Royally Wild (Crazy Royal Love Romantic Comedy Book 2)

by Melanie Summers

  “Is she really worth giving it all up for?”

  “Yes, Kenneth, she is.”

  17

  When You Sink So Low, Even You Can’t Stand Yourself…

  Arabella

  Princess Arabella Allowed Out of Her Luxury Prison to Attend UN Conference in Vienna

  Written by: Uma Yung, Royal News Correspondent, The Daily Times

  Avonians the nation over are finding themselves utterly irritated with fourth in line for the throne, Princess Arabella, after comments she made about the trials and tribulations of royal life were made public last night. A generally quiet, and for the most part respectable member of the royal family, Her Highness has been making waves over the last six months, including sneaking away to film a reality TV show, Princess in the Wild, with professional survival expert Will Banks, with whom she is currently romantically involved.

  The patron of dozens of charities throughout the kingdom, Princess Arabella has been a steadfast source of grace for the oft-troubled family. But last night’s comments shocked and horrified even her most fervent fans. Several royal bloggers took to their computers last night to express their disdain for her complaints about royal life. Granted, during the audio recording of her confession, she did make mention of the fact that complaining about her privileged and luxurious life was not something she should do openly.

  The palace clearly agrees that this is a total blunder, having put out the following statement only one hour after the show aired:

  “Princess Arabella’s comments were made at a moment of weakness during her difficult time in the harsh jungle environment, after a long day of hiking through treacherous terrain. At the time she made them, she was suffering from exhaustion, dehydration, and severe epidermal injuries to both ankles.

  “The show’s producers chose to take advantage of her in this weak state and it must be stressed that she believed this was a private conversation between herself and Mr. Banks, and at no time was she informed that their conversation was recorded, neither before, nor after, filming.

  “Always a reliable champion of her many causes, Princess Arabella has a generous nature, an open heart, and is overwhelmingly grateful for the blessings she has received in her life. We ask that Avonians take those comments with a grain of salt and a full understanding of the context in which they were made.”

  Whether or not Her Royal Highness meant the comments, they have certainly proved themselves to be wildly unpopular, earning her the nickname Princess Precious by one particularly popular royal blogger who goes by the name of KingSlayer99. Time will tell how this latest royal scandal plays out, but one thing is certain, Avonians throughout the kingdom will be glued to their television sets every Thursday night to see what she says next.

  “Bollocks,” I mutter, leaning my head back against the leather headrest. I lift my gaze from my mobile phone and out to the streets of Vienna, as we travel toward the United Nations Conference Centre. Oh, to be back in the Caribbean with Will, floating along on the sea together, talking and laughing and making love. It seems impossible that that was only a few weeks ago, when I’m here alone, rain drizzling down while my entire world feels like it’s falling apart. But there I go complaining again, which apparently is no bueno. At least I can escape the media ugliness for a few days and focus on something important.

  I cannot believe the palace went with the exhaustion and dehydration thing. Honestly, that’s like the publicist’s last desperate refuge. It makes me seem like I’m hiding a serious drug addiction instead of just being a whiny brat.

  My phone rings and I see that it is my assistant, Mrs. Chadwick, calling. I sigh and answer it.

  “Your Highness, I’ve got Phillip Crawford from your father’s office on the line for you. I’m assuming since you’re still en route, you have a few moments of privacy to take his call.”

  “Certainly,” I say, unable to think of a good excuse to say no.

  “Very good.”

  There’s a click on the line, then I hear Phillip Crawford’s voice. “Princess Arabella, I trust you read our statement regarding your unfortunate comments last night.”

  Oh, sod off, Crawford. “Yes, thank you. I was just going over it.”

  “Excellent. Should you be approached by the press whilst in Vienna, please refrain from making any comments on the matter, other than to restate your awareness of your fortunate position, then redirect to your purpose at the conference.”

  “Yes, obviously,” I say. “But it shouldn’t be an issue. I’m sure no one in Austria will give two hoots about some comment I made.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not the case. We have it on good authority that a rather large group of journalists are awaiting your arrival in front of the UN building, so stick to the script.”

  My heart sinks. Of course this would happen. “Is there anything else?”

  “Yes, actually. We’ve got some concerns about the outcome of the conference. We’ve seen drafts of possible branding and it seems a bit…aggressive. We’d like to suggest some changes for you to bring forward as the Avonian ambassador.”

  “No, thank you, Phillip. I’m confident that the good people at the United Nations have it covered. They likely don’t need a senior royal adviser to assist them.” I won’t say especially not a man, but we’re all thinking it, no?

  Phillip clears his throat. “Yes, well, as long as you are part of the royal family, we do need to be cautious in terms of the types of statements that we make so as not to cause offence. We specifically object to the phrases ‘join the fight’ and the repeated use of the word ‘demand’ in reference to the desires of the organization. We’d like to see the wording softened so as not to evoke images of revolution and/or violence.”

  Oh for…I am so not having this conversation with him. “Sorry Phillip, you’re cutting out. I think I might be losing you, but I’ll definitely take your comments under advisement.”

  With that, I hang up and toss my phone into my handbag. As if anyone at that conference will care what the likes of Phillip Crawford has to say. Come to think of it, they probably won’t care what I have to say either. It’s not like I’ve faced any real oppression in my life. Oh no, I can’t wear spiky heels. Who cares?

  I’m about to attend a conference filled with incredibly inspiring women who have overcome the most horrific of circumstances, fought for their very survival, and faced racism and inequality every day of their lives. And here I am, Princess Precious, who had the nerve to whine about not having enough freedom. If I even have one friend among these women, I’ll be shocked.

  Closing my eyes for a second, I wish with everything in me that Will were here with me, holding my hand. Not because I need a man. Obviously I don’t. I’m perfectly capable of weathering this storm on my own—I hope—but it would certainly be nice to have somebody in my corner. Although, after what I’ve accused him of, I’m not sure he’ll ever be in my corner again, and I really wouldn’t blame him. Just the thought of him makes my throat feel thick with guilt.

  I take my phone out of my bag and read his text for the thirtieth time since I woke and saw it. Leaving Thailand now. Flying straight to Vienna so we can talk. Kenneth is heading to London, so I’ll be going commercial which means it’ll take 26 hours including stopovers to get there.

  God, I wish he’d made the tone more clear. Is it a “I’m rushing to you because I’m madly in love with you and I can’t stand another minute with this problem between us” text, or is it a “I’m flying directly to Vienna to end it in person” text?

  That’s the kind of man he is. He’d want to do it in person, wouldn’t he? He has a deep sense of honour, in spite of what Arthur thinks. He also would want to get it over with immediately so he could get on with life. Will’s the kind of man who’d just say it, like one would rip off a Band-Aid. No big flowery preamble. Just, “We’re over.”

  I tried calling him, even though I knew it was no use. He’ll be virtually unreachable until he gets here. If only I could
somehow teleport myself onto his plane (looking gorgeous, obviously) so we could talk and kiss and make up properly. Well, not properly on a commercial flight, because those bathrooms aren’t exactly sanitary or made for romance and the last thing I need is another scandal. The point is, I’m desperate to see him.

  We pull up in front of the building and I realize I was meant to be familiarizing myself with the itinerary for the next few days. God, I really am pathetic. Unable to focus on truly vital topics because I’ve had a row with my boyfriend. Maybe the advisors were right, and I’m not really cut out for doing anything of high-level importance in the world.

  I sigh, hating myself for not being better than this.

  The car stops and I see a group of reporters standing around on the sidewalk, a few of them peering through the tinted windows, presumably looking for me. My driver, Norm, lowers the privacy glass. “Do you want us to take you around to the back, Your Highness?”

  That is so tempting. “No, it’s best if I just get this over with.” Even though it will suck so hard. “Thank you though.”

  Bellford, who is in the passenger seat, turns to me. “In that case, Miss, give me a moment to check the crowd over.”

  I nod at him and he gets out. I sit and wait, my heart rattling my ribcage and my palms going clammy. He taps on the window, then opens the door for me.

  I grab my briefcase and mutter, “Come on, dummy. Put on your big girl knickers and get on with it.”

  18

  With Deepest Apologies to Bear Grylls

  Will

  “What do you mean you’re going to Vienna?” Dwight says.

  “Exactly that,” I say, walking the long hall of the international flight terminal at Krabi Airport. “Arabella’s there for a conference.”

  “That is absolutely the last place you should be going, number one being wherever Kenneth wants you to go next—”

  “London,” I offer.

  “What does he want you to climb there? The Tower of London?”

  “No,” I say, dreading the honest response I’m about to give him. “He wanted me to meet with his design team to start work on my own outdoor gear line, but I turned it down.”

  There’s a long pause, then Dwight says, “There’s something wrong with the connection because I thought I heard you say you turned down a shot at your own outdoor gear line and that would be stone cold crazy.”

  “You heard me right,” I say, slowing down when I catch up to a family of tourists, who are meandering along, peering into the shops instead of watching where they’re walking.

  “Was it a crap deal? Because I know you must’ve had a good reason to turn down the very thing you’ve been working so hard for these past several years.”

  “We never got into talking dollars and cents,” I say, wincing yet again at what I’ve done. “The entire deal was contingent on me being available to go to London for the next few weeks, and I’m not able to do that, so I had to say no.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not able to do that?” Dwight asks, making a crunching sound which tells me it’s Tums time for him. “Of course you can. I’ll happily get you out of whatever small potatoes publicity stuff we’ve got going on here. Or you could fly back from England for a day or two here and there. We can make this work, William. This is it. This is your moment to take hold of the brass ring and … and …. do whatever people do with brass rings. For God’s sake, go to the ticket counter immediately and change your flight. I’ll call Kenneth and tell him you made a terrible mistake and that you are, in fact, interested in this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “But the thing is, I’m not,” I say, then I quickly correct myself. “Well, that’s not strictly true. I am interested, but the timing is all wrong. I pretty much abandoned Arabella when she needed me most. I can’t just leave things for another month and hope she’ll be waiting around when I finally get back to her.”

  “Did you get sunstroke out there or something? Maybe hit your head on a rock? Because I don’t think you understand what you’re doing right now.”

  Sighing, I say, “No to both, and yes, I do know what I’m doing. It’s called the right thing, and no matter how much it hurts, it’s what it’s going to take to make things work with the woman I love.”

  More fast crunching, then, “Did she say you had to turn this down or something?”

  “No, of course not. She would never do that.”

  “So, she said you should take the deal?”

  “She would have if I had told her about it.”

  There’s a long, drawn-out sigh, then Dwight says, “Okay, William. You’re going to need to walk me through your decision-making process because I am really having trouble understanding what in the hell is going on with you.”

  I stop near a large window, drop my bag, and stare out at an airliner that is pulling into one of the gates. “Dwight, six months ago, this deal would’ve been the greatest thing that could have happened to me. But now, things are different. I can’t just be traipsing all over the planet whenever I feel like it and doing whatever I want. I have to consider what Arabella needs.”

  “Traipsing? Is that her word for it?”

  “No, it’s mine,” I say. “I had to do the right thing for us. Relationships take sacrifice, but that’s okay because it’s worth it. Besides, another opportunity will come along, I’m sure.”

  “Really?” he asks. “Another major outdoor equipment company is going to come knocking on your door to offer you your own line of gear?”

  “Not likely, but something else will pop up.”

  “William, your own line of gear is…is the golden ticket! It’s the gift that keeps on giving because you set it up and for years and years and years, they keep sending you cheques for doing absolutely nothing! Nothing, Will. Cheques with lots of zeroes.” He lowers his voice to a pained whisper and adds, “Nothing.”

  “Dwight, please don’t make this harder than it already is. I’m upset enough without you rubbing salt in the wound.” I pick up my bag and start back towards my gate. “Now, I’m sorry I let you down. I know this would’ve been a great deal for both of us, and if I could have made it work, believe me, I would have. But I can’t, so I’m heading to Vienna for a few days to straighten things out with Arabella. When I get back to town, I promise, I’ll be the very best quasi-celebrity guest of all time.”

  I stroll past The Travel Shop, only to see a huge sign stating their 30% off sale for Bearz backpacks and outdoor accessories. Speaking of salt in the wound…

  “I let you out of my sight for a week and you lose all focus,” Dwight says.

  “So you’re saying you wish I were back living in your guest room?” I tease. “I knew you secretly enjoyed having me there.”

  “If it’s the difference between you throwing away your career and being a disgustingly rich celeb, yes,” Dwight says, crunching away. “I’d much rather you were tethered to my ankle than have you making horrible decisions. And I know you think I only mean this as your agent, but the truth is, I’m thinking of you right now, and your beloved princess.”

  “Are we becoming friends?” I tease.

  “Obviously not,” he says. “I want all my clients to be happy. They tend to make more money that way.”

  “Liar. You like me.”

  “You’ll never get me to admit to it, so you needn’t bother. Now, are you absolutely sure there is no way I can talk you out of this?”

  “I’m positive. Sometimes, a man’s got to do the right thing, Dwight, even if it hurts,” I say, dodging an out-of-control toddler riding one of those suitcases that’s shaped like a dinosaur.

  “Yes, but in this case, certainly the right thing is to make as much cash as possible so you can buy her a twelve-carat ring and get her away from her suffocating family.”

  “A ring is useless without a finger to put it on.” I reach my gate, then glance at the clock, realizing I’ve got another two hours before my flight boards. The seats are jam-packed here, so
I turn back the other way.

  “Clearly, I can’t talk you out of this, so make up fast and hightail it back here as fast as humanly possible. I’ll book you some promotional gigs.”

  “I thought they were small potatoes.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Ouch.

  I hang up and walk into The Travel Shop. Apparently, I’m in the mood to torture myself with something I’m never going to have. The backpacks are on display near the front, and I stop in front of them and stare. A man comes to stand beside me, taking one off the hook and examining it.

  “Don’t bother,” I tell him. “I lugged that exact one around the jungle for ten days, and I can tell you that after a few minutes, you’ll feel it. A good pack should be nearly indestructible and yet undetectable on your back.”

  He gives me a strange look, then says, “I don’t know how they would ever make one much lighter than this.” He flicks the tag over, then adds, “At this price, you’d be a fool not to buy one.”

  He takes the pack and walks over to the till while I turn my attention back to the display.

  What a dumb logo. Why would he spell Bears with a ‘z?’ I mean, seriously, do they think that’s super trendy or something?

  “Stupid heavy backpack,” I mutter before picking it up. Huh. That’s actually surprisingly light.

  In fact, this is extremely light. How did the one I had in the jungle seem so much heavier when it was empty? I take off my own backpack and slide this one on. And then it hits me all at once. Tingles run up my spine as everything becomes clear to me.

  “Those bastards,” I say, far too loudly.

  Glancing around, I see the man I was just talking to and the woman behind the till giving me strange looks.