How

by Zoe May

  ‘Oh my God,’ I utter, my blood running cold as I scroll down the article. ‘Oh my God.’

  There are five images of my butt in total, bulging in white lace. My bum looks so big that I’m beginning to wonder if the photos have been edited or taken with a fish-eye lens or something.

  ‘It’s okay.’ Anders rubs my back consolingly as I read the article.

  The rumoured ex-girlfriend of Prince Isaac’s brother, Anders, gave onlookers an eyeful at the royal wedding in Norway today when she jumped a barrier, flashing her knickers at the crowd.

  ‘Ex-girlfriend?’ I pipe up.

  ‘We were photographed kissing two weeks ago and, as far as they know, we haven’t kissed since. So now you’re my “rumoured ex-girlfriend”.’ Anders rolls his eyes, and I’m beginning to see why he has such little patience for the media. I keep reading.

  In what appeared to be an attempt to make contact with Prince Anders, his British love interest Samantha Fischer, was seen repeatedly shouting his name in a bid to gain his attention as she scaled the barrier.

  Police warned Samantha, 28, a journalist, not to trespass, but she ignored their requests and was promptly arrested at the scene.

  The article goes on to give an annoyingly detailed background of my professional life, which I’m pretty sure is now over.

  ‘Oh no,’ I groan as I scroll down to see that the article has had 17,000 shares and 722 comments.

  ‘Seventeen thousand shares,’ I gawp.

  Anders smiles tightly. ‘It’s not that bad,’ he insists.

  ‘Not that bad!’ I balk. Anders looks away awkwardly.

  I scan the top-rated comments, most of which seem to be about the size of my backside.

  ‘Someone has described me as a “cheeky mare”,’ I say, reading one of the comments aloud.

  Anders lips twitch and I can tell he’s trying hard not to laugh.

  I look down to find another comment, with hundreds of up-ratings. ‘That’s ANUStonishing view!’

  Anders cracks up, clapping his hand over his mouth. ‘Sorry, Sam.’

  I sigh, shaking my head.

  ‘It is ANUStonishing view though,’ he jokes.

  I poke him, half playfully and half with genuine frustration. ‘My career is over, Anders! It’s over.’ I hand his phone back to him. I can’t bear to read any more.

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ Anders insists, rubbing my back, but he doesn’t understand. I’m not a princess, I’m not rich and I love my job. It matters to me.

  ‘You worked really hard on all the wedding coverage, it’ll be okay.’

  ‘This is different. It’s one thing working hard on the wedding coverage, but a whole other story to be flashing at the royal wedding.’

  Anders lips start twitching again. ‘Sorry. Not funny.’

  I roll my eyes indulgently and give him another poke. ‘No! It’s not funny! I need to call work.’

  I reach into my clutch. Fortunately, I have reception.

  ‘Sorry, Anders. You can go ahead.’

  ‘No, it’s okay,’ he insists. He sits down on a bench in the hallway.

  ‘Just give me a minute,’ I say, as I call the office and walk a few paces away.

  Phil answers after a few rings. ‘News room,’ he says briskly.

  ‘Hi Phil,’ I say in a meek voice. ‘It’s Sam.’

  ‘Samantha Fischer,’ he says in a flat tone. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Phil,’ I tell him, delving into a huge explanation that’s meant to make the situation sound better, but doesn’t really hit the mark.

  ‘Sam!’ Phil stops me. ‘Relax.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Take a deep breath and relax! It’s not the end of the world! You’ve still got your job so don’t worry about that. In fact, Lionel seems to think you’re some kind of genius.’

  ‘Genius?’ I echo.

  ‘Yes!’ Phil laughs. ‘Not only have you covered the biggest story of the year, but you even became part of it. Twice! He thinks you’re a star!’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes,’ Phil states. ‘He thinks you’re crazy, but as long as you’re the kind of crazy that sells newspapers, he’s all for it!’

  ‘Wow! I can’t believe it! I thought I was done for!’

  ‘Nope, you’re good,’ Phil insists, and I feel an immense wave of relief flood through me. My job’s saved!

  ‘Anyway, where are you now? Did you get out of prison?’ Phil asks.

  ‘Yeah, I did,’ I tell him.

  ‘Good. So they didn’t charge you?’

  ‘No, they didn’t charge me, they let me go.’

  ‘Where are you now then?’ Phil asks.

  I look towards Anders, sitting in the foyer of this spectacular palace. He looks over at me, concern on his face turning to relief when he sees that I’m smiling.

  ‘Sorry, Phil, the line’s breaking up.’

  ‘Sam?’

  ‘Sorry, can’t hear you!’ I lie, smiling at Anders as I hang up.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  If I thought the foyer of the palace was special, it’s nothing compared to the grand hall.

  Not only is it so large that it defies normal proportions, but its vast arched ceiling is a work of art. It features Cupid gods flying through a blue sky aiming their arrows at a crowd below. Carved pillars line the entire hall, supporting a balustrade where party-goers can cavort arm in arm, while watching guests from above. It’s like something from a museum, I catch myself thinking, before realising that my only experience of palaces has been when they’re museums: open to the public, giving a snapshot of royal life. Palaces have never been the kind of places I’ve gone to have fun or to socialise!

  A band plays gentle classical music and people are ballroom dancing across the stone floor like something from a fairy tale. It’s captivating.

  ‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’ Anders comments, sensing my awe.

  ‘It’s breathtaking!’

  ‘It’s a special place.’ Anders smiles. He reaches for my hand. ‘Anyway, I promised my brother I’d take part in at least a couple of the family photos.’

  He points towards the far end of the hall, where a photographer is taking photos of relatives. Prince Isaac and Holly are at the centre of most of the pictures. Holly still looks stunning, even though it must have been a long tiring day.

  ‘Okay, I’ll wait here.’

  ‘What? You’re coming with me, aren’t you?’ Anders balks.

  ‘You want me in the photos?’

  ‘Yes! You’re my date, aren’t you? My plus one!’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, Sam.’ Anders leans in to kiss me. ‘You’re my date and I’d love for you to be in the photos.’

  Just under an hour ago I was banged up in a police cell and now Anders wants me to take part in family photos with royals!

  ‘Okay! Let’s do this!’

  Anders grins as we head over to the photographer. A few people look at me as we pass through the room and I can’t help wondering if they saw my embarrassing moment of arse-flashing earlier, although it’s unlikely. The arse-flashing only lasted a second and I doubt these people will have seen the article online. I start to feel a little self-conscious, worrying that they’re looking at me because my dress isn’t fancy enough or something, when it suddenly hits me why they’re looking: I’m Prince Anders’ date! Of course, people are going to look.

  ‘Anders!’ the king says as we approach the photographer.

  He peels away from the group and comes up to greet his son. He’s a tall imposing man, like Anders, and is dressed in a royal suit embellished with gold shimmering insignia with a thick red sash. I can’t help feeling a little intimidated. I’ve met famous people through work before, like politicians or celebrities backing political campaigns, but I’ve never spent any time with them in a personal capacity. I’ve never been to their family wedding or posed for photos with them!

  Anders introduces us.r />
  ‘Lovely to meet you, Samantha,’ the king says. I congratulate him on his son’s marriage. He asks about me and seems tickled that I’m a royal reporter, but fortunately, he seems unaware of today’s incident, or at least far too polite to say anything. Anders’s mum comes up to say hello. She has a kind papery face with the same piercing blue eyes as her son and hugs me as we meet, before inviting me into the fold for photos.

  I stand next to Anders, his hand on my back and mine on his. We smile as the photographer takes shots. I steal a few glances at Holly. She’s facing the camera and I can only really see her back and her long tumbling blonde hair. I recognise the lace sleeve that Becky and I pored over at Alicia’s studio. After the photos are done, she comes up to me to say hello.

  ‘Samantha!’ she says, her face lighting up.

  For a second, I’m completely taken aback. Holly knows my name?! Surely, she doesn’t remember meeting me back at the charity event weeks ago? Does she remember me from the papers when Isaac and I snogged? She can’t have seen the coverage of me today with my arse hanging out. I’d imagine she has much more important things to worry about than my backside. I’m so surprised that it takes me a second to gather myself.

  ‘Hi, Holly! Congratulations! You look incredible!’

  ‘Thank you! So do you!’ she insists, which I’m pretty sure isn’t quite true since I’ve spent the better part of the day in a prison cell, but I thank her, smiling gratefully. One of Anders’s older family or friends comes over to say hello to him and they break away from me and Holly.

  She looks down at my shoes. ‘Ha! Snap!’ She lifts up her dress and points out one her feet, encased in exactly the same shoe. ‘Gorgeous, aren’t they?’ she says.

  ‘I know, I adore them!’ I reply, thinking of the near scrape I had almost losing one of these exquisite shoes. A dreamy image flashes through my mind of Anders standing in the door of the police cell holding my missing glass slipper.

  Holly smiles, letting her dress fall back down.

  ‘So how does it feel? To have married Isaac?’ I ask.

  ‘Best day of my life.’ Holly beams. ‘I never thought I’d get married like this’ She throws her hands up, gesturing expansively at our insanely lavish surroundings.

  ‘It’s beautiful!’ I admit.

  ‘I know. It still feels strange, but, oh God, I’m so happy to be married to Isaac. He’s such a good man.’ She smiles broadly and, once again, I’m struck by how open and genuine she seems.

  ‘I’m happy for you! I really am!’

  ‘Thanks, Samantha.’ She smiles, taking a step closer. ‘It could be you next,’ she says in a hushed voice.

  I frown, trying to figure out if she’s serious but she doesn’t look like she’s joking.

  ‘It could be you! Walking down the aisle!’ She winks. ‘You know Anders is crazy about you, don’t you?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Totally!’ Holly enthuses. ‘He was devastated when the whole kiss story came out and he thought he’d been set up. That’s why he came straight back to Norway. He sulked around at home for weeks.’

  ‘Seriously?’ I balk, trying to process the fact that Holly and Anders have been talking about me.

  Holly nods. ‘I tried to tell him I didn’t think you were that kind of girl. I know I don’t know you very well, but I get good gut feelings about people and I could tell you were a good egg, but he was worried. He didn’t want to be used. He’s had people do that before – dating him for attention.’

  ‘Like Ingrid?’ I ask.

  ‘Exactly. That was ten years ago and she’s still making stuff up for the papers. He’s understandably wary sometimes and he was really cut up.’

  ‘I was too!’ I tell her. ‘I wanted to speak to him so badly, but I couldn’t get hold of him.’

  ‘Princes!’ Holly tuts. ‘Well, he’s all yours now.’ She gestures over at Anders, who’s chatting to the older man. Our eyes meet and he smiles.

  ‘Come on! Let’s go and watch some fireworks,’ Holly says, beckoning me to follow her.

  Taking Holly’s cue, everyone heads outside, congregating in front of the hall. It’s a balmy evening. The sun has set and the sky is pitch black, dotted with stars. The fjord in the distance reflects the moonlight, appearing a silver shade. Excitement fills the air as everyone gathers in anticipation of the fireworks. Anders takes my hand as the show begins. Fireworks tear across the sky, bursting into fizzing, shimmering eruptions of colour, lighting up our faces and reflecting on the still water of the fjord as they explode in the sky. One gives way to the next and each feels more spectacular than the last: a thrilling enchanting display.

  I snuggle up to Anders, relishing his warmth.

  I look up at him. Our eyes meet. The bright lights of the fireworks dance over his face as he smiles at me. I smile back and close my eyes as we kiss. Finally, my heart feels full.

  Epilogue

  One year later…

  I’ve found there are a few tricks to dating a prince and I think it’s fair to say they’ve come about through trial and error. Anders and I have been together a year now and it’s been the happiest, craziest and most fulfilling year of my life. Although dating a prince isn’t always easy, it’s safe to say I’m a convert to romance. I’ve made peace with the little girl deep down inside me who used to love playing ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ with daisies.

  Have your own bolt-hole.

  When Anders and I got together, I’d be lying if I said my life didn’t dramatically change. To people like Anders, life is international. Home isn’t one house in one city. Home is multiple palaces. It’s mansions in London, a townhouse in New York, an estate in the country, a yacht in St Tropez. When you’re in a bad mood and the weather sucks, you don’t stick a movie on and huddle up at home, no, you fly somewhere sunny. Okay, maybe not all the time, but people like Anders have the option. I don’t travel with Anders that much because I still work full time, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the extra holidays I’ve had and the luxury homes. But despite enjoying Anders’ exciting international lifestyle, my favourite place has to be my new flat. I stuck to my plan and I managed to buy it! After I finished covering the royal wedding, I got my pay rise and I finally had enough saved for my deposit. My dream flat – the converted warehouse apartment by the Thames with the communal garden – was to become a reality. I don’t spend as much time there as I thought I would, back when I couldn’t even imagine having a boyfriend, let alone dating a prince, but it’s nice to have somewhere that’s mine. A private place where I can get back to normality, especially when things get too much, because sometimes they do, particularly when it comes to the press, which leads me onto my next point.

  Never kiss in public.

  Anders and I have a new rule: we don’t snog each other’s faces off in public! We’ve had a few slip-ups – once when we got carried away during a romantic outdoor concert in Venice and got snapped smooching, the photos of which were promptly slapped across the front pages of several nationals back home the very next day. The papers love a good kiss, which is why we only ever kiss away from prying eyes these days. No back-row cinema smooches for us! Anders is vigilant about it. In fact, I can barely believe he ever kissed me at the bridal fair that night. I didn’t realise it at the time, but that’s the kind of thing he’d never normally do. He truly does avoid press attention as much as possible.

  Don’t break the law.

  It sounds obvious, but one thing I’ve realised about dating a prince is that everything – I mean everything – you’ve ever done is suddenly subject to media scrutiny. Remember that horrible boyfriend I had in sixth form who dumped me a week before my A levels? Well, he went on to sell his story to a tabloid, describing in lengthy detail how I ‘smoked joints’ at parties. In fact, I’d never smoked joints at parties at all. The closest I’ve ever come to smoking cannabis was inhaling the passive smoke from him, but, of course, that doesn’t make quite as good a story. Anders had to g
et his PR team to handle the fallout from that crisis and, even though my ex-boyfriend’s claims weren’t true, it hit home how squeaky clean you have to be when dating a prince. You can’t smoke pot. You can’t break the law. Oh, and you can’t get arrested for disorderly conduct at weddings. That’s definitely a mistake I haven’t made twice!

  Have a career.

  Not every woman who dates a prince has a job. I’ve certainly met quite a few over the past year who are happy to spend their days shopping and visiting spas, but I’d say having a career is vital to maintaining a sense of normality. After Holly and Isaac’s wedding, I got to go back to what I do best: politics reporting. Phil finally agreed that there would be a conflict of interest in me continuing to cover the royals (despite Lionel loving my unorthodox approach to royal reporting!) and I got to go back to doing what I love. Having had the break of covering the wedding, I threw myself back into it with even more vigour than before and launched an investigation into funding cuts and the effect on charities and individuals across the country, inspired by what I saw at the Phoenix Centre. Every week, the Daily Post profiled a different person’s story, from disabled and elderly individuals to refugees and addicts, based on one-to-one interviews I carried out. The reports helped put a human face on stories which often just involve a lot of inaccessible facts and figures and they did well, attracting traffic to the site and creating conversations around the issues. In fact, they did so well that I was nominated for the Investigative Reporter of the Year award again at the National Press Awards.

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