by Jessica Ashe
Mind you, even if I did well, people would just assume the grade had been bought and paid for. I was in a no-win situation. Do well and no one would believe I’d earned it. Do badly and people would think I was stupid. Not to mention the added embarrassment of failing a class that centered on the English royal family. The irony would cause no end of amusement.
Fifteen minutes into the class, my eyelids started to feel heavy, and my head slumped forward, before snapping back as I fought off sleep. I’d packed a thermos of coffee, but I didn’t usually have to dip into that until around eleven. Not today.
I poured a cup, and felt awake before even taking a sip. I wasn’t the only one struggling to stay with it. My usually attentive classmates looked bored and sleepy. Heads were resting in hands, or slumped so low to the desk it was hard to tell if they were reading from the textbook of just taking a nap.
Professor Jackson deserved an attentive audience, but he was the one who insisted on teaching the first class of the morning. Rumor had it, he actually wanted the class to start at seven in the morning, so that his day would be completely finished by lunch and he could focus on his research. The university had vetoed that one; even clever students wanted to go and get drunk once in awhile.
Halfway through the lecture, something changed. There was movement and rustling behind me as people tried to subtly take phones out of pockets and bags. Professor Jackson had banned all use of phones, but those sat behind me obviously figured they could get away with it.
Once a few people had pulled out their phones, the rest of the room followed their lead. Only myself and those in front of me continued to pay any attention to the lecture. University was cheaper in England, but you still had to pay for it. I never ceased to be amazed at how little people cared about learning after spending thousands on their education.
Professor Jackson tried to carry on talking, but he couldn’t ignore the commotion that was spreading throughout the room. Students weren’t just using their phones; they were giggling and whispering excitedly.
I was about ready to turn to the girl behind me and ask what all the fuss was about when Ellie burst into the room loudly and out-of-breath.
“Sorry,” she muttered to a bemused looking Professor Jackson. “I need to speak to Sophia. Sophia Whittemore. It’s an emergency.”
“Fine,” Professor Jackson said, holding his hands up in defeat. “Leave quickly and quietly please, Mrs. Whittemore.”
I grabbed my books and shoved them into my bag as I hurriedly left the room. Ellie looked panicked, and for a girl as calm as her, that had me worried.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, the second we were outside. “Has something happened to George?”
“No, George is fine,” she replied. Ellie walked so quickly I had to jog to keep up with her. “I’ll explain back at my dorm.”
We rushed back to Ellie’s room which was only a few minutes away. Students stared at us as we walked, and I could swear I saw a few of them smile. I’d gotten plenty of looks from the public recently, but there was something unnerving about those smiles.
Ellie shut the door behind us the second we were in her room. I felt like we had just escaped a pack of zombies, and half expected her to barricade the door and push all the furniture in front of it.
“What the hell is going on, Ellie? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I wish that was all I’d seen.” She opened up a message on her phone and passed it to me. “This email is doing the rounds on the university server. I haven’t seen any news stories on it yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”
The email had a subject line of “Her Royal Highness’ royal tits.”
Oh fuck. Please no. Please. Anything but this.
There was no text to the emails, just some photo attachments. I opened the first one, but didn’t need to open any more.
“I’m so sorry,” Ellie said, wrapping her arm around me.
“Me too,” I replied. “About everything.”
The dream was over. There was no way I could be a princess now. I didn’t know if I wanted to be.
My own phone rang. No need to guess who it was. I hit the decline button on George’s call.
“You should speak to him,” Ellie said. “He might be able to help.”
“He promised me he’d sorted it. Just last night he said this wouldn’t be a problem any more. Now look what’s happened.”
“I’m sure he tried.”
“He should have tried harder.”
I probably wasn’t really mad at George, but he’d have to bear the brunt of my anger for the time being. He was a fucking prince; he should have been able to fix this. Instead, here I was, trapped in my friend’s room, while pictures of my breasts circulated the university, and soon the country. Then the world.
This was only the beginning. There were plenty more photos. Stan had other photos he could release if he wanted to. And then there were the video clips.
The embarrassment wouldn’t be ending any time soon.
After running from my own wedding, I hid from the world until the worst of it had blown over. How long would that take this time?
I might never see the light of day again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
George
Sophia wasn’t returning my calls, but Ellie kept me up-to-date. The two of them were holed-up in Ellie’s apartment while the media ran the story continuously.
At least most of them had the sense not to show the pictures, although anyone who could use a keyboard and a search engine could find them online easily enough. The palace had engaged a small army of solicitors to shut down any site hosting the images, but they were just playing whack-a-mole and could barely keep up.
The simple fact was, anyone who wanted to look at an image of my wife’s breasts could now do so. That horrified me, so I couldn’t begin to imagine how Sophia felt.
She’d blame me, and she had every right to. I’d promised to solve the problem. I’d told her it had been fixed. She’d trusted me, and I’d failed her.
The pictures weren’t even the end of the problem. Stan had sold his story to some hack “news” website, and according to him, Sophia had been a serial cheat who left him at the altar and broke his heart.
He’d made ten, maybe twenty, thousand—tops—from selling the story and pictures. How could he destroy someone’s life for so little?
“What are our options?” I asked Harry. “There has to be something we can do.”
“It’s all damage control from here on out. You need to control the narrative. Get the story out there that Stan is the wrong-doer and Sophia is innocent in all this.”
“That should be easy enough,” I replied. “It’s the truth after all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m fucking sure. He cheated on her with her best friend. Surely the public will take her word over his?”
“She doesn’t look great right now.”
“Because she took a few naked photos on her mobile phone with an ex? Fucking hell. He’s the one that leaked them—he’s the one who shouldn’t have any credibility.”
“I agree,” Harry said. “I’m just telling you what the public is thinking right now. She’s not just a random actress or pop star, George. She’s going to be a princess. She might even be the Queen one day. People get funny about this kind of thing.”
“Jesus Christ,” I yelled as I slammed my palm against the wall in frustration. “I’m going to kill him. I’m seriously going to fucking kill him.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it, sir,” Harry replied dryly.
“I want everyone out there speaking to the media and giving Sophia’s side of the story.”
“And what is that?”
“That the photos were meant to be private, and she never gave permission for them to be shared. This is a textbook case of revenge porn from a jilted ex-lover.”
“Can we get her on camera?” Harry asked.
“No, I don’t wan
t those savages asking her questions.”
“She should apologize. If she just says she’s sorry, we can quickly move past this.”
“Apologize?” I spat the word out as if it were venomous. “What the hell should she apologize for?”
“The photos were—”
“No one else’s fucking business. She’s not going to apologize.”
Sophia would kill me if she could hear me making decisions for her like this, but she wasn’t taking my calls, so what choice did I have?
“Don’t forget the charity efforts,” Harry said.
“What about them?” I asked, a little more calmly. It didn’t do any good to take my anger out on Harry. He was a media professional—that didn’t mean he agreed with half that crap that was coming out of his mouth. At least, I hoped it didn’t.
“Sophia was the face of that charity drive along with you. We’ve already lost £100,000 in canceled donations, and new donations have all but stopped.”
“Who in their right mind cancels a charitable donation because someone was the victim of a crime?”
“Rich old men,” Harry replied. “They made donations because they wanted to be associated with you and Sophia. They no longer want to be associated with Sophia.”
“You can bet your arse they’re jerking off to the photos though.”
Harry nodded. “Most likely.”
I ran my fingers through my hair—might as well enjoy the experience while I still had some. If this went on for much longer, I wouldn’t have any hair left.
“What do we do?” I asked quietly. I didn’t have the energy for shouting any more.
“You’re not going to like what I suggest.”
“Just spit it out.”
“You said there were more photos?”
I nodded. “Video clips as well.”
“We need to get them out there.”
“No fucking way. Absolutely not.”
“We can’t start damage control when we know there’s another tsunami on the way.”
“That is one hundred percent not going to happen. Just to be abso-fucking-lutely clear about this, if those images get out there, I am going to personally deal with the individual responsible. Understand?”
“I think I get the gist,” Harry replied, in typically emotionless fashion. “In that case, your only option is to distance yourself from Sophia. Talk about separation and then we can sort out a divorce in a few months.”
Exactly as we’d planned from the beginning. It should be easy really.
“No,” I replied. “Think of something else.”
“Those are the only options I can see right now. Is it really that big a deal?”
“You don’t think divorcing my wife is a big deal?”
“Come on, George. Your marriage to Sophia was hardly built on a solid foundation.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Okay, but whatever you do, you need to do it quickly.”
I sent Sophia a message asking her to call, but I knew it was pointless. A few blue ticks on the message told me that she’d read it, but I didn’t get a reply.
“Set up an interview,” I said to Harry. “With the BBC. Tell them they can ask any questions they want. Warts and all.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, let’s get everything out in the open. Then we’ll start damage control.”
I should have listened to my gut all along. I could have claimed my inheritance, dumped the money into a trust for Liam, and then paid Stan off. I didn’t like him winning, but at least that way Sophia would never have been publicly humiliated.
I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what she must be going through right now. I’d do anything to be there with her. I’d wrap my arms around her and we could pretend we were the only two people in the world.
Instead, we were two of the most famous people in the world, and the media had sunk its claws in deep. It was all my fault. I should have listened to Sophia when she recommended we stick to the original plan and ignore the royal family.
Now Sophia was royally screwed, and there was nothing I could do to help.
Except maybe one last thing.
It was all or nothing time.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sophia
“What’s he saying now?” I asked.
“What is who saying?” Ellie replied, looking at her phone.
“I know you’re talking to George. I saw his name pop up on your phone.”
“Well you won’t reply to any of his messages.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
I didn’t trust myself with my phone. If I replied to his messages, I’d take out my anger on George and I knew that wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t his fault, but every time I thought about those pictures, I blamed George.
If I’d never met him, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Those pictures wouldn’t be out there, and I wouldn’t be the laughing stock of the entire world.
But I’d still be miserable. I’d still be working in a café and destined to return home to America where I’d betrayed all my friends and family. And I’d be without George.
“He just wants to know you’re okay,” Ellie said. “He feels awful about all this.”
“So he should. He told me it was all sorted, and suddenly my tits are all over the internet.”
“It’s not his fault.”
“I know. I fucking know. I just… ugh, this whole thing sucks.”
“Yeah, I’m with you on that one. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, by the way.”
“Thanks, but it’s not like there’s a lot of space in here. The last thing I need is a story about sharing a single bed with a woman to go around.”
“Fair point. I do think it would be best to get back to normality as soon as possible.”
I’d already tried that. I’d gone to class this morning as if I weren’t married to a prince, and look how that had turned out. I wasn’t destined to have a simple life. I got engaged to my childhood sweetheart and he turned out to be a cheating asshole. The next guy I meet ends up being a prince, and suddenly my tits are all over the Internet.
To think, I’d been quite boring as a teenager. I’d dreamed about having an exciting life.
What I wouldn’t give to be boring now.
“George is going on television,” Ellie said suddenly, staring at her phone. “It’s going to be on BBC One in thirty minutes.”
“Oh God,” I muttered. “This is going to be bad.”
“You don’t know that. He’s going to stick up for you.”
“I don’t think so. Harry will have told him he needs to distance himself from me. That’s the only way he can be a prince and do some good.”
“Even if he does, he won’t mean it. Not in his heart.”
“I don’t know about that,” I replied.
“Well I do. You only have to see the way he looks at you.”
“That’s—”
“It’s not just a show for the cameras,” Ellie interrupted. “And it’s not just him going along with the plan. He likes you. A lot. And you like him as well.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
“You don’t have to watch it.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Okay, well in that case, you’re going to need a cup of tea.”
* * *
George looked worse than I did. He clearly hadn’t let anyone put any makeup on him, judging by the bags under his eyes, and he hadn’t shaved in at least two days. Harry must be sleeping on the job to let George go on the air like that.
The interview was being broadcast live, and the lack of preparation was evident. The cameras started broadcasting while George and the host were still being mic'd up. I recognized the interviewer from one of the breakfast shows—Kimberly I think. She was frantically reading through notes on a piece of paper, probably trying to memorize the questions she planned to ask.
There wouldn’t be much in the way of pleas
antries. This interview was interrupting planned programming which meant it was important. The BBC was about to reveal some big news about the prince and his wife. Or would that be ex-wife?
“Want another cup of tea?” Ellie asked.
“I’m still on this one.”
“Well I need more. I always drink tea when I’m nervous.”
After another minute or two, the interviewer finally introduced herself and her guest, and apologized for interrupting the television. It was only cricket, so I failed to believe anyone really cared.
“Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” Kimberly said to George.
“Please, let’s just stick to George for the time being.”
“Okay, George. We’ll cut to the chase as you requested. Recently sexually explicit photos of your wife were leaked online. No doubt this event is proving incredibly embarrassing for the two of you, even more so considering the photos were not sent to you, but to an ex-lover. Would you care to tell us how you feel about this situation?”
My heart raced as the camera cut to George who looked surprisingly calm. Was this how I would hear about my divorce? Our entire marriage had been played out in the media, so it seemed appropriate somehow.
I didn’t want to lose him, but as I looked at his face, I realized I already had. I could only hope he let me go out with some dignity.
“First of all,” George began, “the leak of these photos constitutes a serious crime. The person responsible will be punished.”
“That person being her ex-fiancé?”
“Yes, it would appear so.”
“The leak must be a source of considerable embarrassment for you?”
“I’m not embarrassed, I’m angry.”
“But how do you feel that another man has explicit photos of your wife?”
“Obviously I’d rather he didn’t still have them, but my wife has a past, as do I.”
“Are you annoyed with her for being so careless?” Kimberly asked.
George looked annoyed all right, but he directed his anger towards the interviewer.
“Why would I be annoyed with Sophia? She had a sex life before she met me, as did I. Frankly, I find your question to be almost as offensive as the leak of the photos.”
