The Controversial Princess

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  Josh lips form a perfectly straight line. “Say hello to Adeline, Tammy.”

  She gasps, a gasp full of horror. “Your Highness.”

  “Hello.” I smile, though it is tinged with despair.

  “We have a situation.” Josh presses forward.

  Tammy scoffs, “You don’t say.”

  “I don’t need your jokes, Tammy. I need your help.”

  “What’s the problem?” She all but sighs.

  “We need to get Adeline out of here, but the place is heaving with press and fans.”

  “You need a decoy.”

  “Something like that.” Josh rises to his feet and walks away from me. “What can you do?”

  “Give me an hour. I’ll call you back.”

  “Thanks, Tammy.”

  “Don’t mention it.” She hangs up and Josh’s shoulders rise, a sign of his deep inhale. Then he turns to me, and I can tell by the expression on his face that I am not going to like what he says next. “What’s Damon’s number?”

  I take in air like it could be my last opportunity. “No.” I shake my head furiously, flat refusing what he is suggesting.

  “Adeline, our options are pretty limited. Tammy can distract the mob, but we hit a brick wall when it comes to the palace gates. We have no choice.”

  Dread fills me. “But he’s having a romantic night in with his wife,” I explain, my words coming fast and panicked. “They’re having steak and sex.”

  Josh’s forehead bunches as he pulls his boxers up his legs. “Steak and sex?”

  “Yes.”

  His sweats follow his boxers, his body slowly being covered before my eyes. If I could focus, I’d mourn the loss. But I am too wound up, all for the wrong reasons. “Then let’s hope he fucks fast and eats faster.”

  “Josh!”

  “What do you want me to do, Adeline?” He shows the ceiling his palms, and I flop back onto the bed, exasperated and worried. “Give me his number.”

  “I don’t know his number off the top of my head.” I lift a limp hand and point to my pile of belongings. “My phone is in my pocket. But it’s broken.”

  “The PIN?”

  I look up. “It’s working?”

  “The screen’s fucked. Tell me the PIN.”

  “Eight-five-nine-three-one-zero-two-two.”

  He balks at me. It’s rather adorable. “What the fuck?”

  “Palace security,” I grumble, dropping my eyes and watching him blindly navigate the touch screen.

  “Bingo.” He raises the phone to his ear, and I cringe at the conversation that’s about to happen, wishing my phone dead.

  “Damon?” Josh says, coming to sit beside my reclined body on the bed. “Yes, Josh Jameson. We have a situation.” He flicks his eyes to me, and I scowl. I’m a situation. “You do?” Josh’s eyes take on an edge of sympathy. For me. “Bates called you,” he says slowly, keeping me abreast of the conversation. I wish he wouldn’t. I don’t want to know how fuming mad Damon is. “You’re on your way,” he says quietly, and I cringe, imagining Damon’s reaction when Bates put that call in. “Yes, in my suite at The Dorchester.” Josh goes on, telling Damon his new room number. “I’ll let her explain herself when you get here.” My leg swings of its own volition, booting Josh in the thigh. He smirks at my pursed lips. “There’s a circus outside the hotel. We can create a decoy, but we need you to get her back into Kellington.” Pause. “Yes. Thanks, bud.” Josh chucks my phone on the bed.

  “How did he sound?” I don’t know why I’m asking.

  “Pissed off,” Josh confirms bluntly, and I groan, covering my eyes with my palms.

  “I’m in so much trouble.” The thought of Damon being cross with me isn’t thrilling. I hate that I’ve disappointed him. It’s ironic. I couldn’t care less about my father or his aides, but Damon is different. I’ve let him down, and I know I have risked his job.

  My hands are suddenly gone from my face, and Josh is suspended over me, grinning. “But I’m worth it, right?”

  “I don’t know. Are you?”

  His sparkly eyes narrow. “You tell me.” His hand glides over my hip and under my bum, gripping hard. I jump in his hold, my sore bottom burning, and he laughs. “That’s a yes, then.” A hard kiss is placed on my mouth. “Come on, time to get dressed and face the music.”

  THE TIME AND EFFORT THAT went into getting me out of The Dorchester was both brilliant and ridiculous. Poor Josh was forced to endure the crowds, just to keep their attention off the staff entrance so I could escape. Damon’s eyes were like steel—hard and formidable. I shied away every time I caught his stare from leaving the suite, to getting back to Kellington. He didn’t utter a word for the entire journey, and the silence was agony, full of silent disapproval and fury. I must have shrunk a whole foot in height in the space of an hour, feeling small and inconvenient.

  It’s the morning after the night before, and I’m sitting at the breakfast table at Kellington. My scrambled eggs haven’t been touched, and my eyes haven’t moved from the picture dominating the front page of a newspaper. All I can see are my Uggs and my two slim legs sprouting from the tops. Josh’s face is perfectly clear, though, and it is etched with infuriation.

  “Tell me it isn’t you.” Eddie’s voice startles me, and I quickly flip the newspaper over, like there isn’t another million in print available.

  “What isn’t me?” I force-feed myself some eggs, trying to appear as casual as possible.

  Eddie’s hand appears and returns the paper upright, his finger landing on the Ugg boots. “You have these, right?”

  “As do a million other women in Britain.”

  “But these ones are yours, yes?”

  I drop my fork and look him square in the eye. “If you must know, yes.”

  Eddie rounds the table, his chest expanding, ready to say some more, but he pulls back his words and sits down when Kim wanders in, her face stony. “New phone,” she says, turning on her heels and walking out.

  “Thank you,” I call, wincing a little at her shortness. She knows she’s being kept in the dark, and she doesn’t like it.

  “Did you feel free while you were being hustled through that chaos?” Eddie asks seriously once Kim has gone. “And to think they don’t know your identity. Imagine the fuss if they ever find out.”

  “When,” I say curtly. “When they find out.” Resting my napkin on the table, I stand from my chair, giving up on trying to put something in my tummy, and also giving up on trying to reason with my brother. “Good day to you, Edward.” I stroll away, chin held high.

  “When they find out? So you’re going to tell the King?”

  “I am.” I don’t let my steps falter, and I don’t let Eddie’s surprised tone affect me, either. I’m not enduring the stress of last night again, and I don’t mean the hordes of people camping outside the hotel, but more the logistics of getting to the hotel. I’m a grown woman, for pity’s sake, and I had to skulk around London like a teenager who had snuck out while her parents were sleeping, just to see her boyfriend. “Don’t try to talk me out of it.” Will he try to talk me out of it?

  “Adeline.” Eddie’s up and coming after me, his steps hard on the floor.

  “I said you shouldn’t try to talk me out of it.” I turn when I make it into the foyer, aware of the people around us, including Felix, Jenny, and Kim, who all look up from their phones where they’re gathered by the door.

  Eddie wisely notes their presence and pulls me to the side, huddling over me. “I don’t want to fight with you,” he says quietly.

  “I don’t want to fight with you, either.”

  “Then listen to what I have to say.”

  I lean back, cautious. “I’ve already listened.”

  “It’s impossible. You and him, it can’t work.”

  It takes all my strength and more not to retaliate at his continued efforts to put me off my quest. I cannot, however, halt the tightening of my jaw. “I love him.” I practically grind the wo
rds out, and Eddie recoils. “Yes, you heard me. I love him. Say what you will, Edward, but it will be a waste of your breath. If I don’t get the King’s blessing, then I’m willing to walk away from all of this.” I motion to the luxury palace interior that surrounds us, the bars of my jail.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I wholeheartedly mean it.” I take in air, gathering strength. “My life has been suppressed for thirty years, and I’m done with it. I’m done with them. Done with this.” I throw my arms up into the air heavily.

  “With me?”

  My mouth snaps shut, my eyes widening. “Never you.” I couldn’t be without Eddie. The idea alone hurts my chest.

  “And Mother?”

  “What?”

  “You’re talking like it’s so simple for you to walk away, but you’re forgetting it isn’t only the Monarchy you’ll be walking away from. Not just the King, but your father. Not just the Queen Consort, but your mother. You’re willing to sacrifice your family, a family who loves you, for him? A man you’ve known a matter of weeks?”

  “Our parents’ love is conditional,” I murmur quietly, as if trying to convince myself of that. “As long as I do as I am told, they are happy. Everyone is happy. Except me. And I wouldn’t be walking away just for him. I would be walking away for me, too.”

  “I don’t want you to make a mistake. I don’t want you to ostracize yourself.”

  “And I don’t want to drown in this world any longer.” I reach up on my toes and kiss his cheek. “I love you.” I don’t get the chance to walk away, because Eddie takes me in a hug, and though I’m surprised, I’m more relieved. He might not agree, but he will never disown me. I wish I was as confident in my parents.

  “I love you, too.” Eddie sighs. “I’ll try not to shoot him while we’re hunting today.”

  “Wait, what?” I’m out of his arms quicker than a racehorse out of the stalls. “You’re going shooting?”

  His grin is wicked, and though I really should not be appreciating his sudden easy persona, I’m grateful my brother, as I know and love him, is back. “I’m heading to Claringdon now. We’re meeting at the paddocks before we head out.” He breezes off, as if he didn’t just deliver that bombshell.

  I watch him go, my legs stuck in position while my brain tries to comprehend this news, as well as talking my legs into moving. Josh never mentioned where they were meeting. He’s at the palace? “Eddie, wait.” I rush after him, my mind whizzing. “Josh will be there? At Claringdon?”

  Stopping on the steps, he faffs with his collar and then flips a flat cap on his head. “I assume so.”

  “I’m coming.” I backtrack to the foyer where Olive is waiting with my bag and coat, ever the amazing mind reader that she is. “Thank you.” I shower her with gratitude as she helps me into my coat, taking off down the steps as I fasten the buttons. Eddie’s eyes are alarmed as I fly past him, jumping in the back of the car, offering a small smile to Damon as I land. He is still partially scowling. I deserve it. And more. I could never find what I have with Damon with any other bodyguard, and I truly hope I’ve not damaged that. I so regret deceiving him, but now is not the time to say sorry, not with an audience. I hope he sees the remorse in my pleading eyes.

  Eddie approaches the car and dips down, getting me in his sights. “Get out.”

  I slam my bag on my lap and focus my attention forward, adamant in my stance. “No.”

  His exhale is dramatic and long as he falls into the seat. “Don’t you think the King will consider it strange that his wayward daughter is choosing to visit the palace without a summons?”

  “I’m going to have breakfast with Mother.” I nod to myself, giving my back a mental pat for being so creative.

  “You just had breakfast.”

  “No, I didn’t,” I reply coolly, going into my bag for my phone. There’s a message from Josh, and I smile like a crazy woman when I open it to find that he has sent me a selfie, only a small white towel wrapped around his trim hips.

  “Are you serious?” Eddie snatches my phone from my hand and studies the picture with a sickened expression. I try to grab it back, but with his strength versus mine, it is completely pointless. “You showed me yours,” he says, reading the text with the picture.

  “Stop!” I grapple for his hands, but he holds the phone higher while holding me back with his spare hand. “So I’ll show you mine? Urghhhhh.”

  “Eddie, give it back.”

  “You sent him a picture of your boobs?”

  “No, I did not,” I gasp, disgusted by his suggestion, swiping my phone from his grip. “We were playing, that’s all.”

  “With fire, Adeline.”

  I sniff and return to my phone, my smile back, wishing I could blow this image up and paper my suite with it. “There is nothing X-rated about this picture.”

  “Tell the King that when it falls into the wrong hands.” As Eddie goes to close the door, Kim rushes down the stairs, armed with her phone.

  “Oh, now what?” I grumble.

  “You’ve gone off schedule,” Eddie mutters.

  “Ma’am, you have a royal engagement with the founders of Trax. As patron of the charity, I strongly advise you not to cancel.”

  Bloody hell. I forgot about that. Not surprising when my head is full of an American. “What time?”

  “Two-thirty, ma’am. Jenny will be here at midday to help you prepare.”

  I’m cutting it fine, but Josh is at Claringdon, and I really, really want to see him. “I’ll be here, Kim.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She nods—still terse with me—and makes her way back into Kellington.

  Damon starts the car, and my stomach does that wonderful flippy-floppy thing it does when I know I’m about to see Josh. I know I won’t be able to touch him. I’ll hardly be able to talk to him, either. But I will get to look at him.

  I’ll also be offering advice on how to approach this hunting trip and my father. His plan is gallant, but we all know it is far-fetched. Yet there’s hope inside of me that he can work his magic.

  I DON’T THINK I HAVE ever been so keen to get inside Claringdon Palace. I’m out of the car as soon as it comes to a halt, and up the steps just as fast. Sid looks in a state of shock when he sees me racing toward him, his mind no doubt searching for the memo that advised him of my visit. “Morning, Sid.” I breeze past him and let one of the footmen relieve me of my coat. “Where is the Queen?”

  “In the dining room, ma’am.”

  I’m off across the vast entrance hall before Eddie makes it through the door, my senses alert, keeping a lookout for Josh. As I enter the dining room, Mother is getting up from her chair, delicately patting the corners of her mouth with her luxury napkin. “Adeline,” she says softly, unquestionable surprise on her pretty face. “I wasn’t aware of a visit.”

  “Does one need to schedule a visit to see her mother?” I ask in a blasé way that is extremely out of character. Yes, one does.

  Grasping her hands in front of her, she regards me with a fond smile that is also laced with suspicion. The Queen Consort knows her daughter all too well, and she knows there must be an ulterior motive to me voluntarily visiting Claringdon. It’s imperative I uphold this casual façade. I smile brightly, and Mother’s long, slender neck tilts on her head. “One should have called ahead. I’m afraid I’m due to leave the palace shortly to visit The Royal London Hospital.” She approaches me and gives my cheek a tender rub. “Accompany me to my suite. Mary-Ann needs to tweak my hair, and I need to change into my outfit.”

  I return her soft smile and let her link arms with me, leading me on. “Your hair looks rather perfect already, Mother.”

  Her spare hand comes up to the elegant chignon and pats gently. “A few more pins won’t hurt.”

  My eyes are watchful as we wander through the grand palace, voices coming from all directions, but none of them the smooth American accent I want to hear. When we make it to my parents’ private quarters, I look through th
e huge double doors that lead to the King’s sleeping area, which is a massive distance from the area where his wife lays her head. There is no bed sharing for the King and Queen Consort. Oh no. Yet another loveless marriage.

  Mary-Ann, Mother’s long-serving lady in waiting, is by the floor-length mirror, armed with pins and hairspray. I take a seat on the velvet chaise and gaze around the room, using a rare opportunity while I have been invited in here to remind myself of the splendor. High, ornate ceilings, lavish, oversized drapes framing the huge windows, four crystal chandeliers, all grand, but tiny in the massive space. “What do you think?” Mother interrupts me from my observing, pointing to a clothes stand where a two-piece suit hangs, the soft pink almost wishy-washy, the plain court shoes with a one-inch heel bland, but perfect for the Queen Consort.

  “It’s very nice,” I say, feeling a pang of sorrow for my mother. She’s a beautiful woman, and her figure at fifty-seven is to die for, not that anyone would know, since she’s wrapped up tightly in these formal, stuffy skirt suits every day of her royal life. I would love to cast her stylist aside and let Jenny loose on her. The King wouldn’t know whether the flutter of his heart was due to horror or appreciation. Assuming the King’s heart still beats for his queen.

  “I think so, too,” Mother says, standing as still as a statue while she’s groomed. She doesn’t think so at all. She tells herself she loves the style forced on her because it is easy. Because it is her duty. When the King met the beautiful Spanish princess in 1977, she probably wasn’t aware just how subdued her life would become. She was young and vivacious. She was a fashion icon, a role that died with my grandfather’s death and when my father became King. She’s like a Barbie doll now. Lifeless. Limited to what her owner demands of her. I’m glad I’ll never be in the same boat.

  I sit where I am, my eyes constantly flicking to the doors, wracking my brain for a reason to excuse myself, so I can go on a hunt around the palace to find what I really came here for.

  “You look distracted, Adeline,” Mother says quietly.