The Princess I Hate to Love: A Steamy Romantic Comedy

by Iris Morland

  If there weren’t cats flailing about our feet, I would’ve shown her exactly how much I loved her. Instead, I just kissed her again and hoped against hope that this happiness would actually last.

  Chapter Fifteen

  In the flurry of engagements we had scheduled, I nearly forgot about Connor’s threats. Laurent updated me with any pertinent information regarding the palace’s investigation and plans, but more often than not, there wasn’t much information to convey.

  The palace had managed to contact Connor and to pressure him to give up on his plans, threatening serious legal consequences should he publish anything that would damage the reputation of the royal family. Publishing something truly libelous would result in steep fines and potential expulsion from Salasia itself.

  But when the two weeks passed and nothing happened—no photos published, no stories leaked—I felt like a could take a deep breath. When a third week passed without incident, it seemed as though Connor had decided that it wasn’t worth facing the strength of the palace’s lawyers to get his money.

  Now, Niamh and I were welcoming a group of doctors, nurses, and other medical professionals to the palace as a thank-you for their contribution to the Salasian people and to the country itself. It was a rather standard engagement, standing in queue and shaking hands with person after person, chatting with all of them briefly to hear their stories.

  Niamh stood by my side and shook hands with a smile on her face, French passable enough now to have simple conversations with the attendees. She’d come a long way since we’d first married; now she seemed at ease, whereas before she’d always seemed as though she’d rather be anywhere else. She chatted and laughed, engaging a group of nurses in a conversation about the cats. When she caught me looking, she shot me a bright smile.

  The entire day went as scheduled and was rather dull. I had to stifle a yawn near the end of the engagement, Niamh’s eyes laughing when she saw me looking bored.

  “I can’t believe you were bored listening to the podiatrist talk about all of his patients with toe fungus,” said Niamh in a low voice.

  “I’m not sure which was worse: talking about toe fungus or plantar warts.”

  “I missed the warts bit.”

  “You really didn’t miss anything, I promise you.”

  Niamh excused herself to use the restroom, leaving me to the continue mingling. When Niamh hadn’t returned after ten minutes, I went to Laurent, quietly asking where she’d gone. Laurent assured me he’d have a servant see where she could’ve gone. I knew she wouldn’t simply have left with no intention of returning without telling me, unless something had happened.

  Laurent found me, taking me to a corner where we could have some measure of privacy.

  “Where is she? Is she all right?” I demanded.

  “Your Highness, it must’ve happened within the hour.” Laurent pulled out his phone and showed me. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

  The photos of Niamh topless were splashed across a trashy tabloid’s website. I swiped through the photos, not sure why I needed to look at each and every one. Maybe I hoped that my rage could burn through the phone screen and disintegrate the photos right then and there.

  “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  “I concur, sir,” said Laurent.

  I shoved the phone toward him, stalking away. When a servant tried to approach, he saw my expression and promptly backed away.

  I wished I’d strangled Connor Gallagher when I’d had the chance. Why had I been so stupid as to think he would give up? That he’d have some change of heart and realize what an utter piece of shit he was? I’d been a fool, and my wife would pay the price for it.

  When Niamh reappeared, though, she was all smiles when she saw me. She must not know yet. When she saw my expression, she shot me a confused look.

  “You look like someone just up and died,” she said jokingly.

  “Where were you?”

  “I was talking to some of the guests. I didn’t know I’d been gone that long. Were you looking for me? I’m sorry.”

  I had my hand on her elbow. I was trying to guide her away, to keep any of the media from talking to her, but the crowd was too dense and too many people wanted our attention. Even with Laurent trying to assist us, it felt like we were swimming against a current in the middle of the ocean.

  “Your Highnesses! Do you have any comment on the current situation?” a journalist said in French. He then repeated himself in accented English to Niamh.

  “Situation? That’s a weird way to refer to this.” She turned toward the journalist and replied in French, “We are having a lovely time.”

  “Oh, how amazing you are, to keep your head up, in a time like this! Such a strong woman you are, madam,” said the journalist.

  A few other journalists and photographers had begun to join our group, making it nearly impossible for me to get Niamh out of her. I would have to elbow my way through, which would only cause a spectacle, something these vultures loved.

  “I’m aware that I’m amazing,” said Niamh lightly, “but I’m not sure I deserve that much praise for shaking a bunch of doctors’ and nurses’ hands today. I’m also sure my husband is much better at shaking hands than I am.”

  That remark elicited a few chuckles, but I could see anticipation on the media’s faces, like sharks out for blood.

  “Thank you for attending. My wife and I appreciate all of your support,” I said as I began to move away from the group toward an exit to the kitchens.

  “Those photos, though! I hope you will punish whoever published them.”

  I didn’t know who said the words, but I wanted to punch them. I wished we did have a dungeon, and I could lock away anyone who thought it was appropriate to tell my wife this awful news in front of a crowd like this.

  Niamh, clever as she was, didn’t take the bait. “I believe my husband is about to rip off my arm, he’s so hungry.”

  The resulting laughter allowed us a moment to get away. I pulled Niamh into a room that Laurent had unlocked and was now guarding from any prying eyes or curious ears.

  Niamh already had her phone out. It took less than ten seconds for her to discover what that journalist had meant. I watched as her face paled, her mouth trembled.

  She showed me. “Did you know?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. When I didn’t answer right away, she said, more harshly, “Did you know?”

  “I found out only minutes before you did.”

  She started to look at the photos, which I knew would only make things worse.

  “Niamh, don’t torture yourself. We’ll get this taken care of and sue the person who did this,” I said. “I promise.”

  “How did they even get these? I think I would’ve noticed some creep hanging out in the bushes around the pool.”

  “They took these from some distance.”

  Niamh sighed and finally put her phone away. “I can admire their persistence, at least.”

  I hated how she was trying not to sound overly emotional, that she was trying to keep the subject light. I wanted her to yell; I wanted her to throw her phone at the wall. But she just smiled, albeit a wobbly smile, and shrugged.

  “Doesn’t every famous person deal with shit like this?” She spread her fingers. “I guess this just shows how famous I really am now.”

  “Niamh—”

  “Don’t. Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m this close to losing my fucking mind, so if I just act like it doesn’t matter…” She took in a shuddering breath. “Don’t be nice to me right now.”

  “I’m not going to act like this isn’t a fucking huge invasion of privacy or that I’m not so angry I could cheerfully murder the person behind this.”

  Something in my tone caught Niamh’s attention. She narrowed her eyes. “What aren’t you saying? You seem especially pissed about this.”

  “You’re my wife!”

  “No, like it’s personal.” Niamh stepped closer, analyzing my face. “You knew about this way before toda
y. Is that it?”

  I considered lying and then decided against it. “Yes, I knew.” I nearly disclosed that it involved her father, but I held back. I didn’t know why. Was I afraid of her reaction? Or that she’d finally get angry at someone—namely, me?

  “You knew, and you didn’t tell me. How long, Olivier? How long did you know these photos existed and decided I shouldn’t be aware?”

  When I didn’t give an exact number quickly enough, Niamh shook her head, scoffing. “Wow, that long. Pretty much right after our honeymoon, I’m guessing. Or were we still at the villa when you found out?”

  That anger I was expecting from her filled her voice. I clenched my fists.

  “I was protecting you,” I said, trying to keep my tone level, calm. “I knew of the photos, but our lawyers were handling it.”

  “They were photos of me! Photos of my bare tits! I had a right to know that I’d been fucking violated!”

  “And what could you have done about it? We didn’t know who was behind it. We were handling it as we handle any kind of photo that we don’t want published. You aren’t a private citizen anymore—”

  Niamh laughed hollowly. “I’m well aware of that. Nobody was taking pictures of me topless from miles away before I married you.”

  I flinched. “I’m sorry,” was all I could think to say.

  “For what? Not telling me or putting me in this situation in the first place?”

  “You agreed to this marriage. You could’ve let your brother handle everything, but you chose not to. That was your choice, Niamh. Don’t lay that at my feet.”

  “Of course I’m going to protect my brother, my family!”

  “Just like I’ve been protecting my family, including you.”

  We stared at each other, clearly at an impasse. Niamh’s cheeks were red, and tears were in her eyes now.

  Her voice hitched as she said, “I can’t do this. You’re not going to make me feel sorry for you when I’m the one who’s been fucked with. I’m the one who’s been humiliated, not you.”

  I tried to take her hands, but she pushed me away. “That’s why I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to feel like this. Don’t you understand?”

  “You can’t keep me in a bubble, either. I’m not a little girl who needs to be sheltered. I’m a grown woman who deserves to know the truth, because you respect me. It’s as simple as that.”

  “I do respect you. I love you.”

  She shook her head. “Stop. Please stop. You can’t love somebody if you don’t respect them.” She kept shaking her head, the tears falling now. “Why do I get the feeling you weren’t protecting me, so much as continuing to protect yourself and your reputation? Those photos being leaked makes the entire royal family look bad.”

  “For the love of God, Niamh—”

  “No, no, I can’t do this.” She hurried off, crying, and although I wanted to chase after her, I knew it was futile.

  I sat down heavily on a chair and put my head in my hands. I didn’t hear when Laurent approached. I only noticed his presence when he cleared his throat.

  “Celia escorted the princess to her quarters, Your Highness,” he said quietly. “She’ll make certain no one sees them.”

  I sighed. “Thank you.”

  Then to my surprise, he reached down and gingerly squeezed my shoulder. “It’ll work out, sir.”

  “Will it? Do you have a crystal ball that tells you as much?”

  “As convenient as that would be, I do not. But I do know that if two people care enough about each other, they’ll make their way back to each other. I have confidence in that.”

  “If only I had that same confidence, Laurent.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The scandal of the photos exploded. Not only was it late in the summer and there was little news for the media to publish, but I’d always known that a certain percentage of the public had been waiting for Niamh to screw up like this.

  I’d hoped that there would be more sympathy, but when Laurent showed me multiple news stories blaming Niamh for being topless on her honeymoon, I had to tell him to stop showing them to me.

  As for Niamh, she’d begun to sleep in her bedroom again. When I’d knocked on her door the evening after the revelation, she’d refused to talk to me. I’d had to bribe Celia to get a note to my wife, as she wasn’t answering calls or texts, either.

  I couldn’t sleep. I’d gotten used to Niamh sleeping beside me, the way she hogged the bedcovers, or how she tended to sprawl across the bed and take up more than three-quarters of it. I’d often end up sleeping on the edge of the mattress. But I hadn’t minded, because she’d been in bed with me, and any discomfort was worth that.

  A part of me didn’t regret not telling Niamh about the existence of the photos. If we’d succeeded in making them disappear, she would never have had to feel like this. I’d still have my happy, free-spirited wife instead of this ghost who haunted my thoughts and dreams.

  Although the photos were taken down from the original website, they popped up on more websites. When one website was successfully cowed to take them down, another five reposted them. It was an endless game of whack-a-mole, except it involved a continuous loop of violation against my wife.

  I hated feeling so powerless. I hated that I’d made my wife cry. Most of all, I hated Connor Gallagher, and I wished him to the deepest pit of hell for all of this.

  And now, my father wanted a conversation. Both of my parents had been debriefed about the situation long ago, although I’d never spoken to them about it directly, until now.

  My father sat behind his desk in his office. There was a table with sandwiches and drinks, but they looked untouched.

  Ever since my mother had revealed more about my biological father, I’d had little interaction with Étienne. Distance had grown between us. Seeing him now, I felt more disconnected from him than ever.

  “Olivier,” he said, rising. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

  I sat down, hating the formality of this strange meeting. If my father wanted us to repair our relationship, he wasn’t going to do it treating me like this.

  “How is Niamh?” was my father’s first question.

  I looked at him surprise. “She’s…” I struggled to find the right word. “Upset. And angry.”

  My father nodded. “Of course. Please know that your mother and I want her to know we support her. I can’t imagine how she feels right now.” His gaze softened. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Better than Niamh, at any rate.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. These things happen, unfortunately. As the royal family, there will always be people wanting to profit off of our pain or discomfort.”

  I gritted my teeth. “They violated my wife. It’s more than just some embarrassing snafu that can be waved away.”

  “You’re angry.”

  I laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “I’m angry? Of course I am. I couldn’t protect her from this. I told myself that I’d do everything in my power to keep her safe, and I failed. So, yes, I’m angry—at myself.”

  “You love her.”

  Christ, I did not want to have this conversation, especially with my father. I looked away from the concern in his face. “My feelings about her are irrelevant.”

  “That’s a complicated way of saying yes.” He smiled gently. “I want you to know that despite everything, I still love your mother. I’ve always loved her.”

  I stared at him in surprise. “Why? She was pregnant with another man’s child.”

  “I met your mother when she was in a desperate situation, yes. She was already pregnant, and her family was pressuring her to ‘go away for the summer,’ if you know what I mean.”

  “They were pressuring her to give me up?”

  “Very much so. According to your mother, they’d already had another family wanting to adopt you. She, however, wanted to keep you. She loved you very much, and always has, despite what you might think now.”
r />   Apparently, my father had asked for this meeting to discuss the most awkward subjects possible. I tried to find something to say to lighten the mood. I wished Niamh were here. She’d know what to say to get everyone laughing.

  “Your mother told me everything—about Gaspard, about how he’d abandoned her, the baby—and I knew I had to protect her. So, I offered to marry her. She accepted.”

  I shook my head, incredulous. “I wouldn’t find this story so difficult to believe if you weren’t the heir to the Salasian throne. Why accept another man’s child, knowing that if the truth were discovered, that child would never inherit? Why put him or her in that situation?”

  My tone turned harsh, and I realized that I was still angry at my parents. Not only for keeping the truth from me, but for thinking that their decisions would have no consequences whatsoever.

  “I was in love.” My father shrugged. “I was young, and, I’ll admit, stupid.”

  “You were older than I am now,” I pointed out.

  “Stupidity tends to occur regardless of a person’s age.” He folded his hands. “And I knew, too, that this would be my only chance to be a father. I never told you this, but I’m sterile. I contracted the mumps as a young boy, and unfortunately…” He grimaced. “There was no hope that I would ever have children.”

  “And you kept this a secret? How?”

  “Your grandfather did, yes. I was the only heir, and there was still hope that perhaps I could sire a child. Nothing is one hundred percent, of course. Considering your mother never became pregnant again after we married and you were born, the doctors were correct.”

  I had to stand up. The room, despite its size, suddenly felt too small.

  “Is that everything?” I demanded. “Have you finally told me all of the secrets surrounding my birth? Because at this point, I’m half-expecting you to tell me I was actually dropped at your doorstep by the stork.”

  “No storks or other fowl were involved in your birth, I can assure you of that.”

  I snorted. “Well, that’s comforting.” I pushed my fingers through my hair. “What you and Mother did…I don’t understand it. I’ll never understand it, when you knew what would happen if it were discovered. It didn’t seem like a risk worth taking to me.”