Michael sat back and wiped his face. “I’m truly sorry. I had no idea.” He was shocked that his brother hadn’t already found out about Hope’s tragic secret but was certain that he eventually would.
“I made a promise to myself as a young girl that I would never let this life consume me to the point where I couldn’t survive it. I was determined to stay here until God called me. I wasn’t going to check out on my own and leave everyone who loved me in so much pain. So, when things get too out of control, I find my center and I stay there until the storm calms.”
“Ingenious philosophy,” Michael said sincerely. “And your father? What of him?”
“Just a guy. Never met him. Never signed the birth certificate.” Hope shrugged. “It happens.”
Suddenly, Michael could hear his brother’s voice in his head again and he knew Richard was right. The media would tear this story apart. Clenching his square jaw, he put down his cigar completely. “Can we get out of here? We need to talk,” he said, making eye contact with a tourist who narrowed her gaze on him.
“Sure,” Hope said, confused. “What’s wrong?”
“We should go,” Michael said as the woman stood up and approached.
“Oy, is that really you?” the red-headed older woman asked with an English accent, pulling out her cell phone. “Prince Michael?”
“Wrong guy,” Michael said with his faux-Southern accent. Piss off you old cow, he thought to himself. Giving a fake smile, he tried to explain his appearance away. “I get it all the time. Sorry, I’m not the prince. I was born here in Hernando.”
Hope grabbed her purse and stood up. That was their cue. If one noticed him, more would, and his accent was horrible.
“You just look so much like him, it’s unreal,” the tourist said, suddenly uncertain. “Do you mind if I take a picture with you. My boys won’t believe that I came all the way to Memphis and met his majesty’s twin.”
Michael looked at Hope and smiled. “Sure, just one won’t hurt,” he said, pulling the woman in for a selfie. “But make it quick. My little lady gets antsy when people stop us like this.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the woman apologized as she quickly took the photo.
Leaving the cigars, Michael and Hope quickly exited the little bar before they had time to finish what they had come there for.
“It’s only a matter of time before someone figures it out, isn’t it?” Hope asked, as they walked down the street to the parking garage where they had parked the truck.
“Yes,” Michael said, apologetically. “It’s part of why I wanted to take you out tonight. A little shit of a reporter released a story purporting that I’m in the states, and he’s offering $100,000 reward for anyone who can tell him my exact location.”
“When did he release the story?” Hope asked, alarmed.
“About an hour ago,” Michael said, looking at his watch.
“What?” Hope stopped in her tracks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wanted this,” he said, stopping as well. He turned to her and slumped his shoulders. “I wanted to experience what life could be like with you alone.” He grabbed her hands and held them in his own. “My whole life, since the day that I was born, has been under a fucking microscope. I’ve never just been treated as a human being. I’ve never been allowed to roam the streets or go to the movies or eat at a restaurant without a camera in my face. And I wanted to know what that was like, and I wanted to know what it was like with you.”
Hope nodded in understanding. “You could have still told me.”
“Once they find out, everything will be different, including you.”
“Not me,” she snapped. “I’m not that way.”
Michael hurt to say it. Running a hand through his hair, he growled. “They will…crucify you. And I didn’t realize how much until now.” He breathed in heavily, nearly snorting. “All I want to do is protect you. I want to keep you in this bubble of normalcy because you are the only one who makes me feel alive.”
Hope grabbed his face. “Michael, nothing can change us, but us.”
“They will try their hardest to take you away from me.” He kissed the top of her head. “The one thing in this life that I truly want.”
“Not if we don’t let them,” she said, hugging him tight. “Promise me that you won’t let them.” She looked up at him as though he held all the cards. “You happen to have some power in this world. Use it.”
You can’t protect her. Hell, you can’t protect yourself, he heard his brother’s voice say.
But Michael ignored the voice. “I will,” he promised.
Chapter 14
It was the last day of a very long week for Sean Pritchard. After being smashed in the face by Hope’s Neanderthal of a boyfriend, he had to work through the pain all week to be present at several court hearings, all of which his black and blue features were the point of very colorful discussions before and after the session.
Normally, he would have lied about the interaction with Michael, but considering just how small Hernando was and considering just how big LouAnn’s mouth was, he settled at just saying that he had gotten into a disagreement with his ex-girlfriend’s new lover by trying to be the Good Samaritan.
People took what they wanted from his explanation, but normally it was assumed that he was the savior in the story, which he could handle a lot better than the idea of a pretty boy getting the best of him on Hope’s porch.
While he had gotten over the punch and the swelling had gone down a little, what he had noticed since was a black Yukon that seemed to be following him a lot lately. He knew that it could have just been the popularity of the vehicle and his own paranoia, but the unease that he got whenever he spotted the truck in his rearview mirror or passing by the window of a restaurant he just happened to be frequenting made him believe that there was no coincidence in this.
As he pulled into his normal gas station only a couple of blocks from his house to get gas, a newspaper and coffee to start his Friday morning, he noticed the same Yukon that he thought was following him. That fucker. He bet that it was Michael. He bet that the little shit had another vehicle and was trying to intimidate him.
Well, Sean Pritchard is not the man you intimidate! He thought to himself almost screaming it in his mind.
He jumped out of his BMW pissed, and immediately gave the passing truck the finger.
The driver of the truck nearly screeched in the street, then put the truck in reverse and pulled into the gas station, right beside Sean’s car.
Fuming mad, he waited for the tinted window to lower and find Michael on the other side. No matter what, he’d give him hell this morning, maybe even break his nose!
Unfortunately, as the window lowered, he saw a gray haired man in a light sweater and polo. He furrowed his brow at Sean in confusion.
“Morning Reverend Baxter,” Sean said, deflated.
“Morning Sean,” the reverend said, turning down his gospel music. “Boy, are you alright?”
Sean dropped his head. “No.”
“What happened to your nose?”
“I got in a fight. I thought you were him,” he explained, almost like a juvenile.
Reverend Baxter nodded in understanding. “Well, whoever you got into a quarrel with, you need to let that go. Forgive as God has taught you, and in the meantime, you might want to find other ways to express your anger other than flipping off the town’s folk.”
“I’ll do that,” Sean said, completely embarrassed. “I do apologize, sir. I’m afraid that I’m not myself today.”
“Well, you have a blessed day, Sean. Say hello to your folks for me. Tell them that I’ll see them in church on Sunday. I hope to see you there too with your pretty little girlfriend.”
“We’ll be there,” Sean said, noticing that the man at the gas pump behind him was shaking his head in disapproval.
As the reverend pulled off, Sean turned and slammed his door shut, nearly breaking the glass. Grea
t! What else could possibly go wrong today?
Ignoring the man, who at this point had stop pumping his gas all together and stood with his arms folded, watching in protest of Sean’s tantrum, he strode into the gas station and quickly went to the coffee maker. He nodded at some of the locals that he knew, poured his coffee, then went to the front to pay and pick up a newspaper.
As he perused the display cabinet waiting for the short line to move, something very interesting caught his eye.
There on the front of a national celebrity gossip magazine was a picture of Michael.
“Son of a bitch!” he said aloud, grabbing the paper.
He read the words so fast until he nearly skipped over whole sentences, he felt like he has suddenly struck gold. Evidently, the Prince of England was missing and reported to be hiding out in the states after the break up with his fiancée. Plus, there was a $100,000 reward for anyone who could tell the magazine where his exact location was.
Suddenly, his nose ached, but not with pain as much as anticipation. One hundred grand could go a long way with him, maybe even help him become partner quicker or even start his own firm.
Adjusting the cotton balls that he had pushed up into his nostrils, he flipped through the story until he found the contact information.
“Sir, are you going to buy that or just read it?” the cashier asked, hand on her hip.
Not looking up from the magazine, Sean pulled a twenty from his pocket and slammed it on the counter. “Where’s Sue?” he asked of the normal clerk.
“Sick,” the woman answered, taking the money.
“Keep the change and buy yourself a new attitude,” Sean said, headed out of the store.
***
RQL had logged over 2,000 alleged siting’s of Prince Michael since the article had hit the wire. A team of exhausted interns poured over each dead-end lead - some saying that he was in Manhattan, others at Disneyworld, a few swore that they had seen him at the Chicago Bears home game at Soldier Field and one woman was adamant that she had seen him in Memphis at Elvis’ house.
Hannibal had been at his desk since the story went live at midnight. Now, as the sun rose on the horizon, he pours another hefty heaping of whiskey in with his coffee and stuffed a bear claw down his throat. With crumbs covering his T-shirt, he opened email after email, hoping to get something that he could present to his boss when she arrived at ten this morning.
She had warned him before she left the day before. “Your little trick might sell a few more magazines, but if you don’t come up with something soon, then you end up making me look like an ass. And if I look bad, you look for a new job.”
Her threats were getting old, but in comparison to looking for a new job, he’d deal with her.
While she was off giving an interview to E! Television about her extraordinary reward for information on Michael, he was actually the one working his ass off to find the man. Funny how she didn’t mind him doing grunt work, but never let him go in front of a camera.
Just as he was about to give up, he saw an email come to his inbox with the subject line: Prince Richard Came to Memphis.
He opened it quickly. Nothing that he had seen had reported that the Prince had even left London.
I work at the Memphis International Airport. On my off time, I work on the private airstrip we call millionaire’s row. Yesterday Prince Richard of England came to Memphis. I’m guessing that Prince Michael must be here. If you confirm this, does that mean I get $100,000? If so, please let me know. Ralph Cooper.
Hannibal snorted at the email. If the prince was in Memphis, Ralph would still not get the money, because he hadn’t provided proof. What he had provided was a crumb trail that might just lead to Michael.
He was about to pick up the phone and call his contact in London when another email popped in his inbox. The subject line could hardly be ignored. Prince Michael is in Hernando, Mississippi and the son of a bitch broke my nose!
Hannibal nearly spit out his food. The guy should write bylines for a living. Opening the email immediately, he read the contents with his mouth wide open. “Abby, get in here,” he screamed to the intern out in the common area.
She came running in, eyes nearly as red as her hair. “Yes, sir,” she said, eyeing the crumbs on his shirt. The disgust showed on her face, despite her attempts to hide it. All the interns felt the same way. Hannibal was a slob.
“Look up Sean Pritchard in Hernando, Mississippi. Find out if he is real or not,” he said, making sure to watch her turn and leave his office. She had a nice ass for a sophomore.
Turning back to his work, he smiled and whispered Eureka. There were very few coincidences in this world, and they were reserved for non-famous people.
“Is he a lawyer?” Abby screamed from her laptop.
“That’s him,” Hannibal answered, rubbing his sausage-like fingers together. “Pay dirt.”
“He’s got a Facebook page, a LinkedIn page, a twitter account and he is listed on several lawyer rating sites. He’s real,” she said, hoping that they could go home soon.
Picking up the phone, Hannibal called the number that Sean had left.
***
Sean’s office was not nearly as large as the junior and senior partners of his law firm, but he had it decked out with all of the earmarks of a partner in preparation for the big day. All of his degrees were hung in custom frames, a photo of Ole Miss’s Vaught-Hemmingway Stadium hung beside a photo of he and his dad on a hunting trip, on the desk was a photo of he and former president George Bush from a fundraiser his older brother had taken him to in Dallas and to top it all off, he had placed a photo of Ashley – all blonde and beautiful - in a charming little frame right below his lamp so everyone in the office would know that he had moved on to greener pastures in his love life.
Because Hernando was so small, everyone knew about Hope’s accident and some had speculated why. However, he had quickly squashed any debate by stepping out publicly with Ashley shortly after the accident. It was his way of getting in front of the situation.
Normally, if he wasn’t working, he’d be online in one of the football chat rooms or surfing the internet, but today, he waited patiently by his email, constantly hitting refresh.
He knew that Michael was in fact Prince Michael, and he planned on outing him and getting that money as soon as possible.
His phone buzzed. “Sean, you’ve got a call,” the receptionist, Arlene said groggily.
Huffing, Sean pulled his attention away from his monitor. His eyes slowly moved from the computer to the phone. “Take a message. I’m busy,” he said to the speaker.
“Sounds like a telemarketer but he says his name is Hannibal. He’s calling from RQL out in Los Angeles. I don’t believe him though. It’s only 10:00 a.m. here, which mean its 8:00 a.m. there. Nobody’s open at 8:00 in the morning in Hippieville.”
Sean picked up his receiver quickly. “Send the call,” he said, cutting Arlene off. He could do without her West Coast antics today.
“Are you sure?” she asked hesitantly. Normally, he heeded her advice.
When she didn’t get an answer from Sean, she quickly transferred the call to him.
“Hannibal, this is Sean,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Sean Pritchard,” Hannibal said, pushing back in his chair. Wiping off the food from his chest, he sucked his teeth. “Saw your very interesting email. You say that he broke your nose over your ex-girlfriend? The Prince of England?”
“Yes,” Sean said, choosing his words carefully. “And I know exactly where he is.” His eyes narrowed. “But I won’t tell you unless you send me a guarantee in writing that you will send me a payment via wire transfer as soon as you confirm my information. Otherwise, I can always call another gossip magazine and give them your scoop.”
Hannibal pushed up in his chair. “Whoa now, counselor. There is no need for threats. I’ve got your money. You have my proof?”
“I can get it in the hour.”
Hannibal could tell that this man was not kidding. He had a serious bone to pick and based upon the nasally sound of his voice, so had Michael. He would have given his left leg to be there when the normally cool and collected prince punched this man in the face. The photo would have been worth a million dollars easy.
“You get me proof in an hour, I can be on a plane in two. I’ll hand deliver your check as soon as you hand deliver me the prince along with an interview on your royal assault.”
“Stay by your phone. I’ll be calling you in an hour.” Sean said, hanging up.
***
While Michael lay naked and asleep in the mass of pillows in their bed upstairs, Hope had wandered downstairs to the studio and picked up her paintbrush for the first time since she had gotten her sight back. It had been so long since she held the utensil in her hand until it almost felt foreign. That was until she turned her music down low, pulled her hair up in a ponytail and looked at her unfinished masterpiece.
It had been so long, but again, her work was calling out to her.
It felt like heaven to grasp the wooden handle between her fingers, dip it into the paint and stroke the brush across the canvas.
Standing in her underwear and t-shirt, she begin to feel herself come alive more and more as she added color and depth to the eyes of the man’s face. With each stroke her heart began thump in her chest, excitement overwhelming her. Moving quicker and quicker, she found herself nearly dancing around as she painted until finally, she burst out in pure unadulterated laughter.
Alas, she was happy again.
Pulling her hands over her head, she felt tears weld at the corner of her eyes.
“Did I miss the party?” Michael asked, leaning against the doorway watching her.
His voice made her scream, this time in surprise. She turned, a blotch of rose colored paint now at the top of her head, and smiled at him.
“You scared the crap out of me.”
Highness (The Lonely Heart Series) Page 15