The Controversial Princess

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  “Didn’t your mom teach you it’s rude to eavesdrop?”

  “Yes, but then I became a journalist.” She shrugs, unashamed. “Are you dating, Josh?”

  Josh’s publicist steps forward, ready to intervene, but Josh stops her. “It’s early days.”

  My heart virtually stops in my chest. The excitement from the presenter is electric, virtually reaching me through the television. I can’t blame her. She just got herself an unexpected exclusive. I’m stunned, part ecstatic, part panicked. He’s told the world he’s dating someone, and now the world will be desperate to know who. It’s hard to be mad with him when I’m feeling so utterly chuffed.

  “Too early to bring her along to the premiere of your new film?” the presenter pushes.

  He chuckles, glancing away. “This is all a bit below her, to be honest.”

  I gape at the screen, just as Josh flicks his eyes to the camera that is panning in on him. The rascal. Below me? It is not below me. I grab my phone and text him exactly that, clicking send.

  “Below her?” she coughs. “Red carpets, world premieres, and you on her arm is below her?”

  Josh grins as he glances down, and I figure very quickly that he’s just caught sight of my text. “Are we going to discuss the film?” he asks. “Isn’t that why we’re here?” His publicist steps in and ushers him away toward the next waiting mic before the presenter can get on to why they’re really there, but she doesn’t care. She unexpectedly scooped the story of the night. Maybe even the year. I know in my heart of hearts that Josh just made a very silly move, tossing the media morsels of information on a relationship and woman in his life, aware that they will want the whole three-course meal. But I cannot stop the deep thrill and insane contentment of knowing that that woman is me. I don’t pay much attention to the part of my brain that wants me to focus on his stupidity. I’m more inclined to side with the part that’s wondering if he’s making a point. Being brave. Setting the standard. Maybe I should be brave, too. It’s easy to think it. Not so easy to do. My stomach revolts against the wine I’ve poured into it, at the thought of what Josh could endure should he end up at the mercy of my father and his aides. Gerry Rush and his hookup with a hooker is a prime example. Yet if Josh has no skeletons in his closet, what could they possibly do? I laugh to myself. Everyone has skeletons in their closet. Josh is Hollywood. He will definitely have skeletons in his closet, and if he doesn’t, I know someone will put them there.

  I turn the television off and make my way to my suite, mulling over the notion of being brave. Of standing up to the people who keep me caged. I wash, brush my teeth, and crawl into bed.

  My thought process has me tossing and turning for a few hours, sleep evading me. Nothing has ever consumed my mind so much, and the lack of an answer for my problem is positively maddening.

  I’m about to give up on sleep and find something to read when the darkness of my suite is suddenly illuminated by the glow of my phone. I roll over to take it from the nightstand.

  Awake?

  Every thought polluting my head is forgotten in an instant as I stare at his simple question. I tap out a quick yes and then wait for a response, tummy whirling, face splitting. I don’t get a message in return; I get a call. “Hello?” The sound of music in the background is deafening, as well as the cheers and shouting. I’m forced to pull my phone away from my ear.

  “Hello?” Josh shouts. “Adeline? Hello?”

  “I’m here. I can barely hear you.”

  “Hold up. I’m looking for somewhere quiet.” The music continues to pump as I wait patiently for Josh to find somewhere quiet. “Still there?” he shouts.

  “Still here.” I laugh.

  “Fuck, this place is like a fuckin’ maze.”

  “Where are you?”

  “After-party. Wait, I think I’ve found somewhere.” The ear-splitting sound suddenly dulls to a muffled fuzz. “That’s better. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.” His voice sounds more gravelly than usual, no doubt from shouting to be heard. “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I can’t see a thing.”

  “Then turn on the light,” I chuckle, imagining him feeling around in the darkness for a switch.

  “I’m good. I can hear your voice. It’s the only light I need.”

  I melt. Positively melt into a girlie puddle on my pillow. “Have you had a nice evening?”

  “Great. You?”

  “Oh, you know. Rocking and rolling in my suite all alone,” I joke, now happy I struggled to find sleep, else I could have missed his call.

  “Come see me.”

  I laugh at his ridiculous demand. “And how would you propose that happen?”

  “Fuck.” His curse is sharp and full of frustration. “I can’t stand this.”

  My contentment waivers for a moment. “That was a rather silly thing you said to the presenter earlier.”

  “You want me to feel remorseful? Because I’m not.”

  “They will want to know who is apparently below the glitz and glamour of a world premiere.”

  “Let them wonder.” He brushes off my concern with ease, and I let him. “I’m due to fly back to the States in a few days.”

  Tenseness fills me. Already? Where has the time gone? “I see.” My heart sinks. It’s daft, really. I knew he was here for business, but still.

  “I’ve changed my plans.”

  I scan the darkness before me. “You have?”

  “Well, I’m due on set in New Zealand in two weeks to start a new movie. I’d only be going back to LA to relax and repack. I can relax here, and London has malls. I’ll buy new clothes. Makes sense for me to fly from here.”

  I press my lips together to stop an excited squeal from slipping free. “Sounds sensible.”

  “I thought so, too. So, I mean, if you’re free, so am I.”

  My grin splits my face. “I’ll check my diary.”

  “Ouch.”

  I laugh. “I’m only kidding. Didn’t you know I’m only here to keep up appearances. That’s my sole purpose.”

  “No, your sole purpose is to keep this smile on my face.”

  “Josh Jameson, you are really on form this evening. Have you been drinking?”

  “I’ve had something far more addictive than alcohol,” he says softly, making me all warm and lovely inside.

  “You have? What’s that then?”

  “Her name is Adeline Catherine Luisa Lockhart.”

  I cannot remove this smile from my face. “I’ve heard you ‘like her a real lot’.” I try to imitate his American accent. I do a frightfully terrible job, but it makes him laugh nevertheless, and the sound only makes my contentment grow.

  “Yeah, I do. I’ll show her just how much when I see her next.”

  I stop myself from asking when that might be. It’s not like I can simply pop out to see him, or he me. If I allowed it, that thought might dampen my mood, but for now he’s on the other end of the phone, and I can hear his voice. “Look forward to it.”

  “You should. So when do you make my change in plans worthwhile?” he asks frankly.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I would love nothing more, but I’m scheduled for back-to-back interviews all day. Sucks, huh? What about the next day?”

  “I have to attend a polo match. It’s the Cartier King’s Cup. A big deal in the polo world.” Since Matilda and I sip champagne and sun ourselves for most of the day, it’s one of the few annual events I don’t mind attending. The King and the other men are too busy swinging mallets and egos around the field to bother me. But now . . .

  “Polo, eh?”

  “Yes, the sport of kings, don’t you know?”

  “Do you play?”

  “God, no. The polo field is a man’s playground. But I must show my face.”

  “So the next day, then?”

  Three days away? God, that feel like centuries. “Okay.”

  “Call me, yeah?”

  “I wil
l. Enjoy the rest of your party.” I click End Call and roll onto my side. He called me from his super important premiere. Twice. He wanted me to be there. I smile to myself. I like the Josh Jameson who likes Adeline Lockhart a real lot.

  JENNY IS FAFFING AND FIDDLING with my ponytail in the back of the car, while Kim gives me the rundown from the passenger seat of everyone attending this year’s Cartier Cup game. Basically, everyone who is anyone. I hiss as Jenny tugs a little too hard. “Sorry, just need to tuck this lock in somewhere.”

  “Just leave it.” I moan tiredly. I’m casual but smart today, in a cream Zimmermann embroidered-silk georgette dress matched nicely with silver strappy flat sandals. All-day comfort, and perfect for the spring sunshine.

  “The photographers are out in force,” Kim says.

  “Can’t have me looking anything less than perfect then, can we?” I quip, putting my tassel satchel over my head and across my body, making Jenny tut when I knock her hand as she fights to secure that loose, defiant piece of hair. “It’s fine.” I peek into the rearview mirror. There is not a hair out of place, my ponytail immaculate and smooth. She’s being picky.

  Stepping out when Damon opens the door, I’m immediately aware of the photographers in the distance, happily snapping away to catch the Royals jollying it up in a good old-fashioned royal tradition.

  As I scan the crowds, I take in the sea of elaborate hats and champagne flutes in every hand. I start across the grass with Damon in tow, spotting every single member of my family except the one I actually want. Matilda. My mother waves me over, standing in a group with my snarky sister-in-law and Matilda’s parents. Where is she?

  “I’m glad you are finally here.” Matilda swoops in from behind me.

  “There you are.”

  She passes me a glass. “Have you seen the new guy?”

  “What new guy?” I look toward the field where she points, but only see the polo ponies saddled up and ready to play.

  “There. Look. On the other side of the field with John and Eddie.”

  I spot my brothers talking to a man, but his face is hardly distinguishable beneath the guard of his hat. His body looks quite fine beneath his tight trousers and top, though. “Who is it?”

  “Some Argentine polo whizz. Santiago something or other.”

  “Santiago Garcia?” I try to focus harder, past the bars of his guard. It’s no use. Anyone could be under that riding hat.

  “That’s the one. Did you know he plays off a six-goal handicap? And he is insanely good-looking.”

  “I’ve heard.” I tip my glass to my lips as Matilda gazes across the field. “Do you think he would fall into the approved category of men?” I ask, not that I am interested. While this polo player extraordinaire is apparently insanely good-looking, he isn’t Josh. But asking is what I would usually do.

  “I don’t know. His father is apparently a diplomat, and his grandmother a descendant of the Spanish royals.”

  “Great, so I’m related to him somewhere down the line.”

  “Never stopped the royals before,” Matilda quips.

  “He’s all yours.” I chink her glass in congratulations, quietly pleased with myself for appearing my usual self. Truth be told, if Josh was not in my life and consuming all my thinking space, I would probably have some fun with Mr. Polo Whizz over there.

  “You heard from Mr. Hollywood?” Matilda turns into me, though her eyes are keeping a keen eye on Santiago.

  “No.” I brush off her question casually, appearing unfazed and unaffected at the mention of him, despite how exhilarated I feel. “In hindsight, he was all power no precision.” I’ve never told such a barefaced lie in my entire life, and Damon’s cough from behind me confirms it. I cast a brief look over my shoulder, ready to scowl at him, but he is too busy scanning the surroundings.

  Matilda giggles through her mouthful of champagne, struggling to swallow. “How disappointing.”

  I hum my agreement, spotting Felix hurrying toward me. “Oh, bore. What is he doing here?” His beige suit is immaculate, his hair combed with precision to the side. “Will you be divot stomping with us in between chukkas, Felix?” I ask when he joins us.

  “Your Highness.” Felix nods in greeting. “I think I’ll leave that to the lords and ladies of this fine land.” He looks at his shoes, no doubt dreading the thought of his signature loafers getting smeared with dirt.

  “Suit yourself.” I give Matilda a flick of my head, indicating we should follow our sense of smell to the champagne tent without delay. “We will be on our w—” Champagne is forgotten, and my need to escape my head of communications is halted when my eyes, now wide, spot Senator Jameson across the field, all geared up and ready to swing his mallet. Oh my goodness. If he is here, then . . .

  My silent pondering stops right there as Josh appears from behind Senator Jameson’s horse. “Oh no.” Mixed feelings swirl through me—delight, excitement . . . disappointment. How on God’s green earth am I going to keep my eyes off him, let alone my hands? Darn it. He knew I was coming here. He probably knew he was, too.

  “You okay?” Felix asks, looking back to whatever has my attention.

  “Perfectly fine, thank you,” I squeak, slipping my shades on. Even if the sun is swallowed up by clouds at any point during the afternoon, these sunglasses will be staying firmly on my face to conceal the direction of my stare. Matilda has just caught sight of Josh, too. Her tongue-in-cheek expression and sarcastic raised eyebrow tells me she has put two and two together.

  “Oh, Josh Jameson,” Felix breathes, shaking his head in . . . what is that? Condemnation?

  “What does that mean?” I can’t stop myself from asking.

  “I’m surprised he dare show his face in public.”

  What? I look across to Josh, where he is deep in conversation with Senator Jameson. “Why?”

  “Well, this.” Felix magically produces a printed email from nowhere and pretty much shoves it under my nose. “Tomorrow’s front-page news. It’s shocking.”

  My eyes can’t focus fast enough, and Matilda is quickly on my shoulder, gasping at what is looking back at us. My heart skips a few too many beats as I absorb the words.

  SUITE TRASHED. JAMESON OVERDOSES ON WOMEN, DRINK, AND DRUGS IN AN ALL-NIGHT WILD PARTY.

  The pictures below show various rooms in a suite, a suite I recognize . . . because I’ve been in it. It is completely smashed to pieces. In the main area, there are glasses on the floor, chairs broken, empty bottles of liquor scattered everywhere. In the bedroom, the sheets are tossed all over the floor, the mirror is shattered, and the dresser he screwed me on is face down. I zoom in, seeing various pairs of knickers scattered on the carpet.

  What?

  I step back, away from the bold letters of the proposed headlines and the damaging images of Josh’s suite. My eyes refuse to drop to the article, worried that what I’ll read might pale me further and give me away. He didn’t sound very intoxicated when he called me from the after-party, but then again, it was only eleven o’clock. The night was young. Why? How could he? My shaking hand passes the email back to Felix. “Where did you get this?” I breathe, my lungs squeezed dry of oxygen.

  Felix looks kind of smug as he slips the paper back between the pages of his diary. “Ma’am, it is my job to keep myself abreast of breaking stories. Contacts, contacts, contacts.”

  “He is despicable. How dare he show his face here?” I murmur, catching Matilda’s pursed lips. I ignore her grave expression and point my empty glass to the tent where more of my savior can be found. “Shall we?”

  She just nods, as Felix answers his phone. “Yes? What? Darn it,” he spits down the line, looking back toward the club’s entrance. “I don’t care what it takes, do not let him in. I’ll be there in a jiffy.” He hangs up. “Must dash.”

  I watch as he runs off, thankful for whatever emergency has removed him from my increasingly sweaty form before he notices something untoward. Matilda is still here, though. Staring at me. “Y
ou okay?” she asks.

  “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” I start across the grass, my stinging eyes straying to where I saw Josh. He’s gone, but that doesn’t make me feel even remotely better. He’s here somewhere, and I don’t know where. How could he? After that wonderful night we shared, the words, the understanding, how could he do this to me? I swallow lump after lump, fighting to keep myself together. At least I don’t have to be concerned about keeping my hands to myself anymore. Ignoring the deceitful bastard should be easy as pie now.

  I purposely dodge every member of my family, choosing my route carefully to the tent so I can avoid engaging with any of them. “Let’s get squiffy,” I declare, arming Matilda and myself with two fresh glasses of champagne.

  “You know, you could seduce the Argentine and get him out of your system.”

  “There is nothing in my system that needs to be removed,” I assure her, my damn traitorous heart bleeding for something I didn’t really have in the first place. I down my fizz and claim another. “But still, he has some front showing his face at a royal event after what he’s been up to.” My discontent starts to bubble into anger. Of all people, I know the press embellish things for entertainment and shock value, but I also know that there is no smoke without fire. You would think he’d be trying to avoid me, but here he is, bold as shiny brass at a royal gathering. If things were hopeless for us before, now . . . well, now it will be impossible. “He should be ashamed of himself,” I spit, throwing back another glass. “Women? Drugs? Vandalism? What a fool. I mean, who does that? Who behaves so deplorably?” I catch Damon at the entrance of the tent, watching me, his face stoic, though I can see the concern in his eyes. I sigh and look away, feeling utterly humiliated, despite the limited people who know of Josh’s and my rendezvouses. “I need a cigarette,” I declare, marching over to Damon and holding out my hand. “Don’t say a word. Please, just give me a cigarette.”

  “I wasn’t about to say a thing, ma’am.” He reaches into his inside pocket and slips his packet and lighter into my bag where it rests on my hip. “Want to be alone?”