleep. But when she quietly pushed open the door to the spare bedroom, she was greeted by the sight of a bed that hadn’t been slept in at all. Had Kerry already left? Belatedly, Sasha realized she didn’t even know whether Kerry had academic obligations on Fridays. How much rest and studying time had she sacrificed by coming down to London?

  Just as she was giving in to self-recrimination, Sasha turned into the kitchen and was greeted by the aroma of coffee and the sight of Kerry, hunched over her laptop, crimson mop of hair still wet from a recent shower.

  “Good morning,” she called softly, wondering if Kerry could hear the relief in her voice.

  She turned quickly, a smile lighting up her freckled face. “Hi. How are you feeling?”

  “A little achy. Thank you for the medicine.”

  Kerry waved aside her gratitude as she stood. “Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  “How about some toast? Think your stomach could handle it?”

  Sasha frowned. “How did you know I was feeling a little queasy?”

  “Educated guess. And some past experience.”

  “Toast would be wonderful, if you really don’t mind.” But when Sasha sat in the vacated chair, Kerry paused in the act of pouring.

  “You might not want to look at my computer.”

  A quick glance revealed that Kerry had been looking at Twitter. Facebook was open in another tab. The video of her mangled speech had gone viral, and the pain in her head intensified as she wondered just how many thousands upon thousands of people had laughed at her expense.